And the rest of Baltimore

Friday evening was low-key, gearing up for spa day and going out the next day. I jumped on FB to send J an email -- he wanted my address so he can send me a couple of autographed items he has for me. And then I noticed that we're not friends anymore. Interesting.

First I was pissed, and then I laughed. I was friends with him about a month ago when I posted on his wall that I was sorry I missed his phone call the night before. He removed it, and then must have unfriended me. HA! It actually made my day.

Saturday was a fabulously girly day -- manicure, pedicure, lunch, a little shopping (including a LaPurla bra for moi), back to the spa for massage and facial. Then a shower, make-up, dressing, and out to dinner at the Capital Grille.

I can't even describe how delicious the food was (12-year-aged balsamic vinegar over fresh mozzarella!) or how great the service was. At one point, Bubbles looked at me and said, "that guy's checking you out."

I looked over a mid-50-year-old sitting with his wife and another couple, and caught him looking. I smiled over my beer glass. Several times throughout the night, we made eye contact.

Really? Even without trying, without talking, without flirting -- the married man magnet works? After they were finished the wives headed to the bar while the men waited for the bill, and sure enough, he came over. "Hello ladies, special occasion?"

Bubbles immediately said, "it's her birthday!"

He took my hand in both of his and wished me a happy birthday.

I shook my head when he left. Perhaps it was the two large bottles of beer I had consumed, the nostalgia of being in Baltimore, or the fact that I was suddenly 40, I looked at Bubbles and said, "he wasn't ugly, he was fairly attractive, why can't I find a guy like that? A single guy. I have no problem with the age thing...is it really that hard?"

She patted my hand -- there were no words.

We headed to a bar after dinner, and now I know -- or remember -- why I don't go to bars anymore. It was crowded, people were obnoxiously drunk and bumping into me. Guys were hitting on Bubbles left and right. I was ready to go after an hour. But the night was still young. So as we were walking to the car, Bubbles said one word. "Boobies?"

I looked at her and smiled. "Boobies." We headed off the Hustler Club for a late-night drink and a little debouchery. New beer in one hand, fistful of ones in the other, we settled down near a stage and clanked our bottles to my 40th birthday and enjoyed the looks on the men's faces as they wished their girlfriends/wives were as cool as we are.

From a long day, a filling dinner, and just being over tired, even after three shots, I wasn't drunk. I think I was beyond it. We closed the Club. I can't remember the last time I was out at 2:00am, but here I was.

I had to drive home the next day, but was so grateful that I took Monday off. It made the five-hour drive that much more tolerable.

And so I turned 40 -- though no one we told over the course of the weekend believed me. Even the esthetician put my skin at 29 to 32. Thank God for good genes and sunscreen.

I turned 40, and while I may not want to stay out all night, I know I still can. And while the men who frequent bars have no use for me, still the older man is still wanting some of Ellie. Again, if only that older gentleman weren't married. I guess one thing at a time, right?

The fact that I have a positive attitude about all this is amazing. I'm not going to over-analyze or wonder why.

Here's to my first week in my 40s.

Being 40 Makes Me Wiser

I'm in Baltimore for a birthday bonanza weekend. The 40s started out great and made me realize that with friends like these, I don't need no sitnkin' man (okay maybe I still do for some things).

My staff threw me a surprise birthday party during the day -- party disguised as a budget meeting. And then what I thought was going to be just a couple girlfriends turned into a whole group taking me out to dinner. And Bubbles contacted them all to let them know what spa we would be going to over the weekend and I got more than $100 in gift certificates to put toward spa day.

Thursday I headed to Baltimore to see a high school friend and then T & S and my god-daughters. I had each block of day planned perfectly -- seeing all my Howard County friends while I was on that side of town, including breakfast with J. Well, planned breakfast. We all know how it will turn out.

And true to form, on my birthday he texted to see if instead of breakfast, we could meet for drinks on Friday. I told him yes, but that I would be in Mt. Washington by then. He said, no problem, will text you then.

Thursday, as I was pulling into Laurel to see previously mentioned high school friend, he texted to see if we could meet in Columbia. We went back and forth, me giving him my entire itinerary, and basically showing him (without spelling it out) that it would be ridiculous for me to from Howard County on Friday morning, downtown the museum, to Lutherville to meet a friend, and back to Howard County to meet him, and then back to Mount Washington to stay with Bubbles. Was there someplace in the middle?

He texted back, how about Catonsville? I finally had to spell it out to him. It was stupid and selfish of him to expect me to do that. It wasn't the 25 or so miles each way, it was that it involved Friday afternoon Baltimore beltway traffic. Each way!

And for him to suggest Catonsville as the middle! The hard part would be over. I'd be done with the beltway, I might as well have met him in Columbia. I told him that it wouldn't work.

And so, for the first time, in a long time, I said no to J. And it felt good. No walking all over me. No one-sided friendship. I would have done that drive for any number of friends -- mostly because I know that they wouldn't have expected me to. He expected it. Like it's some sort of right, that I have nothing better to do than to drive to him.

Not this time. Not anymore.

And so halfway into my Baltimore weekend, I'm feeling good. I'm feeling wise. Not old.

This Time Last Year

Happy birthday (almost) to me. I like to think of my birthday as my New Year's. It's a time to be reflective, it's a time to think about the last year, and a time to think about the coming year and all I want to accomplish.

Same as last year -- I've spent the past year focusing on trying to get pregnant. And same as last year -- I will spend the next year focusing on much of the same. Although the difference is, by the time my 40th birthday rolls around, I will know one way or another....I will have a baby of my own, or I will be working on adopting.

And by the time my 40th birthday rolls around (unless I've just given birth in the past few months), I want to be back in my skinny clothes. I want to get rid of this pudgy stomach and muffin top. I want to look the way I used to in a pair of jeans.

And I hope that by the time my 40th birthday rolls around, I will be happy turning 40, that I will accept 40 with grace, honor and happiness.

Having accomplished at least one of the goals above will go a long way in helping me meet 40 with these virtues.

I wrote that a year ago tonight. I do not have a baby of my own. I don't have that reflection I want when I'm wearing a pair of jeans. I still have the pudgy stomach and muffin top. But I do know that I'm adopting. I do know that in less than two years, I will have a baby.

I don't just know it in my heart, but I know it. I've got an expanding file folder of paperwork, bank statements and credit card receipts to remind me. I got my passport the other day and today I received my appointment notice with Homeland Security for finger printing.

And so on the eve of my 40th birthday, I can only look forward. I can't look back at what could have been. At what should have been. I remember what FG said at the one support group meeting I went to. "None of us is promised anything."

I will spend tomorrow evening with some of my best friends in town. And on Thursday, I will head to Baltimore for the weekend and some of my best friends ever. A high school friend. Museum friends. A Rochester friend. And Bubbles!

And on Monday, I start the new me. I start my "MILF training." :) I begin working out and watching everything I eat. And weighing myself and weighing my food. And watching out that I don't become the person I became four years on the inside, but working my ass off (literally) to become the person I became on the outside.

Happy birthday to me. I won't let 40 get me down. I will own it. I will embrace it. There are only good things to come.

Sometimes my friends just over-whelm and humble me beyond words

From Bubbles, for my dossier....

To whom it may concern:

I am writing on behalf of Ellie Lincoln, my closest friend of nearly 10 years. I met Ellie when I began educational consulting work at her institution. I immediately respected her as a professional and we soon became friends. Although we now live several hundred miles apart, our friendship is still very vibrant and strong. We speak several times a week, she responds to my emails promptly, and we travel to visit each other several times a year. She never misses a special event, or a chance to support me in difficult times. I have come to depend on her strength and wisdom in my life. This commitment to those around her speaks to the heart of Ellie’s desire to be a mother.

Throughout the years I’ve observed her devotion to those she loves, family and friends alike. This unwavering selflessness and sincere care for others will make her the most devoted mother, especially to a child that is adopted. While she has tried to have a child of her own, she never discounted the idea of adoption, and made it clear that the opportunity to raise and love a child is the ultimate blessing, no matter how it came into her life. She truly longs for the chance to provide love and care for a child.

She’s met with other parents who’ve adopted and she’s well read on the challenges facing adoption of ethnic children by American families. I can assure you that a child placed with her will always be loved, respected, and nurtured. Her single and sole priority will be her child. Ellie is also surrounded by a strong and supportive group of family and friends, her child would have a large group of people who would also be there to support and nurture them. This child would be so special to so many people, myself included.

I feel privileged to have been able to be a part of Ellie’s journey to parenthood. It has been a very difficult journey for her, but her commitment has been steadfast. Her faithfulness in this endeavor has been inspiring for me. She has overcome so much to be a mother, and I am hopeful that there is a child out there, meant to be a part of her life.

Thank you for this opportunity to speak on behalf of my beloved friend.

Sincerely,
Bubbles

An Officer but Maybe Not a Gentleman

I haven't heard from Chris since Las Vegas. That was the end of October. The day the Yankees won the pennant. The day I got my second tattoo. Before I become the interim director at my job. Before I tried to carry an embryo created with another woman's egg.

I haven't heard from Chris, and honestly, I haven't wanted to. That's not to say I haven't thought about him every now and then. I have. Clearly I have, or I wouldn't be writing this.

But I've thought about him in the way that I let that Friday night in Vegas seep into my thoughts as I fall asleep. I thought about him when I thought about Opening Day, and how we always talked baseball. And I've thought about how I haven't heard from him.

Something must have finally gotten to him. Something must have finally spooked him straight. I always let him be in control of our relationship -- and that is to say, he was the one with the risks, he was the one with something to lose, I was just having fun.

And so he was the one who (almost) always called. He was the one who would take a break for a few months and then suddenly appear out of the blue with his cocky "hey there" on the other end of the phone. He was the one who always initiated.

I hope he's happy. I hope he doesn't regret me in his life. And if he does regret me, I hope he can see the responsibility he owns in that.

I will probably always think about him. Funny enough, I don't miss him.

My Adoption Statement

I mailed the paperwork to immigration on Saturday -- and from my tracking slip, I know it arrived yesterday. The "up to 90 days" wait begins.

I went to the Sheriff's office on Friday and got my letter. It was easy. I handed over my license. Less than 10 minutes and $10 later, I had my form.

I received my state certified form today.

Just waiting on Bubbles' letter of recommendation and having to take a colleague with me to the doctor's office to get that form notarized (by someone whose commission doesn't expire this year).

The final piece, though it's done and only needs to be notarized, is my adoption statement. It reads:

I knew from my mid-teenage years that I wanted to be a mother. Pregnancy and adoption were both options for me—it didn’t matter how I got there, just that I achieved my dream to be a mom.

I had hoped to fall in love and get married, but that hasn’t happened for me. It’s something that I’ve accepted, but I cannot accept not becoming a mother. I have so much love to give a child.

In April 2007, I began researching adoption. I was drawn to Ethiopia for a number of reasons.
• I have a great respect for the culture, history, and traditions of the country and look forward to teaching my child about his birth country. I plan to incorporate Ethiopian holidays as part of our traditions. While I once tried to have the Christmas tree down before the first of the year, it will stay up so that we can include it in our celebration of Genna on January 7 with traditional games and food.
• One of my dearest friends adopted a little boy from Ethiopia in 2006. I lived the journey vicariously through her and was overjoyed when she brought Robbie home. I look forward to raising my child, with my friend as my mentor, and for Robbie to be a “big brother” to my child.
• The possibility of being able to meet and connect with the birth family is a very powerful opportunity for me. I would welcome the chance to thank the birth family and to assure them of my love for and devotion to their child—our child. It will be such an important moment and one that I will share later with my child. That connection will continue as I send photos and updates to the birth family. It’s a gift that not all adoptive families are able to experience.

I have a book that contains basic Amharic words and phrases. Just as I will teach my child colors and numbers in English, we will also learn in Amharic. I hope that eventually my child and I can travel back to Ethiopia so that we can experience the country together.

My extended family and friends, who have been a great support system throughout my journey to becoming a mother, are already embracing the new traditions that will be brought to our large holiday gatherings. As one friend said to me, “It’s so amazing how small the world truly is. Your family will make it that much smaller and more connected.”

I’m lucky to live in a very diverse city that has both a major university and a mid-sized college. Each of these institutions has international students and cultural clubs and organizations that sponsor public events and activities that we will attend. There are also a number of people in the city who are of Ethiopian heritage, including two professors who work with me.

In addition to the families of Ethiopian heritage, there are many local and regional families who have adopted children from Ethiopia. I have joined the network of these families and hope to organize annual get-togethers, where we can bring our families together and our children can connect with each other.

My home is located about ten minutes south of Ithaca. It is a two-floor, two-bedroom townhouse. My child will have his own room with a window that overlooks a large yard and acres of woods. At any given moment, he will be able to see many varieties of birds, as well as deer and wild turkey.

I hope I can live up to the dreams the birth mother has for her child. I can’t thank her enough for her unselfishness in allowing me to raise her child—to be a mother. She is not only giving her child a better life; she is also giving me a better life.

Into the Home Stretch

I'm still waiting for my home study copies -- Renee said she mailed them out on Tuesday. I should have had them today, hopefully tomorrow and then I can mail my immigration forms out.

My boss gave me his letter confirming my employment, years of service and pay. I got my birth certificate in the mail the other day. I finished my adoption statement. I received one of the two reference letters (specific to Ethiopia) yesterday.

I'm going to the Sheriff's office tomorrow. I still need to call the doctor's office. And I'm awaiting the state certified form to come back from Albany.

I'm still in good shape to be down with all I can do before I turn 40 on the 13th (or go to Baltimore on the 15th).

It will be interesting how I handle the waiting game. Right now, I have tasks. I have excel spread sheets. I have an expandable folder. I have things that I'm needing to get done. Once everything is mailed out, what will I do. What will I focus on?

I'm not a patient person. Three years of fertility treatment didn't really help that. I'll have to do my best. Enjoy the summer. Enjoy my friends. Take some road trips. Save money. And continue to work out like a machine.

The Blame Game

It seems like a day cannot go by without an announcement from someone that they are either pregnant or have given birth. Every single day. And I'm not exaggerating. I have a moment of angst, of pity, of sadness....and then I do what I do. I smile, I send a note of congratulations, ask when the due date is or when can I see a picture of the little bundle.

And life goes on. And this happens or that happens. And some random happening brings my niece to the conversation....and I feel resentful.

This morning, sometime between dreaming and being fully awake, I realized that I am taking out all of my resentment for pregnant people on her. I am taking out my hurt feelings for lack of support from my family on her. Unfairly, I readily admit. But I am directing it all to her.

Because of the way she handled her wedding.

Because of the way she reacted when I told her that if I got pregnant next month, I would have a baby for her wedding ("you better not steal my thunder").

Because of the way she told me she was pregnant.

Because of the way I specifically reached out to all my siblings and my older nieces, to let them know I was trying to get pregnant. That I was telling everyone early because I wanted, and might need, their support. And then never heard another word from the majority of them.

Because of the way the majority of them never sent me a note or reached out with their sympathies when I lost the only pregnancy I had.

And she is the symbol of it all. She is where I direct my anger and resentment.

Closure and Closer

In my head (where I do my best writing sometimes) I've been trying to sum up the past three years into one post. To just sort of put it to bed and be done with it. I'm just not sure if it's possible. I guess all the more than 225 posts about fertility treatment and wondering about adoption can't be summarized into one 250-word post, can it?

I am feeling myself move away from it. Little by little. I've managed to turn my attention towards getting the dossier completed and working on me. So far so good. I've made it to the gym twice this week (after being out of town for work on Monday and Tuesday) and have really kicked my ass with the workouts.

I'm keeping track, informally, of what I'm eating. I know that slowly I'll have less mouth hunger, only want to eat at meal time, will crave good-for-me foods. I'm giving myself until after my birthday trip to Baltimore to get it out of my system, and then will keep track in much more formal way.

The dossier is getting closer to being completed. There are so many annoyances though. I got a lot of the paperwork notarized, only to realize that the notary's commission expires in a month. It can't be expired when it goes to Ethiopia, so I had to print it all out again, fill out the forms and find another notary.

Luckily there are several on campus, and after a phone call found one who's commission doesn't expire until 2011. However, I also needed to get a medical clearance form signed by my doctor and notarized. And after I picked up that form this morning, I saw that the notary's commission expires in July. I'm not sure if that will work.

I also have a form that needs to be sent to Albany to be state certified. But first I needed to go to the County Clerk's office and have it county certified. Tomorrow I will call the local police department to get a letter stating that I am a "citizen in good standing." (All my friends who have adopted assured me that they will know what I'm talking about.)

Nothing too hard. Just annoying. I think the hardest part will be my two-page statement. I've worked on it -- and will show it to my local social worker tomorrow when we meet to see what she thinks. I will post the entire thing when it's finished, but this was the first thing I wrote and it's how I'm planning to end it:

I hope I can live up to the dreams the birth mother has for her child. I can't thank her enough for her unselfishness in allowing me to raise her child, to be the mother. Not only is she giving her child a better life, she is giving me a better life.

The Dossier

My training requirements are complete, which means the home study is done. I am just waiting for a final, notarized copy to mail with my immigration forms to Homeland Security. Once I have that clearance, the only thing left is my dossier -- the official file that will go to Ethiopia.

My goal is to have the dossier complete and mailed out before my birthday in the middle of April. Everything needs to be notarized, one thing needs to be state certifies -- but other than the annoyance of that, it's pretty cut and dry.

Several forms that are already in the packet that I need to sign; and then: a letter from my boss stating my length of employment, job title and how long I've worked there; photos of my and my house, inside and out; an original birth certificate with seal (I ordered it on Friday); a form signed by my doctor attesting to my good health; a letter from my local police that I'm a citizen in good standing; and two letters of reference.

The hardest piece of it all will be my statement of reason for adopting a child from Ethiopia -- two pages about my commitment to the child and his Ethiopian culture, my community's acceptance of an Ethiopian child and my reason for adopting.

I've started to write it in my head, over and over. And so many times, I get hung up on how it will sound to a stranger. Will it be convincing enough. Will they not like what I write?

As I have been reading through information about Ethiopia, I've made notes. I love the idea that it's a mostly Christian country, so I won't be raising my child in a religion that he most likely wouldn't have been raised in. Unless he was abandoned, there will some family and I will be able meet the birth family and to send them updates. I get to share the amazing journey of being a mother in a very unique way. And I get to thank his family for that opportunity, and I get to share the connection with them with my child.

It will take me the next three weeks to my birthday to figure out just the words for that part of my dossier. There are thousands of children in that country who need a mother -- and I'm just one woman who needs a child to make me a mother. I hope I can express how much this opportunity that will be entrusted to me really and truly means.

First Pedicure of the Season

I got up this morning with a list of things to do, which could have been done in any order. I opted to do the post office and then everything else after the mall. I could have gone to the bank, could have done my grocery shopping or Kohl's, could have checked on Jill's cats -- any or all of the above before my pedicure.

This is important because all of those things enabled me to be at the mall and talk to the nice pregnant girl while we both got pedicures.

She commented how good the back massage felt. I asked her when she was due. "July, but I could go earlier because I'm carrying twins."

An inner voice, but I ignored it. I went back to making my grocery list, she talked to who I assumed was the baby daddy. He left to go smoke. I turned back to her, "do you know what you're having?"

"Identical boys."

Inner voice got much louder. It couldn't be, could it? "Wow, congratulations."

"Thanks. I have four other children." And then I could have repeated the ages and names of her children along with her. "Four, three, two and just over one." And then she showed me pictures of kids I've seen before. Kids I knew about. The baby I have actually held.

Yup. Leave it to me to be sitting next to and making small talk with the DSS mother I wrote about last week.

Are you shitting me?

When I called Bubbles to tell her, she had the best response, as only I would expect Bubbles to have. "What a fun pedicure for you. Want me to invite J's wife along for spa day?"

Adoption Update

I started the week doing 10 hours of online training, necessary for my adoption application. It was over-whelming and made me have doubts. I realize they want to know about every possibility, but to read about it all at once. Holy shit.

Every medical problem, every regression or attachment issue, every disciplinary problem....all over the course of two days. I called my friend who adopted from Ethiopia three years ago.

"Robbie's okay, right?"

She talked me off the edge. Most of the issues I read about happen to children who are institutionalized or older when they are adopted. But they have to cover their ass and tell me everything.

Once I talked to her, I felt a little better. The whole idea of adopting, of being responsible for someone else's baby, for being given another life is a lot to absorb. And it's so much more than just getting pregnant and giving birth.

While I know that I will love my adopted child as my own, will feel that way about him or her -- when it's all abstract, the baby to be named later doesn't feel like mine yet.

So I have the first part of my application in. I am awaiting instructions from the placement agency for the last of my pre-adoption education. I spoke with my social worker at the placement agency today and she said she'll be getting that out to me. Once all the education is done, my home study is complete and I can send in my immigration paperwork to Homeland Security.

At the same time, I can begin putting my dossier together. Depending on how long the immigration paperwork takes, I could have everything in by the end of April. And so from that point, from dossier to referral (the actual paper that says, this is your baby, do you want him?) is an estimated 12 to 18 months.

Still a long time to wait. But that's really when the bulk of the money needs to be paid, so it gives me 12 to 18 months to save, to raise, to borrow.

It's starting to feel like it's going to happen. Little by little.

Creepy McCreeperson

I'm the cute single girl in my housing complex. I give all of my neighbors a plate of Christmas cookies every year. And I thank the male neighbors who shovel my sidewalk with cookies every now and then.

And regardless of whether they are 70 or 50, I sort of lump those two snow shovelers in the same category as old married neighbor. However, I've been given pause lately to that. And it's kind of creepy.

The younger of the two "old married neighbors" recently friended me on facebook. Without thinking I accepted it. And after I did, I regretted it. But I put him in that category of people from high school that are on my friends list and I never talk to.

The next day, I got a message from him. "Your hair looks fabulous. You look great." I had recently gotten my hair chopped (did I not mention that here? I cut 10 inches off last week.)

OK....there was a picture on my page of my new hair. And maybe he just doesn't get that he could have written on my wall.

But I was thinking that I needed to figure out how to limit his access to my page. Apparently, I didn't do it soon enough. Yesterday I got another message from him. The subject line was "Hmmmmmm."

The message: Nice tattoo, the things you can learn about your neighbors.. My lips are sealed...

I was immediately creeped out. Inappropriate. Way inappropriate. No longer was he getting limited access. He was getting cock blocked. I blocked him and now I do not exist on FB to him.

Hopefully that's the end of the story. See what I get for trying to be nice and neighborly. No more. I'm going back to my motto of "if I would sit on a bar and sing karaoke in front of you (or if I have), you get to be my FB friend."

"Mr. Big" Was too Generous of a Nickname

When I talk about J on this blog, I refer to him as....well J. On my naughty blog and in general when Bubbles and I are talking about him (when I'm not using a derogatory name), I refer to him as Mr. Big. He's my Big. Think Sex and the City.

Last week, he texted me at midnight. I was in an "I don't care if I'm bad" mood and responded. Amazingly, even though he was in North Carolina on a golfing trip with his buddies, we kept the 15-minute text conversation on a nothing but platonic level. And it was kind of nice.

The next day I tweeted something like, "so good to talk with Big last night, even if he woke me up ;)"

He texted me later and asked "So am I supposed to be Big?"

"Yea, like in Sex and the City."

"I'm confused."

"You're my Mr. Big. The one I can always count on, always there, but no commitment"

"When you say things like that, it really bothers me. I thought you were my friend."

WTF. I didn't even know how to respond to it. Of course, this is all over text and I was in the middle of getting my taxes done, so I couldn't even call him.

"It's losing something in translation. It's a good thing. Just know that it was nice to talk to you last night."

"Sorry I'm being sensitive"

"No problem. Sorry to confuse you."

"I was probably over-reacting"

"We're good?"

"Sure."

I couldn't believe he was so sensitive. Good lord, I didn't know I was dealing with Chris, who never wanted drama, who after sleeping with me for nearly seven years still wouldn't say that we had any sort of relationship.

It'll be interesting to see when I hear from him again. I'm going to Baltimore next month, and I will need to touch base with him (he has some autographed items for me for whatever Bubbles and I do to raise me some baby money). I'm thinking I'll wait until the week before and ask him if I can pick it up at his office, or if he can drop it off at the museum and I'll get them when I see Johnny Z.

Not going to ask if he wants to have breakfast. Not going to ask if he wants to meet for a drink. I think it's best that I stick to my "no more J" rule. Because really, even if we did plan for something, what are the chances that he would actually follow through? No commitment, remember.

Plan B Underway

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It's the Only One I've Got

It's hard to want to be good to my body, when it hasn't exactly been good to me. But as my friend (and former trainer) said to me tonight, "it's the only one you've got." And so I decided that this week, I will work out as I feel like it. At the intensity and for however long I want.

Next week is spring break and the gym will be closed. Hopefully it will be warm out and I can walk a couple nights after work or at least during the day. After spring break, I need to find it inside of me again. I need to start to think about what I'm eating, start to work out hard.

That will give me two months before the end of the school year, two months to try to lose some of the baby weight. Two months to kick myself in the ass and get into a routine that will be easy to maintain over the summer when I won't have student trainers here to keep me motivated and make me feel accountable if I don't go to the gym.

I hope I'm there. There hasn't been a day since my negative test that I haven't cried a little. And after being at work all day, after trying to remain upbeat and "on," it's hard to want to do anything after work but come home and be a vegetable. That's what I need to get rid of, that's what I need to overcome.

But one day at a time. Tonight....a hard workout on the treadmill, with intervals of incline, speed and with weights. I couldn't do the whole thing, but I think having that as something to shoot for, something to play my own little workout mind games with, will help.

The Week in Review

It's been a weird week. My emotions have been on a roller coaster, mostly down. I'm sad. That's really the only way to describe it. And I know that I will get over it eventually -- or at least, if not over it, it will become a little more bearable each day.

I started to think about my birthday and how I'm going to be 40 in a little over a month. Never in a million years did I think 40 would look like this. But here it is. Where a few weeks ago, I wasn't making any plans for 40, because I so thought I would be pregnant, now I have plans to make.

So I'm going to Baltimore the weekend after my birthday, for my usual round of visiting. And Bubbles is making all sorts of plans -- I just have to show up. A day at the spa, fancy dinner out. And lots of drinks. Finally, something to look forward to.

My friend at work (who has several children through foster care) told me about identical twin boys to be born this summer. The mother has four toddlers (4, 3, 2 and 13 months) -- all in foster care. DSS isn't sure what the plan is for the babies. As Charlie was telling me, the woman who has the other four kids can't take two more. And the mother, if she doesn't have her babies right from birth to bond with them, doesn't want them.

She wants her 4-, 3-, and 2-year olds back, but not the baby. Because he was taken away from her as soon as he was born. She doesn't feel a connection with him. She doesn't have any bond with him.

So I called DSS, one of the women who taught the classes I was in last spring, and left a message. It was very generic -- just that I wanted to touch base, let her know where things were in my life, etc. She passed me off to someone else, who specifically handles adoption.

And when the adoption guy and I finally connected, I asked very specific questions about this woman who is pregnant with twins and doesn't have custody of her other four children. I knew more about the situation than he did. He didn't have a whole lot to say. They're not sure of what the plan is when she gives birth, if the twins can't go with the other four, the goal is still family reunification, can I do that?

I was honest. I told him no. These women give birth to throw away children, I'm not going to help them get their kids back. But knowing a lot about the situation, knowing how she feels after giving birth and giving up immediate custody, I'm willing to take the chance that she would get her kids back. He appreciated my honesty, and of course because of the business he's in, he can't agree with me.

I understand the premise of DSS. I understand why we have Child Protective Services. I do. I get it. And I understand that people makes mistakes, that there are circumstances.

But in the case of the kids that Charlie has -- a 4-year-old and a 3-year-old who have been in Charlie's care for more than two and a half years; and their 2-year-old twin sisters who have been with Charlie all but six months of their lives. (not to mention the three teenagers she has lost permanent custody of and who live with their grandmother). And then this other case -- four toddlers and now soon-to-be-born twins. They've been in foster care since last January. The baby has never been in the custody of his mother.

It's a fucked up world we live in. I can't get pregnant, I can't have a child, and these women are getting pregnant more often than Michelle Duggar. Explain the logic. Explain the fairness.

And my frustration is more than at these women, it's at the system, as well. So my conversation with the adoption guy, after he said he would talk with the woman I had called in the first place, I asked what my next steps should be. "Will you call me after you talk to her? Will she call me? Or should I check in with you or her in, say two weeks?"

He didn't know how to answer that. He's not sure what the birth plan is for the twins. "Well, they're due to be born in June. And they're twins, so she may go early...." My voice was trailing off, because I needed to keep my composure, but when the fuck were they planning to figure it out. It's March.

"Yeah, I'm really not sure what to tell you. We'll keep in mind that you're interested in these boys, and add you to the list."

And so that's that? WTF? No wonder people have the opinion of DSS that they have. I know they are understaffed, underpaid, over burdened. But here I am, wanting to do something, to help two children.

It's a frustrating place to be, for sure.

Cleaning House

I know that many people wouldn't have done this so quickly, but I like things in order. I like things I can control (probably why the past three years have been so fucking hard). And so Friday afternoon, after I got plowed out from the 18 inches of snow that fell the previous evening and that morning, I went to Wal-Mart and bought a shredder.

I stood at my kitchen counter and threw away all open medicine, packing up whatever was unopened to be donated. And then I pulled out my binder and shredded every piece of paperwork from the doctor and related to prescriptions. I did save my ultrasound pictures and every picture of my embryos.

I pulled the two bins of maternity clothes out of the extra bedroom and put them in garbage bags, ready to bring back to my niece the next day. And the books I pulled from the shelf on Thursday got put into a bag and dropped off at the library book sale. Jill's fertility statue that has sat on my bedroom television since the summer of 2007 is wrapped in paper, in a bag, and ready to go back to her house. And this morning, I handed Heather a $50 gift card for Motherhood Maternity.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not getting pregnant. I don't need it."

"Are you sure?" she repeated.

I'm sure. It's all gone. Any reminder of trying to get pregnant. Any planning that I did -- premature or otherwise -- is undone. My kitchen counter is void of needles, syringes, bottles of pills, and vials of progesterone in oil. My bathroom sink no longer holds my daily allotment of progesterone suppositories and the applicators.

I pulled my adoption paperwork out and immediately was over whelmed. Jill promised to come over early next week and help me sort through it.

And last night as I was laying in bed, trying to fall back asleep, I finally figured out what has perhaps been bugging me about international adoption. And "bugging" might be the wrong word. But I have been hesitant. And I've wondered if it's because of the race thing, but that's not it.

If someone handed me an African-American baby tomorrow, I would be thrilled. So why am I hesitant about adopting from Ethiopia? I think it's because if I'm going to spend all this money, if I'm going to take out a loan and drain my savings to the grand total of more than $25,000, I want a choice. I don't want to be told where I have to adopt from.

Just because I'm single, does that make me any less of a person? Will that make me any less of a parent? Apparently, in the eyes of almost every country in the world, it does.

And so just as I couldn't control what my body would and wouldn't do over the past few years, I can't control this. And the sooner I accept that part of it, and worry about what I can control -- saving money, raising money, getting all my paperwork in, continuing to work on me, getting back to the gym and wanting to do good things for my body -- the better off I will be, both physically and mentally.

Toxic

My uterus is the place where healthy, viable embryos go to die. There's no other explanation. It really is the only explanation, and honestly, it's what I have to believe or I will think that there's something more I can do, something else I can try, when really I have to believe that I've done all I can and it's time to move on.

The finality of that is frightening, because it makes me wonder if it will ever really happen.

I have to move on to plan B. And I will have to get my head wrapped around the fact that I won't ever be pregnant. I won't ever feel a life move inside of me. I won't ever experience the look that other people give a pregnant woman. I won't hear that there's a glow about me. Or that I'm carrying low (or high). Or that I'm breaking out because I'm having a girl and she's stealing my beauty.

I won't experience labor or delivery. And almost certainly, I will not hear the first sounds my baby ever makes.

I pulled pregnancy books off my shelf last night and piled them at the top of the stairs, not sure what to actually do with them. I have bins of maternity clothes to return to my niece, including some that have been bought specifically for me, just in case. And I have a $50 Motherhood Maternity gift card to do something with.

When I started this process with the egg donor, I went in thinking I would have at least three chances. Given the number of embryos they had previously extracted from Ginger, I thought the odds were in my favor. Even when I heard that there were (only) six embryos, I thought that I would have two chances.

Over the past nine days, I tried not to think about what FG had said about the remaining embryos when I asked if we were freezing those. I tried not to think about "if they're viable."

And so after 13 tries, it really is over. And it's time to move onto Plan B. Whatever that is. However that looks.

It was Negative

I can't say much beyond that right now.

The Waiting Game

I feel at peace tonight. Or maybe I'm just trying to convince myself that I am at peace. Either way, it's going to be a long night.

Seems Fishy

My sister-in-law told me this morning that when you dream of fish, you're pregnant. It happened to her before she knew she was pregnant with Tiff, and it happened to a friend of hers.

I did a quick google search. And while there were many who wrote this off as an old wives' tale, completely false, there were others who were convinced:


The "fish dream" happens to me when i concieve... u?
im convinced that dreaming of fish is in fact a way to know if someone is pregnant...

everytime ive been preggers i always got the fish dream right around the time i concieved (only been preggers 2 times) but each time i had a weird dream about fish.... and its the only time i dream of fish

yes every time Ive conceived ive had dreams of fish or relatives would have those same dreams. I had a dream about fish and found out my cousin was pregnant, then my sister had a similar dream and found out that i was so that's weird but SO true. works every time.

So either, I am, as my "dream" told me the other night, or it's merely that I know someone who is pregnant. And if you're someone who is trying to get pregnant, it's not hard to know someone who is pregnant. The world seems full of pregnant women.

And now the terror sets in

Okay, maybe terror is a little strong.

But with still some waiting time before my blood test, I'm starting to get scared. What will I do if it's negative? I don't know if they were able to freeze the other three embryos. And I kind of don't want to know until after the test. No need to add one more thing to my list of bad thoughts if they weren't.

Luckily I have an afternoon full of meetings today and through to blood test day. Hopefully that will keep my mind from wandering too far down a dark road.

I'm Pregnant, So Says the Sign

I am. It's five days until my blood test, but I am. I know it.

I had a hard time sleeping Friday night, was flipping through the channels, watching things I wouldn't normally watch. And then finally fell back asleep two hours later, about 5:30am (Saturday morning).

And then I felt what I can only describe as the sensation of someone running their finger down my back. Slowly, but from inside of me. It happened four or five times. And in my mind, I could see a fish.

A little background. Two weeks ago, my sister-in-law's sister passed away from brain cancer. She loved to fish. Debbie has seen "signs" from her sister in random things -- a rainbow and the shape of a fish from the sun hitting my niece's cell phone in the car.

I had this in my mind Friday night. I was thinking about the upcoming Relay for Life, and how I would draw a fish with a rainbow on it for the little bag for the candles they line the race track with that I would buy in honor of Denise.

Back to the wee hours of Saturday morning. I knew it was Denise. I don't know why she would come to me, but she did. And I asked her if I was pregnant. And suddenly, my entire body was awash with warmth.

(This happened to me once before. In 1994, after my grandmother died. I missed her so much. And one night, she came to me. And I felt that warmth over my entire body.)

And so for whatever reason -- because Debbie needs something good to happen, and she's been wishing, and hoping and praying right along with me these past three years for a pregnancy to take or because maybe the most recent person you know who has died suddenly becomes your guardian angel when needed. For whatever reason, Denise came to me that night. And I felt her warmth when I asked her if I was pregnant.

And so now, after having a few days to think about it, and talking to one of my other Catholic friends, I only describe what I'm feeling not as a crisis of faith, more like a crisis of faith in myself. Do I believe in myself enough to trust what I experienced? To believe what I believe it meant?

They're In....

and the wait begins.

I had my transfer yesterday. There are three beautiful embryos in there, all in the blastula stage (the next stage of embryo development). I'll take that as a good sign.

I'm trying to stay positive, to have good thoughts about what could be happening in my body. But I've never been on the other side of this, so I can only recall the bad stuff.

I try to block those memories out with images of me holding a swaddled baby in the crook of my arm from a hospital bed. Or running like an airplane, with my arms spread straight out, chasing a toddler with red curls. Or me in my 7th or 8th month of pregnancy, fat and happy.

I went to see my friend April, to meet her two-week-old baby today. I was hoping for some good baby mojo from Elliott. I held him the whole two hours I was there. Changed his diaper and his onesie. Fed him. Watched him sleep. And looked his 10 perfect, tony fingers.

Even though April and I talked about yesterday, it was nice to think about yesterday. To think about the blood test. To think about what happens after the blood test.

And I have a J update. He texted me Friday night. About 11pm. I ignored it. Over the weekend, I wrote on his Facebook wall. "Sorry I missed your text the other night. Hope you're surviving all the snow."

He deleted it the next day.

I hope that was a test. And I hope it means I passed.

Hail Mary

This is probably the most famous Hail Mary -- Doug Flutie's touch down pass for Boston College in 1984 with :06 left on the game clock.



I'm not looking for anything quite so dramatic, but I feel like this is my Hail Mary. My last chance (or second to last, given that I'll have some embryos in the freezer) to get pregnant.

And so on Tuesday, I'll head up to Syracuse and the FG will transfer some of Ginger's embryos (made with healthy, young 28-year-old eggs) into me. And in two weeks, I'll know if it worked.

She had her retrieval on Thursday. Of the 18 eggs they retrieved, they were able to inject 11, and as of Friday, there were six embryos. Any of the other five could develop into embryos as well.

Six is good. Six is two tries, if FG thinks that three is the way to go. (I'm leaning towards three.)

And so just like Doug Flutie 26 years ago, I'm throwing my Hail Mary. And saying one or two along the way.

Feeling the Drought

What do you get when you cross a girl who is no fewer than three different hormones, who's body is on the cusp of trying to get pregnant with a girl who hasn't had sex in four months?

Yeah, welcome to my world. Oh my god...I sat at my desk today trying to figure out if there was anyone I could call for the weekend. I've sworn off of Chris, J wouldn't put out even if he weren't on my "I promise never to..." list, I haven't heard from E in a few weeks and weekends don't ever work for him because of his kids. BB would also be added to the "I'm not doing that anymore" category.

Sadly, most of previous service providers fall into that last category, and all of them are out of state. And even if I was willing to forget about the deal I made with myself, most of them are snowbound in either Maryland or Connecticut.

Which brings me to the big dilemma -- I need a local service provider. Ever since Chris shipped out, my stable has been empty.

Of course, I will just need to get through this weekend, because once I have my transfer, I will be on the DL anyway.

Just a few more days. I can do this, right?

The gifts of fertility

With Ginger going under tomorrow for her retrieval, I started to mentally prepare for my procedure next week and what I will be bringing with me. And that got me thinking about the gifts and encouragement that my friends have given me over the past three years.

My friend Jill, who has been my rock, my chauffeur, my shoulder to cry on, and my hand to squeeze, bought me a beautiful set of rosary beads in Jerusalem. I use the beads every week before mass. And at the start of this journey, she loaned me a fertility statue she got in Africa. It has sat on top of the television in my room.

After my miscarriage last year, I packed it up and had it in a small shopping bag, on my counter ready to go back to her. But something stopped me. I was in it for the long haul, the statue would be too. It is back on top of the television, and perhaps, in thinking about it, I will move it closer to the bed tonight.

My friend Jennifer, who has three children via IVF, told me about praying to St. Gerard. I immediately went out and bought myself a medal, which I've worn on my chain with my diamond pendant. And I have a prayer card that I keep in my wallet.

St. Gerard, the patron saint of fertility and motherhood, was with my friend April when she underwent her IVF procedure. She gave birth to a beautiful little boy a week ago.

Heather gave me a a heart-shaped pin with the word "faith" on it in several languages. She said her baby pulled at it at the check-out counter while they were shopping, and she took that as a sign. I have it pinned to the size 12-month Derek Jeter t-shirt that I bought myself almost 15 years ago. And usually both of those go with me to the doctor's office.

Bubbles has gotten me countless gifts, not only for the impending pregnancy that she has total faith will happen, but the eventual birth. A maternity dress, a gift card for Motherhood Maternity -- both of which I considered and contemplated giving away to various friends when I heard of their pregnancies. But something always stopped me.

And for the baby -- a picture frame for the baby's hand prints, tiny little sneakers, books. All of which are in my baby box waiting for the tiny little body to use them.

And Hope and Claudia, who have wiped away tears and said nothing when I just needed someone to be in the room. Who have been just as excited as I am about each little step of the process, who always remember to ask after a doctor's appointment.

My mom, who doesn't always quite understand the process or the terms, who sometimes is a little over-anxious about results, from day one, has never wavered in her support or excitement over the prospect that her daughter is intentionally going to be a single mother.

Two of my nieces and my sister-in-law, who have given me maternity clothes or picked up a little book here or clipped a magazine article there.

So many friend have been so supportive, and while I have complained in the past about the lack of support from most of my siblings, the ones who have been are unbelievably a part of the process.

I guess my point of today's post is not only for me to recognize and be thankful for the little gifts and the people in my life, but to remind you that no matter how much they drive you crazy, you're lucky for the people in your life.

Fertile Mertyl

Or, in this case, fertile Ginger. I got the update today that there are 12 to 15 good follicles and she is ready. The retrieval is scheduled for Thursday, and I will most likely have my transfer on Tuesday (though it could be Monday).

Wednesday I stop some of my meds and start up a whole bunch of new ones, including the blood thinner shot in my stomach and the two-inch needle of progesterone in my ass, and I get to add a vaginal suppository to my twice daily ritual. Good times.

I have a ton of meetings this week -- no less than four a day. But next week? Nothing on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. So whichever day it is, I'm good to take off that day and the next if I want.

Everything seems to be falling into place. I'm excited and scared, as always. But I think this time, more excited than scared. The odds are with me, right?

Can we have a single guy, my age, be this interested in me?

Please.

The phone rang today and I looked up to see it was from an orthopedics office. I picked up the phone and then paused. Could it? I did a quick internet search while the phone was stilling ringing and confirmed that it was Dr. Pervert's office. I put the phone back down.

Why the hell was he calling me?

Thirty seconds after the phone stopped ringing, my cell phone started. I picked it up -- 315 area code. Same number. I ignored that as well.

I went along with my day. Fabrics store, church, dinner. And then this evening, a phone call from a "private" number. I mistakenly answered it.

"Ellie, hello, it's Dr. R."

Ugh. WTF. Why are you calling me? What do you want? Aside from the fact that you operated on my knees in the '80s and then put your tongue in my mouth in the '90s, we're not that close.

But did I say any of that. No. In the same vein that I needed to call the FG's office to apologize to the receptionist the other day, I can't be rude to him. I was monotone, non-committal in the conversation, uninterested even, but not rude.

He told me that he saw my mother this week and she "read me the riot act for not staying in touch with her and you. So she gave me your numbers."

Oh Frances, what am I going to do with you? How many times do I need to tell you to not give him my numbers. Do I really need to tell you that this man you've known for 40 years, this man that you trust and respect hit on your daughter when she was in her mid-20s and he was easily on the other side of 50? Are you going to make me tell you this?

After nearly 15 years of sparing her feelings, I know that I will continue to not tell her any of this. It really wasn't that big a deal. It made me feel icky, I dealt with it. He kissed me, I briefly kissed him back, he ran his hand up my sweater, pushed me down and would have fucked me if I said okay. I said no, he respected that. I'll give him that at least.

But all in all, it wasn't a big deal then. Not a big deal now. But this man needs to stop calling me. And my mother needs to stop encouraging him to call me. I'm not sure what she's trying to prove, what she's trying to do.

A Little Bit of This, A little Bit of That

I got a comment from a new reader the other day, wondering if I wrote this for myself or my friends, noticing that I don't get a lot of comments. The answer....some of my friends read this, but I don't expose myself with this blog to too many people I know. I feel like I can be more honest that way. I mistakenly shared my blog a few years ago with some family members and then found that I was self-censoring.

And so I went over and then started over. It's a combination of closest friends and those I trust to never judge who read this and know me in real life. My other readers are just people who have stumbled across me. I would love comments, just to know if anyone agrees with me or to offer support, but I mostly write this for me. As a way to document the things going on in my life and to express myself.

I've said it in previous posts when I first started. I imagine myself a little like Carrie Bradshaw, trying to make my way through life, one column at a time.

~~~

I was up way too early this morning, leaving the house before 6:30 and headed to Syracuse. It was snowing, not hard enough to be bad, just enough to be an annoyance. Not big flakes, but gritty, greasy snow. And it was dark, so it was hard to see the lines in the road.

I got to the doctor's office a little before 8, and then waited. At 8:30 I went up to the receptionist and reminded her that I had an 8:00 appointment. And then again at 8:45. I lost my patience (for me) and told her I was frustrated, that I still needed to drive back to Ithaca, that I had gotten up early to be here on time. And that immediately set me off into a bad mood.

I paid little attention in my appointment, did not engage with either nurse I saw. My lining looked good -- it's at 9mm. Much better than the 5.8 it was one week into my mock cycle. Ginger goes back on Friday and that's when I'll get an updated time line of what's happening with me in the next week or two.

I finally got to work about 10:15. And with a full afternoon of meetings, I knew that I was going to get little done today. Keeping me in my foul mood.

A co-worker asked me for advice, so I went up to her office and helped with her problem employees. We strategized a way for her to handle them, and by helping her, I actually felt better. Not 100%, but my mood had improved.

I had my first meeting at 1:00, and in there, realized that I would feel better if I called the doctor's office receptionist and apologized for being impatient with her. Between the end of my 1-2:30 and my 2:45-3, I called and talked to her. She was very sweet and told me I never needed to call and apologize, she felt bad knowing that it was snowing and that I had driven an hour to get there for my appointment.

I immediately felt back to myself. And while looking from the outside, I did nothing obnoxious or even bitchy, but for me, it was. I don't complain, and when I do, I certainly never take it out of a person just before she is in front of me. Not the waitress for bad food, not the cashier for not having something in stock.

Baby Steps

Bob Wiley: I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful... I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful... I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful... baby steps get on the bus, baby steps down the aisle, baby steps...
--From "What About Bob?"

Sometimes I go through moments where I feel like I'm being punished for past sins. And so I try to do things that I know are more worthy of the person I should be, the person I want to be.

Yesterday, I had one of those moments. I had been talking with my friend April -- who will be going in for her c-section tomorrow -- and something came over me. I looked at the bulletin board above my desk and saw Chris's naval business card. I pulled it down, ripped it in half and threw it in the recycling basket. Going a step further, I pulled out my phone and deleted his cell phone number. And then went into my email and erased him from my address book.

I know there is another contact that needs to be erased, but I'm not there yet. One step at a time. Baby steps.

Gracias, Merci, Danke....

Dear Ginger,

I have been through what you are now going through -- the bloating, the daily shots in the stomach, the doctor appointments and blood work every other day. And I went through it because I knew it would ultimately be worth it, it was what I needed to do to fulfill my dream.

But for you to go through it for a stranger...

Words cannot express how grateful I am for what you're doing.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

--Ellie

Rocket Man

I LOVE Family Guy. And I think Seth McFarlane has been added to my top 5 list, for his humor more than his looks (and he's not bad looking).



This makes me chuckle every time it's on.

Randomness in the Pew

I really should bring my computer to church -- setting aside the inappropriateness -- I do a lot of thinking that I want to write here, and then always forget half of it by the time I get home.

I've been trying not to say "please" so much when I pray, and more thank you. So instead of "please let me be the person I was always meant to be...a mom," it's more about "thank you for Ginger and the strength I've gained over the past three years." I still do my share of "asking for" but I've also learned to be grateful.

I thought about Chris and J, too. Thankful that I've managed to stay away from both of them. And I wish them both the best....Chris, safety wherever he is and hopefully that he won't have to go back to the desert....and J, the ability, for lack of a better word, to be a better husband and hopefully I'm as far as he's strayed.

A friend from work -- the man who runs the gym I go to on campus -- has been attending the same mass I have for the past month or so. He sits closer to the front, so I don't know if he's seen me or not. I know he's going through some trouble in his marriage -- his wife left him and is now living with another man.

I haven't noticed it when I see him at the gym, but I can see a certain sadness in him at church. Like something is missing. And then I wondered tonight if I have that sadness about me. Or only those who have had something and lost it, rather than those who never have.

Getting Better, But Still Fragile

I was getting ready for bed last night and realized that I was getting my period. Again. I just had it two weeks ago. Ginger would be going for her U/S and cyst drainage today. WTF?! I ran down the stairs and sent an email to Pati, told her to call if I needed to come in this morning.

I never heard from her, but of course it was after 9:00, and she does get to the office at 6:00. I didn't cry. I tried to stay rational. Worse case scenario, this cycle is scrapped. Sometime about 3:30am, after sleeping on and off, I realized that a period isn't a horrible thing. It's cleaning out the old, my lining is thinning again, it's all okay. I think. It was enough to let me sleep the rest of the night until my alarm went off.

And my thoughts were confirmed when Pati emailed me about 8:00 to tell me that getting a period was fine. Ginger had her cyst drained and her blood work later in the afternoon confirmed that we are all good to go.

I will continue with my Lupron shots, and add five estrace pills (three orally, two vaginally), baby aspirin and fertile garden pills (herbal pills) starting tonight. Ginger begins her shots on Saturday. Wednesday, I'll go in for my ultrasound. And if all goes well, the plan is for her to have the retrieval on February 10. Three to five days later, transfer!

And so on the anniversary of the day I saw my angel baby with no heartbeat, I got good news.

My Body Needed That

Students were back today, which meant my gym reopened tonight. I gave up several weeks ago on my resolution of working out at home for 20 minutes a day. I realized that there is a reason I go directly from my office to the gym every night. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Office to gym. Because there is nothing that can distract me. Like my pajamas, and the computer, and a book. And eventually my bed.

And so after I stopped beating myself up a few weeks ago and just accepted that it wasn't going to happen, I started to look forward to tonight. New music on the iPod and ready for the treadmill. My knee aches, my shoulders hurt, and it felt great.

I don't know how long I'll be able to keep this up. At minimum, I'm guessing two or three weeks, depending on how things go with Ginger and the next IVF round. But I'll keep it up until then.

Which brings me to Ginger and my next round of IVF. I'm starting to get nervous. And scared. And still excited. I'm supposed to go to Montana in April for work, but I don't want to if I'm pregnant. I don't want to fly and I don't want to have to work a trade show on my feet for three full days.

One of the coordinators emailed all of us today asking for full name, DOB, etc so she can start to book the tickets. I don't want to tell her I'm not going because of medical reasons, because maybe I don't be pregnant by then. But I also don't want to waste the College money and have her book a ticket for me.

It's that fine line of trying not to not plan for the future because who knows what the future holds while also trying to be positive and think about what I want to the future to be. Wow....that was a run-on. But I think you get the drift.

I guess I need to not worry about anything for a few days. Ginger goes in on Wednesday. I shouldn't look beyond that.

Ginger Update

Ginger had her appointment yesterday and the cyst was still present. We will continue to stay on Lupron (and I will continue to have stomach discomfort), and she goes back on Wednesday. If the cyst is still there, they'll drain it.

They don't seem to be concerned with it, so I shouldn't be either.

Vegas or Here....I'll take these odds

From the Winter issue of Conceive...

"A couple in their 20s has approximately a 25% chance of conceiving each month, and after four or five months of trying, most women in their early 20s become pregnant. By the late 20s, it takes an average of six to seven months to conceive. For women in their 30s, there's a 10 to 15% chance of getting pregnant each month, and it will take an average of seven to 12 months to conceive. By age 40, there's just a 5% chance of conceiving each month, and the rate drops precipitously as women age."

"....Often women who choose to use donor eggs are older than 35, but the maternal age of egg donors is generally under 35, making the chance of successfully conceiving and carrying the pregnancy to term higher. The chance of success is 50.5% per cycle, and women who commit to two donor cycles have a 75.5% chance of having a baby; with three cycles the success rate rises to 87.9%."



....and I've made a conscious choice to change my tag for these types of posts to fertility not INfertility.

Earning Every Cent

This being the boss is tough work. I had such a long day. Today I learned the meaning of the word "alarmist." I had several people (who are now reporting to me) freaking out and demanding an emergency meeting to talk about things that may or may not be mentioned at the all-staff meeting on Thursday, stuff that has previously been announced in various mediums, but they didn't remember hearing about.

Several times, I actually had to utter the words, "I think what I'm hearing you say is...." I sounded like a manager. But after two meetings where there was panic and anxiety -- unnecessary both times -- I was ready for a beer. I opted for a hot shower when I got home and it will be an early night.

~~~~~~

I had my baseline U/S yesterday. Everything looked good. My lining is thinning and ready to be pumped up whenever Ginger is ready to be super ovulator. I will stay on the Lurpon shots every night this week, and wait hear how her appointment goes on Friday.

One year ago tomorrow, I saw my baby's heartbeat. I'm trying not to think sad thoughts, and I think I'm succeeding. I'm remembering my angel baby, and I'm hoping that he (just a feeling that it was a he) is going to do his part to help this next pregnancy attempt.

I'm Fragile

I thought I was doing so well. Being positive. Not obsessing, but thinking positive pregnancy and baby thoughts every day.

This morning, I got a phone call from the doctor's office. Ginger has a cyst. She will continue on Lupron and it should dissolve on its own. She goes back next Friday for another U/S. I will still go in on Monday for my baseline and continue on the Lupron until Ginger can start her next round of meds.

I was a little disappointed but Pati assured me that it wasn't a big deal, is a common occurrence, and if it doesn't dissolve on its own after a week or two on Lurpin, they will go in and drain it.

I took a deep breath and realized that this is only a short delay. I'm still moving forward.

Yesterday, I was feeling some pangs. Like I was getting my period. I ignored them. Then today, when I went to the bathroom, the tell-tale sign of my period starting. I ignored it again. There wasn't much. Could just be spotting.

And then tonight, I couldn't ignore it. I started to freak out. What was this going to do to the schedule? I emailed Pati (who is amazing and always gets right back to me) and basically told her I was freaking.

She wrote back within five minutes. "Don't worry, you're supposed to get your period!! We want your lining thinned out before we start you on Estrace to build it up."

And at that point, I started to cry. I went from thinking that, once again, my body was failing me again, to having hope. Deep breath.

Dream a little Dream -- Over and Over Again

Over the course of the past two weeks, I've had four different dreams where I had a baby. There were no labor or pregnancy scenes. The baby was of varying age in each dream. Three of the four -- one little girl. Sweet and precious.

It felt right. And natural to hold a baby and know she was mine.

Last night, I had twins. They had just been born. A boy and a girl. Weirdly, the nurses "named them until I could Benjamin and Rahjima. No idea where that came from. I was struggling to remember the names I like right now.

I could remember Harper for the girl, but could only come up with Mason for the boy (which, I think, I've moved away from). And then I could actually go through the thought process in my dream. "They're both named after authors." And finally I came up with Cooper.

And then the nurse held hands in a circle (perhaps from my watching the season premiere of Big Love before bed) and told me my baby boy had leukemia. I was scared at first, and then, still in my dream, I thought, "they couldn't diagnose leukemia on a two-day-old. He doesn't have that." And that was that.

Obviously baby thoughts have invaded my subconscious. More than I thought.

I started my shots tonight -- 10cc of Lupron to suppress my hormones. Ginger has her baseline U/S on Friday, I go in on Monday.

I know I'll probably never meet her, but I think what's she is doing is amazing.

Two More Days on BCP

I have through Tuesday on the pill, and I'm actually impressed with myself that I've been able to keep my emotions in check. My previous times (though it was for the entire three weeks, not two), I turned into a sobbing puddle of out-of-control tears, coming on for no conceivable reason. Hopefully, the next two days go the way the last 12 have.

I finally connected with Bubbles last night -- we hadn't talked since before Christmas -- and while it was good to catch up, it was hard to rehash all the hurt feelings from the Christmas drama. It also reminded me how glad I am that it's over and that I survived.

Yesterday was the first birthday party of my friend Heather's daughter. It was a fun day -- one that I didn't dread. I was home in time for football, and then spent the rest of the weekend watching football and doing some work. Yes, I've gotten into the habit of bringing work home on the weekend, but it's only because of the second job. It will not become a long-time habit.

And finally, I looked through the donor catalog and made a final decision on the sperm donor. I've decided to go with one different from the one I've been using, but I think he's one I've previously used.

Jalapeno-Flavored Cheese is not a Vegetable

But I have managed to get at least one real veggie in a day. Sometimes, it's just hummus, but it counts. The working out.....not so much. This week back to work after two weeks off, has kicked my ass. I'm barely making it home at the end of the day. It's not fair that we have to go back for five full days. Maybe over the weekend, I will get my ass back on the treadmill.

Work has been getting a little busier, and with my new title (interim director) there are lots of time sucks in my day that I can't explain or remember. Suddenly it's 11:30 and I've managed to do nothing I wanted to in the morning.

I've got one more week of BCP before I start shooting up. And I need to call in and order the sperm. My dilemma is which donor to go with. The one I'd been using was a red-head, but now that Ginger is a red-head, do I go with another guy? I'm not sure. I'm going to look over my top two or three choices and then do what I did last time I choice -- go with my gut.

I got a text from J last night. I ignored it for about an hour (mostly because I was on the phone). He had written, "what's going on?" It was still pretty early in the evening, so I thought it was harmless enough. So I responded. "Not much. how are you?"

Never heard back from him. I did my part as a friend, but didn't have to be faced with temptation. An excellent evening.

Happy new year!

It's started. I got my period earlier in the week and started taking birth control pills on Tuesday. Counter-intuitive, I know, but I don't need to ovulate this month; Ginger is doing that for me.

And so the next steps in this process look like this:

Ginger starts on Lupron...1/9
I start on Lupron and stop BCP....1/12
Ginger has a baseline U/S...1/15
I have my baseline U/S....1/18

And it goes from there. And so for the next three weeks, I can take care of me and await for the transfer. I can stop looking at the negative, stop looking ahead, and try to live a week at a time.

My new year's resolutions:

* work out at least 20 minutes a day, five days a week. It's not much, but it's something very doable. And after the way I've been feeling about my body and its inadequacies, I need something that I can do without just giving up. This morning, I walked on the treadmill at home for 30 minutes.
* eat at least one vegetable a day. I know that sounds so funny, but I'm not a huge veggie eater. Don't like a lot of them. But I'll need to when I'm pregnant. Dinner tonight....baby spinach salad with carrots, celery, walnuts and feta cheese.
* and continue to be strong with the bad boys in my life. I can miss them, but I don't need them. J and Chris are not what I need in my life.

My resolution from last year -- to go to church at least twice a month -- became a habit pretty easily. And I'm hoping that these for this year will happen the same way.

Christmas '09 In Review

The good...

* Christmas Eve was great. I drove up in the afternoon and met my Virginia family at my sister-in-law's parent's house and went to mass with them. After that, we went to my niece's house for the evening. My niece and her family, my sister and brother-in-law, and my brother, sister-in-law and niece sat around and munched and drank and laughed. The boys opened presents and got sufficiently wound up from wrestling with my brother.
* I spent all of Christmas weekend in Syracuse -- did day after Christmas shopping with the family and played with lots of Moon Sand with the boys. Sunday, most of the family came back out to my niece's for brunch before everyone scattered again to their own lives, including the Virginians who would be heading south the next morning.
* As much as I enjoy being in Syracuse and hanging out with my niece and the boys, and there is nothing like an uninitiated hug from a two-year-old (you know you're loved when you get a hug for no reason, without asking for it), it was good to be back home, to sleep in my own bed, to turn my heat on as high as I wanted it.
* And about 11:30 on Christmas morning, my phone beeped. A text from E: "Merry Christmas gorgeous. hope you have a great day."

The bad....

* a rare snow storm in the mid-Atlantic region halted my holiday plans for Baltimore the weekend before Christmas. I was going to see Bubbles, Wanda and her family, Tim and the girls, Jan, and visit the Museum. I was also looking forward to testing myself by being in the city and NOT reaching out to J in any way.
* I handled Christmas day the best I could. And by that, I didn't really acknowledge my new niece, born over the summer. There were 14 other people to dote on her (and they all converged on her two feet behind me as I was doing dished when she first arrived). If she were older and would have noticed the slight, I wouldn't have done it. But she's six months old. There was a little tension with her mother, another one of my niece's (we all the know the story) -- or maybe I imagined it. Maybe the hurt feelings over her wedding, over the way she told me she was pregnant, made me think there was tension. In any event, I didn't really talk to her (thankfully with such a large family, it wasn't possible to have a lengthy conversation with everyone).
* At one point, I felt the tears coming on. I was grating cheese and fought the tears back. I wanted to let loose, I wanted to start bawling, but was surrounded by my family. A family who doesn't really understand the pain I sometimes feel around a baby. I tried to explain it to one of my sisters and she said, "but you're around babies all the time." Not really, and not really the point, but my response was "yes, but those are babies whose mother's are nice and supportive of what I'm going through and understand that their happiness might cause me pain." I was met with a blank stare, so I changed the subject.
* The family pictures! Ugh....almost as much as seeing my niece's baby, I was dreading this moment when my sisters would make a production of doing "family unit" pictures. Not just a picture of everyone who was there, or even random photos throughout the day, but posed pictures of each little family unit. Brother, sister-in-law, two kids. Niece, her husband, two kids. Sister, brother-in-law, niece, her husband, two kids. Etc. Ever since it was suggested that we frame these sorts of pictures for my parents' 50th anniversary a few years back, and I contribute a picture of me with my cat (seriously!), I've avoided these little set-ups. I stayed in the kitchen, and thankfully no one called me into the living room to pose in front of the tree, either alone or with my parents.

The weird...

* Thankfully there wasn't really any ugly. My sister got me a strange present, and while she thought it was funny, it's not exactly the way I would have handled it. As she explained it, she ordered two day planners from the Smithsonian gift shop and was able to get one monogrammed for free, so she got hers done with her initials. When they arrived, she started filling hers out, and only then realized that she had started writing in the non-monogrammed one. Rather than give me the one she had started to write in, or get me something else and write this one off as a loss, she gave me the one with her initials. So instead of having LAW (my true initials) on a day planner, I have for the next year (should I decide to use it) KLY. I know, it's the thought that counts. But I find it weird. And again, given lingering tensions over her daughter's wedding and the way that was handled, I think I'm finding more wrong with it than if it had come from my oldest niece or even my sister-in-law in Virginia. Because I'm closer with them, because I would have found it funny, and because I know that that's not how they would have handled it.

And so all in all, the Christmas I was dreading, the Christmas I wasn't really looking forward to....I survived. It's over. The family drama, the tension, the feelings of inadequacy (because of singledom and childlessness)....it's all over. And so if I'm still childless next year, here's hoping Richmond is an option. Otherwise, I think Bubbles and I should be finding ourselves on a beach somewhere, drinking margaritas and ignoring both of our families.

Merry Christmas to me

I went up to Syracuse yesterday for my belly massage and a facial. First, I stopped next door to the FG's office to drop off all of the meds that I won't ever need again. All in all about $20,000 worth.

I asked Pati if she'd heard from the other recipient, and she said she was going to call her that afternoon and tell her that she needed an answer before Christmas.

"But what if she says no?"

Pati gave me a hug and said, "we're still moving forward. We'll figure it out. Go enjoy your afternoon."

And so I went and got my internal organs massaged (no, really, that's what happens). And when I was waiting for the facial, one of the girls who works there came in and said Pati was on her way over to talk to me.

She came with a packet of paperwork for me to fill out. The other recipient is not ready to move forward, so Ginger is all mine. For the price of doing a split cycle. I hugged her again. "Merry Christmas, you've been through enough. And think about how many embryos you're going to have!"

Holy shit, that's right. Ginger's previous donation cycles have produced 9 and 14 embryos.

I tried my best to just enjoy and relax during my facial, and I pretty much did. I called Hope when I left and talked to gave her the update. Then I called Jill, who kept saying she was so happy she couldn't stop smiling. This is the way it's supposed to be. Everything that has happened to this point was supposed to.

I pulled out a Christmas CD that I had made last year, but haven't listened to yet this year. I knew that it started with lots of instrumental church music (a good 2 minutes worth) before my favorite Christmas hymn would begin. And as soon as Amy Grant started singing "Angels We Have Heard on High," I started to cry.

It's really going to happen. A year ago today, I got pregnant. And I was so full of hope last year for Christmas. This year? So hopeful that this is going to work. I ran over to church between errands this morning to say thank you.

John Mayer is deep

Another post I'm borrowing from Advice from a Single Gal. I'm sitting in front of the computer, pretty Christmas tree lights on in the background, reading this quote over and over again.

John Mayer has a twitter account that I check in with every once in a while. Last week, he made a comment that's stuck with me ever since. I have it up on a sticky note and I keep looking at it. It's stuck itself in my psyche. It's a truth I'm going to keep on reminding myself:

For all the times we punish ourselves, very few times have we actually done something wrong.

Nightmare Before Christmas

I need to stop eating Christmas cookies before bed. The other night, I partook in a few yummy bits of sugar and frosting and had thee weirdest dream. Ever.

I was at my friend Jill's house. Her home office was suddenly much larger and it had a futon. I was smooching with her hot brother, but rather than being the sweet single 34-year-old that he really is, I made him married (go figure). And not only married, but married to Chris's wife's sister. So suddenly my worlds were colliding.

And because Chris's life was suddenly so much closer to mine, I knew when something tragic happened to him. And Jill went to the funeral to support her brother's family, and I went along too.

The weird thing is, I wasn't sad about Chris. In fact, it was more abstract. We didn't actually go anywhere in the dream, it was more that we just talked about it, in the very way that I just described it.

I woke up very disturbed. And I wondered what it all meant. Does it mean that Chris is now "dead" to me? Could be. I've accepted that I'm done with him, that I'm finally ready to move on from him.

More disturbing, and perhaps more telling? That I "made" David be married in the dream. I'm not going anywhere near that. I'll save that for the next time I get my head shrunk, I guess.

Strength and Peace

Please give my "sister recipient" the strength to make a decision she will be at peace with and my the strength to accept her decision, no matter what.

That was what I prayed for tonight at church, one day after hearing the FG's office that the other woman I will be splitting the donor eggs with is on the fence, and not sure she's ready to move forward.

I was pissed when I heard it yesterday. I didn't, and still don't, understand after all we've been through, not taking that next step, not wanting to move forward. I know I should, I know that it could be me, but I don't and it's not.

And so, again, I just have to be patient.

Attitude Adjustment

My mother told me last week that my niece (and her new baby) would not be with us at Christmas. She would be spending the day with her in-laws. It made me not dread the day quite so much.

And then tonight, "Erica will be coming to Christmas."

Terrific. So looking forward to it.

I've got a week to figure out how to make the best of it.

I'll have a blue Christmas....

I thought about writing yesterday, but was in such a fowl mood I thought I would spare you all. It was raining. And cold. And dreary. I sat in the dark with nothing but the Christmas tree lights. And thought about how much I've really come to hate the holidays.

The preparing for them? Love! Shopping, buying presents for other people, wrapping them, decorating the tree, the Christmas specials on TV, baking cookies. Love all of that. And then when I do it, I start to think about who I'm not doing it for. Not doing it for my family. My own family. Not my husband or kids.

And then I start to feel sorry for myself. And I wonder when this joke that the universe is playing on me will end. I talked to Bubbles, who is in a similar boat, although at nine years younger, not quite as desperate as I am.

Somehow I'll make it through. I'll survive Christmas, this year with most of my family rather than the lovely say in pajamas I usually spend in Richmond. I'll survive New Year's Eve, mostly because it will just be nothing more than a Thursday to me. And six weeks later, I'll survive Valentine's Day.

But I shouldn't have to want to "just get through" the holidays. Should I? Am I missing something bigger? Something greater?

So now we're going to try to be friends

Real friends. Professional. Platonic. We'll see how long that lasts.

I thought about texting J over the weekend to tell him about my promotion. Actually the evil Ellie thought about texting him that I had news and to call when he could. And then good won out over evil. "I got the interim director position!"

He texted back with congratulations and then asked if we had gotten any snow, that they gt a few inches (which in Baltimore is like a few feet), etc. Back and forth. Snow and work. That's it.

We can do this.

And then the next night, he texted again. Something about the Giants game. Okay, we can still do this. He started to veer off course when he asked what I was doing and told me he had been drinking martinis all afternoon.

I kept it on the up and up. And honestly was thinking about texting "where's the Mrs.?" But I stopped myself. I'm not sure why.

He asked me if I would be in Baltimore near the holidays. My response? "Yea, for a few days, but I'm not going to bother to tell you when, you'd just blow me off anyway."

"Ouch...you dick."

"But so true."

He must not have liked that, or the Mrs. showed up, because that was the last I heard from him that night.

I need to be the good one, and we can have this friendship.

It's Winter

Maybe not officially, but I guess this is what I get for living where I do. I woke up yesterday to four inches of wet, heavy snow. And while it was pretty, it was a pain to deal with. I went out in my pajamas to shovel and brush off the car, and then waited for the plow to go down my hill before I headed out to work. By this point it was raining and the roads weren't that bad. But it's only a matter of time before it's much worse.

But even with the snow on the ground (or what's left of it), it doesn't feel like Christmas is two weeks away. I've got most of my shopping and wrapping done, most of my baking completed, but I'm just not in the same Christmas spirit.

I won't be going to Virginia for Christmas this year, as I normally do. My brother and his family will be coming back up. I'll head down to Baltimore for a long weekend before Christmas and then head back north for Christmas with the majority of my family. Is it awful of me to say that I'm really not looking forward to it?

Yea, it probably is. Oh well.....

In work news, it is official. I'm the interim director of my department. Everyone, or mostly everyone was really excited. And those who probably weren't at least put on a good show. The next few months will be interesting, for sure.

Tiger

It's time to comment on Tiger.

No, he shouldn't have cheated, but anyone who thinks that professional athletes don't cheat as a rule are naive. The athletes who don't cheat are the exception for sure.

Here's the scenario. For most of his life, he was told that he was the greatest. That he had an ability few had. That God actually touched his arm and gave him an ability to hit a golf ball better than anyone one else. He was idolized and people wanted to be around him. Men wanted to be his friend, would do anything for him. Run when he wanted, fetch when he wanted. Women wanted to fuck him. Always. This was a way of life. The only way of life he knew.

Maybe he fell in love, maybe he thought he fell in love. Either way, he got married. But men still wanted to be his friend, would run and fetch when he wanted. And women still wanted to fuck him. And the men who hung around him wanted to help him get away with fucking as many women as he wanted.

This became his new way of life. It worked for him. And maybe it worked for his wife. "Do what you want, but don't bring any diseases home, be a good father and provider, and don't make me look like a fool." I've heard of several wives -- of professional athletes and powerful men -- who had those rules or something similar.

Whatever the agreement between Tiger and his wife is between them. Whatever his wife knew or didn't know, or pretended not to know, is a moot point.

Cheat, don't cheat, but be smart. Tiger's arrogance got the best of him. Where is closest circle of friends (not the hangers-on) were people he vetted, people he trusted, his circle of mistresses should have been the same. And that was his fatal mistake.

He protected his private life, his inner circle, but he was willing to risk it all for sex.

And don't even get me started on these whores who are willing to sacrifice whatever self-respect they had left for 15 minutes of fame on the cover of the National Enquirer.

I'm not a perfect person, I've made my mistakes and committed my sins, but never would I air my dirty laundry, never would I sell conversations, never would I purposely hurt someone I once supposedly cared about (even if I hated him).

Holding the Ship Steady

That's the way it felt this week. After a good ultrasound the previous week, I'm just holding steady waiting for Ginger Spice (what we have decided to call my egg donor, so much better than referring to her as "the donor") to get her period this month for her mock cycle. Once that happens, I should have a better idea of the timing for January.

So until then, I hold steady, take my prenatal vitamins, do my abdominal self-massage, go for the abdominal massage every other week, and wait until it's my turn.

I truly believe in "everything happens for a reason." And finally things are maybe starting to make sense. I lost my pregnancy last year. If I had had the baby, I wouldn't have applied for the development position. I didn't get the development position, but interviewing gave me a confidence in my job I haven't had since I left Baltimore.

And that confidence helped me land the interim director my department, following my boss's recent departure. And so for the next six months, give or take, I will be the head of my department, with a chance to shine and a nice pay bump.

And so, even though it's temporary, it's going to give me the opportunity the build up the nest egg that has slowly dwindled over the past two years. It will give me the opportunity to enhance my career.

Best case scenario.....I am the interim director until June, a new executive director is hired and I help with his/her transition, and then a few months later, go out on maternity leave.

Everything happens for a reason....and maybe, just maybe, it's starting to make sense.

Last night, while I slept restless most of the night, thinking about how some people in my office will react to me getting the appointment of interim director and them not, I also had a dream about a baby. A little girl, with red hair and blue eyes. And she was mine. And I felt a peace I've never felt. And I believed it. It was real...or it will be.

I Needed This Today

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