Need a breather...

So, my self-imposed Google ban is doing well. I'm Googling less and less and that's just fine with me. My own life is a perfect case study of what every pregnant woman fears--no problems, no warning...no baby.

Add in the million and seven other things I now know can happen (and too, too many of them without ANY REASON at all) and the last thing I need is Google to give me more.

I have been feeling really icky. (Please, by the way, do not feel the need to tell me how that is wonderful for the baby--Matthew was PERFECT and I was not sick at all...had tons of energy and some minor food aversion, but that was it...sickness does NOT always mean things are fabulous with the baby. I don't believe in any of the old wives' tales--mainly because Matthew defied them all!)

Flu-like. I can totally get how people don't know they are pregnant for a while and just feel like it's the flu--all day for lots of days! That's how this is...no energy to do anything but nothing makes it better. John is sweet and tells me just to rest and relax, but honestly, laying around is just as nauseating and uncomfortable. I go back and forth between freezing and roasting, wanting to vomit and being ravenous, chills and aches to wanting to garden.

I know...classic pregnancy symptoms and I am grateful for them.

Just very different from Matthew.

So, as I'm pretty much sofa bound for much of the day, and on my Google ban, once I catch up with blogs (and even that I have to sort of limit because every day it seems like there is a new something that breaks my heart), I try to indulge in 'normal' pregnancy things.

Which feels weird, since I was just doing this with Matthew 6 months ago.

In this quest, I just get aggravated.
REALLY aggravated.

Yes, I am uncomfortable, and don't feel well, but seriously--I can't complain. I am not working; my husband is sweet and tells me to rest (and does a great job of helping me with things that I don't feel like or can't do); and really, all I have to do is take care of me and this baby. What a blessing and I know it.

So when I go on 'pregnancy' boards, I just get SO MAD. Especially IVF boards that have now gone to pregnancy...

Complaints, complaints, complaints....

And I'm not talking about complaints about the possibility of something bad happening with the moms or the babies...not complaining about serious things that actually matter...

Complaints about STRETCH MARKS.

Not ever being able to wear a bikini again.

Can't exercise as much.

Babies kicking too much.

Not being able to party anymore.

SERIOUSLY?

BUT--here's the kicker...almost EVERY SINGLE POST that complains about something whiny like that ends with this (or something like this): "But, I guess it will all be worth it in the end, right?"

Because those same whiny and superficial (and ignorant) people just assume that the baby will come home.

So, when I read those posts, I want to scream. I just want to say, "OH YEAH? HOW ABOUT THIS? How about having to wrap yourself so much that you can't breathe because you have to PURPOSELY stop your milk coming in and worry about people hugging you--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it? Or that your OB tells you she may have to put you in the hospital (meaning you can't go to his funeral since you're in the hospital)--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it. Or how about having to try and figure something out to wear to your son's funeral, and then months later just being miserable as you think about how you didn't even have SHOES to wear to it because you were so swollen--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it? OR you have lost EVERY single pound you gained (plus two more, which puts me over 50 pounds lost in 6 months) and yet STILL NOTHING FITS YOU and you don't have the energy to find something that does--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it?"

I could go on and on...but the end result is that all of the petty complaints are somehow supposed to be valid BECAUSE THERE'S A CUTE LITTLE BABY THAT MAKES IT ALL WORTH IT.

And I'm here to say that even when there's no cute little baby 'that makes it all worth it'...when that baby is dead before you ever even see its little face...

IT'S WORTH IT.

He's a miracle.

He's your son.

He's the reason you are a mom.

He's every dream you ever had in the most precious body you've ever seen.

And HE WAS WORTH IT.

So to all those moms who whine about stupid stuff but justify that their baby in their arms makes it worth it, I just want to gag.

It's worth it even if he doesn't end up there.

My point is that I just need a breather. The computer is a lifeline and I am so grateful for so many people I love dearly just through a computer.

But the scope of which I can use the computer is getting smaller and smaller every day.

The clock that mocks me....

When we first learned we were pregnant, John programmed a countdown clock to our due date. This countdown clock was originally Grandma's, and was used for her retirement countdown. We've been watching this countdown clock for the last 260ish days...and as I look at it right now, it says I have 13 hours. THIRTEEN HOURS. My dreams last night consisted of me saying to that clock, over and over, "You mock me, clock. You mock me." (I know, weird dream, but true)

Saturday night, I thought we might be in business as I was pretty much cramping/having contractions all night...but nothing regular enough or painful enough to wake John up and head to the hospital.

Needless to say, when we got up for church yesterday, I was EXHAUSTED. John must have been too, because he was CRANKY! Note all the caps in that word. Let me restate: CRANKY.

To wrap a very long (all day) story up: He was CRANKY, which aggravated me seeing as I figured if either of us got to claim rights on cranky yesterday, it should be the one who was NOT sleeping soundly the whole night before, but hey...that's just me. His cranky never let up, got worse, aggravated me even more, and I took it all out on the garden. I've been needing to pull the summer stuff out and rake and put the pansies and bulbs in for a while. I realize this is probably not a huge priority for most women a day and a half away from their due date, but it is to me as I love my garden and envision it as a cute little backdrop for pictures of Matthew in a few months.

John is king of hidden agenda. Apparently my plans interfered with his agenda (who knew?) and frankly, cranky AND a hidden agenda just were not what I wanted to deal with yesterday so I told him I'd handle it all on my own.

Which I did, mind you.

And paid for (heck, am still paying for) in spades. My muscles would be miserable today if I *wasn't* pregnant, but throw my aching, pregnant back and humongous pregnant belly in and I think miserable times 100 still doesn't cover it.

But hey, only 13 hours left, right? Once it's rundown, I'm resetting it for next week--Monday at 7 pm, to be precise. Anything that happens before that is gravy. Preferably on a turkey. That I am at home enjoying with mom, John's cousin and Matthew. On Thanksgiving Day.

Game on, clock.

WARNING: May offend, aggravate, incite, etc...just so you know...

Just know you were warned.

However, I'll appologize in advance, as I feel it will probably be needed. And, for the record, this is directed to NO ONE IN PARTICULAR. FOR REAL.

Please let me start by saying that anyone and everyone who has ever said a kind or uplifting thing to me has been truly appreciated and valued, and I am thankful for the blessings of friends, family, and even *strangers* I come to know who think of me and pray for me. The thought behind the encouragement is genuine and priceless. I really, truly, totally and undeniably cannot say enough thank-yous or give enough merit to what your words deserve.

That said...I really think that the next time someone tells me that I need to just keep a stiff upper lip, I will go postal. Seriously.

I understand things like that are said to raise my spirits, and to try and help me be hopeful by saying encouraging things.

Here's the thing...How many years have to go by before SOMEBODY finally acknowledges that the record is BROKEN and maybe, just maybe, it might be okay to say so? Seriously--I need to work on my attitude or the IVF will not work? W*H*A*T?????

Explain why the two + years of stupid Basal charts, clomid, yucky ultrasounds, hopes UP, upper lips stiffed EVERY FLIPPING MONTH and smiles on my face DID NOT WORK?

Explain what it was about the next several years of MORE drugs, hospitalizations, charts, invasive procedures, inseminations, AND AN EXTREMELY HOPEFUL (and expensive, might I add) attitude that failed me?

How about this? How about all the smiles, excitement, dreams, nervous anticipation and things bought in preparation for the Walter Reed IVF program we qualified for? Why wasn't my faith and my attitude good enough for that possibility to be a reality?

Or, now my all-time favorite? What about the ROOM full of things I have upstairs? Friends, I am talking ROOM FULL of things--baby things I have spent the last nine+ years buying, compiling, dreaming about and WAITING to use? The bassinet? The mounds upon mounds of clothes for a baby girl from birth to 3 years? The HUNDREDS of books? The toys? The flipping bedding and nursery theme, for Pete's sake? How, I ask, HOW DOES THAT NOT SCREAM THAT I AM HOPEFUL? THAT I BELIEVE? THAT I STILL, after all these blippety-blipped years, I STILL think that it could happen? HOW can that not be the epitome of HOPE? Maybe not draped in flowery words and cliches, but still, HOPE--stored in a room I can't even walk into without crying...

And as for my attitude about this whole adoption? Yes, recently, it's been not so optimistic. But let's face it, folks, can we agree that optimistic and realistic are not always best friends? Actions have been speaking SO MUCH louder than words, and have I been disappointed? You betcha. That doesn't mean that even though I really believe the odds of it happening are slim to none, I would not hop on a plane yesterday if things got moving and we got a referral. Do I still hope that there is such a person as Emma Jane? Of course. But, I also hoped I would grow taller (never even broke 5 feet--4' 11)...and it never happened. I don't think accepting that possibility means that I'm a glass half-empty gal.

I go to a job (that to be truthful, is NOT what I saw myself doing in life) where daily, I have sweet, wonderful children hug me and love me and even *accidentally* call me "Mommy" and I stay upbeat for them and positive for them, and LOVE them as much as I can, while inside I cry and cry because I'd give my eye-teeth (and John's too) to just take ONE home with me!!! Talk about rubbing salt into a wound. Yet, ask anyone that works with me to describe me, and I guarantee the following would be named: always smiling, always so happy, polite, mannered, so upbeat, positive, yada yada. Heck, some people even call me Mary Sunshine (and I love that, by the way!) for Pete's sake. How's that for a positive attitude? And, folks, that's where I spend the majority of my time, so I think they'd know.

So, now with the IVF--the doctor, though nice enough, told me, "We attract to us what we think." Sorry, folks, I am pulling the BS card on that one. I have wholeheartedly, faithfully and DESPERATELY spent so many YEARS of my life thinking, "This is it!! I know it!! THIS IS IT!" that if I had a nickel for every pregnancy test I took I'd be on the coast of Italy right now. If you believe that, and it works for you, fabulous. I just know that I have believed, believed and BELIEVED and nothing. I have prayed. I have done it ALL...upside down for an hour after (you know what I am talking about), supplements, diet change, buried the saint in the ground (don't ask), exercise, read the books, gone into major debt, planned the big vacations (and then ended up taking them, because OF COURSE, I was NOT pregnant), you NAME it, I bet I've heard about it, had it suggested to me, thought about it and/or tried it. Most of the time, with a good, hopeful and expectant (pun intended) attitude. NADA, friends, NADA.

So, forgive me if I think I will literally just scream the next time someone tells me that my attitude may be the reason nothing has been successful. Pardon me as I pop them. Excuse me if I bite your head off if you, lovingly, of course, tell me that I'll never (insert and take your pick--get pregnant, adopt internationally, adopt domestically) unless I (again, insert and take your pick--pray more, have more faith, eat better, sleep better, exercise more, have more hope, think positively, keep my chin up, rub the moose...you get the message). And, God help the poor, unknowing, well-meaning person that tells me ONE MORE TIME that I will end up adopting and immediately get pregnant. I fear for his or her life...I really do. Because the reality is that for every ONE of those stories you hear about, there are NUMEROUS women that NEVER HAVE THAT (sadly) HAPPEN!!! It's sort of like air travel--it's statistically safer than driving, but all you ever hear about are the plane crashes or incidents, so everyone automatically associates plane travel as unsafe. I'm sure someone will disagree, and that's fine, but the bottom line is those lucky people who spend years trying and then finally give up and adopt and then get pregnant are statistically the exception--the happy exception that everyone wants to talk about and swap stories with you over, but still.. the exception.

Again, let me reiterate that I know these words--all of them--are meant to help give me hope, and trust me, just knowing someone cares enough about me to worry and feel the need to encourage me means the world to me. It really does.


But, please, stick a fork in me. I'm done.

70 more days to wake up

Well, friends, I am sad to say that today was not a great school day. The disrespect I endured today, in addition to the complete and total disobedience by several children, simply firms up my decision. Education is not the place for me. A dear, dear friend once told me that sometimes we have to do what God wants us to do and that doesn't always turn out to be something we like to do. I have for a long time felt that I was doing what God wanted--I know that I have been a life-impacting person in the lives of many children and their parents--and am profoundly honored to have been given that opportunity. That being said, I do not--nay, cannot believe that this is what God wants me to do--wake up dreading every school day. Go through the day wondering when it will be over. Feeling absolutely terrible for those sweet, kind and bright children who are losing precious education because some of their classmates think NOTHING of being disruptive, disrespectful and disobedient. Wishing I had gone into some other line of work, and feeling like some of the decisions I have made regarding my occupation were not necessarily the best decisions. Being a miserable, grumpy person to be around. What kind of example for God am I living when I dread every day? Rather, every school day. I'm spent, I'm tired and I'm disappointed that I just don't have the drive or fortitude to suck it up and continue. At this point, I am waiting for the call that says our baby is ready for us to pick her up. I hate wishing my life away, but at this juncture, it's better than the alternative....waking up and feeling this way--over and over and over. Our joke is that we live the life of Groundhog Day, that movie with Bill Murray. That's what it's like these days. Different days, SAME crap. I can't imagine what it's going to be like when the weather gets warmer. God help me...