1. At the beginning of this week, my plans included dinner with my girlfriend on Wednesday, followed by a joint shopping trip to Gymboree to use our Gymbucks on fall clothes for our kids, and a stop at Vera Bradley for me to splurge on a new purse and a matching tote bag, which I am totally justifying because I "need" them for our upcoming Jamaica trip. Then, on Saturday (tomorrow), after swim class with my daughter, I planned to leave her with my husband and get my hair highlighted and cut (it's too long/thick/unmanageable with DARK roots right now--classy) and get a mani/pedi (I've had no nails for almost three weeks now--horrors!). Sounds like a fun plan for a week, right?
2. On Tuesday, my husband, He-Who-Never-Goes-to-the-Doctor, aka He-Who-Never-Takes-Medication-EVER, voluntarily went to the doctor for unexplained pain in his abdomen. (He only mentioned the pain to me on Monday night, but apparently had started experiencing it Sunday night. Sigh.) The doctor thought it was appendicitis, so he sent him to an imaging clinic for a CT scan to confirm. At this point, I left work, picked up our daughter from school, called my mother to come to our house to watch our daughter, and then headed to the imaging clinic with my husband. Sure enough, they said it was appendicitis and sent us directly to the hospital. My mom took my daughter home with her to stay overnight and my daddy left his work and came to meet us at the hospital to sit with me during my husband's appendectomy Tuesday evening.
3. What should've been a 45-minute appendectomy turned into a 2.5 hour surgery because it wasn't actually appendicitis. Apparently, everyone has these "fat fingers" that hang off of your intestines called "Appendix epiploica". One of my husband's appendix epiploica had twisted on itself and died, which caused his pain and filled his belly with blood. It was near his appendix, which is why they thought that was the problem. The surgeon had to remove the dead, necrotic appendix epiploica and went ahead and took his real appendix out while he was in there. He still managed to do the surgery laproscopically, but rather than getting out of the hospital Wednesday morning as we thought he would after the appy, my husband is still in the hospital. Hopefully, he will get out today (Friday).
4. Once the surgery started going longer than expected, I started freaking out. And when the doctor finally came to talk to me, the look on his face was so serious (and he had been a jokester beforehand when he thought it was a walk-in-the-park appy), I was afraid my husband had died. It was terrifying. I was in shock and had a hard time absorbing his explanation of what was actually wrong with my husband and started crying. And I was really glad my daddy was there at that point so I had someone to lean on (I had been trying to get him to go on home because it was so late, and he goes to work at 5:30 a.m. Thank goodness he didn't listen to me!).
5. So I've spent all evening Tuesday, all day Wednesday, and all day Thursday at the hospital with my husband. Instead of dinner and shopping Wednesday night, my girlfriend brought dinner to eat with me at the hospital since my parents, who live clear across town, were taking care of my daughter. Thursday night, one of my coworker friends brought me dinner and ate with me. She also brought me my computer so I can spend this weekend trying to catch up on work. Or not. Thank goodness for good friends!
6. This is the longest I've ever been away from my daughter. I miss her now, but honestly, until Thursday evening, I didn't have time to miss her...I was too busy taking care of my husband, helping him get out of bed, walk around, go to the bathroom, shower, etc. Luckily, she has been having a ball with my parents--so much so that she barely talked to me when they would put her on the phone until Thursday night, when I got a quick "Hi Mommy!" before she handed the phone back to my mother. Now, we just have to figure out how to keep her from climbing on/jumping on my husband when they both come home today. That'll be fun.
7. So, I didn't make it to Gymboree and I'm pretty sure the hair highlighting-and-cut/mani-pedi plan is out for tomorrow (I will just have to suffer nail-less and rootsy for a few more days--not glam LOL). I am still going to try and take my daughter to swim class, because that's only a half-hour in the morning and I think my husband should be okay on his own for that long. I did make it to Vera Bradley and splurge on my purse/tote Thursday evening, because my husband was already falling asleep thanks to his pain medication at 8 p.m. and told me to go on home early, so I went there and treated myself (it was a tough week, don't judge me--shopping is my therapy) and then ran to the grocery store and stocked up on all kinds of lovely, soft food and soups and orange drinks (his fave) for my husband to eat and drink when he comes home.
Thank you, God, for taking care of my husband in his hour of need, for giving me amazing parents who always have my back, for the kindness, care, and love of friends and family near and far, and for the miracle of modern medicine/surgery to heal. It hasn't been the week I planned, but it could've been a lot worse. I'm so lucky and can't wait to bring my husband home!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Just Another Glam Saturday Night
As you may have noticed, the way I describe myself above is "I aspire to glamour. My life is not remotely glamorous." Ha! Tonight is a perfect example of that.
It's Saturday night. In my single 20s, on Saturday nights, I'd get dressed up. The evening started at 9 p.m. with dinner with girlfriends, followed by dancing at a club from 11 p.m. until last call at 2 a.m. This was sometimes followed by early morning tacos on the way home to my apartment and then sleeping till noon. Ah...those were the days.
When I started dating my now-husband at 29, our dates started out following that late-night/dressed up timeline, but then began creeping earlier (although I still dressed up). Once we were married, Saturday nights, if we went out, were more along the lines of dinner at 7 p.m., followed by a movie, or ice skating, or grabbing a drink at a bar or something until 10 or 11 p.m. and then home. (I still dressed up. Usually.)
Now that I'm a mother, Saturday nights are often like tonight. Feed and bathe daughter, put her to bed by 7:30 or 8 p.m. Watch crappy TV or the occasional movie on pay-per-view (while husband plays World of Warcraft on the computer and goes to bed early) while folding/ironing loads and loads of laundry. Go to bed at midnight. Wash, rinse, repeat. Tonight, I am wearing the shorts and t-shirt I threw on at the end of my and my daughter's Baby and Me swim class this morning, which means I didn't actually shower today and I didn't go anywhere. SO not glam.
Occasionally, if I am very lucky, I make plans to meet one of my fellow mom friends on Saturday night for a late dinner. We meet at about 8:30 p.m., after we've seen our kids off to bed for the night, with our homebound husbands on kid duty (mine playing Warcraft as usual). We meet at a semi-hip restaurant, semi-dressed up, eat, gossip, and talk mommy stuff for about three hours, then look at our phones in horror upon realizing how late it is, and go home. (We would stay out later, except that the kids get up SO early.) It's funny to think that about 10 years ago, the two of us used to dance on the stage at one of the local clubs and now we're obsessing over preschools and potty training.
Very occasionally, my husband and I will leave our daughter overnight with the grandparentals (my parents, who live across town) and have a date night. The last time we did this, a few months back, we had a late lunch/early dinner, then went to an 8 p.m. movie (Date Night LOL, which is a hysterical movie--if you haven't seen it, rent it), then went to a bar and game room. Where we saw people with babies all over the place. AT A BAR. Which totally ruined our night, because we kept saying to each other, "What is wrong with these people? It's 11 p.m., why do they have their baby out with them?! Ours has been asleep for three hours already! OMG, that couple has the baby's bottle PROPPED in its mouth in the stroller...they're not even holding and feeding their own kid! AAAGH!" Total. Buzzkill. So we just came home. And haven't had a date night since.
Don't get me wrong...I wouldn't trade this life for anything. My 20-something clubgoing days were filled with a lot of Single Bitter Woman angst and "I'm-going-to-become-a-spinster-cat-lady" melodrama on my part. I'm happy to be married and a mommy. And most Saturdays, tired from the week, I'm happy to stay in, watch crappy TV, and catch up on laundry. Really!
But sometimes, I miss a good night out, dressed up to the nines, and dancing the night away. Sometimes.
It's Saturday night. In my single 20s, on Saturday nights, I'd get dressed up. The evening started at 9 p.m. with dinner with girlfriends, followed by dancing at a club from 11 p.m. until last call at 2 a.m. This was sometimes followed by early morning tacos on the way home to my apartment and then sleeping till noon. Ah...those were the days.
When I started dating my now-husband at 29, our dates started out following that late-night/dressed up timeline, but then began creeping earlier (although I still dressed up). Once we were married, Saturday nights, if we went out, were more along the lines of dinner at 7 p.m., followed by a movie, or ice skating, or grabbing a drink at a bar or something until 10 or 11 p.m. and then home. (I still dressed up. Usually.)
Now that I'm a mother, Saturday nights are often like tonight. Feed and bathe daughter, put her to bed by 7:30 or 8 p.m. Watch crappy TV or the occasional movie on pay-per-view (while husband plays World of Warcraft on the computer and goes to bed early) while folding/ironing loads and loads of laundry. Go to bed at midnight. Wash, rinse, repeat. Tonight, I am wearing the shorts and t-shirt I threw on at the end of my and my daughter's Baby and Me swim class this morning, which means I didn't actually shower today and I didn't go anywhere. SO not glam.
Occasionally, if I am very lucky, I make plans to meet one of my fellow mom friends on Saturday night for a late dinner. We meet at about 8:30 p.m., after we've seen our kids off to bed for the night, with our homebound husbands on kid duty (mine playing Warcraft as usual). We meet at a semi-hip restaurant, semi-dressed up, eat, gossip, and talk mommy stuff for about three hours, then look at our phones in horror upon realizing how late it is, and go home. (We would stay out later, except that the kids get up SO early.) It's funny to think that about 10 years ago, the two of us used to dance on the stage at one of the local clubs and now we're obsessing over preschools and potty training.
Very occasionally, my husband and I will leave our daughter overnight with the grandparentals (my parents, who live across town) and have a date night. The last time we did this, a few months back, we had a late lunch/early dinner, then went to an 8 p.m. movie (Date Night LOL, which is a hysterical movie--if you haven't seen it, rent it), then went to a bar and game room. Where we saw people with babies all over the place. AT A BAR. Which totally ruined our night, because we kept saying to each other, "What is wrong with these people? It's 11 p.m., why do they have their baby out with them?! Ours has been asleep for three hours already! OMG, that couple has the baby's bottle PROPPED in its mouth in the stroller...they're not even holding and feeding their own kid! AAAGH!" Total. Buzzkill. So we just came home. And haven't had a date night since.
Don't get me wrong...I wouldn't trade this life for anything. My 20-something clubgoing days were filled with a lot of Single Bitter Woman angst and "I'm-going-to-become-a-spinster-cat-lady" melodrama on my part. I'm happy to be married and a mommy. And most Saturdays, tired from the week, I'm happy to stay in, watch crappy TV, and catch up on laundry. Really!
But sometimes, I miss a good night out, dressed up to the nines, and dancing the night away. Sometimes.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Join the Blog Hop!
This is a blog first for me...I'm participating in a Blog Hop!
Hop on over and join in the fun!
Hop on over and join in the fun!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Holding Tight, Letting Go
This week, my daughter started a new class at school. Upstairs. Where all the big kids' classes are. (All the baby classes are on the first floor.) I took her to drop her off for the first day of this new class...this class she is in because she started expressing an interest in potty training a few weeks ago, and so we asked when they would start working on it at school and were told she could move to a class upstairs where they work on it with the early training kids.
So she essentially skipped a class, leap-frogged over almost all the kids within four months of her age, and is already upstairs working on potty training. All the other kids around her age on the first floor will move up in August, so it's not that big of a deal, but she is getting a little headstart.
So far, it seems to be going well...she's peed on the potty at school for her teacher a few times. Tuesday night, she peed on the potty at home for my husband (I was working late and missed it). She tells us when she's going poo-poo, but isn't quite ready to try the potty for that yet. She remains completely obsessed with Elmo's Potty Time video and would watch it on repeat 24-7 if we let her.
Dropping her off for her first full day upstairs was hard on me. Physically, my daughter is very tall (probably 36" tall at 22 months) and looks older than she is, so she was the same size as the kids in her new class, but when I looked at her, holding hands and walking with the other big kids to go down to the cafeteria for breakfast, all I could see was my little baby becoming a big girl.
I held it together at school, as I was also learning new things, like where to sign her in upstairs and where to put her bag in her new class. But when I drove to my office, I found myself crying as I pulled into the parking lot. Crying not only because she's growing up, but because I don't want to rush her growing up, so why did I push for her to go upstairs? Actually, I didn't push...I just asked when they would start working on potty training with her class, and things moved rapidly from there. But now, it might be moving a little too fast for Mommy!
Realistically, I do think it will be a good thing for her. I think she might be a little bored in her regular class, where it's a lot of open play between meals. She already knows her colors, can sing the ABC song, spell her name, recognize all the letters and numbers, count to 12, and more, and she loves to learn new things.
Upstairs, the classes are more structured, with fun new activities. Tuesdays, they have Splash Day, Wednesdays, they have music class (she loves to sing and dance!), and Thursdays, they go to a Chapel service, which I'm very excited about (it's a Lutheran Church Day School...I'm Baptist, my husband is technically a Catholic, but not really...all of that is another post). They have structured activities throughout the morning and afternoon with a little time for open play still.
She does know one of the other girls in the class and all the kids seem cute, though it feels weird, because I don't know them the way I know all the kids in her last class, because they've all been together since my daughter was four months old. In August, when all of those kids move upstairs, the class she is in right now will close down and all the kids will be re-shuffled, so my daughter should end up back with her buddies, I hope.
It's such a push-and-pull...I want her to learn, to grow, to be independent, and I'm so proud of her when she accomplishes something new, but at the same time, I want to stop time. I want to put her back in a swaddling blanket wrapped up tight and hold her in my arms and never let her go. I love her so much, more than anything else in this world, and it fills up and breaks my heart on a daily basis. Fills it up with love with every smile, every hug, every moment, and breaks it in tiny little pieces every time I see her becoming less and less of a baby. Doing more and more things without needing me. She's my only child; I'll never have another, so let's just stop the clock. Wind time back. Slow things down.
Right now, I'm holding tight, but I know I have to let go.
So she essentially skipped a class, leap-frogged over almost all the kids within four months of her age, and is already upstairs working on potty training. All the other kids around her age on the first floor will move up in August, so it's not that big of a deal, but she is getting a little headstart.
So far, it seems to be going well...she's peed on the potty at school for her teacher a few times. Tuesday night, she peed on the potty at home for my husband (I was working late and missed it). She tells us when she's going poo-poo, but isn't quite ready to try the potty for that yet. She remains completely obsessed with Elmo's Potty Time video and would watch it on repeat 24-7 if we let her.
Dropping her off for her first full day upstairs was hard on me. Physically, my daughter is very tall (probably 36" tall at 22 months) and looks older than she is, so she was the same size as the kids in her new class, but when I looked at her, holding hands and walking with the other big kids to go down to the cafeteria for breakfast, all I could see was my little baby becoming a big girl.
I held it together at school, as I was also learning new things, like where to sign her in upstairs and where to put her bag in her new class. But when I drove to my office, I found myself crying as I pulled into the parking lot. Crying not only because she's growing up, but because I don't want to rush her growing up, so why did I push for her to go upstairs? Actually, I didn't push...I just asked when they would start working on potty training with her class, and things moved rapidly from there. But now, it might be moving a little too fast for Mommy!
Realistically, I do think it will be a good thing for her. I think she might be a little bored in her regular class, where it's a lot of open play between meals. She already knows her colors, can sing the ABC song, spell her name, recognize all the letters and numbers, count to 12, and more, and she loves to learn new things.
Upstairs, the classes are more structured, with fun new activities. Tuesdays, they have Splash Day, Wednesdays, they have music class (she loves to sing and dance!), and Thursdays, they go to a Chapel service, which I'm very excited about (it's a Lutheran Church Day School...I'm Baptist, my husband is technically a Catholic, but not really...all of that is another post). They have structured activities throughout the morning and afternoon with a little time for open play still.
She does know one of the other girls in the class and all the kids seem cute, though it feels weird, because I don't know them the way I know all the kids in her last class, because they've all been together since my daughter was four months old. In August, when all of those kids move upstairs, the class she is in right now will close down and all the kids will be re-shuffled, so my daughter should end up back with her buddies, I hope.
It's such a push-and-pull...I want her to learn, to grow, to be independent, and I'm so proud of her when she accomplishes something new, but at the same time, I want to stop time. I want to put her back in a swaddling blanket wrapped up tight and hold her in my arms and never let her go. I love her so much, more than anything else in this world, and it fills up and breaks my heart on a daily basis. Fills it up with love with every smile, every hug, every moment, and breaks it in tiny little pieces every time I see her becoming less and less of a baby. Doing more and more things without needing me. She's my only child; I'll never have another, so let's just stop the clock. Wind time back. Slow things down.
Right now, I'm holding tight, but I know I have to let go.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Seven Quick Glam-O-Takes
1. I am dead tired and coming down with a cold after working two 12-hour plus days at work, thanks to Hurricane Alex. (I handle emergency response communication for my company which has operations along the Texas border.) All I have to say is "Thank you, Alex, for wrapping up quickly today so I still get my four-day weekend!"
2. Elmo is a freaking magical monster genius. My daughter and I have watched the Elmo's Potty Time video easily 10 times this week, and lo and behold, my daughter went potty on her own little potty for the first time on Tuesday night while watching the video! I was working late, so my husband texted me to tell me the news. I felt sad I missed it. 22 months old and well on her way to being potty trained...love it!
3. I am totally looking forward to our Baby and Me swim class on Saturday. It's definitely been a journey. At the first class, my daughter clung to me and cried from the moment we touched the pool straight on to the moment we got out. We did all the activities, but she sobbed the whole time. She did, however, high-five the coach at the end of class, which, to me, was an amazing sign things were going to get better, since she does not engage with strangers AT ALL. She acts very shy around strangers, and so I was amazed she willingly high-fived our coach after what seemed like 30 minutes of terror! Week two, she cried for probably the first five minutes of class and then got engaged in doing the activities and did everything great through to the end of class. Last week, our third class, she cried for 30 SECONDS and then got right into the swing of things and loved it. When we did a new activity that involved running along a mat floating on the water and jumping to me and going underwater, she was eager to try it and wanted to do it over and over, even though it wasn't her turn yet! She didn't want to get out of the pool at the end. We had so much fun together, and I've created a fun little post-swim school routine of juice in the car (a treat for her) on the ride home, and picking up two McDonald's breakfast sandwiches for us to enjoy when we get home.
4. Last weekend, I met a coworker friend and a new mutual friend of ours who's applying for a job on our team for lunch and then shopping for interview clothes, shoes, and accessories. The new friend is one of those super cute girls with an adorable figure who's kind of a tomboy and doesn't really know how to put stuff together even though she looks great in everything. The two of them had done the clothes shopping in the morning, so after we ate lunch, we helped her pick out new shoes and accessorize all her new outfits. It was like What Not to Wear: she was holding tops up on their hangers and I was hanging necklaces on them and holding watches and other accessories up by them to see what worked with each top! We had so much fun, but what struck me was how grateful the new friend was for our help. She's trying to make a fresh start in her life and was profoundly appreciative of our fashion help, which seemed like such a simple thing for us to help her with. We love her and really want her to get the job, so it was easy and fun for us to make the offer to help. I truly hope she gets the job as I just adore her and want some good things to happen for her.
5. I did not get to go to Jazzercise this past week (see #1). Next week, in addition to the hour of Jazzercise I get on Tuesday and Thursday, I'm going to begin a six-week boot camp class that starts right after Jazzercise ends each of those nights. I've taken this class in the past and it kicks my booty HARD. But I really need it because we are within three months of our Jamaica vacation and I need to lose at least 10 pounds and tighten up the abs. I don't need a six-pack...I'd be happy with two cans...just a little definition in my stomach, a little flatness like I used to have pre-baby!
6. I have to read The Caine Mutiny for my book group next week. I love to read, and I hear this book is a classic, but for some reason, I'm not super excited about snuggling up to this tome over my long holiday weekend. I'd rather read easy chick lit or a mystery I can finish in two hours. But, there's nothing really on TV right now, so I'll probably finish it. Hopefully, I will enjoy it.
7. I spent all day last Sunday redecorating my patio with new stuff (which is probably why Hurricane Alex came to town). I am hoping to have my parents over to our house on Sunday to eat outside for the July 4th holiday; however, this plan, which I've put into motion (meaning I mentioned it to my mom back when I started our patio project and she has not forgotten I invited them) means two things for me: (1) I have to cook something or order something or do something that involves preparing food, which will probably take up most of my Saturday in terms of planning because I don't really cook, and (2) I have to try to coerce my husband into buying a grill, which I've wanted us to get for a long time, because cooking on the grill is actually easier in my mind than cooking in my kitchen LOL. I don't actually expect to win the grill argument, and I think I will have fun planning the food and having my parents over, but in the end, I think I will be super tired. And I'm tired now after the crazy week I had, so it's hard to think about all of that work in advance, even though it'll be fun.
OK, enough for now...I'm starting to ramble due to sleep deprivation. Here's a picture of the new patio stuff:
2. Elmo is a freaking magical monster genius. My daughter and I have watched the Elmo's Potty Time video easily 10 times this week, and lo and behold, my daughter went potty on her own little potty for the first time on Tuesday night while watching the video! I was working late, so my husband texted me to tell me the news. I felt sad I missed it. 22 months old and well on her way to being potty trained...love it!
I'll do anything for Elmo!
3. I am totally looking forward to our Baby and Me swim class on Saturday. It's definitely been a journey. At the first class, my daughter clung to me and cried from the moment we touched the pool straight on to the moment we got out. We did all the activities, but she sobbed the whole time. She did, however, high-five the coach at the end of class, which, to me, was an amazing sign things were going to get better, since she does not engage with strangers AT ALL. She acts very shy around strangers, and so I was amazed she willingly high-fived our coach after what seemed like 30 minutes of terror! Week two, she cried for probably the first five minutes of class and then got engaged in doing the activities and did everything great through to the end of class. Last week, our third class, she cried for 30 SECONDS and then got right into the swing of things and loved it. When we did a new activity that involved running along a mat floating on the water and jumping to me and going underwater, she was eager to try it and wanted to do it over and over, even though it wasn't her turn yet! She didn't want to get out of the pool at the end. We had so much fun together, and I've created a fun little post-swim school routine of juice in the car (a treat for her) on the ride home, and picking up two McDonald's breakfast sandwiches for us to enjoy when we get home.
Before the crying started at the first lesson, clutching her Dora towel
4. Last weekend, I met a coworker friend and a new mutual friend of ours who's applying for a job on our team for lunch and then shopping for interview clothes, shoes, and accessories. The new friend is one of those super cute girls with an adorable figure who's kind of a tomboy and doesn't really know how to put stuff together even though she looks great in everything. The two of them had done the clothes shopping in the morning, so after we ate lunch, we helped her pick out new shoes and accessorize all her new outfits. It was like What Not to Wear: she was holding tops up on their hangers and I was hanging necklaces on them and holding watches and other accessories up by them to see what worked with each top! We had so much fun, but what struck me was how grateful the new friend was for our help. She's trying to make a fresh start in her life and was profoundly appreciative of our fashion help, which seemed like such a simple thing for us to help her with. We love her and really want her to get the job, so it was easy and fun for us to make the offer to help. I truly hope she gets the job as I just adore her and want some good things to happen for her.
5. I did not get to go to Jazzercise this past week (see #1). Next week, in addition to the hour of Jazzercise I get on Tuesday and Thursday, I'm going to begin a six-week boot camp class that starts right after Jazzercise ends each of those nights. I've taken this class in the past and it kicks my booty HARD. But I really need it because we are within three months of our Jamaica vacation and I need to lose at least 10 pounds and tighten up the abs. I don't need a six-pack...I'd be happy with two cans...just a little definition in my stomach, a little flatness like I used to have pre-baby!
6. I have to read The Caine Mutiny for my book group next week. I love to read, and I hear this book is a classic, but for some reason, I'm not super excited about snuggling up to this tome over my long holiday weekend. I'd rather read easy chick lit or a mystery I can finish in two hours. But, there's nothing really on TV right now, so I'll probably finish it. Hopefully, I will enjoy it.
7. I spent all day last Sunday redecorating my patio with new stuff (which is probably why Hurricane Alex came to town). I am hoping to have my parents over to our house on Sunday to eat outside for the July 4th holiday; however, this plan, which I've put into motion (meaning I mentioned it to my mom back when I started our patio project and she has not forgotten I invited them) means two things for me: (1) I have to cook something or order something or do something that involves preparing food, which will probably take up most of my Saturday in terms of planning because I don't really cook, and (2) I have to try to coerce my husband into buying a grill, which I've wanted us to get for a long time, because cooking on the grill is actually easier in my mind than cooking in my kitchen LOL. I don't actually expect to win the grill argument, and I think I will have fun planning the food and having my parents over, but in the end, I think I will be super tired. And I'm tired now after the crazy week I had, so it's hard to think about all of that work in advance, even though it'll be fun.
OK, enough for now...I'm starting to ramble due to sleep deprivation. Here's a picture of the new patio stuff:
Cardona 5-pc Patio Set by Martha Stewart Living from Home Depot
Pillows, outdoor rug, and cream Japanese lanterns (not shown) from Target
Red mosaic vase from some random flower arrangement I got years ago
Thursday, June 24, 2010
"Getting to Know You, Getting to Know All About You..."
I never did this on Facebook, so I thought I would share a list of 25 random facts about me here on my blog.
1. I am an only child.
2. My parents come from large Southern families. My daddy is the oldest of six boys, while my mother is the eighth of 10 children. I have 16 first cousins on my mom's side of the family and I'm the oldest of seven first cousins on my dad's side. In the incredibly small Alabama town my parents are from, I'm literally related to everyone in town in some way by blood or marriage, on one side of the family or the other.
3. My husband is Canadian. Yes, he plays hockey. No, he does not say "eh?" at the end of sentences.
4. I grew up an Air Force brat. We moved every three years until I got to high school. I attended four elementary schools, two junior highs, and one high school.
5. I lived in England from age three to six. From this, I gained a love of drinking tea and British comedies.
6. My dream from age 14 on was to travel to Paris. I finally went at age 26, on a vacation with a girlfriend. It was all I wanted it to be and more. I've been back once on a solo vacation at age 28. My husband and I flew into Paris on our honeymoon when I was 31, but did not stay there, as we were on our way to Lyon and Chambery, France, and Geneva, Switzerland instead. We had a fabulous time, but I wish we'd at least spent a day in Paris! I can't wait to take my husband and daughter there in a few years.
7. I've taken 12 years of ballet (two en pointe), 11 years of tap, several years of jazz, and two years of hip hop. I also spent three years on my high school dance team, one year on my college dance team, and another year on my college country and western dance team. In case it isn't obvious, I like to dance.
8. I was the Salutatorian of my high school graduating class of 835 people.
9. I majored in Communications and English and minored in Speech at a private liberal arts university. I call it the Everything-But-Math-and-Science degree plan.
10. My grandma taught me to drive her car when I was 15. My papa continued my driving lessons on his tractor, four-wheeler, and truck. I love being able to say I've driven a tractor!
11. My all-time favorite movies are When Harry Met Sally, Say Anything, and Moonstruck, followed closely by the original Star Wars trilogy. Seriously.
12. When I was a kid, I liked to play school. I had a little chalkboard and some used elementary textbooks. I was always the teacher and made my friends write sentences when they misbehaved in class. They actually did it. That's me, always having to be in charge LOL.
13. I've been a chronic nail biter all my life. As a kid, I bit my fingernails AND my toenails. (I was a lot more flexible then than I am now!) Twelve years ago, tired of my hands always looking ugly, I started wearing acrylic nails, and that pretty much ended the biting.
14. My husband is the fourth guy I've dated with his first name. Granted one of those guys was a guy I went steady with in 7th grade, but the other two were more serious relationships in high school, including my first love. It's part of the reason I went out with my husband originally. I thought, "Well, I've always had good luck with guys named ______."
15. I had an imaginary friend until I started elementary school. He was a little boy named Moochie, based on something from the original Mickey Mouse Club. My parents just acted like he was part of the family. In fact, he traveled all over England with us when we lived there. I talked to him all the time. When I started kindergarten, I told my parents Moochie had gone to live with his grandmother and that was the end of that.
16. I took three years of piano lessons as a kid. I wish I had taken more.
17. This is my favorite number. It's also my birthday. My husband wears this number when he plays hockey now in my honor.
18. In third grade, we had a weekly spelling bee in our class. I won every week except one (I misspelled 'February' and have never gotten over it--darn, confusing "r" after "b"!) the first semester. To give other kids a chance at winning, my teacher let me call the words for the bee the next semester. As usual, I enjoyed being in charge!
19. I took five years of French while living in San Antonio. I know, I know. I should've taken Spanish, and after 24 years here, I've got a passing basic knowledge of it, but I love France and all things French (see #6). And I married a Canadian who went to French Immersion school as a kid and is fluent in French, so see? It all worked out!!
20. My first job, besides babysitting, was at a Po Folks Restaurant when I was 18. I was a cashier/hostess, and my uniform consisted of jeans, a dress shirt, a bow tie, and suspenders. By the end of the summer, my jeans were tight because I gained probably five to 10 pounds from eating fries with ranch dressing on my breaks. Luckily, I weighed only 112 pounds when I started working there (oh, those were the days!!!) so I could afford to gain it.
21. In sixth grade, it was all Duran Duran, all the time in my world. I was in love with John Taylor, while other friends claimed Nick Rhodes and Simon Le Bon. No one wanted Andy Taylor or Roger Taylor, although I always thought Roger was kind of cute too.
22. When the Thriller album was popular, I once attended a "Michael Jackson Night" at my favorite skating rink wearing a white sequin-covered glove on my left hand. To my credit, this glove was from a pair I had to wear when I was a dancing snowflake in the pantomime performance section of The King and I (also the source of the title of this post) at a community theatre a few years before--I didn't make it special for the night or anything. Boys kept skating up to me and asking if they could wear it, so I told them they could have the right-hand glove of the pair, but since that was the wrong hand, none of them wanted it. I also won a poster of Michael Jackson during a drawing that evening! (RIP Michael.)
23. My senior year of high school I tried out for and was accepted into the teen modeling board at one of the local malls. We did a few runway shows throughout the year and mannequin modeling in stores and around the mall at other times. Mannequin modeling is where you pretend you are one of the store dummies and freeze into position for 10 minutes or so at a stretch and try not to laugh or move as customers come up and make funny faces at you. It's hard! At our final runway show of the year, Kelly Ripa, who was new to All My Children at the time, made a personal appearance at the mall as part of our show. She was probably 20 at the time. She hung out in the changing area with all of us teen models and was very nice and friendly, just like you see on TV today. It's amazing to see where her career has taken her!
24. I am really good at picking things up with my toes. I've done this for years, but it REALLY comes in handy when you are holding a baby and don't want to bend down to pick something up off the floor. Maybe I will audition for the "Cool Tricks" section on Yo Gabba Gabba!
25. I am a good ice skater, and an even better roller skater. Today, at 37, I still have a pair of ice skates and roller skates and have used both of them in the last five years (the ice skates more than the roller skates sadly). I cannot wait until my daughter is old enough to learn to skate, so I get to indulge my passion for skating more frequently!
Bonus Random Fact: I only follow one sports team: the four-time NBA Champion San Antonio Spurs! They are the best and my love for them knows no bounds.
Looking back over this list, I'm not sure it's very glamorous. Maybe my name should be Nerd-O-Mommy?!?! :)
1. I am an only child.
2. My parents come from large Southern families. My daddy is the oldest of six boys, while my mother is the eighth of 10 children. I have 16 first cousins on my mom's side of the family and I'm the oldest of seven first cousins on my dad's side. In the incredibly small Alabama town my parents are from, I'm literally related to everyone in town in some way by blood or marriage, on one side of the family or the other.
3. My husband is Canadian. Yes, he plays hockey. No, he does not say "eh?" at the end of sentences.
4. I grew up an Air Force brat. We moved every three years until I got to high school. I attended four elementary schools, two junior highs, and one high school.
5. I lived in England from age three to six. From this, I gained a love of drinking tea and British comedies.
6. My dream from age 14 on was to travel to Paris. I finally went at age 26, on a vacation with a girlfriend. It was all I wanted it to be and more. I've been back once on a solo vacation at age 28. My husband and I flew into Paris on our honeymoon when I was 31, but did not stay there, as we were on our way to Lyon and Chambery, France, and Geneva, Switzerland instead. We had a fabulous time, but I wish we'd at least spent a day in Paris! I can't wait to take my husband and daughter there in a few years.
7. I've taken 12 years of ballet (two en pointe), 11 years of tap, several years of jazz, and two years of hip hop. I also spent three years on my high school dance team, one year on my college dance team, and another year on my college country and western dance team. In case it isn't obvious, I like to dance.
8. I was the Salutatorian of my high school graduating class of 835 people.
9. I majored in Communications and English and minored in Speech at a private liberal arts university. I call it the Everything-But-Math-and-Science degree plan.
10. My grandma taught me to drive her car when I was 15. My papa continued my driving lessons on his tractor, four-wheeler, and truck. I love being able to say I've driven a tractor!
11. My all-time favorite movies are When Harry Met Sally, Say Anything, and Moonstruck, followed closely by the original Star Wars trilogy. Seriously.
12. When I was a kid, I liked to play school. I had a little chalkboard and some used elementary textbooks. I was always the teacher and made my friends write sentences when they misbehaved in class. They actually did it. That's me, always having to be in charge LOL.
13. I've been a chronic nail biter all my life. As a kid, I bit my fingernails AND my toenails. (I was a lot more flexible then than I am now!) Twelve years ago, tired of my hands always looking ugly, I started wearing acrylic nails, and that pretty much ended the biting.
14. My husband is the fourth guy I've dated with his first name. Granted one of those guys was a guy I went steady with in 7th grade, but the other two were more serious relationships in high school, including my first love. It's part of the reason I went out with my husband originally. I thought, "Well, I've always had good luck with guys named ______."
15. I had an imaginary friend until I started elementary school. He was a little boy named Moochie, based on something from the original Mickey Mouse Club. My parents just acted like he was part of the family. In fact, he traveled all over England with us when we lived there. I talked to him all the time. When I started kindergarten, I told my parents Moochie had gone to live with his grandmother and that was the end of that.
16. I took three years of piano lessons as a kid. I wish I had taken more.
17. This is my favorite number. It's also my birthday. My husband wears this number when he plays hockey now in my honor.
18. In third grade, we had a weekly spelling bee in our class. I won every week except one (I misspelled 'February' and have never gotten over it--darn, confusing "r" after "b"!) the first semester. To give other kids a chance at winning, my teacher let me call the words for the bee the next semester. As usual, I enjoyed being in charge!
19. I took five years of French while living in San Antonio. I know, I know. I should've taken Spanish, and after 24 years here, I've got a passing basic knowledge of it, but I love France and all things French (see #6). And I married a Canadian who went to French Immersion school as a kid and is fluent in French, so see? It all worked out!!
20. My first job, besides babysitting, was at a Po Folks Restaurant when I was 18. I was a cashier/hostess, and my uniform consisted of jeans, a dress shirt, a bow tie, and suspenders. By the end of the summer, my jeans were tight because I gained probably five to 10 pounds from eating fries with ranch dressing on my breaks. Luckily, I weighed only 112 pounds when I started working there (oh, those were the days!!!) so I could afford to gain it.
21. In sixth grade, it was all Duran Duran, all the time in my world. I was in love with John Taylor, while other friends claimed Nick Rhodes and Simon Le Bon. No one wanted Andy Taylor or Roger Taylor, although I always thought Roger was kind of cute too.
22. When the Thriller album was popular, I once attended a "Michael Jackson Night" at my favorite skating rink wearing a white sequin-covered glove on my left hand. To my credit, this glove was from a pair I had to wear when I was a dancing snowflake in the pantomime performance section of The King and I (also the source of the title of this post) at a community theatre a few years before--I didn't make it special for the night or anything. Boys kept skating up to me and asking if they could wear it, so I told them they could have the right-hand glove of the pair, but since that was the wrong hand, none of them wanted it. I also won a poster of Michael Jackson during a drawing that evening! (RIP Michael.)
23. My senior year of high school I tried out for and was accepted into the teen modeling board at one of the local malls. We did a few runway shows throughout the year and mannequin modeling in stores and around the mall at other times. Mannequin modeling is where you pretend you are one of the store dummies and freeze into position for 10 minutes or so at a stretch and try not to laugh or move as customers come up and make funny faces at you. It's hard! At our final runway show of the year, Kelly Ripa, who was new to All My Children at the time, made a personal appearance at the mall as part of our show. She was probably 20 at the time. She hung out in the changing area with all of us teen models and was very nice and friendly, just like you see on TV today. It's amazing to see where her career has taken her!
24. I am really good at picking things up with my toes. I've done this for years, but it REALLY comes in handy when you are holding a baby and don't want to bend down to pick something up off the floor. Maybe I will audition for the "Cool Tricks" section on Yo Gabba Gabba!
25. I am a good ice skater, and an even better roller skater. Today, at 37, I still have a pair of ice skates and roller skates and have used both of them in the last five years (the ice skates more than the roller skates sadly). I cannot wait until my daughter is old enough to learn to skate, so I get to indulge my passion for skating more frequently!
Bonus Random Fact: I only follow one sports team: the four-time NBA Champion San Antonio Spurs! They are the best and my love for them knows no bounds.
Looking back over this list, I'm not sure it's very glamorous. Maybe my name should be Nerd-O-Mommy?!?! :)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Hi. My Name is Glam-O-Mommy and I'm Infertile.
Me: "Hi. My name is Glam-O-Mommy and I'm infertile."
Me: "Hi Glam-O-Mommy."
This is me imagining myself at an Infertility Anonymous meeting. And how many people are in the meeting besides me? NO ONE. I'm having the conversation with myself.
I've documented my battle with infertility in somewhat graphic detail here on my blog before. I am one of the lucky ones. I emerged victorious from my battle with a beautiful baby girl.
Still, I wish I had known someone like me when I was in the trenches of my battle. Someone willing to talk about it.
My battle had been going on for over seven months before I even realized I was in a battle and I was losing. We had been trying to get pregnant faithfully each month. My doctor told me to come in and get a blood test to check to see that I was ovulating. I was at work when I realized I'd missed a call on my cell phone from his nurse. On the message, she told me I got a "two" on the test and needed to call her back. Being EXTREMELY naive, I called her back. "I got your message," I said hopefully. "Is a 'two' good?" "You need to be a 14 or above to be ovulating," she informed me matter-of-factly. "So, I failed the test," I said stupidly.
I remember vividly how at that moment I felt like icicles were sliding through my veins, when in fact the temperature was in the 90s with high humidity and I was sweating. Things were about to get VERY DARK and emotionally torturous for months, with no end in sight.
And the worst part of it was...no one I knew, except possibly my husband, could really understand what it was like to be me.
Or, the ones who did know, weren't so big on talking about it. Many women feel that battling infertility is something shameful, and I understand that feeling. You feel like a failure as a woman. Women were made to give birth. That is our role in the circle of life. We carry the babies. So it is devastating to find out that something so elemental, something you spent years and money trying to PREVENT from happening at the wrong time, is never going to happen now that it's the RIGHT time.
You feel damaged and broken. And the majority of people you encounter just have absolutely no capacity to understand or relate to how you feel and what you are going through, even when you try to half-heartedly give them a little insight into the fact that you are having DIFFICULTIES without going into graphic detail. And they say stuff that they think is absolutely well-meaning, but in reality STABS you in the heart repeatedly.
I mean, when you have gotten a "two" on a test that you should've scored a 14 or above on, and the doctor tells you that means you do not ovulate (which is totally weird because you seemingly have a period every month, so what is that about?) and you, being an educated person, understand that no ovulation=NO BABY, you don't really know how to respond when confronted when these kind of statements from Well-Meaning People [WMP]. Because most of the time, it's none of their business, so you just keep things to yourself, but other times, you just want to come out with the truth so they will shut the H-E-double-hockey-sticks up. Although most times, these people are the truly clueless, who upon hearing you have a problem, continue with these statements, not understanding they should just shut up.
Things Never to Say to Anyone (Because You Have No Idea If Someone is Possibly Infertile):
Believe me when I tell you that if a woman says to you she is having problems getting pregnant, she does not want you to say any of the statements above, or anything else. What she wants is for you to simply say something like, "I'm so sorry. That must be really tough." And then LISTEN and be a friend.
Anyway. I am getting a little off-track here. What I feel passionate about now is speaking up about my infertility battle. I tried to talk about it with people as I was going through it, and I mostly got blank stares or the aforementioned comments, because it's just impossible for people to understand it unless they go through it themselves. And today, when I bring it up in conversation, most people still don't get it. But I bring it up very specifically, so that if the person I'm talking to IS facing that battle themselves, they know I am someone they can talk to and someone who will listen and understand.
Here's how the conversation generally goes:
WMP: "So how many kids do you have?"
Me: "I have one daughter."
WMP: "How old is she?"
Me: "She's almost two."
WMP: "So, are you going to have another one?"
Me: "No. I had to take fertility drugs and do fertility treatment to get pregnant with her, because we couldn't get pregnant without help. I don't want to put myself through all of that again, but I'm just so grateful I have one healthy baby."
WMP who has no trouble getting pregnant: "Oh, well, some people still get pregnant on their own after fertility treatments, you know. I have a friend..."
Me: Trying to not roll my eyes....
or
WMP who is having trouble getting pregnant: "Really? You guys had trouble? We're kind of going through that right now."
Me: "Ask me anything. I'm happy to share my experience with you."
I've actually had this conversation with several women who started asking me questions because they were facing infertility. One was a coworker, and I met with her almost monthly, kind of like a little infertility support group for her, for over a year until she finally got pregnant through treatment. Her baby was born recently and I'm so happy for her! And she is grateful to me for being there as someone who can understand and relate, which makes me really happy, like something good (besides my amazing miracle child) is coming out of the pain and loneliness I felt during my infertilty battle.
NOW, I know there are tons of infertility-related blogs and online communities out there. I wish I had known about them when I was going through my own experience, because I am sure they would've provided support to me and helped me feel less isolated, but I didn't. Either way, both online and in person, I am now all about speaking out about infertility. It is NOTHING to be ashamed of. It is a MEDICAL CONDITION and we need to support women going through it rather than making them feel like there is something shameful about it. (We also need to get insurance companies to cover more of the costs related to infertility treatment because it is a medical condition, but that's another post entirely.)
I really admire the actress Constance Marie. She is 44 and has a young baby. She's currently blogging on People.com in their celebrity baby blog section about motherhood and wrote an in-depth entry the other week on exactly what she went through to have her daughter. Her battle was WAY worse than mine. Her honesty prompted lots of comments from other women facing their own infertilty battles and I think it's terrific that she is speaking so openly about her experience, as it can really help other women to know they are not alone.
This last week, actress Catherine Bell was also featured on People.com's celebrity baby blog. She is pregnant with her second child. The headline was "Catherine Bell: Son Was Conceived 'Pretty Much Naturally'". In the article, it says: "'We were totally trying,' the Army Wives star, 41, reveals. 'I conceived pretty much naturally.' In fact, it was just two months after starting the fertility drug Clomid that Bell became pregnant."
I like her, but this really rankled me. And it's probably completely irrational on my part, I know, but I was disappointed. Why couldn't she just say, "We needed some help, so we used Clomid." Instead, she's trying to make it sound less shameful that she had help, when there is NO SHAME in getting help. Actually, from the article, she makes it sound like they just wanted to get pregnant quickly, so they may not really have needed help anyway, they just used Clomid to speed things along, but still! I have to tell you, there is nothing 'pretty much natural' about Clomid. Clomid makes you a raging menopausal crazy person, which is very unnatural. But it does help you get pregnant, so it's amazing. And that is what I think we should say.
I feel so grateful that medicine and technology (gifts from God in my opinion) have given women like me a chance to be a mother. Even with all of that, there are still women who will not be one of the lucky ones. Who will still not get pregnant with all of that in their corner, for reasons mysterious and unknown. But all of us, the lucky ones and the unlucky ones, have nothing to be ashamed of. We need compassion, support, and understanding. And we need to use our voices to help fight the stigma of infertility. So that's what I'm doing.
Yes, I have a beautiful baby. But I am indelibly changed by the experience I went through to have her. Sometimes I feel like I walk around with an invisible red "I" on my chest. I am still an infertile woman. My experience colors how I view the world. So I am going to keep speaking out and hope that sharing my experience helps others in some small way to not feel alone. And I am going to hug my baby tight and love and cherish every moment I have with her. Because, while all children are miracles, I know mine really is. :)
Me: "Hi Glam-O-Mommy."
This is me imagining myself at an Infertility Anonymous meeting. And how many people are in the meeting besides me? NO ONE. I'm having the conversation with myself.
I've documented my battle with infertility in somewhat graphic detail here on my blog before. I am one of the lucky ones. I emerged victorious from my battle with a beautiful baby girl.
Still, I wish I had known someone like me when I was in the trenches of my battle. Someone willing to talk about it.
My battle had been going on for over seven months before I even realized I was in a battle and I was losing. We had been trying to get pregnant faithfully each month. My doctor told me to come in and get a blood test to check to see that I was ovulating. I was at work when I realized I'd missed a call on my cell phone from his nurse. On the message, she told me I got a "two" on the test and needed to call her back. Being EXTREMELY naive, I called her back. "I got your message," I said hopefully. "Is a 'two' good?" "You need to be a 14 or above to be ovulating," she informed me matter-of-factly. "So, I failed the test," I said stupidly.
I remember vividly how at that moment I felt like icicles were sliding through my veins, when in fact the temperature was in the 90s with high humidity and I was sweating. Things were about to get VERY DARK and emotionally torturous for months, with no end in sight.
And the worst part of it was...no one I knew, except possibly my husband, could really understand what it was like to be me.
Or, the ones who did know, weren't so big on talking about it. Many women feel that battling infertility is something shameful, and I understand that feeling. You feel like a failure as a woman. Women were made to give birth. That is our role in the circle of life. We carry the babies. So it is devastating to find out that something so elemental, something you spent years and money trying to PREVENT from happening at the wrong time, is never going to happen now that it's the RIGHT time.
You feel damaged and broken. And the majority of people you encounter just have absolutely no capacity to understand or relate to how you feel and what you are going through, even when you try to half-heartedly give them a little insight into the fact that you are having DIFFICULTIES without going into graphic detail. And they say stuff that they think is absolutely well-meaning, but in reality STABS you in the heart repeatedly.
I mean, when you have gotten a "two" on a test that you should've scored a 14 or above on, and the doctor tells you that means you do not ovulate (which is totally weird because you seemingly have a period every month, so what is that about?) and you, being an educated person, understand that no ovulation=NO BABY, you don't really know how to respond when confronted when these kind of statements from Well-Meaning People [WMP]. Because most of the time, it's none of their business, so you just keep things to yourself, but other times, you just want to come out with the truth so they will shut the H-E-double-hockey-sticks up. Although most times, these people are the truly clueless, who upon hearing you have a problem, continue with these statements, not understanding they should just shut up.
Things Never to Say to Anyone (Because You Have No Idea If Someone is Possibly Infertile):
- "You just need to relax, then you'll get pregnant." (Um, no I won't. I am barren.)
- "The minute we stopped trying, we got pregnant." (Um, that won't happen for me. I am a failure!)
- "I heard if you put your legs in the air for 20 minutes after sex, that will help you get pregnant." (Um, no it doesn't. Believe me, I tried. Stupid waste of time. Besides, I'm barren.)
- "Maybe you should adopt. I heard that when people adopt a baby, they usually get pregnant right afterwards." (Hello...adoption is a wonderful choice, but that's not a good reason to adopt a baby!)
- "I know how you feel. It took us two months to get pregnant." (Please kill me now.)
- "I just don't understand why you don't want to give your parents grandchildren!" (Speechless devastation.)
Believe me when I tell you that if a woman says to you she is having problems getting pregnant, she does not want you to say any of the statements above, or anything else. What she wants is for you to simply say something like, "I'm so sorry. That must be really tough." And then LISTEN and be a friend.
Anyway. I am getting a little off-track here. What I feel passionate about now is speaking up about my infertility battle. I tried to talk about it with people as I was going through it, and I mostly got blank stares or the aforementioned comments, because it's just impossible for people to understand it unless they go through it themselves. And today, when I bring it up in conversation, most people still don't get it. But I bring it up very specifically, so that if the person I'm talking to IS facing that battle themselves, they know I am someone they can talk to and someone who will listen and understand.
Here's how the conversation generally goes:
WMP: "So how many kids do you have?"
Me: "I have one daughter."
WMP: "How old is she?"
Me: "She's almost two."
WMP: "So, are you going to have another one?"
Me: "No. I had to take fertility drugs and do fertility treatment to get pregnant with her, because we couldn't get pregnant without help. I don't want to put myself through all of that again, but I'm just so grateful I have one healthy baby."
WMP who has no trouble getting pregnant: "Oh, well, some people still get pregnant on their own after fertility treatments, you know. I have a friend..."
Me: Trying to not roll my eyes....
or
WMP who is having trouble getting pregnant: "Really? You guys had trouble? We're kind of going through that right now."
Me: "Ask me anything. I'm happy to share my experience with you."
I've actually had this conversation with several women who started asking me questions because they were facing infertility. One was a coworker, and I met with her almost monthly, kind of like a little infertility support group for her, for over a year until she finally got pregnant through treatment. Her baby was born recently and I'm so happy for her! And she is grateful to me for being there as someone who can understand and relate, which makes me really happy, like something good (besides my amazing miracle child) is coming out of the pain and loneliness I felt during my infertilty battle.
NOW, I know there are tons of infertility-related blogs and online communities out there. I wish I had known about them when I was going through my own experience, because I am sure they would've provided support to me and helped me feel less isolated, but I didn't. Either way, both online and in person, I am now all about speaking out about infertility. It is NOTHING to be ashamed of. It is a MEDICAL CONDITION and we need to support women going through it rather than making them feel like there is something shameful about it. (We also need to get insurance companies to cover more of the costs related to infertility treatment because it is a medical condition, but that's another post entirely.)
I really admire the actress Constance Marie. She is 44 and has a young baby. She's currently blogging on People.com in their celebrity baby blog section about motherhood and wrote an in-depth entry the other week on exactly what she went through to have her daughter. Her battle was WAY worse than mine. Her honesty prompted lots of comments from other women facing their own infertilty battles and I think it's terrific that she is speaking so openly about her experience, as it can really help other women to know they are not alone.
This last week, actress Catherine Bell was also featured on People.com's celebrity baby blog. She is pregnant with her second child. The headline was "Catherine Bell: Son Was Conceived 'Pretty Much Naturally'". In the article, it says: "'We were totally trying,' the Army Wives star, 41, reveals. 'I conceived pretty much naturally.' In fact, it was just two months after starting the fertility drug Clomid that Bell became pregnant."
I like her, but this really rankled me. And it's probably completely irrational on my part, I know, but I was disappointed. Why couldn't she just say, "We needed some help, so we used Clomid." Instead, she's trying to make it sound less shameful that she had help, when there is NO SHAME in getting help. Actually, from the article, she makes it sound like they just wanted to get pregnant quickly, so they may not really have needed help anyway, they just used Clomid to speed things along, but still! I have to tell you, there is nothing 'pretty much natural' about Clomid. Clomid makes you a raging menopausal crazy person, which is very unnatural. But it does help you get pregnant, so it's amazing. And that is what I think we should say.
I feel so grateful that medicine and technology (gifts from God in my opinion) have given women like me a chance to be a mother. Even with all of that, there are still women who will not be one of the lucky ones. Who will still not get pregnant with all of that in their corner, for reasons mysterious and unknown. But all of us, the lucky ones and the unlucky ones, have nothing to be ashamed of. We need compassion, support, and understanding. And we need to use our voices to help fight the stigma of infertility. So that's what I'm doing.
Yes, I have a beautiful baby. But I am indelibly changed by the experience I went through to have her. Sometimes I feel like I walk around with an invisible red "I" on my chest. I am still an infertile woman. My experience colors how I view the world. So I am going to keep speaking out and hope that sharing my experience helps others in some small way to not feel alone. And I am going to hug my baby tight and love and cherish every moment I have with her. Because, while all children are miracles, I know mine really is. :)
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