An Adjective, Not a Noun

I was visiting my husband at work the other day, and was talking to two of his colleagues. One of them is about 42 months pregnant, and the other is trying to adopt after having a son around the time Meg was born. I commented on bulging belly of the first, and the second turned to me and said "Yeah, aren't you glad you adopted? You didn't have to deal with any of that."

She didn't mean to ruffle my feathers, but she did. I instantly jumped into the role of infertile woman, insulted that she would think there was any reason I was "lucky." Didn't she have any idea what I had been through to get my child? Didn't she have any idea of the loss I had suffered? That I am still suffering? Didn't she know all the things I had done to my body, and was still doing to my body to achieve what others had gotten so easily? Had she no idea that she offended me?

Then it dawned on me. No, she hadn't. She wasn't viewing me as an infertile woman. She was viewing me as a Mom with a beautiful child who had never had to deal with cankles.

It made me think.

I have been dealing with infertility for almost five years. In that time it has become not just something I deal with, but a main part of my identity, if not my entire identity at times. And now? It's time for that to end. It's time for me to stop feeling bad every time I see a maternity dress, or think "why not me" when I hear a friend is pregnant. Or, if not to stop those feelings, to not let myself wallow in them, and wear them like a corsage. There are so many prettier things I could pin to my dress.

I am not saying that my feelings of frustration, and sadness, and anger, and envy, and hopelessness aren't valid. I am just saying I don't have to, or want to, validate them every day any more. They can be a part of my story without being the center of it. Who knows, maybe the story will be even more fascinating because of it. And maybe I can help others dealing with infertility get past the soul numbing, all consuming yuckiness to expand their own stories too.

After all, I'm lucky. Damn lucky.

In case you didn't know, this is National Infertility Week. For more information, visit Resolve.org.

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Looking For Me?

You guys are thinking I am totally lazy, aren't you? You're thinking that instead of writing anything this week, and participating in the world I am just going to sit around drinking daiquiris and waiting for the royal wedding. Oh, how wrong you are. First of all, do you know how many calories are on one daiquiri? I could have like three bottle of wine for that. Also, I have been writing this week -- just not here.

If you want to read about my recent foray into acupuncture (and really, who doesn't) head on over to Tired and Stuck.

If you want to know why I just can't mock William and Kate as they prepare for their wedding? Well, you need to go to Sprocket Ink.

Of course, after going to these sites, please return back here tomorrow for a new post, and maybe some light calisthenics.

Ahoy!

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Depressing Little Secret

About two weeks ago, for reasons that I thought were good at the time, I decided to go off my antidepressants and try to "tough it out." It was not a smart thing to do, and I am now back on them after a crash that should be called impressive to say the least. However, while I am very glad to be back on the right path, and not running into the bathroom at work to cry when I read something sad (which is a A LOT, people really suck sometimes), I have to say, it wasn't all bad.

That's the dirty little secret about going off meds when you have been on them so long. There are moments when it is the best feeling ever.

Now, I am not saying that being suicidal, or crying uncontrollably, or thinking that everyone is out to get you is fun. Those are the reasons for medication. At least the reasons for my medication. However, the medications also dull the other emotions that can be larger than life for a person with depression -- like joy, and love, and excitement. Once the meds are gone those feelings are so overwhelming it's like no one else has ever, or will ever feel them that way ever again. You kind of feel bad for people on an emotional even keel.

For instance, last Thursday Meg and I were playing some stupid game, and she crawled into my lap and put her cheek against mine. I breathed in the smell of her hair and my eyes filled with tears because I love her so much. At that moment I KNEW no Mom could love a child more. With that feeling I really believed I could balance out the absolute emotional destruction when the pendulum swings the other way.

Wait, no it didn't. That's just crazy talk.

While those feelings are wonderful, and exhilarating, and make you think life is dull without them, they are just a trick. A mirage to bring you in that leaves you sucking sand. And in the end, feeling pretty good all the time, instead of feeling either stupendously terrific or world endingly bad, is an excellent trade off -- especially if you have a kid.

I'm glad to be back.

I mean, not crazy glad -- after all, I'm on meds.

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I Lied

I said I would be back here today. I'm not. I mean, I am, but just to make sure hooligans haven't broken in and messed the place up.

I did write something today, though. Something wonderful! Something that includes Charles Manson AND Michele Bachman. And all you have to do to read it is click on this little link. That will take you to Sprocket Ink. That rhymed! We're having fun already!

I promise, I will be back tomorrow...

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Taking My Crazy Elsewhere...

I have done a lot of crazy, over the top, not quite sane things in my quest to get pregnant. However, this time I went too far. Read all about it at Tired and Stuck today. I will be back here tomorrow.

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Beaten into Submission

Utah's newest Senator has a way to fix the deficit, save social security, and not make the richest one percent of Americans pay more in taxes. Yep, instead of taking from the rich to help the poor (that is really so un-Ayn Rand) he wants to make the poor work longer, and get less when they retire. He is absolutely sure it will work. Why? Because the younger generations don't expect that much from their government.

You think I'm kidding, don't you? I'm not.

Senator Mike Lee had joined with two other Tea Party "activists" to put forward a plan that would raise the retirement age to 70, and reduce the benefits anyone would receive once they reached that age. Now, to his credit, the people who make the most would receive a lot less than those who make the least, but he admits that's because those who make the most probably won't need social security anyway, and will be able to retire long before 70.

So, that shouldn't be so bad, right? I mean, 40 is the new 15, and everyone lives to at least 90 now! Oh, yeah, except the poor. The people who will have to work the longest will live the shortest after they retire. In fact, as their social security benefits have decreased over the past three decades -- so have their life spans.

Wait! Dead people don't need social security! Ca-ching!

Of course, not everyone will die, that would make things too easy. Luckily, the people this plan really sticks it to is the middle class. You know, the people who might make more than 43-thousand dollars a year for at least one year in their working career. Those people will still be paying the highest percentage of their income to social security, and seeing the lowest returns for those payments.

I guess I could consider this Senator Lee's plan to spur me to make more. After all, if I do that, I won't have to worry about this silly "social security" nonsense.

Or I could just expect less. After all, it's what all the cool young kids are doing. And it is MUCH easier than expecting my government to work for me...

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Meg the Destroyer

Never trust a quiet toddler. I learned that today the hard way.

In the past week Meg has started throwing absolutely spectacular fits, and Ryan and I have started trying dealing with said fits by putting her in a quiet place where she can't hurt herself and ignoring it the best we can. Today, when she totally freaked out because I wouldn't let her stand on the dining room table, I picked her up, put her in her crib, gave her a couple of board books that I knew she couldn't tear apart and walked out. When I heard her quiet down a moment later, I totally thought I had won.

I was so wrong.

Five minutes later when I went into her room (I know it was only that long, I was watching the clock) I noticed that there were strange brown chips in her crib. At first I thought she had ripped apart one of her books. Yes, they are board books, but she has done it before. All the books were in tact though. Then I looked at the wall...

I have Keebler elf hands, but you get the idea.

We live in an old house. It has lathe and plaster walls. Those walls have been wallpapered and painted over several times, and so there are some cracks in them. Occasionally we have to fix one of those cracks. During her time out Meg decided to start the demolition phase of one of those fixes.

She was so proud of herself. "I did it," she crowed as I surveyed the damage.

The next few minutes are kind of a blur. I know I was yelling, but also trying to smile as I yelled. Meg thought I was just making monster noises so she was growling along with me. I vacuumed out the crib of all the paint pieces, and scoured Meg's mouth to make sure she hadn't eaten any of them. I called Ryan and told him to get home because I needed to walk away RIGHT NOW. I called Tara and told her that it was really unfair she lived in California when I needed to meet her for a glass of wine RIGHT NOW. Finally, I sat down on the floor and cried. Big, ugly cried.

Meg came up behind me and patted me on the back. I looked up at her smiling face and realized, no matter what she did, I could never be mad for long. "Dammit," she said.

Dammit indeed.

Dammit, I love that kid. No matter what she does.

I just need to put a bell on her.

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Twenty One Months

This month has been really hard. It is the month we realized Meg growing up isn't just a cute possibility, but a concrete reality; and that we not only have to let her, but help her do it.

This is the month we moved from a high chair to a booster. When we put the playpen away. When we started thinking about buying a toddler bed because the crib is having a hard time containing her. When she started not only wanting to sit on the potty, but peeing when we set her on it. When I looked in her face and saw what she will look like as a teenager.

Yeah, I almost lost it then.

While I'm sad to not have a baby any more, and wonder where that time went (I mean, those nights when she wouldn't sleep seemed endless, how did they go so fast?), every day that we get to see Meg grow and change and turn into the wonderful little person is becoming more than makes up for it. While we have learned she is extraordinarily stubborn, and will do what ever it takes to get her own way, we have also learned how loving and kind she is. She cannot hear a baby crying without wanting to help, and she is always willing to share with anyone -- even the dog. I kind of wish she wouldn't share with Sally though; that dog is packing on the pounds.

It is also fun to see just how smart Meg is, and how her mind works. Things like memorizing colors or shapes aren't interesting her, but she can sing full songs, repeat back things she heard only once, and is utterly fearless when it comes to trying new things. She will yell "I try it" before jumping on the monkey bars, or climbing up a net, or going down a slide. We just run alongside to make she she doesn't get too hurt. Meg also makes up the most fabulous dances, and is trying to tell jokes. Yes, the jokes suck, saying "diaper" when holding a shoe and then laughing uproariously is not high comedy, but she's trying.

Our growing girl is also becoming a master of manipulation. The other day she started screaming when I was leaving for work, yelling "cuddle, Mama, cuddle." I got her out of her crib and was about to call and quit my job when she hopped down off my lap, looked back at me, and said "I want fruit leather" as she ran to the kitchen.

I would be mad if she wasn't damn cute.

Oh how we love our (rapidly getting bigger) girl. Love, love, love our girl.

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The Power of Ovaries

Hey, wanna know a secret? This big government shut down that might happen? The one that is supposedly about making major budget cuts and saving the country from financial ruin? Yeah, it's not actually about that.

It's about vagina.

Well, more specifically, it's about what the vagina leads to, and what women should and should not be able to do with those parts of their anatomy. Yep, the primary reason that the budget cannot be finalized is because Republicans want to pull all funding for Planned Parenthood, and restrict federal funding for abortions, and the Democrats aren't going along with it.

It isn't even that Planned Parenthood, or abortion, get all that much money from the feds. I know, I know, you would think that would be the prime concern in "budget" talks, but the amount of money spent on these programs is so laughably small that lawmakers probably spend more each year on those little flag pins. The reason they are hinging the budget battle on this issue is because it is a way to deal with it, and not have many people notice.

Think about it. If conservatives Republicans mount a bill calling for the defunding of Planned Parenthood, and changes in federal programs to not cover abortion, it's going to be a major national issue. Every person in America will hear about it. It will start a debate. The people trying to do this don't want a debate. That's why it's in the budget bill.

This budget bill will eventually have to pass. It has to. Before it does all the news will be about what happens if it doesn't. If a government shut down happens, people will get panicky. Once they get panicky they won't care what's in the bill as long as it's passed. We all know once people are panicky the Democrats will fold. And, just like that, the far right has won on an issue they have had in their back pocket for years, without any debate.

Then the women of America, especially the poor or those without health insurance, will be left wondering what happened to their reproductive rights.

Great secret, huh?

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Oh, My, Goodness? Golly? Gosh?

Today I was sitting at the computer, paying bills (yay, bills!), when Meg came wandering up to me and demanded to "get up." I had tried to sit her in front of a video, sippy cup and blanket in hand, pacifier in mouth, but she obviously wasn't having any of that.

"Meg, go watch your video for five minutes, and I will be right there," I said.

"No, get up." she started to climb into my lap.

"Meg, Mama is paying bills. Your video is much more fun."

"No, get up, DAMMIT."

I stopped. Surely I had misheard her. After all, her pacifier was in her mouth. "Meg, take out the pacifier and say that again" I said. She did, and this time the sentence was clear as a bell. "Get up, dammit." She smiled.

"Meg, we don't say that word," I was trying to say it with a straight face.

"Dammit?" Now she was curious.

"Yes, that word, we don't say that."

"Dammit." Now she was pondering.

"You need to stop saying that."

"Dammit." This time it was a whisper, like she was committing it to memory. She got down and went back to her video.

We are so screwed. Yeah, I know, I shouldn't use that word around Meg either.

I wonder if swearing is still as fun if you spell out the words...

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Opening Game

It's spring (kind of) and that means it once again is time for Ryan and me to play our favorite game "pick the stellar parenting moment." Now, yes, we could play this game anywhere, since truly stellar parenting moments are all around us, and we like being judgmental all year long. However, like baseball, this is a game that is best played outside, in settings that are supposed to be all about fun. I think we all know that is where the stellarest of the stellar moments happen.

Ryan and I had our first game the other night at the zoo. The weather was warm, the animals were out and playing, and some parents just couldn't tell their kids enough how horrible they are.

All through the zoo we had two prime contenders. One had a child named Mason. We know his name was Mason because she would scream it every time she would push him and tell him to "hurry up.'' Seriously, you would have thought Mason was cattle the way she was prodding him. I guess she had a definite schedule of animal viewing, and no one was going to mess that up for her.

I have no idea what the kids of the other Mom were named, because she only called them all "you." I guess when you have five under seven that happens. "You," she would say "stop making that face. You're making the picture ugly. I don't know why I even take pictures of you." A short time later we heard her say "hey, you, if you don't hurry up I am leaving you here and the animals will probably eat you." No, that is a great way to make sure a kid will love the zoo forever.

All throughout the zoo these two top contenders battled. The "you" Mom would say something totally disheartening that could scar a child for life, but then Mason's Mom would push him so hard we thought for sure he was about to take a tumble. It was a REALLY close race, sure to be a photo finish.

Then a dark horse pulled ahead.

A young couple that had been making the rounds in the zoo with us, not making a peep except to coo over their probably nine month old son, held him over the rail in the giraffe house, 16 feet above a concrete floor, to get a picture of him with the animal. I don't know who looked more shocked: the endangered child, or the giraffe who was wondering if this was some kind of chubby new treat.

Mason's Mom and the "You" Mom faded into the background. We had a winner.

I'm actually hoping that we run into them again. Maybe at the aviary, or the race track. I have a feeling they could make this the best stellar parenting season ever.

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