Infertility, yoga and chocolate

An IF vet still digesting her good fortune.

Sunday, August 23, 2015


My husband has been on a campaign to convince me what a nice guy he is. I am so confused. He twists everything so that his behaviors seem logical and I seem like I'm overreacting. And just like the pain of childbirth, the pain of his behaviors fades. I just re-read some of my blog though, and I'm a little sad at how much editing I did in the past. I guess I was embarrassed to discuss how bad things could get at home with my husband because I didn't want anyone to ask why I stayed with him. I rationalized even to myself that things weren't all that bad. But as I read just now, I think 90% of any happiness that I had back then had to do with my children and my joy at interacting with them and watching them grow. On occasion I felt joy when my husband displayed some good parenting or was kind to me. That's pretty sad. But I am so beat down at this point. It's not even a conscious thing at this point - even when Greg isn't yelling or being harsh I anticipate it and I avoid him. I'm always on the alert for a sarcastic comment or baiting remark and I'm always vigilant, prepared for battle if I can't manage to avoid being in the same airspace as him. I feel defeated when I'm with him. When I walk with him I walk behind him with my head down. I have lost my self confidence. I'm afraid to do things around him for fear that he's going to snap at me - we went somewhere with the kids last fall and I drove and he didn't like how I parked the car ("God! Where did you learn how to drive?!!") with the kids in the car. It was embarrassing and things like this happen all the time. Well, not at the moment since he's trying, but how long will it last? He always returns to these behaviors.

I remember his mom told me once about a lady at work whose nerves were shot because she was always getting snapped at by Greg and she was so nervous and jumpy all the time because she was always waiting for the next criticism. And I remember his mom told me once that Greg was beating his brother down so much - his brother who has Cystic Fibrosis and whose health is tenuous at any time (although he tries to hide it) - and she didn't know what to do. I guess Greg was unhappy at how things were going or what his brother was doing and he was berating him about it. Much like our marriage. Still, I feel the need to remind myself of the bad. The guilt that Greg is inducing in me is crushing.

 * last Saturday Greg and I went to marriage counseling and dropped the boys off at Denise's house so they could have a playdate with Denise's kids. Marriage counseling went badly, although Greg did acknowledge all of the names he calls me and that he's emotionally abusive to me and the boys. That he's harder on the boys on the weekends when he's home so that he can counteract how "soft" I make them during the week. We drove home, he dropped me off at Denise's house around 3:00 and I stayed with the boys because they wanted to keep playing. Denise and I chatted and gossiped and I got a text at around 3:30 from Greg asking if the boys wanted to go over to their grandpa's house. I didn't get this until 4:50 and responded at 4:55 but I remarked to Denise that I was going to be in trouble for this. If I don't respond quickly enough then Greg accuses me of trying to keep him from the boys. So the next day, after he got done loudly confronting me because I'd left the receipts form Danny's dental visits out (he had three cavities filled and Greg told me, in one of his kinder gentler moments, to just let him know how much they were) and Greg loudly announced, in front of the boys, that he was not giving me a penny because any money he gives me is going to go straight to my lawyer. This was around 8:30. at 9:15 he and the boys went out for their usual run/bike ride at a local park, from which they usually return around lunchtime. Lunchtime came and went. The clock kept ticking and I got more worried. My boys were with an unstable and angry man who believes that I try to turn them against him, and who can't accept the idea that I want a divorce. By around 1:30 or 2:00 I couldn't wait anymore. I texted him if everyone was okay, when were they going to come home. No response. My iphone indicated that he never read the message. I called and left a voicemail asking him to call me and let me know they were okay, I was worried, when were they going to come home. No response. I paced the house and felt ill. When I wasn't pacing I was sitting in the hallway staring out the window, hoping they'd be home any time. It was excruciating and pretty much the worst thing I have been through thus far. I called him once or twice more and didn't get an answer but didn't leave a message. By 4:00 I was officially frantic and called his dad's house asking if anyone had seen them. My niece answered and said no and I asked her to put her mom (who is pissed at me) on the line. She said no they hadn't seen them, but don't worry, she knew Greg was going to be there around 5:00 for dinner and she'd let me know if he didn't show up for that. I explained that I hadn't seen or heard from them since 9:15 and had received no response to my calls or text and I needed to know if I needed to call the police because I was afraid they'd been in an accident. I guess mention of police got to her, so she hung up with me, somehow got in contact with Greg, and she texted me that they were fine and on their way to Greg's dad's house. I never did hear from Greg that day and the boys arrived home at 7:30. Several days later he assured me that he had responded to my text, he swore on the Bible, by Iphones don't lie. I have no text from him. AND. He said that he didn't know where I was on Saturday since I didn't respond to his text from me, and he didn't worry, so he didn't think it would be a big deal to take them on Sunday and not let me know where they were going (i.e. that there had been a change of plans- he took them to a go kart place). He said yeah, he probably should've let me know in hindsight but because I didn't text him back Saturday quickly (he said it took 4 hours for me to respond, versus an hour and a half in actuality) he didn't think much of it. So this was payback. Me being terrified and out of my mind with fear wondering where my children were was payback for not responding to his text quick enough. He knows that I worry. He's known me 13 years. He knows I get panic-y when I don't hear from people and I assume they're dead in a ditch. Now of course he is swearing that he didn't mean to make me worry, but doesn't think it was that big a deal. So there's that.

* And there's the memory of all the times - two Boy Scout camping trips, trips to the pool, etc. - that he has told me not to come with him and the boys. "Just don't come. Just stay home." Because he feels that the boys act differently when I'm around. He recognizes that he has a different connection with them and isn't as close with them, but he punishes me and them for this, versus trying to repair his relationship with them. This is a man, who for their ENTIRE lives, has been out of town Monday through Friday all week, every week, and only sees his children Saturdays and Sundays (he gets home friday nights after everyone is asleep). And on the weekends he is busy. Doing chores around the house, running errands, working over at his dad's house, taking something to the office. So even on the weekends he's home he doesn't spend a lot of quality time with the kids. He's eaten lunch with Danny at his school once and Danny starts 3rd grade tomorrow. I'm not sure he could tell me the name of any teachers Danny has had, including his most recent one. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know the names of any of Max's teachers ever. He has never taken them to a dentist appointment. He has never taken Max to a doctor's appointment and has been to 2 doctor appointments for Danny (who is 8).

* When they don't want to do something with him on the weekends he bullies them and calls them girls, and asks them do they want to stay home with their mommy and paint their toenails (sneering). In our house the worst thing you can call someone is a girl. We can't watch that show, that's a girl show. You can't wear your hair with gel in it, that's what girls do. You can't like that color, that's a girl color. You can't do that sport, it's a girl sport.

 I can't remember the last time I felt like we were friends. I can't remember the last time I felt comfortable around him, not always waiting for the next insult or barb. I can't remember the last time I felt like he liked me. What I've mostly felt is that I can't do anything right, and that he has no respect for me. That it's just been contempt. And the contempt has eaten away at my soul until I feel so incredibly fragile right now. I know that marriage is hard and that all marriages have difficulties. And I may be exaggerating or oversensitive and that it has taken two to wreck this marriage. But there is substance to my accusations. I would not feel this broken without cause.

 So even if he were to change personalities and continue trying to be nice, I am still broken. I would be in a temporarily peaceful marriage, just waiting for it to all change back any time now. I just can't seem to get him to understand that. He thinks I'm just quitting, giving up on him, and destroying our family. I can't get him to understand that I just can't anymore. Even if he completely changed and became everything I ever wanted, I can't forget the many times that he has made me feel so crushed. Or terrified, like last weekend. That he has had the ability to say things and do things, knowing they would demolish me. And that he has said these things to my face, and seen my face crumple and has seen me cry, and continued on like nothing had happened. I can't be with someone who can do this to me and not feel bad about it. Even if he feels bad about it from now on, there was a time when he didn't.

 Does that make any sense?

Monday, August 10, 2015

6:15 am is too early for this

Okay, so I never went back and finished the last entry. I ended up being exhausted at my own self and opted to put the computer down and work out. I still can't walk right, so I think it was a good one. This is just a quick check in to capture this morning. Greg has a new strategy each weekend since the one a few weeks ago where I told him I wanted a divorce. The "telling him" weekend was characterized by guilt and irritation. Two weekends ago it was a campaign to convince me what a nice guy he was. This past weekend seemed to be an exercise in "let's just ignore that silly little thing she told me a few weeks ago." It was calm, he offered to vacuum yesterday, asked if I wanted to go running with him and the boys, we all went to the pool together yesterday afternoon, etc. To the point that as I showered and got dressed this morning I was back to feeling guilty and bad for him. I didn't want to change my mind about the divorce, but I was feeling guilty and wondering if indeed I could tolerate a marriage where we just didn't talk, as opposed to having to learn how to do my own household repairs. I was halfway through trying to tame the mop on my head (one half of my hair flatironed) when he walked into the bathroom to begin his morning stuff. It was quiet for about a minute and then he turned to me and said "So, do you still want to go through with your divorce? I continued flatironing and said yes. I asked if he was trying to figure out how much effort to put into finding a local counselor today (since last week, via email, he tried to guilt me into driving 8 hours with him to HHI to see our old counselor, because "it's the least you could do for our family and our children" and I pointed out that it would be much more appropriate to schedule an appointment with someone local. I figured he was trying to look like a good guy, offering something that was totally undo-able just so he could say, but see, I tried). He then started saying well, it doesn't seem like you're even interested in it, like you don't even want to do it. I said 2 or 3 times, if you schedule something local I will go. The last time I said it I pointed out that I can't guarantee that counseling will fix anything, I can't offer him a guarantee, but if he schedules it I will be there. We were getting louder and I said something to the effect of, so you want to talk about this now??? This isn't the time. (Only half of my hair is straight, the kids will be getting up, I need to finish getting everyone ready so we can leave the house in 40 minutes). And naturally I turn around and there's Danny standing in our bedroom, right outside our bathroom. I was hoping he didn't hear anything and greeted him and asked if he'd gotten some good sleep. He told me that our fighting had woken him up. Awesome. So I got dressed, moved him along downstairs and got Max up and downstairs. The kids were sitting on the couch watching a brief few minutes of cartoons before they got dressed and ate breakfast (the only way I can get them up out of their beds without dynamite). Greg walked down the stairs, entered the living room and said to me "So this is what you want? You're sure this is what you want?" As our two children sat on the couch maybe 5 feet from him. I was pissed and said something to the effect of "Do you not have enough sense to not talk about this now? This is not the time." And we didn't speak to each other past that. He always does that. Confronts me about something in front of the kids. Most of our fights this past year have been in front of the kids. I guess he knows that I am unwilling to say or do much in front of the kids (BECAUSE IT IS INAPPROPRIATE AND LEAVE THEM OUT OF IT FOR GODS SAKE). As usual, it's a blitz attack that comes seemingly out of nowhere and leaves me shaking and mad and sad. And now half of my head is frizzy. (Note to self, must look into getting a keratin straightening thing since apparently I'm growing my hair out, it's curly and frizzy and I just never know what curve ball my husband is going to throw at me when I'm getting ready in the mornings).

The beginning of the end

Okay, I am just that lazy that I don't want to start a new blog. And as I need to start documenting things, and there are old things worth remembering in this blog, well, there you go. This won't go in order, and that's okay because I doubt anyone else will read this but me, and I will go back at some point and organize details. In the meantime I need to get these things down. (Since I've told my husband I want a divorce, that is. And this time it's real. No second chances.) How I knew it was over. The night of his mom's funeral when I arrived at the church with the boys. He'd asked me previously if the boys had appropriate clothes to wear to the service and I said yes, thinking that khaki pants and polo shirts would be fine. But when he saw us at the church his eyes narrowed. We had about 9 people in between us at the time - his dad, sister, her husband and children, his sister and her husband and their kids. He glared at me and hissed at me about what the boys were wearing and insisted that I take them home and get them dressed in dress up clothes. I was so horrified and embarrassed that I can't remember the exact words. But the basic premise was take them home and get them dressed appropriately or he would. I said that there was no way I could get them home and back in time (5:00 Charlotte traffic would mean it would take an hour to get home and an hour to get back). He continued insisting and I got more and more embarrassed and hissed back at him that if we left we might not return. His sister broke in and pointed out that there was probably a Marshalls or something around (thanks sis). Humiliated and furious, I pushed the boys out of church (sorry boys, I was breathing fire) and led them to the car. They were confused and upset, asking what was wrong with what they had on, they looked fine, what was wrong. I'm amazed I made it to the nearest department store because I was mad and crying and mad and embarrassed. Once we were in the department store I was so upset that I couldn't even think straight and ended up asking a sales lady for help, starting to cry as soon as I got the words out. My poor boys. I shoved Max into pants that were too tight (a "slim" and little boy is no "slim") because I couldn't find any in his size and I was desperate. And still so embarrassed and mad and upset. $200 poorer, we returned to the funeral. With the boys wearing more expensive versions of what they'd had on previously - khakis, white long sleeved Polo shirts, ties and a belt. The funeral did its thing. I cried, held my husband's hand, cried for him and it was, well, a funeral. The next day was more funereal fun and I got a dirty look from Greg at some point later the next evening when he announced we'd be taking the boys out to see cousins at their hotel (at 7:00, when the boys hadn't left the church the night before until 11:00). I'd given him a look when he said that, thinking oh no, another night that they won't be able to get any sleep. Midway through the next week, after being on the receiving end of more dirty looks and shitty comments (at his dad's house that Sunday night, he'd spoken to me twice in such a way that I was left shaking and crying. It was 7:45 at night, Max was literally laying on the floor in the kitchen because he was so tired. I asked Greg if he was almost ready and he looked at me with a look of hatred and said "Do I LOOK ready?"). I emailed him and said I understood that this was probably the hardest thing he'd ever been through, I understood that anger was probably the easiest way to feel right now, and that I was probably the safest one to vent it towards, but he needed to stop. I told him I was willing to put up with it for now but not forever and please get a hold of himself, or maybe take advantage of the counseling that Hospice had offered. He wrote back basically that my behaviors the night of the funeral had made him sick, that I was a disgusting selfish person and it was all about me all the time, etc. I got that email and it pretty much broke my heart. I'd tried so hard to be there for him, I'd been there for his dad, fixed his dad meals when he didn't want to leave my MIL's side, had been there at the house within an hour after her death, etc. So the thought that the whole time I'd been holding his hand at the funeral, crying when he looked at his mother's coffin and looked so sad... that whole time I thought I'd been helping him he'd just been thinking how disgusting I was. It broke my heart. And memories are already fading because it's just so indicative of our marriage, but the bad behaviors just continued. She died June 2 and it just got worse and worse. He snapped at me, snapped at the boys, like usual. I got so I tried to avoid being in the same room with him because I never knew when the zingers would come. He got so he started going to his dad's house on Saturdays and Sundays and taking the kids with him. There was one Saturday I had the kids with me and got caught up (I had a haircut that lasted forever and they were with me). We had emailed back and forth about my haircut and he seemed to be offering to watch the kids, as in picking them up, or having me drop them off at his dad's. I thought he was being helpful but didn't feel like driving such a long way to drop the boys off just for a haircut, so I kept them. He came home that evening and hissed at me "so that's how you're going to play your little games?" He'd made similar comments before, seemingly thinking that I was trying to keep the boys from him, and this night freaked me out. I decided that he was paranoid and irrational and clearly hated me and I haven't slept in the same bed with him since then. I was afraid that he'd stab me in my sleep. Seriously. The following weekend we avoided each other and he made his shitty comments periodically like usual. That Sunday we did our usual, ate lunch. A few hours later, everyone got our bathing suits on to go to the pool. The boys stepped out into the garage to get their flip flops on leaving Greg and me in the kitchen. He looked at me and asked me not to go. Just stay home. Don't go to the pool with us. And don't go to my dad's house later. It's just easier if you're not there. Again I was taken back by the contempt in his voice, and being told not to do something. We argued back and forth as I said but I want to go to the pool, I live here too, I want to go to the pool. I'm not sure how it escalated but he announced that he didn't think he could ever forgive me for how I acted at his mom's funeral. We yelled something about marriage counseling and he told me there was no way he was going through that again. That last time it was just everyone trying to make everything his fault when it was really just my "daddy issues" and "postpartum depression" (said with heavy sarcasm and finger quotes). We yelled back and forth about divorce or something. I can't remember. I decided screw him, and I wanted to go to the pool. I walked out to the garage, and two confused kids. Danny asked me what was wrong and didn't believe me when I said nothing. He argued that he knew something was wrong because of my face and I pulled it together somewhat and told him I was fine. I drove to the pool and sat in a chair crying underneath my sunglasses, so miserable at how this was my life. They joined us at the pool, Greg and I stayed at separate corners, and the boys seemed oblivious. When we went home later I went upstairs to take a shower (since I was forbidden to go to the family barbecue) and the boys came in and asked if I was going with them. I'd been crying in the shower but told them no, I didn't feel well. Then Greg came in a few minutes later and asked if I was going. I was surprised and said no, I'd been forbidden to go. He said I could go if I wanted to and asked if I was going. I said no. Later that week I asked some lawyer friends for suggestions, called and met with a lawyer to start divorce proceedings. I wasn't nervous, didn't cry, nothing. I was done. I told him the following weekend and he didn't seem all that surprised. He didn't protest that we shouldn't divorce because of love, never mentioned that he loved me. He did say that he wasn't willing to move out of the house, although he agreed that the boys should stay in the house so they could keep their friends, same school, all that. But "it's just not a good time" for him to move out. I heard a lot of guilt. This will devastate his dad. Thanks for the timing. Thanks for how helpful I've been to his family since his mom died. Thanks for bending over backwards to help out, etc. It was awesome. I told him I'd take the boys out for ice cream or something to give him time for himself. He asked if the boys were still going to go to his dad's house that night and I said no, they needed a good night's sleep. He'd brought them back late the night before (9:30'ish) and as it was Sunday night they needed a good night's sleep. We argued about it (we always argue about my telling him the boys need to get a decent night's sleep) but I didn't back down. So naturally, the next morning, as the boys are on the couch watching TV before we left to school, he laid the guilt trip on them. Told Danny how much everyone missed them the night before, their cousins were all asking about them, etc. Poor Danny didn't know what to say, and just said "mommy told us we couldn't go." Jerkface soon to be ex husband. Last weekend he started on his campaign to convince me what a nice guy he is. I went for a run Sunday morning and he piled the boys into the car and rode up and down the neighborhood until he found me, then stopped me and asked me if I wanted to go to the park with them to go running. And then had the nerve to look confused and mildly irritated when I said no. The boys kept asking me why not (thanks Greg for getting them all excited about it when you have always told me I was not welcome to go with them running because they act like wimps when I'm around). Then he clearly got them excited later on that afternoon asking them if they wanted to go ride go-karts with him and me. Ugh. I can't finish this now. I'll come back to it.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Alright, I caved.

Someone stopped me at daycare this morning and asked me about my IF journey. I've never been very secretive about it, so someone had told her what I'd shared with them and I'm glad they did. She's been through a few IVFs, and is in a support group of locals also going through IF and apparently I'm the first one they've ever met who's ever been successful via IVF. She threw something out there about maybe me speaking at a meeting or something (it actually should be my ovaries taking the credit) and it made me think about my old IF blog and my old blogger community.

Max is 14 months old now and I still feel like I'm just trying to survive on a day to day basis. I haven't had the luxury of lurking on IF blogs but I'm dipping my toe back in the water again. Apparently I can't quite give this blog up. It's too sentimental to me. It's too much a guilty pleasure to read back through and remember all that I've already forgotten (mostly the pain and worry).

I'm not sure anyone out there is still listening, but I'm whispering in case you are...

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

checking in with the Universe

So I'm thinking about deleting this blog and bidding it adieu. Is that horrible?

I just can't think of anything to write. Things are going well. I have no angst. No unresolved wishes (besides to lose this stupid 10 pounds). No need to yell at the universe or ask for support. And isn't that what blogging is about? (Unless you're particularly witty and people like to read your random musings about life in general, which I am not).

Max is doing well. Growing like a week - almost double his birth weight at 2 1/2 months (yay for mommy milk and a 2nd time more confident mommy). Danny is doing great, loves being a big brother, and besides the whining, a fantastic kid. Husband is doing well - no fighting for over 6 months now. Doesn't talk as much as I'd like him to and still has some other bad habits, but I guess I'm not perfect either.

We're done with the kids thing, having won the jackpot twice now (hopefully Max will not develop anything dire). I go back to work in 2 weeks and hopefully will not be laid off anytime soon.

There's just nothing to say. I'm open to being facebook friends if you like - just reply with your email and we'll "talk." I've gotten some great support from you all and I appreciate it more than you will ever know. I just feel like I'm at the end of having anything good to say. Some people just stop posting forever and leave us wondering (Kat? you still out there?), but I thought I'd run it by the Universe first before I did anything.

Anyone still listening out there?

Thursday, April 29, 2010


Still alive here. And no longer thinking frantic thoughts about wishing Max back into my womb.

So far the taking it one day at a time thing is working out okay. And being able to take Danny to daycare 5 days out of the week is a godsend. We've settled into a sort of a routine. Mornings Max nurses, Danny and I watch TV and I shuffle him off to daycare. I chat with the daycare director for a few minutes (pretty much my sole human contact for the day), then head home to nurse again and nap off and on again until lunchtime. At which point I try to do a chore or two, or get a quick workout in (nothing crazy, just riding the bike or walking or lifting some light weights). Then shower, pick Danny up and try not to lose my mind between 6 and 9 pm. That time period is when both kids are traditionally crying. Danny goes to bed around 7:30 or 8, and then only Max is crying until he goes to sleep around 9. Then I pop my Ambien and pray for more than 2 hours of sleep in a row.

Fun times, huh?

It's not too bad, though, and for the most part Max is a good baby. He doesn't seem to have the reflux that made early days with Danny pure torture, so that in itself is a blessing. So I've substituted worrying about a kid with worrying about my body image. The mirror is not kind these days, although I've already lost 23 of the 40 pounds I gained while pregnant. Mostly I just try not to look in the mirror and try to concentrate on the one day at a time thing. It'll come off. And Max will sleep more than 2 hours in a row one day. And one day there will be relative peace in my house again.

Monday, April 12, 2010


So.... Max is here!

It's been a bit hectic since he arrived, so sorry for not updating sooner. I went in for a routine check up Friday, April 2 (38 weeks that day) and ended up having a baby. My blood pressure was way up, so they induced me and it went relatively easily. Everything worked out as far as childcare, Danny did okay with the help of neighbors and Uncle Chris, and we're currently settling into our new lives together.

It was a bit hairy at first, since apparently my body decided to play some tricks on me. I hadn't been sleeping well for at least a month before Max was born - couldn't seem to fall asleep, couldn't seem to stay asleep, and I just chalked it up to pregnancy discomfort. But it continued once he was born, and my OB ended up putting me on Ambien in the hospital. That, along with mega doses of ibuprofin and percoset, as I had a headache that just wouldn't leave. Today is actually the first day that I haven't had to take the ibuprofin, and it's amazing how nice life is without a constant headache. I've been taking the Ambien pretty much since I left the hospital, with the exception of 2 days that I was at home and tried to see if I could sleep without it. I broke down last Tuesday and called my OB's office to ask if the headache and insomnia were normal, so they had me come in to check my blood pressure (apparently they're not), and I left with a prescription for more drugs. Along with the fears, planted by my OB, that somehow my postpartum hormones had kicked up some sort of bipolar thing. My mom has bipolar, and it is pretty much the biggest fear of my life that I end up like her, so I drove home from that appointment crying and very scared. Husband and I talked about it, though, (as much as he and I do talk about things, him not being much of a talker) and he seems to feel that I seem fine and he's not worried about me having a psychotic break anytime soon. And for the most part, emotionally, I do feel fine. Not especially sad, or anxious, or moody, just tired. I go back in tomorrow to see my OB again, so we'll see what she says.

I'm trying to do a lot of things differently this go round than I did with Danny. I'm making the effort to eat right, drink lots of water, I'm making myself take showers and take care of myself, I've started exercising again, and I make myself get out of the house. I'm also trying very hard to just take it one day at a time so that I don't get overwhelmed. The thought of taking care of two kids on my own pretty much scares the crap out of me, and when I allow myself the luxury of contemplating the possible realities of this situation, I freak out a little bit. I know that I wanted desperately to have two, but there are moments when I wonder what I was thinking. I love Max and I'm very grateful that he's here, and am very grateful that so far he's been very sleepy and accommodating and easy, but if he's even the slightest bit as difficult as Danny was in the beginning, I'm toast.

So pretty much I take it day by day. In the mornings I just have to hold it together long enough to take Danny to school. Then I just have to get through the day until it's time to pick Danny up. Then I just have to get through until he goes to bed. And then until I go to bed.

Tonight will be the first night that Husband hasn't been home, but so far the Ambien hasn't done anything to keep me from waking up when I need to. It helps me fall asleep and that's about it. I actually wake up on my own for the night feedings - I think my sense are super alert for the slightest whimper (Max has this whimper he does - kind of like a "5 minute warning" before he starts yelling that he's hungry) and I end up waking up before him.

But what a horrible thought. I feel very guilty to even think it when I wanted so much to have another child, and was so incredibly blessed to have this miracle happen. But it was so easy with just one...

Wednesday, March 24, 2010


Still here. As pregnant as I have ever been.

A number of adjectives could accurately describe me at this point.







And I don't mean to complain. I don't want to complain. I want to revel in every ounce of discomfort because this is such a freaking miracle. This little boy inside of me. This stubborn little guy who so wanted to be here that he crawled into my bitter uterus and hung on. Who fails NST's every single week just so that he can run up my insurance and flirt with the u/s techs either downstairs or at the hospital. (By the way, I think they're on to me. I don't actually fail the NST's, I just go to the hospital so that I can watch "The Real Housewives" with the antepartum nurses).

And I don't want it to be over. I am truly afraid of the sleep deprivation and crying (mine and his) to come all too soon.

But here come more adjectives...



Even my boobs have grown in the past few weeks(even more than they already had). I've all the sudden developed old lady boobs. And the baby has dropped, causing all of my pants to suddenly be low-riders, quite scary for anyone behind me when I have to squat down or bend over. I haven't looked at my rear lately, but it was quite frightening last time I glimpsed it accidentally, and I've elected to not go there again. So while I can now breathe (as baby is not nestled in between my lungs), I can now no longer walk. It has helped me to prioritize at work, consolidating all of my tasks so that I walk down the hallway as little as possible, but the incessant peeing counteracts all of the prioritizing. There are the moments of profound discomfort while walking that have led to the mental image I have of the baby, nestled in between my pubic bones, with a little sharpened spoon, jabbing away, trying to tunnel his way out. And there's the end of the day, when I lay on the bed, and feel all of the aches and protests from my body, tired from carrying all this weight around all day.

But you know what? I'm as happy as I have ever been. I've got what I wanted. Husband and I are doing really well, working as partners, getting along, flirting. And Danny is just a joy. And we're having another one. Our family will be complete. I'm as happy as I've ever been.