The story of an oven and a bun that is in it.

Welp, Internet. I'm not going to beat around the bush with you because I read that getting to the point in the first paragraph is super important and I'm nothing if not obedient. Also, why would you beat around a bush? Wouldn't you just beat the bush? Am I missing the point of both the advice of getting to the point and this idiom? Probably.

And now on to the real point of this post. It's something I've been keeping secret on the Interwebz for over a week. I hope you'll forgive me.

I have a baby bun in my lady oven.

After a little over 2 years of trying, my lady parts finally cooked up an egg for the, ya know, man stuffs. This part is very embarrassing to talk about so let's just leave it at that. 

I will however, get all fertility technical on you as long as I do not have to talk about sperm.

I suspected I was pregnant on Sunday, January 22. My boobs were sore, I felt like I could smell everything in the entire world, I was nauseous, I was having vivid dreams, and I wanted to only eat Mexican food. I took a test that day. It was negative. I didn't stress out. I was only 10 days past ovulation. (Still very early, I said to myself.)

I spent the next day feeling very sick, my boobs were on fire (still are!), and the smell of a coworkers lunch almost made me hurl. I broke down and took a test later that night (actually 3). All 3 were positive (barely).

Let me show them to you.

11 days past ovulation.

I was in shock. I called my husband. I cried. I tried not to get all panicky.

The next morning I took 2 more tests just to make sure I didn't dream the previous night. They were positive.

12 days past ovulation and morning pee - much darker.

On Wednesday my doctor sent me to get a blood test to confirm. My HCG levels were 56. Anything about 5 is pregnant.

OMG. I am pregnant.

I had my second blood test on Friday to make sure my HCG levels were doubling. It was 133.

OMFG. I am really pregnant.

I'm trying not to get too excited...it's still very early. I go in for a 6 1/2 week ultrasound soon to confirm everything is where it is supposed to be.

I will continue to take tests to make sure the line is getting darker. (So far, so good.)

Until then I'll be obsessing over the fact that I am 34 today.

And spending a lot of time trying not to toss my ice cream cake.

Happy Birthday to me!

UPDATED TO ADD:
I woke up to this little gem this morning. I can't unsee it. (P.S. thank you OTDE crew!)

NaBloPoMo: It's all relative.

Starting February 1st...I'm doing this...again.

Join me?

Suspicious dog is suspicious.

Disneyland totally and completely kicked my ass yesterday. I spent today recuperating and once my brain returns to normal functioning I will give you the insider details on how to survive the heat, calm a panic attack during a ride, and find the best places to rest.

Until then, please to enjoy these lovely photos of our oldest dog, the one who likes to poo on my fancy rug, gives the best snuggles, and is highly suspicious of me anytime I hold my iPhone in picture taking positions.

I'm not going to look at you.

Fine. But know that you are weirding me out.

A treat? You say?

I'm on to you, lady.

The happity snappity and the best news ever.

This is really nothing but drivel and it will not hurt my feelings (much) if you skip it.

I am off from work for 5 glorious days straight. I spent today kinda cleaning my bedroom, then doing some stuffs I can't tell you about (yet) followed by a nap. And some food. And some more napping. And then a quick video chat with some very adorable kids. It's been a very busy day.

Tomorrow we are going to The Most Expensive Place on Earth -- it's going to be 80 degrees and it's January so that just makes me want to stab my eyeballs with pen. I no likey the heat. Or the line waiting game in the heat. Or large groups of sweaty people in the heat. So, yeah, tomorrow's gonna be a blast. (I'm sure it will be for the kid and her friend, just not the mama.) You can keep track of my adventures via Instagram, probably (if it's not too hot for me to hold my phone).

Friday will be full of some more things I have to do and maybe another nap. We shall see.

It's amazing how much noise two tween girls can make...I should probably go make sure they aren't destroying anything...but it's kinda far away from where I'm at...so...yeah...I'm sure it's fine.

Toodles.

P.S. I ALMOST FORGOT THE BEST NEWS EVER! ARE YOU READY FOR IT??? ARE YOU??? My husband said I can get a cleaning service!!! Weeping, I am.

P.P.S. TODAY IS MY FAVORITE DAY.

Block Party for the Book of Face

You know and I know and we know that you and me and we often feel bad asking people to "please like meeeeeeeeeeeeee" every single day all day long. You know and I know and we know that sometimes we even get annoyed by others who ask us to like them every single day all day long. But because you, me and we are super smart, incredibly nice, very generous people, you, me, and we know that all anybody ever wants is to be liked. Also, to have magical powers. (You probably also want me to stop with the you and me and we stuff and the poorly constructed sentences.)

Do you have this dilemma? I bet you do!

Well...never fear, your answer is here!

This week's Block Party at Off the Deep End - it is all about The Facebook! We've basically created a super non-annoying way for everybody involved to get more likes for your Facebook page (or to make new friends, if that's your cup o' tea). You're welcome.

It's simple, easy, and breezy (just like me) to join in on the festivities:

1. Like Off the Deep End on Facebook
2. Add your Facebook Fan Page link to the list found here.
3. Like as many blogs as you can that are linked up. (If you don’t have a Fan Page, feel free to link up your Facebook account!)
4. If you’d like to post this list on your blog, make sure you grab the code below and link back to Off the Deep End.

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An update on the maker of the baby.

You don't want it! You didn't ask for it! But you're getting it! A babymaker update!  

You get a babymaker udpate! And you get a babymaker update! And you get one, too!

(I'm sure this feels just like being in the audience during Oprah's Favorite Things.)

I'm about to get all fertility technical on you. My apologies to those with delicate sensibilities.

In the six cycles I've managed to squeeze out in the last year, only three ever showed me a happy face on my ovulation test (detects a surge in the luteinizing hormone). This also means that I've only had my progesterone levels measured three times in the past year.

The first time my levels were 0.67 ng/ml (abysmal), the second time they were 2.68 ng/ml (still not good enough), this time they were greater than 60 ng/ml (a-maze-a-balls!!!) What does this mean, you ask? Well, let me tell you just in case Wikipedia is still down (p.s. if you ever want to feel super smart just read the tweet stream of @herpderpedia - who brought together the stupid during the SOPA blackout).

IT MEANS I OVULATED!

IT MEANS THAT I HAD AN EGG RELEASED INTO THE WILD LANDS OF THE LADY PARTS!

IT MEANS THAT I AM NOT COMPLETELY BROKEN!

IT MEANS I CAN STOP YELLING NOW.

(SORRY)

Of course, a certain blogger friend who shall not be named but shall be linked to, keeps telling me that it means that I am pregnant with triplets to which I say to her: SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH. JUST. SHUT. IT.

So...now, I face the dreaded two-week wait until I can test. Which, for me, is January 31st...and do you know what day that is, Internet? Do you?!

IT'S MUH BIRFDAY!

Until then, your very devoted and incredibly anxious neighborhood blogger, who initially was so ready for bad news that she read the results ">60" as "less than" because she forgot that < makes an "L" for "less" and math is hard,


(That's what she said.)

ME

Book Review: The Underside of Joy

I was totes excited when I received The Underside of Joy from BlogHer Book Club. I've never reviewed anything before on this blog and for the ones of you who have checked out this page, you know that I have a strict policy on reviews. I made an exception for this because it combines my best things - reading and blogging (besides my kid and husband and family and all that) and, most importantly, because this is my blog and I can do what I want.

The Underside of Joy by Seré Prince Halverson is described as "the story of two women, bound by an unspeakable loss, who each claims to be the mother of the same two children."

I can usually tell from the very first page of a book if I'm going to like it. Mostly because I'm very judge-y. You have exactly three paragraphs to make me believe in you, book! So when I read the first line, "I recently read a study that claimed happy people aren't made. They're born." I knew that I would have to forgo bathing and eating and sleeping until I finished it.

When Paige leaves Joe and her two small children (due to post partum depression) and Joe married Ella (who struggled with infertility) it was natural for Ella to step into the role of "mother." They lived a perfect life for three years; however, (you knew that was coming, right?) when Joe dies in a tragic accident and Paige comes back to reclaim the children, Ella’s perfect world begins to unravel.

The story is rich with details on the life and love that Ella shares with the children, her in-laws, and friends. In the first part of the book I wanted her to "win"...but then the truth about Paige's past comes out and it's clear that there can be no winners. I think that Prince Halverson did a phenomenal job weaving the story around the difficult issues the characters face. There were only a few times that I felt things were a little too far-fetched for Real Life (mostly a judge ignoring all the facts of the case because of a dramatic courtroom confession) but overall it was a wonderfully told story with the best possible ending.

I want to tell you more but I also don’t want to spoil it for you (anymore than I already have) – so go forth and read! I pinky promise you’ll pink puffy heart love it! (Especially if you're into great stories with complex emotional and physical issues...which you are if you read this blog.)  

Trust me on this one, Internets! Have I ever lied to you before? That you know of?

This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own. Obviously.

Annoyed? Have a cookie.

I'm over at Off the Deep End today and I got the super special privilege of participating in Theme Meme. Today's theme is "pet peeves" and you're gonna want to check mine out, stat.

If you also want to participate in today's Theme Meme, write a post about your pet peeves, copy the button code below, and leave a comment with a link to your post so I can ch-ch-check you out.

Peace and love,
A rarely annoyed about normal things Lady of the Internet

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Mom guilt, I have it.

It is so exhausting to do nothing all day. Nothing physical, that is. Just internetting, as I do. Internetting is hard work. (That's what she said.) Internetting is the word that I use to describe all the things I do on the Internet because it's just shorter to say, unless I have to explain it, which I usually have to do every time I use that word. I'm not sure that it is saving me as much time as I think it is.

I meant to write on this here blog yesterday but yesterday was poopy.

Yesterday was poopy because I was a poopyface mcpoopypants of a mother.

This is my way of using my extensive, sophisticated vocabulary to tell you that I had The Mom Guilt Big Time.

My kid had been complaining about her ear for a few days....and I just figured she had a pimple or it was because of getting her ears pierced or she just wanted my attention. But then she got very dizzy Thursday night and asked for Tylenol for the pain. On Friday morning my husband took her to the doctor while I went to work.  When the doctor pushed behind her ear, my kid fell to her knees, dizzy and nauseous.

She was diagnosed with lymphadenitis.

When I got that call...it was all I could do to not lose it at work...because I did the thing that you should never, ever do. I consulted Dr. Google. The evil, awful, probably very right, Dr. Google.

And then because I was so busy searching the entire Internet for information (that just made me feel worse) that I forgot to call to pay for my progesterone level bloodwork for next week.

And then work was busy.

And then the kid didn't want to cancel her "has been planned for two weeks" sleepover despite not feeling at the top of her game, so I had two giggly, but very well-behaved tweens hanging around. That part wasn't that poopy because they think I'm super cool. Obviously.

And then I fell asleep watching Anchorman with my husband which made me just rested enough to rally for sexy times (only one more night of sexy time and then we can get a break from each other) AND also made it impossible for me to fall asleep until about 3 a.m.

I know that I'm probably being all complain-y and I'm sorry. Come back when I'm in a better mood. Pretty please with cheese on top? (Cheese makes everything better!)

Remember that mama loves you.

And mama always comes back.

Even without a TARDIS. (Which I would very much like to own, by the way.)

Smooches.

Because I never follow the rules.

I'm going to totally cop out of today's blog post and do Wordless Wednesday (except with words) because I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel. Also, I've been busy.

Things have been beeboppin-hiphoppin over at Off the Deep End and I'm spending a lot of time trying to manage all of the submission forms we've received from fellow writers and bloggers who want to be a part of our site! Which is totes amazing but totes exhausting! If you happen to be one of those people, sitting at home, fretting that I haven't responded - don't worry, be happy. I will get back to you. PINKY PROMISE. It will be soon. Ish.

Also, ya know, there is the whole mother/wife/career woman thing I got going on like Donkey Kong.

Oh, and babymaking. All signs point to ovulation achievement unlocked. Sessy times here I come! (No pun intended.)

It's magic...you know...never believe it's not so.

(It also might be the Clomid.)

FINALLY! WE HAVE EGGS. TIME TO DO IT. DO IT A LOT.

P.S. END SOPA (not SOAP) because if we have censorship on the Internet, I'm like 90% sure that they are targeting my site. I'm also about 100% sure that I'm making that up. Seriously though, I couldn't write most of my stuff without Google...I mean...really...who can remember quotes from PeeWee's Big Adventure? 

P.P.S. Actually, um, I can. BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT.

It's party time, excellent.

Today over at Off the Deep End, we're hosting a block party and we want you to join us. Because we are awesome and so are you. I promise it will be off the chain insane in your brain. You'll make new friends but keep the old and I pinky promise you won't find yourself counting the minutes until you can leave. Plus, the best part is that unlike real block parties, you don't have to bring a dish to pass or wear pants.

So grab your red solo cup and head on over to Off the Deep End to join the most kick ass block party ever on the Interwebz.

The you so fine I wanna make you mine small print:

1. Follow Off the Deep End.

2. Follow at least 3 other blogs that are linked in the Mr. Linky on this post. 

3. Let the blogs you follow know that you are following them.

4. Let the owners of the blogs know that you let their blogs know that you are following them.

5. TWEET IT ALL OVER THE INTERNETS and hashtag it up using #OTDEHop.

6. LINK UP on Off the Deep End – it can be yo blog, yo twitter, yo facebook, yo pinterest, yo mama, etc. We’re not picky!

Peace out.

Where I tell you about all the times I fell on my proverbial face.

I'm not sure if that title is well constructed. If it isn't, don't tell me. If it is, tell me. That way you won't bruise my already very delicate ego.

Today I'm over at Off the Deep End writing about all the times I have found myself in embarrassing situations. It's part of our new Theme Meme, which has me very excited. Not only because it rhymes like times but also because "meme" comes from the French word for "start" and you all know how I like to pretend that I can speak French! It's a dream come true!

You might have read some of these embarrassing moments before...right here on this blog...but there are a few new ones, too. And, just because you are my very loyal readers, I have included 2 bonus moments that didn't make the cut.

The first one is the time when I was younger (you know, like an infant, basically) and couldn't understand how the electricity was out in our house but our car still had lights.

The second one is how for a good part of my life my brother convinced me that I could not sing Bruce Springsteen's song "Born in the USA" because I was born in Pennsylvania (not in the USA) and not New York (in the USA, where he was born). This just goes to show that just because you get all A's and are gifted and take AP classes it doesn't mean jack shit if you don't have any common sense. Or you can't read a map.

Be sure to check me out, stat.

Stat means now!

(I've been watching The Office before I go to bed every night. It's gotten to the point that any time I hear Steve Carrell's voice I get very sleepy. That's what she said. Well, it is. What I said.)

In which I talk about sexy times.

I didn't make any resolutions this year because resolutions are dumb and I don't wanna.

Also, I might still be grumpy because of the whole going back to reality.

I always get a little down in January, the thrill of the holidays are over and my birthday approaches. When I was younger, I loved January...more presents! But now that I'm older it means...more years have passed in which I have not lived my dream!

Equally exciting, right?

Bah Humbug.

While I might be a little grumpy (which may become clear in about 25 words from now), I'm not feeling unending dread that I usually feel this time of year. Probably because of the Prozac. I'm also not feeling much going on in my lady parts. Also because of the Prozac.

(If you are my Mom or my Dad, please for the love of God and all things holy in this world, STOP READING RIGHT NOW.)

So now I find myself at a crossroad.

Sexual happiness or emotional happiness?

Guess which one is winning right now.

Also, guess which one was super fun talking with my pscyhiatrist about today? I don't like using the proper words for my lady parts or doing it or sexy times. I also didn't like explaining that I hurt my back from "trying really hard to orgasm." Ewwwwww. Sex is dirty unless I'm doing it.

The reason this matters is we started with Clomid again. I just finished my (what will probably be) last round at 250 mg for 5 days. Not wanting to do it and/or not, ahem, "finishing" while doing it, is going to make the next 14 days of doing it really, really hard.

(That's what she said.)

And, even if I switch to something that doesn't have the sexual side effects, it won't help in the near future because of Prozac's long half-life.

If this cycle fails then I'm switching because mama is grumpy and needs her sexy time.

I shared all of this because I thought you should know. Because I'm a giver. A generous giver. Only a ever a giver.

I'd like to receive now, please.

Rawr.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

Who's there?

Reality.

Reality Who?

This is not a funny joke.


So here is a funny one and a not-so-funny one.
Texts between me and my brother. I'm the one in green.






Did you enjoy those jokes? Good, because tomorrow it's back to reality.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

I'm not ready for it to be over.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

There was an extra 'o' in that last one - I think it gives it more power.

THE POWER OF TIME AND RELATIVE DIMENSION IN SPACE.

Sorry, I've been watching too much Doctor Who lately.


When I told my kid I just finished the last episode of season 1 (2005) do you know what she said to me? That's nice, let me know when you get to the last episode of season 2, sweetheart.


Totally related, I would like a TARDIS so I can go back in time and give that kid a high five. And maybe a hug. Kids like hugs.


If I just stay right here in this bed that means absolutely nothing except that I'm lazy. Or in denial. Probably a little of both.


I got out of bed. Sweated over a hot microwave to make my kid breakfast. Bacon. Such a good mom, I am.


Time goes on.


But not very quickly. 


It took me almost 6 hours to write this post.


Bonne année!