Behold the Purple Psycho Monster from Hell

Today I took two little pills that are pretty much guaranteed to turn me in to the psycho bitch from hell for the next week. And for the next four days I get to take two more each morning! I'm not quite sure how to tell Amazing Daddy that he might want to just hightail it out of town for the week.

Yes, I started the Clomid Challenge Test! I tried Clomid four years ago (this month actually) when we did our first IUI (at half the dose that I'm on now, BTW). To make a long story short...I quit my job on day 5. Now, in many ways it was a blessing. I'm not sure I would have done it if I hadn't been taken over by the Purple Psycho Monster from Hell. It's all somewhat of a haze to me, but I have a vague recollection of coming home and sitting Amazing Daddy down, and then telling him I had worked it all out my drive home and that I was quitting my job. And maybe in a few months I'd get a part time job. After picking his mouth up off the floor, and prying his eye lids back over his eye balls, he pretty much didn't say anything. But, he's an amazing man, and he knew I had reached my limit, and we worked it out. In the end I was only unemployed for a mere 10 days, when I interviewed and was hired at my current job.

So, as I feel that purple monster taking hold again, I promise myself that I will not make any rash decisions this week! I will keep my head down, and attempt to keep my mouth shut. I can do this. I can get through this!

Just don't piss me off...and what ever you do, don't mess with me!

Profoundly Infertile, yet Well Preserved

I had my consultation with the IF group last week. I actually handled myself quite well I think. At least I didn't cry like a big ol' goober.

It's amazing how the old feelings start crawling back in. I haven't been there in 3 1/2 years, yet parking and walking to the office felt like I just did it last week. I was welcomed back, which was quite nice, although I can't imagine they remembered me. And no one other than Dr. C. looked familiar to me.

In a nutshell Dr. C. said that since we hadn't gotten pregnant in over 5 years he considered me "profoundly infertile." What bothers me is it was ME he was calling profoundly infertile, not we, as in me and dear hubby. Hello...remember the "lots of fish in a very tiny pond" issue? It's not that I want to play the blame game, well, maybe just a little. But...how come I get to be the failure here?

Anyway....So I'm profoundly infertile, yet, all is not lost. Dr. C. said I was also "well preserved." Hello! That's something I would say to my grandma when she turned 80. However, in the case of my eggs, I guess that isn't so bad to hear. His recommendation, lets confirm the quality of my eggs with a Clomid Challenge Test (CCT) and if there are no unpleasant surprises he thinks IVF with ICSI will be our magic bullet. His success rate with women in my age range (37) with unexplained fertility is 50%. And that's per cycle! Shit...The chances of my husband getting lucky tonight are far less than that!

All in all, I feel good about things! I really feel like this will work for me! I'm going to have a baby!

My wise little boy

We've been trying to impress upon The Boy that despite what he believes, Mommy and Daddy really are in charge.

I've discussed it with him several times the last couple weeks and he seems to have the party line memorized. Of course his language isn't a problem, it's his comprehension of the facts.

Over the weekend SparklyHusband was trying to get TB to go upstairs to bed. Of course there was resistance and I hear Amazing Daddy tell TB that "Daddy is in charge." To which TB promptly responds, "no Daddy, Mommy is in charge!". Kind of like "hey bozo, get over yourself, I know who really runs the house."

Perhaps my little boy understands more than we thought!

The desire to procreate

I want another baby. It is s pretty much at the top of my list of obsessions right now. No matter how many times I remind myself how exhausted I am all the time with just one non-stop whirling dervish of an almost three-year old, I can not stop the phantom feelings of holding another baby in my arms.

And this time, I want to carry the child in my own tummy. I do not want to have to travel half way around the world twice, and spend $40k in the process. I do not want to miss out on the first six months (likely more these days) of his or her life. I do not want to always wonder what did happen during that time and just how much did it screw them up?

I love my little Boy There is no way I could love him more. I wouldn't change things if I could! Even knowing now the issues he is facing, I still wouldn't do anything differently involved in bringing him home to us. Well, I might change the flight to Moscow that smelled like feet, but really, it is quite a story to able to tell.

I'm considering doing IF treatment again. Three and a half years ago we stopped treatments after six IUI'ss. We decided that we wanted a baby more than I wanted/needed to actually carry it inside me. We weren't willing to risk the tens of thousands of dollars to do IVF without a guarantee of having a baby in the end. I know we made the right decision, then...

Now though, I want to carry a baby inside me, I want to give birth to it, and I want to be able to nurture it from day one. I need to do this. I know I will never feel totally complete until I can do this. Maybe this is selfish, but I don't care. I am being honest.

Certainly some of this desire to try again is because I think it might actually be possible. I've recently lost almost 40 pounds and I know my health has improved. We don't really know why I wasn't able to get pregnant before with assistance (I say with assistance because my husband was the one that needed help, in a nut shell, he just isn't as juicy as he could be, lots of swimmers in a very small pond if you will), so I always speculated that my being over weight was a factor, even though no doctor would actually come out and say it.

I called today to make an appointment at the fertility clinic and found out from them that our insurance no longer covers any treatments. They cover basic testing, that's it. Our prior insurance covered that as well as any lab work or ultrasounds needed during treatment, plus all doctor visits. We had to pay for the actual inseminations and all medications. IVF was still expensive, but some parts of it were covered.

It turns out that our plan with Aetna will do nothing to assist us in getting pregnant. And if we do get pregnant from ART Aetna will not cover any monitoring during the first trimester, which IF clinics seem to insist on.

I want to throw up right now I'm so discouraged. I knew that doing this would be expensive, but I guess I didn't understand just how much. My dream to have another child may be lost because of money. It's not like we don't have enough money to raise a child, we just don't have enough to create one it seems.

I'll go to the appointment on Thursday, at least the initial consultation is covered. I can't promise I wont cry though and act like a big ol' goober while I'm there.

Two for a dollar at Target

The other day The Boy gently grabbed both of my boobs and said "What are these Mommy?".

After almost choking I said "They're breasts TB".

"Oh, breasts" says The Boy. "You get them at Target."

Trying not to laugh I replied "hmmmm...that's interesting, where do you think you find them at Target."

Looking at me like I was a bit lacking in intelligence..."On the shelf, Mommy!".

Ohhhh....

Tacky

We taught The Boy the word "tacky" a couple weeks ago. It happened to coincide with the annual over done Christmas displays in our area. Maybe next year he'll actually graps the concept since even though he says tacky when we drive by the most illuminated house, it is still preceded by an "oh...wow!" every time.

Speaking of tacky christmas displays, I drove by one this morning that consisted of an inflatable manger scene. Similar to those inflatable Snowmen and Santa Claus' that you plug in to keep them inflated. But this one was Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. Nothing better than a cartoon manger scene at christmas.

Just call me Auntie

I just found out my best friend is pregnant. Yeah! I wish her a healthy, happy pregnancy!

I can't wait to be an Auntie!

speaking of stink...

I woke up during the night thinking that I smelled something cooking, and it didn't smell right. Then I woke up enough to realize that Amazing Daddy had farted and I must have shifted the covers.

That was just wrong!

My shit stinks!

Yup, I never thought I'd have to admit it. But my shit done stink! And when I say stink, I mean sti-fucking-ink.

I'm on this new diet. A medically supervised, very low calorie diet, that is comprised mainly of high protein/low fat shakes, and whatever else you can figure out to do with the dry shake powder and an egg white or two. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I don't need to know what you think of it. Cause I'm loosing weight and my labs are good. The point here is...My shit stinks. Something akin to rotten eggs...Gone bad. And then concentrated. And then double that.

And naturally (ha), anything else that comes out of my anal sphincter reeks as well. I pitty my office mates. Because my bowels have gone toxic. Yes dear readers, my farts could blow you out of the room. For god sake, I can't even fart in my own car because it nauseates me, and it's too damn cold to open the windows!!!

Now, my Mama brought me up as a lady. And ladies, never, ever, pass gas in public. So, I wouldn't normally have to worry about my coworkers, because I'd let the top of my head blow off before I would rip one in public. Unfortunately, I seem to have lost some sphincter control, because they keep slipping out on me. Thankfully I'm close to the bathroom, so I try my best to contain it to that 6x6 space. But did I mention that the stench lingers? Actually, it's not only the stench that lingers, the damn shit is the stickiest shit I've ever had. It clings to the bowl. Even the required "double flush" doesn't seem to cut it. I apologize profusely to the poor fool who enters after me.

Take the hint! If the fan is still going...Better to risk the men's room!

Funny thing though.. dear, dear TB still feels he needs to be with me every time I'm in the bathroom. Perhaps his sense of smell is compromised along with his other sensory processing issues. And that, my child, is a good thing.

Can I look them in the eye again?

So I'm doing laundry this morning and I'm unpacking The Boy's bag from school (sheet, blankets etc. for nap time) and tucked at the bottom of the bag (nicely folded mind you), under a hat that I didn't even know he had at school, was a pair of my panties. Pink....not in the best shape...but at least clean! Well, I assume they were clean since it must have stuck to one of his blankets that I pulled out of the dryer at the last minute Monday morning before rushing out the door.

I can't wait to see them Monday morning and ask which teacher pulled those out. Or better yet, did TB find them himself and show them off. I can just hear him...