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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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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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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Branching Out

I am thinking about jumping back into the baby making business. Or at least the attempting to make a baby business. Meg is growing up so quickly, and I think it would be a really wonderful thing for her to have a co-pilot through life. I may not always like my sisters, but I know we have shared history. They have my back. I want Meg to have that.*

However, while I am thinking about trying for another baby, I am not thinking about going back to fertility treatments. This time, I am going to try something I never thought I could do, and still am not sure if I can -- get out of the way and let my body do it's thing. To that end I going to try and do this all through lifestyle changes, and maybe a little acupuncture. It's a plan laid out in the book "Making Babies: A Proven Three Month Program For Maximum Fertility."

This is not going to be easy. Actually trying to make changes instead of just hoping western medicine has the magic bullet never is. I am going need people keeping me honest in order to stay on track. To that end, I have entered into a joint blog venture with Erin and Christina. They are using the program too, and together we will hash it out, overcome the difficulties, and hopefully all end up pregnant.

If not, at least it will be entertaining reading. I hope you will join us at TiredandStuck.blogspot.com.

*I know many of you are thinking "why not adopt again." I wish I could, but that is not financially possible at this time. Not ruling it out in the future though.

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I Don't Get It

When I was in third grade I couldn't roll my r's.

Everyone else could do it. They would all happily rrrr their way through "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" at song time while I mouthed along until the "caw, caw" part, hoping no one noticed. I would look at their mouths and try to figure out how they were making that sound while I could not. I asked friends who knew about my plight to help me, to show me exactly what to do. Still, I couldn't do it. I remember how left out I felt, and how thinking there was no worse feeling in the world.

I had no idea about the bitch of infertility.

It has now been two years since we stopped actively trying to have a biological child. Ryan and I both decided we don't want to try fertility treatments again. We both could not be happier with the way things turned out in the end with the adoption of Meg. We wouldn't want it any other way. We are both fine with never having a biological child. Still, sometimes that feeling, that left out, "why can't I do that" comes back to haunt me.

Right now I have two friends that are pregnant. One was actively trying not to get pregnant, and the other had just started trying like five minutes ago. Neither one was taking pills, or getting shots, or monitoring their basal temperature, or peeing on everything for signs of fertility. I am absolutely thrilled that neither one of them had to do any of that, and I look forward to the births of their children. Yet, still I wonder "how did they do that?"

I can go through all the reasons in my head for my infertility. PCOS. Irregular cycles. Too many years on birth control. Still, there are people with all of those things that have had children. My doctors told me I was making eggs. I had no "structural factors." Ryan was not a factor. We are pretty sure we are doing it right. What's the problem?

Honestly, I don't think I want to know the answer, even if there is one. I think that might make things worse, possibly luring me back into the world of fertility nightmares to prove "yes I can." My life is too good to even think about going back there.

At least now I can roll my r's. It gives a certain flair when I talk about being inferrrrrrrtile.

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I Feel Petty

I feel like I am surrounded by pregnant women.

Really, it's like I'm in a pod person movie, and the pods are continuously talking about heartburn and hemorrhoids. Sometimes when they get hungry I fear for my fingers. After all, I am sure I look delicious.

There is no way in the world I would want to be pregnant right now. First of all, I have the world's most adorable daughter, and I am enjoying every minute of being her Mom. Another baby would be so unfair to her, as well as to the baby who would just pale in comparison at this point in time. Also, our house is close to bursting with just one baby; I can only imagine it with two. Despite these fact though, I find myself experiencing little pangs of jealousy with every baby announcement.

I think it's just that so many people are seemingly easily doing something I can't do. It isn't the babies they are having, again, none can hold a candle to Meg, but the fact they can have them at all. It's like being in a room filled with people who can whistle, and not being able to make a sound. You might have a flute that makes a much more beautiful sound, a sound you love more that any whistling you can imagine; and you know that even if you could whistle the sound probably wouldn't be as charming, intelligent, easy going, or sleep through the night as well as your flute. Also, everyone loves and admires your flute. Still, part of you still feels bad because you can't whistle.

Yeah, I know, that metaphor sucks.

Oh, and I wish I were taller.

Did I mention Meg is almost half my height? And that she sings the "Tiki Room" song? She's so amazing.

Maybe I'll use her picture to ward off hungry preggos. And if that doesn't work I will just throw pickles and run...

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It's Kind of Hurty

Tara and I have a new favorite game. Like most of our games, it centers on pain and mocking. Unfortunately, most of the pain and mocking is aimed at ourselves. The game is called "guess who's pregnant." I don't think we invented it, I think it has been played by every woman dealing with infertility since, well, since infertility became a concern. However, while it may not be a new game, I think Tara and I have perfected it.

First of all, there is the fact that we can usually guess who, in fact, is pregnant on either the first or second try. Yes, that might have something to do with our small circle of friends, but I like to think it's because we are both actually kind of psychic. Then, there is the fact that we can both instantly come up with at least five reasons why it is unfair said person is pregnant instead of us. You know, because they already have two beautiful children, or we know they will name them something dumb, or because said person is a dude, reasons like that. Further, without even stopping to think, we both can come up with why this person is more deserving of being pregnant, and why both of our wombs will likely stay empty and gathering cobwebs until the end of time. This is where the game gets good. Where we were both united on the last two rounds, now it's every woman for herself, until the last, most pathetic one, is left standing. I have to say that since we have adopted Meg it has been harder for me to win this round, since Tara now has the "you have a baby" card to play, but sometimes, when I am really working it, I can still pull out a win.

Yes, yes , I know this game is not constructive, and possibly hurtful to all involved, but that's how we roll. Also, I hate to tell you all this, but optimism never actually got anyone pregnant. Also, I know that when the answer to the question "guess who's pregnant" is either me or Tara we will both be too overjoyed to play.

But I'm sure there will be other women dealing with infertility willing to play for us.

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The Red Sea

For the first time in almost a decade, I am artificial hormone free. I mean, I am still drinking milk, eating food, and breathing, so I am sure I am sucking in some type of salmon estrogen, but what I mean is that for the first time in almost a decade I am not actively seeking to put them in my body. No birth control. No non-birth control. No shots. No pills. No creams. Ryan and I are taking a break from the insanity and letting my body get back into it's own groove. And grooving it is.

Honestly, re-discovering who I am without hormones is kind of like watching "The Wizard of Oz" with Spanish language overdubbing. I recognize it, and I know what is going on, but it's still foreign. For instance, I DON'T actually cry every time I feel frustrated. Now I just sit there, waiting for the tears to come, shocked by the sanity that fills me instead. I have to admit that at times it's disappointing. After all, tears help me get my way much faster.

There are some positives to letting my body do it's own thing. I hardly ever threaten to kill Ryan any more. And babies don't cry and people don't scream "unclean" as I approach due to the condition of the skin on my face. Also, I can fit in my jeans at all times of the month without the aid of duct tape and Crisco. There are other pluses too, but I can't really write about them on this semi-family friendly blog without fear of getting an NC-17 rating, or Ryan filing a restraining order against me. Let's just say... Yeah, I can't even say that.

I honestly wish this feeling could go on forever and ever. Oh, and the way things are going, it just might. As of Wednesday it will be EIGHT WEEKS since my last period. Noah's flood? Jesus' time in the desert? The coolness of jelly bracelets? All shorter. I am really worried I should notify FEMA when I finally feel the first twinge of cramps. Actually, I don't think I will have to notify them, as my groans and screams will rival those of Godzilla. Some say no one remembers pain. Those people are full of shit. I remember non-hormone-moderated menstrual cramps. I think they are being simulated for prisoners at Guantanamo Bay.

So, all of you who live in Utah? Now is the time to plan a trip. I think you have at least a week to get out of town. Of course, if you see dead frogs on the sidewalk, drop what you are doing, and GET THE FUCK OUT! Oh, and if you can't, at least try not to wear white. Or open toed shoes...

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I Am More Than My Uterus

On Friday I expected to start the fourth round of "super ovulation" (Dun, dun, dun, da!) treatments aimed at getting me knocked up. I expected to, but I didn't. Instead, I went into the doctor, and discovered that following last month's unsuccessful cycle my ovaries decided to blow themselves up to ten times their normal size. When the doctor first saw them on the ultrasound she said "woah, that can't be comfortable." No, it wasn't, but really, I thought I was just gassy. I had no idea that I was actually experiencing an ovarian rebellion.

My ovaries are bigger -- with less Vitamin C.

My doctor said that not only would we not be able to proceed with this month's cycle, but I also shouldn't exercise, have sex, or lift anything heavy until my ovaries shrink back down. Luckily, she said drinking wine wouldn't be a problem. Despite that, I went home feeling dejected. After all, this was going to be THE cycle. I was ready to think positive, and be optimistic. I wasn't going to expect the worst. And that's why hearing the news about my ovaries was the worst thing I could have heard.

Ryan and I are trying to turn the setback into a positive though. We are taking a cue from my body, and stepping off the fertility merry-go-round. And we are going to do it for more than just this cycle. When talking on Friday night we realized that I have been taking some sort of hormone every month since October of 2006. And before that I was on birth control for almost ten years. So, we are going to give my body a break, and give it a minute to breathe. Who knows, maybe my skin will finally clear up and I'll lose some of the water weight I have come to know and tolerate. Oh, and if the hot flashes would stop, that would rock.

It isn't all about the physical, though. We are also going to take this break to try and reclaim our sanity. This weekend I have realized just how much our lives have revolved around this baby thing. We have not planned vacations, not spent money, and not made long term plans "just in case we get pregnant." Also, more and more of our conversations with friends and family have revolved around the fertility topic. We used to be interesting -- now we're a support system for a uterus. That needs to change. I'm not saying we won't talk about it, we just need to not be defined by it. A few months away from it will be just what we need. Who knows, maybe fake positivity will be replaced by the real thing... Yeah, I doubt that too...

So, stay tuned. I mean, you've stuck around this long, so let's see what happens next.

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Pizza Face

I have started another round of hormone shots as part of yet another attempt to have a child I can love and scold. The latest drugs haven't made me gain any weight, which is good as the previous two each packed an extra ten pounds onto my frame. If this one had done the same I would legally be required to wear a "wide load" sign if I ever decide to go jogging. Don't worry though, for while I haven't gained weight on this new hormone, it is not without side effects -- and the primary one can be seen all over my face. Yes, that's right folks, I am 34 years old, and I am battling acne.

Don't get me wrong, my skin is not porcelain and dewy at all other times. I suffer from the occasional break out, and often think that my pores are big enough to carry spare change. But the skin problems I deal with on a day to day basis are nothing compared to what happens once these drugs are in my system. Now, I have never met a leper, but I am betting that even a leper would look at me and gasp "dear god, what is wrong with your face?" Every pore along my chin and jaw becomes inflamed, and sore, and bumpy. The skin around them turns bright red and scaly. And all of it hurts.

The first time it happened I assumed that the dry winter air was just causing problems as it had occasionally in the past, so I began a program of super moisturizing. Big mistake. That was like throwing cow dung on a tomato patch (I love classy metaphors). Small zits became bigger zits. Bigger zits became mondo zits. My chin started looking like Eric Stoltz in "Mask." I thought about wearing a surgical mask to cover the horror. Then I went off the hormones, and it all stopped.

Everything had pretty much healed by the second round of the drugs. Once again, my face exploded. This time I blamed the facial wax I had used to take off my moustache, and wondered if being hairless was really worth it if all I was doing was revealing the zits below. I steamed my face multiple times, trying to draw out any wax that might be clogging pores. Nothing worked though, except going off the drugs.

This time I am ready. Yesterday I went to the grocery store, and, after a little bit of crying, perused the acne care aisle. I cannot believe how much more shit there is now than there was during my last big breakout. I was expecting to pick up some Persa Gel and Sea Breeze and be on my way. But no! I had a selection of masks, pads, scrubs, and gels to choose from. In the end I still stuck with the Persa Gel, but got some "oil absorbing wipes" instead of Sea Breeze -- although I will miss that delicious sting only Sea Breeze has.

I tried the Persa Gel last night, and the smell sent me into a nostalgic panic attack. How did any of us get laid with this stuff on our faces? It smells like a chemical attack. I actually kind of walked around before getting in bed so Ryan wouldn't be overcome by the fumes. And it feels like wearing glue. Once it dried my skin was pulled tighter than Joan Rivers. I worried about smiling because I thought my face would crack. If it works though, it will all be worth it.

I'm just hoping this is the last drug I have to try, and the last side effect I have to endure, because, really, I can only imagine what's next. Chest hair? Baldness? Tooth loss? Testicles? Reverse puberty? I find it stunning that all the drugs that are supposed to help me get pregnant also are making me less and less attractive. Ryan says I'm crazy, but he's nice like that. He does want to do it with the lights out more often, though...

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STFU

There are millions of chat rooms on the Internet. I mean, really, you name a hobby/condition/obsession/fetish and there are at least seventy "forums" for each one. And all of them have been infiltrated by porn spam ads. But that isn't my point. My point is the fact that these chat rooms have a varying degree of annoyance about them. Weight Watchers? Extremely high. Mechanical Engineering? Low, boring, but low. Scrapbooking? I shudder to think. Without a doubt though, the most annoying chat rooms are filled with women trying to conceive.

Ryan and I are among the couples trying to conceive right now. We don't talk about it a lot, just enough to make everyone uncomfortable. But the women in these chat rooms? That is ALL they talk about. Yes, I realize that they are in trying to conceive chat rooms, so that is what they should be talking about, but I have a feeling these women are like this in real life too. One reason? They all seem to know each other. They start and then pick up conversations. Gross conversations, like about cervical mucus. I don't even like to discuss cervical mucus with my doctor. If she wants to talk about it I make her send me a registered letter. At least then I have time to prepare myself.

Another reason? They speak in short hand. Annoying short hand. For instance: BD. What, you ask, is BD? "Baby Dance." Oh, if that isn't clear enough for you (it wasn't for me), it actually means sex. Yes, these women can talk about mucus, but they can't type intercourse. Also, every partner is referred to as "DH," for "Dear Husband." First of all, that assumes that everyone has a husband, and not a boyfriend, or lover, or turkey baster involved in the process. Also, why does the husband always have to be "dear?" I love my husband, but sometimes he is a real jerk. Also, why can't he have a name? All of the women have names (even if they are just lame handles like wannbeamomma54), so why can't their partners have names? You know, something like "slowswimmerz24."

I know you must be wondering why I know so much about these forums if they annoy me so much. Two words: Dr. Google. Every time I have a question about anything I always Google it, and it works to find deals on boots, so why not trust it for medical advice? And every time I Google anything fertility related at least one of these forums comes up. And I get sucked in. Then I wonder if I really want to breed if these are the people who will be the parents of my child's potential playmates. Because if that's the case I am going to get my tubes tied right now.

I think I might have to start a forum for women trying to conceive that don't suck. Women who can type out whole words, and use details, but know when too much information is being given. Women who don't always like their husbands, and who understand that the prospect of giving up wine is not exactly a good thing. Women who want to get pregnant, but at the same time like their lives, are a little freaked about the actual idea of a baby, and realize that having a child, while an exciting proposition, is not the holy grail of womanhood.

I wonder if chat rooms for pregnant women are even more annoying? God, I hope not. I have a bad feeling about that though...

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Medicinal Rodent: Updated

This morning I went to see the fertility doc, and the nurse gave me a new list of procedures and prices. One item on the list caught my eye...

There are so many jokes to make, and so little time. I just wonder how they sterilize it, and if the procedure is only taught at the Richard Gere school of medicine...

UPDATE: I asked one of the nurses about the "Hamster Penetration Assay." It is actually a test to see how well sperm penetrate an egg using, you guessed it, eggs from hamsters. I asked what happened to the fertilized hamster eggs. "Mansters," she replied.

I gotta get one...

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Take A Shot

As part of my fertility treatments in the next 24 to 48 hours I am going to have to have a giant (think two and an half inches) needle stabbed into my ass. This job will likely fall to Ryan, since he married me, and will mostly likely be the man to impregnate me. However, this evening I was talking to my friend Meghan, who's partner, Andrew, is a doctor, and I happened to mention that if Ryan couldn't bring himself to stab me in the ass with a giant needle, we might need some help. Then, from over my shoulder came Ryan's voice -- "Andrew will have to get in line. Do you know many people would like to stab you in the ass? We could raffle off the opportunity and buy an island."

I was instantly offended and called my sisters and Tara for comfort. They all said they would take part. Tara even said it would be worth $40 bucks a ticket.

Now I don't know whether to be offended, or take them up on it. The nurse has already drawn a target -- so it couldn't be too bad. Could it?

That's my lower back, not some weirdly inverted ass crack.

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Pin Cushion

In my pursuit of pregnancy I have done many strange things. I have taken pills, given blood, peed on sticks, eaten foods I normally wouldn't touch, read books with awful titles like "Taking Charge of Your Fertility", worn a wrist watch that was supposed to predict ovulation, and slept with my legs above my head to keep blood going to my lady parts all night. Today though, I topped them all: I paid someone sixty bucks to stick pins in me in order to up my chances of getting knocked up.

I have been hearing about the benefits of acupuncture since we started trying to have a baby 18 months ago. I just lumped it in with all the other weird advice I was getting, like taking hot showers, or cold showers, or eating only things that are yellow. To be honest, I was a little nervous about entering into the realm of Chinese medicine. I guess that somewhere in the back of my Caucasian middle class mind I pictured a dark opium den of an office with dried frogs in jars and a 300 year old practitioner who would harshly judge my western ways. Call me racist if you want, but the impact of Indiana Jones movies is strong. They're also the reason I'm in no hurry to travel to Germany.

The office actually looked more like an Instacare than an opium den. The man who greeted me maybe 25 and wearing a white coat and a tie. He had me fill out forms very similar to those I have filled out for every other doctor. And then he asked to look at my tongue.
"Hmmm," he said, "are you cold?"
"No," I said.
"Your feet aren't cold?"
"Not at all"
He called over another man, the "Master Lu" I had been hearing so much about. Again, I was asked to stick out my tongue. Then he took my pulse on both wrists and my ankles.
"You're cold," Master Lu said.
"No, I'm actually quite comfortable," I insisted.
"You are too cold to have a baby right now. No more icy drinks. And no soda, it makes you cold."
That was the end of that, so Master Lu turned to the younger man and pointed at the various areas where needles were to be put in order to warm me up.

The needles actually weren't that bad. He put them in my shins, my stomach, my chest, my forehead, my elbow, and my ear. The ones in the ear stung a bit, but only for a second. And the one in my forehead was weird because I kept looking up and seeing it. Weird. The hardest part of having pins stuck into me was having to lay there trying to relax and not think about the pins stuck into me. I kept touching them just to make sure they hadn't magically slipped through my skin and into my spleen. I don't think I was supposed to do that.

After about 20 minutes the younger man came back in and removed the needles, repeated the advice about staying away from cold drinks, and told me that Ryan and I should start trying to conceive tonight. He was really bossy. When I got up I felt a little light headed, but I didn't feel any more fertile. On the way out I saw Master Lu, who again repeated the no cold drinks instruction and promised me that I would "get warm" soon.

The bill hurt more than the needles. Yes, 60 bucks is perfectly reasonable for competent medical help. But I'm supposed to go back twice a week for at least five weeks before they think I'll be "warmed up." And there's no guarantee. If I am going to pay that kind of money for a multiple session treatment that isn't covered by insurance it's going to be to laser my upper lip and bikini line. It may hurt more, but I'll have visible results and they won't tell me to give up Diet Pepsi.

Maybe I'll buy a heating pad. They're only $19.99 at Walgreens -- next to the vibrators.

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Breeders

Mother's Day is a fucking horrible holiday when you are trying to conceive. It feels like Hallmark and Kay Jewelers and all of their minions have conspired to remind you that everyone else in the world can get pregnant -- and that you probably just aren't doing it right. This is my second Mother's Day while waiting for that second blue line to appear. Most of the time I think I am pretty upbeat about it. I'm honest with people about what is going on, but I try not to whine about it, except with a few chosen people who probably wish they weren't so chosen. Trust me, there are plenty of people out there whining enough for me and everyone else in the history of the world who might have trouble conceiving. Don't believe me? Just do a search for "infertility" in Google blog search. You'll wish you didn't.

But tonight I am looking at the bright side of things. The "disposable income" side of things. And so, I give you this week's List of Five...

The Five Best Things About Being Childless

1. Sleep I slept until 10 o'clock this morning. And then Ryan came back to bed and we didn't actually get up until 11. There is no one on the planet with children who got to do that -- unless they used large amounts of NyQuil and Duct Tape. I can also go to bed whenever I want, or stay out as late as I want without worrying about babysitters, or school days, or DCFS knocking at my door. Yes, the later I stay out the better the chance Sally will destroy all of my shoes, but I will never have to pay for therapy to listen to her bitch about how I always left her alone.

2. Food Ryan and I like to eat like adults. We never have to resort to nuggets, or "a-ronis" or meals that only contain things that can be wrapped in a tortilla. Also, if I don't want to eat my vegetables I don't have to, because I don't have to set a good example for anyone.

3. Love I really do feel blessed that Ryan and I have had this time to just be together. I feel we know each other, and like each other, more than we would have if we had started having children soon after our marriage. I think it will make us better parents in the long run -- if I don't talk myself out of ever trying again by the time I finish this list... Oh, and we can have sex whenever we want. And we do.

4. Money Yes, I spend money on children -- quite a bit actually. I love buying things for our nieces and nephews. However, I spend maybe a fourth of what I would if we had a kid full time. You see, I don't have to buy school clothes, or diapers, or food, or worry about college tuition -- so I can purchase a new "Power Ranger" or "My Pretty Pony" every now and then. Oh, and sometimes I actually buy those for the kids too...

5. Wine As I write this I am drinking a glass of wine. I might even drink the whole bottle. Hell, I might drink two. And the only person who will pay for it? Me. Yes, I will feel like shit in the morning and wonder all day why I chose to injure myself with Fume Blanc, but I won't have to worry that I have endangered anyone else, or scarred anyone for life. Well, maybe Ryan, but he's tough.

6. My Brain I do not have to listen to the Wiggles, or the Jonas Brothers, or Mylie Cyrus. I do not own a single "Baby Einstein" or "Barney" DVD. I can listen to a full hour of NPR without anyone complaining. Ryan and I can sit down and watch an entire move with subtitles. I am able to blog about something other than kids. In fact, my brain is in such good shape that I have come with a sixth item for my list of five.

Now, I'm sure there are some of you out there who are saying "oh, look at poor Libby trying to cover up her pain by dwelling on the selfish aspects of being childless." Yeah, well, bite me. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Maybe I'll think about it when I'm sipping my fourth margarita while in Mexico next month, while trying to decide which extremely fragile and extremely expensive object d'art to take home and put on a low shelf.

Happy Mother's Day!

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All clear

I think I have mentioned before that Ryan and I are on the baby track. Actually I know I've mentioned it before because it seems to be a big part of my thoughts and therefore my conversations as of late. However, for the past ten months of trying we have not gotten pregnant. My mother, Ryan and my doctor have all said I should just relax and not worry about it, but that's like asking the Pope not to make sweeping decisions about morality. For the past three months I have suspected that there must be something terribly wrong with my reproductive parts. Then I started reading the book Middlesex and became convinced of it. I was sure that I had undescended testicles in place of ovaries, or a dragon where my uterus should be. Finally, my doctor suggested I go and get a test done to make sure everything was in working order.

I went to the hospital on Tuesday to get the test -- taking my Mother along for the ride because Ryan (conveniently) is at debate camp. The test I had is called a hysterosalpingogram -- or HSG for those who really don't like saying complicated medical words. It's an x-ray of the uterus and fallopian tubes and NOT a really good time. Of course, before I could even have the test I go to do the prerequisite hour of waiting in a hospital gown, surrounded by sick and elderly people, reading back issues of Woman's Day and Reader's Digest. Both of those magazine shave humor sections -- and neither is remotely funny. I did pick up some great ideas for festive pasta salads though.

After all of my dignity had seeped out of the back of my gown it was time for the exam. I tried to be strong and told my mother I could go through it alone. Then they explained what they were actually going to do and I started calling "Mommy." You see, in order to x-ray my uterus and fallopian tubes dye needed to be injected, and there's really only one way to inject it. I think you know what that is. So, not only was I going to get the radiation of an x-ray, but also the embarrassment of a pelvic exam. Oh, and the added bonus of pain.

Before injecting the dye the Physician's Assistant said I might feel a "pinch." I think he may have never been pinched before, because this was more of an excruciating pain. It felt as if someone had replaced my lower abdomen with a large block of pain. Add that to the fact I had a full bladder (a requirement for this lovely test) and you can understand why I ate a grimace from a Greek tragedy pasted on my face. Seeing my discomfort my Mom grabbed my hand and said these words "please don't blog about this." Oh, well, too late.

I have to say that for all the pain it was pretty cool to see my uterus and fallopian tubes on the screen. Although it's true the x-ray does make them look ten pounds heavier. The female reproductive system looks very little like the textbook diagrams we are all used to. The tubes don't come neatly off the sides of the uterus to gently hold the ovaries, they twist and turn all over the place. One of mine bends towards my back. And the PA said it's perfectly normal. Actually, he said that everything going on down there is perfectly normal. It may be the only normal thing about me.

Now we're back to the waiting game. I have nothing to worry about. I just need to relax. And you have no idea how anxious that makes me...

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The egg timer

When Ryan and I first started dating people (my Mother) were always asking us when we were going to get married. We would squirm, they would get their perverse thrill and the moment would pass. Then, like days after we got engaged the question changed -- now it was "when are you going to have a baby." We always an sered the same was "2007." After all, this was 2004 and with a three year window anything could happen. Hell, I figured a cars would be flying and no one would wear anything other than silver metallic jumpsuits. But now it is 2007, and people (my Mother) are wondering when our offspring will be arriving.

The short answer is, I don't know. I'm pretty sure Ryan and I are doing everything right. I've bought all of the vitamins and have peed on a variety of strips meant to determine everything from ovulation to my seasonal color palate (I'm a spring). And, of course, I am wearing the watch.

The watch was given to me by our medical expert at the station, in the hopes that I will be her guinea pig for a future story. It tracks my body temperature and the level of chloride (who knew) in my sweat and then magically tells me when I am at my most fertile. I was kind of hoping it would do so with a loud alarm and a announcement of "fertility has started, commence humping now" but it turns out the display just changes from "not fertile" to "fertile, day one."The watch resembles something that I would have worn in fourth grade. That does not mean I am advocating fourth graders wearing it though -- they really should wait to worry about fertility. Its purple and has a stretchy band and big buttons. All it needs is a Hello Kitty face next to the cycle day readout. I had to wear it to work today (I forgot to put it on last night) and only one person commented -- and she thought it was a promotional item from Burger King.

Ryan still isn't sold on the watch. I think he worries its making me obsessive. The other night the battery light started blinking and I almost ran to Smith's in my pajamas for a replacement until I read in the instruction book that the battery light comes on TWO WEEKS before the bettery will actually die. Does that make me obsessive? I didn't think so.

I wonder if my ferility will lose an hour on Saturday night?

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