My 100th Post

Because I can't count, this is actually my 101st post. But, posting 100 times deserves a shout out - so we'll just pretend that THIS one is the 100th.

There are a few things that are different from when I started this journal. An obvious one is that I'm pregnant - something I truly thought would never happen. I admit, I am a woman of little faith. But I'm different in many other, perhaps less obvious or tangible ways.

For one, when I meet a woman of childbearing age, I no longer assume that she has children. I don't ask her if she has kids or when she's going to start a family. For all I know she has been trying to start a family for a year, or two, or like my friend Lori, eight, long years. Bringing up the topic of babies and kids hurts and is not fun to talk casually about. When I meet a woman who is past childbearing age, with no children, I no longer assume that she didn't want them. I will tread lightly, because if she tried for many years with no pink lines to show, she probably still carries loads of grief and pain. I will downplay my own pregnancy.

And even though I am extremely blessed to be expecting, I am different than other moms-to-be. My path was wrought with heartache, fear, frustration ,depression, and sadness beyond comprehension. I didn't become pregnant on a whim. It was something I deliberately sought out and fought for. Was desperate for. Agonized over. It was not easy. It was painful work indeed. Instead of picking out paint chips for the nursery, I pray every night that God will keep this baby safe and that I'll get to hold her in my arms for real one day.

One thing that is not different is that I'm still an infertile. It's like being a survivor of a horrible illness. You're afflicted, you fight the battle, never knowing if you'll win or lose. I'll never be like fertiles who have no concept of what its like to be disappointed month after month after month. And even though I may have "won" this battle - I'll always think in terms of an infertile...will this baby make it? Will I have something to rejoice over, or something to lament? I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This experience so far has definitely changed me. The stories I've read of other women who have gone through far more difficult journeys or have just begun, are truly life-changing. They haunt me. They lift me up. They have become this sea of individuals joined together with a common experience that no one else can comprehend or understand.

The second 100 entries in my journal will be different than the first. Instead of complaining about needles and hormones, medical bills and humiliating procedures, it will be filled with gripes and moans about pregnancy and parenting. But it will be ever tempered with the lessons and effects of being a surviving infertile.

Chocolates and Tots - get 'yer own!

My boss gets us all a box of See's chocolates for Christmas every year. If you are a midwest or east coastie, then you don't know about See's. Which is probably a good thing.

This year, just like everything else affected by our wonderful economy, the box shrank. It's usually the big, two-tiered, 25 piece box. This year? The 12 piece. Which is still great, and much better in all honesty for my ever expanding waist (who's kidding whom? there's no semblance of a waist left at ALL).

I successfully avoided said pitfall (white box with little gold ribbon) for an entire week. Until yesterday. Today, less than 24 hours later, there's one pecan turtle thing and three half-eaten truffles. I don't like truffles. I usually take a bite to see what's inside, and put it back with a big bite taken out, if its a truffle (or those crappy lemon things - who likes those, anyway?). Right about now, truth be told, I am eyeballing those defiled truffle outcasts with the slightly stale/crunchy bite-marked edges. Mark my words, by the end of the day they'll be gone, too.

What is going on? What happened to my scruples and die-hard willpower? I accidentally left my lunch at home today and it seemed as if the world had ended. What will I eat? Where will I eat? What will become of me? I'm sure that I will waste away to nothingness. Sure of it. My appetite has taken control of my body and I am just a pawn.

Cravings? Yeah. I have them. I'm proud to say that I crave salads. Less proud to say that I also crave tater tots. Those little round fried things you got in the grade school cafeteria alongside fish sandwiches and green jello. I dream about them. My mouth waters for them. I can't get the tiny, greasy, ground potato-like goodness out of the oven and into my mouth fast enough. Tater tots! I must stop or the obsession will drive me mad. Must think pure and taterless thoughts.

There's a Stranger in My Bed

There's a stranger in my bed. He takes up a lot of room. He's bulky. He's clumsy. I'd really like to kick him out. His name is Body Bo.ppy (BB for short). Apparently BB is supposed to help me sleep on my side (better for me and little tiny growing thing), but honestly, it is a big fluffy pain in my ever-increasing arse.

The picture on the package shows a preggo lady, all snuggled up and la-la-la-dreamlanding it. Just IN LOVE with her Body Bop. This is not what happens. I spend my nights trying to hoist it over me whilst keeping it under the covers (cuz jimminy its COLD this winter) and manipulating it into some semblence of comfort. Apparently its even better to have TWO of them, and put one on each side of you. I'm thinking that's a whole lot of pillow taking up crucial real estate in my bed. Plus its claustrophobic. And hot. Not to mention a major suppressor of anything in the romantic realm:

"hi honey...do you wanna give me a kiss?"
"Umm....where the hell are you?"
"Under this big pile of suffocating and heat inducing fluff."
"where the....what the...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."


The whole sleeping on your side thing sucks enough. But throw in a couple of whale-sized pillows and you've got yourself a heckofa challenge for Uniso.m. But then again, take it away and I wake up with back pain that turns me into a crotchety ol' witch. Perhaps in time I'll learn to tame the unweildy cotton behemoths, and BigB will learn to navigate them.

Photo Treasure Hunt

I was tagged by AYKM for a Photo Treasure Hunt tag where you: 1). Go to the 4th picture folder on your computer. 2). Post the 4th picture in that folder. 3). Explain the picture. 4). Tag 4 more people.

I have avoided this tag before, because frankly, the photos on my work computer are anything but interesting. But, I'm going to take one for the team and show you how mundane my small little world really is:


This is a picture of my husband, BigB. Thankfully he was #4 in the 4th file. He is nowhere's near mundane nor small. We were camping at the Sand Dunes in Florence, Oregon. You will notice right away that he has a big skin tag on his nose. I implore him weekly to have it removed. It's like a bullseye...you can't not look at it. Especially when you're trying to get all romantic. Its got a personality of its own and he wont get rid of it. Yet.

BigB also has a big head. Very big head. I'm praying our baby takes after my side of the family and has a more manageable sized noggin. Cuz, dang. Like a camel through the eye of needle.

Here's my four tags (my sincere apologies if you've been tagged for this recently!):

Clio
Leslie Lane
Virginia
Faith