Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em

Symptoms, I mean.

On Tuesday, I had my worst day yet in the nausea department. I felt faint in the shower, had to take a time out several times during my getting-ready regimen (note to self: flipping head upside-down to blow dry whilst nauseated is not a good strategy), and barely kept it together at work by keeping a constant stream of small bits of food doing down the hatch. I got a little panicky: if this is what the nausea feels like at 6w5d, how barfalicious am I going to be at 8w?

Yesterday, I felt better. So of course I panicked. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? The throbbing boobs and extreme fatigue weren't enough -- why didn't I want to hurl?!?

Well, ask and you shall receive. I spent two hours in the middle of the night last night taking shallow breaths and wandering desolately back and forth between the bed and the toilet. No barfing, but still. Yuck. And today I am struggling -- physically with the nausea, and psychologically with the fact that my office is under construction and only available ladies room is on another floor on the opposite end of the building. There's no way I'm making it if Senor Barfy decides to come out and play.

Tomorrow, I will undoubtedly be back to obsess over the fact that I feel fine. You really can't win on this blog!

Oh, and a note on poop: thanks to everyone for their suggestions and commiseration. I seem to be winning the battle at the moment with a combination of Jamba Juice smoothies with a Flax n' Fiber boost (I love the way the guy behind the counter looks at me when I order this EVERY MORNING -- he probably wishes I would exit the store butt first), lots of fresh fruit and water, and a variety of fiber bars and cereals.

So, one out of four major symptoms under control. If I were a baseball player with that kind of average, I'd get sent down to Triple-A, but at this point I'll take it.

Party pooper

I bet you think this post is going to be about being tired and going to bed early. But no -- it's going to be about poop. I'm going Dooce on y'all. You've been warned.

I'm not going to go into any actual physical detail, but let's just say that since my weekly PIO shot last Wednesday, I've been fighting the Battle of the Bowel. I'd somehow made it 33 years without having any issues in this department, so I was at a loss. I complained to my acupuncturist, and he laughed and told me I was "full of sh**." Hilarious, buddy.

The internets yielded all sorts of helpful suggestions, so in case there's anyone out there having similar issues, here's what worked for me:

• Metamucil -- easily the worlds foulest ingestible substance. Who thought a drink could be chewy?


• High-fiber meal replacement bars -- anything with more than 5g fiber -- Odwalla Berries GoMega is one example. I also found a "Flavor & Fiber" bar at Trader Joe's with 12g of fiber -- I bought it but I'm a little afraid to eat it. Anyone remember Colon Blow?


• Kiwifruit -- one of the corners of the web told me that kiwis were good for this stuff. At the very least, they're really tasty.


• Lots and lots of water

Anyone else out there fighting the good fight and succeeding? Let us know what's worked for you -- don't be a party pooper!

Wii got busted

Well, actually, I got busted. By my Wii Fit.

We got a Wii Fit for Christmas, and for many a week I dutifully logged in every day, tracking my weight, logging my workouts, and doing some yoga. I loved it, and spent months trying to get the Mr. to get on board. Finally, just as I was starting my IVF needle habit, he started to use it for his weekly weigh-in. (Don't even get me started on how he's been able to work out an extra day or two a week and drop 10 pounds. NOT FAIR.)

Last week, I was in the shower while he was weighing in. I hear him running down the hall and into the bathroom, shouting "BUUUUUSSSSTED!!!"

Apparently my darling little Wii Fit ratted me out. "Have you seen Barefoot? She hasn't logged in for 45 days!" And then: "Maybe you should keep a closer eye on her, so that she can reach her weight loss goals!"

My goals right now? To not bust out of my pants before the end of the first trimester. Extra points if I can avoid a new bra purchase for another month.

And maybe to unhook the Wii Fit. We'll see how sassy he is when he's unplugged.

FabFooFri, Round 5, and some other stuff

For those of you new to the blog, I usually talk about food on Friday. I call it Fabulous Food Friday, which is not original but does use a lot of Fs. Today, I'm going to digress a bit, since I'm pretty much trying to avoid pungent smells or any thoughts of pungent smells these days.

But first, a couple of updates. I know you all are dying to know how my boobs are doing. In a word: bigger. It's unbelievable. The Mr. is enthralled; I am disgusted. I guess the silver lining is that they are distracting the world from my stomach, which is a little pooch-a-licious right now.

The other piece of fantastic news from yesterday's appointment is that I got the all-clear to start working out again. I'm not supposed to go crazy, but I can walk, bike and swim, which makes me so very happy. I went to the gym this morning for the first time in weeks, and I feel so much better today. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up my pre-IVF 5-6 day-a-week regimen, but I think even half that will help me combat fatigue, bloat and all of the other fun things that are going on right now.

So, FabFooFriday. Or in this case, FabBritFriday. The "Brit" is Ms. Britney Spears, whose concert I attended on Wednesday night, somewhat against my will. I have to say, though, that the show (and the fans) were very entertaining. My take-aways:

1. If you are a single guy (because I'm sure there are loads of you reading this blog), get yourself to a Britney concert ASAP. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel. Squealing, stampeding fish.

2. The fashions that Britney sports do not work for the average person. Seriously. I mean, I donned my share of crucifixes and black lace during the Madonna era, but no one over 18 (or under, for that matter) needs to wear hot pants unless you are a certain kind of professional.

3. Speaking of Madonna, hasn't she already done the whole writhing on a bed while simulating self-stimulation thing? Does another generation of young minds really need to be subjected to this sight? If Wednesday night was any indication, apparently so.

4. I am now somewhat terrified that my unborn child(ren) will spring from my loins as huge Britney fans. The sound system was so effing loud, I'm quite certain "If U Seek Amy" is now part of their genetic makeup.

And finally, because it's FabFooFriday:

My hot dog and soft pretzel were delish.

Another two week wait.... (ICLW disclaimer: pregnancy mentioned)

We saw a heartbeat!

And a second sac!

Peanut A (who is currently known as The Showoff, because he/she popped up like a champ on every ultrasound angle) is measuring at 5w6d, with a nifty little heart rate of 140. Peanut B is measuring at 5w5d, but the RE wasn't sure if he could see a heartbeat or not. B definitely looked smaller, but I guess that could have been the angle.

The RE gave B a 35% shot at making it -- he said that in most cases he's seen like this, that's been the result. So oddly, our chances of having twins are pretty much the same as they were 3 weeks ago at our transfer. We should know for sure what's going on at our next ultrasound in 2 weeks.

I'm still processing all of this, but am so so happy we saw one heartbeat....it's more than I hoped for, frankly. I feel like I can't commit to being happy about twins, since things are still so up in the air. So I'll just hang with my Peanuts, feed them lots of good food, take them for walks and swims and acupuncture and pedicures, and wait.

Thanks for all of the super-supportive comments over the last few days....you all are the best.

The things people say (and a foot confession)

Sort of like the day before my beta, I am feeling pretty zen today about tomorrow's ultrasound. This could be because I was up until 12:30 last night (a full 3 hours past my bedtime, thankyouverymuch), or maybe because I'm excited to see the fabulous Ms. Britney Spears in concert tonight. I hope it will be train wreck-alicious. It seemed like a good idea at the time when my friend bought the tickets six months ago.....

I did have one extremely annoying work interaction today. One of the lawyers in my office is unexpectedly expecting identical twins. I hadn't seen her in a while, and asked how she was feeling. I got a 10-minute diatribe on how pregnancy is "awful," how "people should really know that twins can happen and it's such a curse," and how no one in the family (including her 2-year-old daughter) is happy about the pregnancy. Seriously? Not even a little bit happy? No one?

I know I can't understand her circumstances -- obviously, having never been accidentally pregnant myself -- so I'm trying to reserve judgement. But it will be pretty funny if it turns out tomorrow that I'm having twins (not likely, but still within the realm of possibility). Do I get to tell her how mother-effing happy I am about it?!? For 10 minutes?!?

Now on to the feet. I've had several lovely comments about my toes in recent blog posts. Thank you. As someone who grew up with a stepmother who regularly told her how ugly her feet were, it's nice to now have feet that I can take a picture of and post for all of the world wide web to see.

But, I have a confession. I do not paint my toes myself. I spend an ungodly amount of money on pedicures -- they're even factored into my monthly budget. And I don't just get a regular old pedicure -- I get the super spa pedicure with the sea salt scrub, paraffin wax, and extra leg massage. My big concession to the tanking economy has been to stretch my pedis to every 3 weeks (instead of every two).

The Mr. thinks I'm ridiculous, and he's probably right. I try to justify that I work really long hours, that I deserve a bit of relaxation in the midst of all of the infertility crap, that I'm supporting the economy and am a good tipper, and that it's good for my feet (probably the lamest justification ever). But it's my little ritual and I love it.

I blame my stepmother. And have her take me for a pedicure whenever I'm in town.

Welcome ILCW-ers!

Another ICLW is upon us. For those of you who are here for the first time, a disclaimer: despite the title of my blog, I am actually pregnant (6w on Thursday). But I am feeling a little too superstitious to change my blog title just yet, so apologies for being misleading. I won't be offended if you don't hang around.

My infertility story: I'm a little bit pregnant after 2.5 years of trying, including 4 Clomid cycles and 1 IVF cycle. I'm 33 years old, hypothyroid, and married to a wonderful man with not-quite-so-wonderful amounts of sperm. I started this blog just as we were starting our IVF cycle, so if you're curious about how that went down you can read the whole sordid tale right here.

Other things about me: I love food and wine, and write about them here (although the wine not so much right now). I've also been known to consume a bit of TV programming, including such cultural gems as American Idol and Gossip Girl. I live in Northern California. I've got a high-stress job that honestly seems a lot less stressful after dealing with the stress of trying to get knocked up.

I'm amazed by the ALI blog community, and can't imagine getting through the last couple of months without the support, stories and strength of all of the women (and men!) who put the most sensitive parts of their lives out on the internets. I'm looking forward to getting to know even more of you this week!

Nerves, nerves, nerves

Well, the party couldn't last forever. I am now officially Very Nervous about Thursday's ultrasound. I spent the weekend analyzing every abdominal twang, yawn and boob throb. And the fact that I'm not puking. And that I only took one 3-hour nap, not two.

Intellectually, I know that I'm not going to have every pregnancy symptom in the book (probably). But I also know that progesterone could still be causing some of these symptoms, and that I could be having textbook symptoms and still have a bad ultrasound. Does the worrying ever stop?!? (I know the answer to this.)

I sense that the Mr. is having similar concerns, although we haven't really spoken about it. A week ago, we were joking about the baby needing pizza, or a backrub, or to watch American Idol instead of SportsCenter. The giddy jokes have tapered off, which is a little sad. I'm praying that we have reason on Thursday to ramp them back up again.

On a lighter note, we did allow ourselves one brief moment of baby-related revelry. We walked into town on Saturday night for dinner, and stopped to browse in -- GASP! -- Pottery Barn Kids. I've spent a fair amount of time in baby stores buying what seems like a hundred baby shower gifts in the last year, but the Mr. had never really been involved. It was pretty cute watching him inspect the cribs, sit in the gliders, and mull over whether he could live with a roomful of pink accessories should the Peanut be a Pea-nette.

And then we went out for Mexican food.

Because baby needed some refried beans.

Trifecta (and FabFooFri #5)

Despite my ever-expanding chestal region, I have to admit I've been feeling a little anxious the last couple of days about symptoms. I've been feeling tired and a little queasy, but it's been weird adjusting to long periods of no information after weeks of constant IVF updates. I actually managed to work myself into a little tizzy last night.

But this morning I woke up (after having a bit of an improper dream involving Dr. Gregory House -- WTF?) to the trifecta -- nausea, headache, and fatigue so extreme that I'm pretty sure I nodded off standing up in the shower. I am struggling mightily at work today -- TGI frickin' F -- and am so excited to get to sleep in a little tomorrow and have some serious weekend nappage.

Oh, and I actually did briefly trap a cat under one of my boobs last night. He survived, but I'm pretty sure he's sleeping on the Mr.'s side of the bed tonight.

Aaaaanyway, it's Friday. And it's the first Friday after Lent. So not only can I talk about food, but I can talk about beef. Tasty, tasty beef. It's shaping up to be a beautifully warm weekend, so I think we're going to kick things off by barbecuing up a flank steak, with a kick-ass marinade that I adopted from Epicurious (I think). It's really simple and really really good.

Flank Steak (or other grillable beef) Marinade

2 c. red wine (doesn't have to be great, but shouldn't be dreck. Cabs and Shirazes seem to work best)
1/4 c. soy sauce
1 T olive oil
3-4 cloves garlic, roughly chopped (fresh is waaaay better than jarred)
1/2 t dried rosemary
1/2 t dried oregano
1 t dried parsley
salt and pepper to taste

Combine all ingredients in a bowl. Add meat, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1-2 hours. Grill and enjoy!

Wardrobe malfunction

I think that the boob fairy must have paid a visit to our house last night. Seriously -- I was 45 minutes late today because everything I put on this morning made me look like Dolly effing Parton. (Not that I have anything against Dolly.)

I was not exactly a flat-chested girl to begin with. I started this whole infertility journey as a 34C, then grew to a 34DD via some combination of weight gain and meds. Midway through my IVF cycle, I could barely latch my bra and bought a couple of 34DDDs. And today, just about two weeks later, I am sporting the dreaded quadra-boob. (For those of you not familiar with quadra-boob, it is the phenomenon by which a too-large boob spills over a too-small cup, creating an oh-so attractive four-lumpy-boob look).

And it's not just the size. The girls HURT. It's gotten so bad that I've started wearing a sports bra to bed, because the pain of these suckers flapping around in the middle of the night actually woke me up a couple of times. Also, I am afraid of suffocating a cat under one of my loose, giant knockers.

So, here I am. Five weeks in, and my husband is already referring to the girls as "melons" (lovingly, of course -- he is a guy, after all).

My cups runneth over.

And under.

An insurance miracle

OK, perhaps I'm being a little bit over-the-top. I don't think anything involving insurance can really be considered miraculous. And I certainly can't complain -- at least I have some insurance coverage for this crazy baby-making money extravaganza.

But, complain I will. Yesterday in the mail I received a lovely bill from the anesthesiologist from the retrieval for $720. It had a nice little note ALL IN CAPS informing me that coverage had been denied, and it was my responsibility, and PLEASE PAY RIGHT NOW, NOT LATER.

This didn't sound right to me, and I verified in my insurance docs that anesthesia was not excluded, so I called the insurance company, then the anesthesiologist's office, and three miraculous things happened:

1. The insurance company rep was nice, and I was actually smiling when I hung up the phone.

2. The anesthesiologist billing lady was nice (although it sounded like she'd had a 3 pack-a-day habit for the last 40 years), and I was also smiling when I hung up the phone.

3. Both agreed that it was some sort of glitch, and that everything should be covered and straightened out right away, at no expense to me.

All of this transpired in under 10 minutes, and I didn't even have to go all bitch on them. I tells ya, an insurance miracle.

Crazy, crazy dreams

I personally find nothing more tiresome than listening to other people describe their dreams in great detail, so I'm not really sure why I'm writing this post. But I am just blown away by some of the crazy stuff that my mind has been coming up with this week. Here's a quick list:

-- Went to Hollywood party with my RE; met Paris Hilton
-- Found out that my clinic accidentally used donor sperm; plotted giant lawsuit
-- "Accidentally" did a bo.ng hit; freaked out
-- Got my period, ungot my period, met Carrie Underwood

Scary, hunh? And yet I still want to sleep ALL. THE. DAMN. TIME.

Happy purgatory

How's that for an oxymoron? But that's how I feel....we're still waiting for something (next Thursday's ultrasound), but it feels completely different than last week's soul-crushing, all-distracting, panty-checking waiting.

I know enough to know that there's a whole boatload of things that can go wrong in the coming weeks and months. But I am trying my best to be a happy pregnant person for as long as I possibly can. And not fall asleep on my desk, because that's where I'm totally heading right now.

The only bump in the road of this past happy weekend was our movie selection last night: Marley & Me. If you are cycling and/or otherwise full of hormones, I urge you to stay away from this evil movie cloaked behind a cute puppy on the DVD box. Sure, there are cute puppies and many other cute doggie things, but you will pay for every second of cuteness with the SADDEST ENDING EVER. I have seen the Mr. cry slightly twice in the 10 years I've known him, and he was shaking and sobbing and bawling (so was I, but I cry watching Grey's Anatomy so am not a good barometer).

Oh, and there's a bad sonogram scene. I tells ya, leave Marley on the damn shelf. Eric Dane doesn't even make it worth the heartache.

Ahhhh, spring! (and a beta update)

When I got back to the house this afternoon after going for my beta and acupuncture, I all of the sudden noticed that hey, it's spring. Flowers are blooming. When did that happen? Could it be that something's been distracting me lately and I didn't notice? Hmmmm. So, enjoy a few shots from the garden. I swear, I have nothing to do with it -- these things pretty much grow on their own.

Second beta came back in today at 389, which more than doubled and made me very happy. Also happy-making was the news that my progesterone level was high enough (40.5) that I can decrease my shots to once a week. Hallelujah! Especially since the Mr. hit a vein on the way in tonight and made me bleed all over the family room carpet. The nurse told me that instead of a shot once a week, I could do vaginal suppositories three times a day, and sounded very excited to present me with that option. Lady, you're crazy -- I've had enough things up my hoo-hoo over the last few weeks. The party stops here.

Next step is another blood draw on Monday or Tuesday to check my thyroid levels. I'm hypothyroid, and apparently this whole pregnancy thing can knock things out of whack. And then we wait for the ultrasound. Love the waiting!

Happy spring to all, and to all a good night. I'm off to bed dreaming of parmesan.

FabFooFri, Round 4

Thanks for all of the kind words yesterday. I am still in shock, and honestly would be willing to believe I dreamt up the whole thing were it not for the 3 sticks I've peed on in the last 18 hours. I couldn't help it -- I've never ever seen 2 lines on anything but an OPK (and even that was a rare occurrence). I tried to take pictures but failed miserably, and then the Mr. told me to stop because isn't it kind of gross to be so fixated on something you've peed on?

Um, no?

Anyway, I'm still holding my breath for tomorrow's second beta, so am back to my usual distraction topic -- food. Unfortunately, today being Good Friday and all, it will not be a particularly fabulous day in the food department. But I am already plotting and planning for Sunday, when I will at long last be able to enjoy the wonders of bread and parmesan cheese. Unfortunately, our favorite pizza joint will be closed on Easter (I already encountered that heartbreak last year), so we may have to improvise. Oh, and the Mr. gave up booze, so he wants to make the rounds so that he can have a couple of martinis.

I guess I will be the designated driver!

Holy shit!

Pardon the language -- and on Holy Thursday, no less -- but OMG our beta was 188 and we're pregnant!

I want to thank you all so so much for all of the good juju -- I read all of your comments this morning on my way to get my blood drawn, and I can't even begin to tell you how much the support meant to us, especially since we haven't told many people in "real" life. (Although I don't know how much more real you get than this!)

We have another blood draw on Saturday....I know we've still got a looong way to go and so much can happen but I can't believe I've actually managed to get knocked up for the first time ever.

Eeep!

8dp5dt -- 2WW, don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out

I seem to have rounded the corner on the bitchiness, and am feeling almost serene today. I'm pretty much convinced I'm not pregnant, and that the PIO shots are just barely staving off a raging period. I'm certainly not going to be happy if tomorrow's results back up my suspicion, but I'm prepared to move forward with next steps. We knew going in that it was going to be a coin toss at best.

So, as the time drrraaaagggs by, I'm trying to focus on the things that are making me smile today:

1) The big, lopsided circles on my butt where the Mr. had to re-tattoo me with a Sharpie for my PIO shots.

2) The furry little purry kitty head that was on my pillow this morning when I woke up. (Not making me smile as much -- the furry little piece of kitty hair that it took me 20 minutes to get out of my eye.)

3) The fact that it only took me 5 minutes to get through the Bay Bridge Toll Plaza this morning on the way to work.

4) The fact that the Mr. will have dinner waiting for me when I get home tonight.

5) The big bowl of pho I just ate. (Yes, it's all about food with me right now.)

6) The fact that in 24 or so hours, I will either be celebrating or drinking very good red wine out of a VERY LARGE glass.

And Barefoot would like to nominate.....

Heartfelt thanks to my bud Carrie for tagging me with the Sisterhood Award. Not only is it an incredibly touching gesture (and a reminder of just how much support I've gotten in the last few weeks from Carrie and so many others of you), but it's also great distraction from my twice-hourly panty-checking routine. Thanks, Carrie. :)

Here are the rules:

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate 10 blogs with great attitude and/or gratitude.
3. Be sure to link to your nominees in your post.
4. Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a comment on their blog.
5. Be sure to link this post to the person who nominated you for the award

Here's my list -- you guys have been such a support and source of good humor and inspiration. And so strong!

A Little Hope
baby, interrupted
Invitro Veritas
life is good
Listening for little steps
MoJo Working
Mustard Seed Baby
My Journey with Endometriosis
My Reality
Parenthood for Me
Sayler, Am I Pregnant Yet?
With God, All Things Are Possible

Yes, yes, there are 12. Sorry. And I probably would have kept going, if Carrie hadn't done such a good job of picking her list!

7dp5dt -- Miss Bitchiality

My poor husband. He got quite a handful last night. First, I completely freaked out when he got home 20 minutes late for my PIO shot, convinced that if we delayed at all I would immediately get my period. After the shot, I basically melted down and had an epic cry, complete with choking sounds and rivulets of snot pouring down my face. We're not going to be pregnant, it's not fair, it's so easy for everyone else, I'm so fat, I'm probably getting my period even as we speak, blah blah blah. Then to top it all off, at dinner I wouldn't let him have any guacamole, since there really was only enough for one person.

One very sniffly and bitchy person.

The bitchitude leads me further down the road of believing I'm about to get my period. Can you tell I'm a bit obsessed with my period? The good news is that I'm probably clocking a mile a day to and from the bathroom (my office has long halls). The bad news is that, well, I'm a bitch.

6dp5dt -- Evil, evil progesterone

I am in need of some serious sedation. I spent most of last night tossing and turning and running to the bathroom every hour or so, convinced that I had gotten my period. I had 4 dreams about telling the doctor I'd gotten my period, telling my mother I'd gotten my period, having my period stop and telling everyone about that, and meeting Carrie Underwood. Carrie and I did not talk about my period.

I somehow managed to stop myself from peeing on a stick, because 1) every time I pee on stick, I get my period immediately afterwards, and 2) the Mr. is seriously opposed to testing because he thinks it will make my mental state even worse. I'M NOT SURE HOW THAT IS POSSIBLE.

So, this morning I consulted Dr. Google and Dr. Infertility Blogosphere and learned that progesterone can provide that magical combination of both period AND pregnancy symptoms. So the fact that I am bloated, constipated, crampy, sweaty, cranky and crazy could really mean anything.

And isn't that comforting?

5dp5dt -- Seriously nothing to report

I wish I had something exciting to say, but the last two days have been one giant exercise in trying to distract ourselves, with limited success. The highlight of the weekend was playing bingo with my husband's grandmother at her retirement home. I got bingo. Thrilling. Today I'm going for a pedicure and may just make a therapeutic run to Target.

Like I said -- nothing to report.

Is it Thursday yet?

Awesome

Just discovered that two visitors have made their way to this blog by searching the following term:

"where to buy a fake pregnancy tummys"

Well. I am currently sporting what one might call a fake pregnancy tummy, gained by the injection and other administration of thousands of dollars worth of IVF drugs, but I'm sure there is a cheaper way to achieve said effect. Hopefully these folks found it!

Fabulous Food Friday

Despite the fact that I threw up in my mouth a little bit yesterday and I've already had to trash a completely wonderful cup of coffee this morning, I am inexplicably looking forward to lunch today. That is because I am headed to my very favorite soup place. Will it be Smoky Split Pea? Southwestern Corn Chowder? Tomato Bisque? This is my major decision of the day, and quite frankly probably all I can handle in my current mental state.

I love soup. I could eat it and salad every day. OK, and maybe pasta. But I do really love soup. It amazes me that people don't make homemade soup more often, because it really couldn't be easier. Even if you use canned or boxed broth, it's still a million times better than prefab soup. In pretty much constant rotation in our house is chicken noodle (made with a rotisserie chicken or that "Just Chicken" stuff you can buy at Trader Joe's), split pea with big chunks of turkey bacon and carrots, minestrone (made a different way every time), and a new favorite -- escarole and meatball (otherwise known as Italian Wedding).

Because I'm an HTML dunce and don't know how to hide part of my post, I'll post one of my favorite easy soup recipes in the comments for anyone who'd like to get souped up this weekend.

Happy Friday!

3dp5dt -- Waiting sucks

I wish I had something pithy and wonderful to say today, but I am currently paralyzed by the not-quite-two-week wait. My mind may wander to inconsequential things like, oh, work, for about five minutes, and then I'm right back into "am I or aren't I?" mode.

I know it's way too early for any meaningful symptoms (not to mention the lovely progesterone cocktail* running through my veins), but I am tired as hell despite sleeping like a log every night (very unusual for insomniac me) and have been feeling like hurling on and off for the last two days. And this morning's odd development is that I brewed myself up a tasty cup of decaf, and then was so totally turned off by the smell that I couldn't drink it.

I know this is probably all in my head, but since I'm pretty much living in my head these days it all seems like a very big deal.

Help!

*By the way, did I mention that I could really use a cocktail?!?!?

Then She Found Me

Life is funny. I went to Blockbuster on Monday night to rent a pile of movies for my two days at home. I was a totally selfish renter, and pretty much stuck with the chick flicks (except "Milk," which I'm hoping the Mr. will watch with me tomorrow night).

I had read Elinor Lipman's novel Then She Found Me a few years ago, and loved her story of a woman in her late thirties being found by her birth mother. It was unusual and quirky and funny (as Elinor Lipman's books tend to be). I heard a couple of years ago that Helen Hunt was producing a directing a movie adaptation, and had been meaning to see it. It passed through theaters quickly, and I kind of forgot about it.

Fast forward to Monday, when I was doing a lap around the "New Releases" section -- and there it was. A perfect addition to my chick flick fest!

I watched the movie yesterday (randomly picked it from the pile), and it can't be a coincidence that I ended up watching a poignant movie about love, loss, adoption, miscarriage, IUI and getting older on the day after my transfer. Although parts of it were a little tough to watch, I though it was a beautiful little movie and I really admired Helen Hunt for taking it on and allowing herself to look so, well, old. I'm not sure I would recommend it to anyone struggling with fertility -- like I said, a little hard to watch in places -- but I found it to be kind of grounding.

Oh, and it had Colin Firth in it. Yum. I might recommend it after all!

1dp5dt -- Stir CRAZY

I've been home on my back for less than 24 hours, and I'm already going a little crazy. It doesn't help that the Mr. is also at home, basically yelling at me every time I get up to pee. A girl's gotta pee. The good (?) news is that I've got a bunch of work calls today, so at least my mind will be occupied. It's a little hard to feel authoritative when you're in bed in your jammies with two cats sitting on you, but that's about the best I can do today.

In not quite as good news, we got word this morning that only one of our other little guys made it to freeze. But he (she?) is a "big, beautiful blastocyst -- even bigger than the ones [we] put in yesterday," quoth the doctor. So we're thankful for that -- I guess I just got carried away in my mind that all of our embies would miraculously make it and that we'd have a basketball team.

And this is why you should never think about serious topics while on drugs.