Quandary (TMI)

Not to go back to this again so soon… but I am faced with more than the obvious difficulty of secondary infertility.

I don’t think my doctor is taking me seriously.

I first went to see my OB/GYN in October. By then, we had been trying to conceive for several months. I was lactating from both breasts, both during the period in which I likely was ovulating and then leading up to menstruation. She tested my hormone levels, and everything came back normal. I was told to keep at it.

In November, I had my annual exam. I expressed continued concern about our inability to get pregnant. I was told to relax. It had happened once, it will happen again. The likelihood of there being a problem with either of us was minimal, she said, because we’d already proved we could conceive. But, she said, she could put me on Clomid whenever I wanted. You’re young, she said, you’ve got time.

After a 39-day cycle in November-December, my husband could hardly stand to see me so sad again.

I feel like I know my body. I feel like there is something wrong. I’m not sure what it is. I have been charting for several months, using ovulation predictor kits. Both methods show that I am ovulating (I have the hormone surge prior to ovulation and the temperature shift afterward).  And I never have to take a pregnancy test and be disappointed because my temperature always goes down before I get my period.

I’ve decided this month that it must be the environment that I provide. Checking my mucus has been next to impossible – since I gave birth in December 2005, I rarely have any (a complaint I have mentioned to my doctor three times in the last year). While we have been using the special, non-sperm-killing lubricant for about six months now, I started taking a (costly) pill that is supposed to improve my production. I don’t know if it’s working.

I’m pretty sure Clomid isn’t the answer. I don’t know what is.

I have had no objections to my doctor before this point. She was wonderful throughout my pregnancy and post-natal experience. At what point do I demand to be seen again? How do I explain that something is just not working right? As I watch Rachel get older and older, I want to give her a sibling before they will be too far apart in age to get along. I want to have my last baby before I’m 35.

I know I can’t plan these things. I’m trying to relax. I’m trying to think about other things. But I’m struggling. And I hate waiting.

Growing up

Now let’s talk about Rachel.

She is growing up so much, so quickly.

She’s doing all the regular four-year-old things: beginning to recognize and sound out words, writing her name, riding her bike (when weather permits), doing chores and understanding how things work. After some final realtor business Saturday morning, we played Disney Princess Barbies and Disney bingo and Legos and Polly Pockets and Crayola Glow Station and read stories all weekend. It was great – after weeks and weeks of home improvement projects, cleaning projects and general de-cluttering, several hours of play interrupted only by a need to make dinner or go to church or take a nap was phenomenal.

After nearly two weeks at home (or with relatives) over the holidays, she was ready to get back to school last week. She missed her friends and couldn’t wait to tell them that she was four now. She expressed the same sentiment last night as we were getting ready for bed.

But this morning was the polar opposite. Already up for more than an hour, I was downstairs pulling clothes out of the dryer when I heard her wailing upstairs. She didn’t want to go to school. Her friends were mean to her. She wanted to stay with mommy and daddy.

I wanted to give in to that desire – I am leaving tomorrow morning for Atlanta and won’t see her again until Sunday afternoon. I wanted to take the day off, curl up with her and have a repeat of the weekend. Giving in would only make coaxing her out of the house tomorrow that much more difficult.

I held her for awhile, absorbing her sobs while I rocked her back and forth, amazed that so much despair could come from her over something she was looking forward to not 16 hours earlier. After a few moments of silence, she helped me fold the laundry and I cajoled her out of her woe by trying to slide into her blue jeans and putting her father’s underwear on my head.

She giggled at my silliness. And I consider that a success.

Creating a diversion

Now that that is over with…

Let’s talk about something different. Let’s talk about that yellow-and-black real estate sign that will go up in my front yard on Saturday. I thought the stress of trying to get knocked up and failing, along with the stress of the holidays, the stress of having a husband in grad school and simultaneously studying for the GRE was just not enough for me. Let’s sell our house too!

We just need a better school district. Rachel will not be in kindergarten until 2011 (she just turned four last week), but I’d rather be in a place and settled well before then. Also, we’ve outgrown our house. Hard to believe with just three people, but once you start getting things like four-foot wooden Barbie houses and puppet theaters to add to your kitchen set and baby doll high chair and cradle, all stashed in what used to be called a dining room… Well, you get the idea.

We spent most of December and the break cleaning, repairing, sanding, staining, painting, organizing, de-cluttering and boxing up. Now every evening I cook dinner (without the benefit of fancy appliances like a food processor, mixer or toaster oven – all in storage), clean up from dinner and clean everything. Everything. I have stashed Lysol wipes, cleansers and paper towels in every available spot. I work, cook and clean. I’m like the hired help. I just hope the payoff (pay check?) is worth it.

Though moving is no fun, the idea of having something new, finding a new place for all my things, decorating it the way I want to is, if nothing else, distracting. Explaining the process to a four-year-old, who began boxing up her toys and wondering if we would be taking the dogs with us to the new house the first time we broached the idea with her, is also taking some doing.

Honestly, it’s kind of nice to have something to focus on other than my barren womb and that day’s waking temperature and the consistency of my… you get the idea. So I’m going to have the cleanest, nicest-looking house ever that I can. And it’s going to sell in no time.

Waiting

It’s been almost a year since I stopped writing here.

I had hoped a lot would have changed in that year. I kept putting off writing again, thinking how fun it would be to come back with an “announcement.” But as the days, weeks, months passed and I had no announcement to make, I had no reason to justify my absence. Then, as someone very close to me became public about her journey, her struggles, I felt silly sharing mine.

Because I have been blessed. I have the most beautiful, caring, thoughtful, gracious, smart, friendly and open little girl in the world (at least I think so). My wonderful sister, and so many like her, does not have that. My pain is miniscule compared to hers, augmented by the serious illness of her father (my stepfather).

I know what it is to feel my newborn child in my arms, to wake up in the middle of the night and be the only one who can soothe her cries. I know what it is to smell her hair, to feel her soft smoothness under my fingers, against my cheek, at my breast. I know what it is to hold her as she sobs from an injury to her body, her soul, her pride. I know what it is to see her laugh with her friends, sing songs on a stage, write her name, turn two, turn three, turn four…

Yes, I have been blessed.

I also know what it is to look into her little face and explain that no, there is no baby in Mommy’s belly right now. That yes, it is taking a long time. That no, neither God nor Santa Claus forgot Mommy this year. That it will happen someday, when the time is right. She will make an excellent big sister. She will be so helpful, so tender, so nurturing. I cannot wait to give it to her.

I am waiting. The pain is sometimes crushing. The hope is tempered.  But I am still waiting. And I am still hoping.

My princess

My princess

Originally uploaded by MichelleCamille

US

Relationship meme, found via Linda.

What are your middle names?

Camille and William. I’ll let you guess who is who.

How long have you been together?

Almost ten years: started dating in the summer of 1999, and got married in 2002.

How long did you know each other before you started dating?

This is kind of a complicated question. We met in April of 1999 when I arrived at his workplace for a job interview. I accepted the job, but didn’t start until June. Ten days later, he asked me to go for a drink on a Thursday night. Is that a date? It was about six weeks (and three dates) before I’d say we were actually “dating.”

Who asked whom out?

He asked me out. I later found out he totally had to psych himself up to make the call. I find that adorable.

How old are each of you?

Dave is 34. I am 32.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
Dave’s: my brother lives in CA, my sister in PA. I do have some step-siblings in IL. But we definitely see Dave’s sister most.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?

Being parents.

Did you go to the same school?

No. Dave went to Eastern Illinois. I went to Illinois.

Are you from the same home town?

No, Dave is from tiny-Olney, Illinois and I am from Aurora – almost opposite ends of the state (north and south).

Who is smarter?

Smarter is relative. I got high ACT scores and Dave graduated with honors from EIU. He has street-smarts, I have people-smarts.

Who is the most sensitive?

I am 100 percent more sensitive. I cry at television commercials and Alzheimer’s documentaries.

Where do you eat out most as a couple?


Just the two of us? Gee… we like to try new places all the time. But we do like this Italian place called Mama Carrolla’s. But I don’t know that we’ve ever been there just the two of us.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?

Italy. It seems like that is one of the last things we did just the two of us. Maybe because that’s where he knocked me up, and I was pretty much throwing up until R was born 38 weeks later.

Who has the craziest exes?

ME. WITHOUT QUESTION. 


Who has the worst temper?

ALSO ME.

Who does the cooking?

ME AGAIN.

Who is the neat-freak?

David is ultra-neat. It drives me crazy. I feel like I am constantly failing his expectations re: housecleaning. But I just don’t care as much as he does. Sue me.

Who is more stubborn?

We are a stubborn bunch in our house. Which is odd, because I am very flexible in the workplace. I like to tell Dave that I am just more comfortable with him and therefore feel safe enough to be my totally rigid and unyielding self at home. He should be glad about that, right?

Who hogs the bed?


He does, though he would deny it. I’ve often threatened to get a camera in the middle of the night and take a picture to show him just how much of the bed he really does consume. I’ve also threatened to audio record his snoring, though now that his cold had finally passed I think that might be taken care of.

Who wakes up earlier?

ME.  

Where was your first date?


We went to the Fox and the Hound in Evansville, Indiana and drank 23 ounce beers on a Thursday night. I tried to keep up with him and ended up having to drunkenly ask him to take me home after three. We discovered a mutual affinity for the Beastie Boys and Miller Light.

Who is more jealous?

Him. He still refers to a good friend of mine as “I Love You Mike” because Mike confessed his feelings for me about a month after Dave and I started dating. It’s been ten years, man. Let it go.

How long did it take to get serious?


I knew within six months that we would get married. It took him a little longer.

Who eats more?


He does. Unless he has a stomach bug.

Who does the laundry?

I would say I do 70 percent of it, 100 percent of the putting-clothes-away. He will occasionally wash and dry a load or two and almost always helps with the folding if he’s around. But I am incredibly anal about sorting. And he seems incapable of putting clothes away. Sometimes I go on strike and will just leave his clothes on his pillow or something.

Who’s better with the computer?


He is way better on the computer. Though I am learning because of my job.

Who drives when you are together?

He always drives. I’m not a good driver in most situations, though I kick ass at big city driving, when aggression is pretty much a requirement. I also have such terrible road rage that it’s generally better for my blood pressure to not be behind the wheel unless necessary.

 

The best and the brightest

Lorin died in a plane crash last night. I am proud to say Lorin was my friend. We hadn’t talked in months. But every time I got a diet cherry coke out of the vending machines here at work, I thought of her. See, they didn’t have diet cherry coke in our vending machines until Lorin pestered the operations staff for weeks. She was so charming and funny and could make you feel at ease even if you didn’t know anyone else in the room. I will miss you Lorin.

Baby book

R would like to go to the store, purchase an egg, bring it home and hatch it into her baby sister.

She would also like for it to be a penguin.

R likes to introduce me to her friends as, “my Mommy, her name is Michelle.”

R is concerned that her grandfather will grow a moustache. He hasn’t had a moustache since the mid-1990s, nearly 10 years before she was born. However, she recently saw some pictures of her grandpa with a moustache and now, every time he is mentioned, she also expresses her desire that he not grow a moustache.

Last night, R and I made music with wooden spoons and an old Christmas tin. It was awesome.

I think Snow White is the scariest of the Disney Princess collection.

I miss my nephew.

While I was in Washington D.C. for our annual convention last month, R began making a weird noise. When I asked her dad what she was doing, he said she was kissing the phone. And my heart broke into a million pieces and I cursed that I had four more days until I came home.

Of course, when I came home, she was not happy to see me because she had been playing at a friend’s house and Dave made her leave to come pick me up at the airport.

She thanks me for making dinner almost every night. The best is when she adds, “This is really good! Yummy in my tummy!” Rare, but unmatched praise.

Ruler of the universe

We have this constant struggle, R and I. Who is really in charge?

Of course, she doesn’t intellectually acknowledge this struggle. In fact, if you ask her, she will tell you – Mommy is the Boss. While that is nice (and ego-boosting) to hear, it is not, in fact, the God’s-honest truth. Sometimes, frankly, R is the Boss.

There are days when I am Not. In. The. Mood. There are days when I don’t want everything to be a fight: the getting dressed, the eating breakfast, the getting out the door, the watch-television dilemma, the snack after school, the eating of vegetables, bath time, bed time, number of stories, number of minutes spent watching her lie there with her eyes open refusing to sleep, drinks of water, light level, OMG START AGAIN TOMORROW.

These are the days that I will bend, compromise a little. The days she eats macaroni and cheese for breakfast or gets two cookies right before dinner or skips her bath or stays up 20 more minutes to watch the end of “Jungle Book.” For the thirteen millionth time.

I try not to feel bad about these little lapses in principle, the gentle ebbing away from my greater goals as a parent. Everybody deserves a break once in awhile, I think. But are these breaks getting too frequent? Am I raising a child who does not know limits and will constantly expect her every whim to be fulfilled?

When I have thoughts like these, I frequently sway the opposite direction – toward a rigid standard of parenting. When we were on the cruise, we were eating dinner with the whole family – all 14 of us – when R started acting a little squirrelly. The joviality of the evening, and the fact that she and her 8-month-old cousin were the centers of attention, went straight to her head. She threw a fork. I immediately grabbed her and carried her out of the restaurant into the hall, sitting her on the steps in timeout.  Oh the wails. The tears. The self-pity.

Dave thought I over-reacted a little bit. And perhaps I did. But I don’t want her to ever think that throwing things was acceptable behavior. And we were already so flexible we were going to fall over with the next whiff of a Caribbean breeze – the child didn’t use the toilet for six.straight.days, for goodness sake. I wanted to show her firmness and boundaries and consequences.

But the problem comes the next time she throws a fork, and the reaction isn’t as sudden, swift and serious. It’s so difficult to be consistent when the same behavior could occur immediately after I spent 20 minutes cleaning up poop or immediately after a spontaneous hug and kiss.

But I guess this wasn’t meant to be easy.

Awesome, with caveats

I am very tan. I am actually pretty relaxed, which is an epic achievement for me, the most high strung and anxious person you may ever meet. I have visited the Dominican Republic, U.S. and British Virgin Islands and the Bahamas. I went parasailing. I racked up (with my husband, and the addition of a massage and shore excursions) a $1,347 bar bill. I had a seaweed wrap.

Seven days on a cruise ship in the Caribbean were incredible. The water was so blue, the islands so lovely and the drinks so cold that I stopped thinking about the fact that we were likely to miss our flight back (made it by the skin of our teeth and the jump to the front of the security line) and just CHILLED OUT for a little while.

We did run into some stumbling blocks. R, after being potty-trained-except-at-night for nearly five months, had a terrible experience at the kids club on the first full day of the cruise. Because of staffing, they can’t send someone to the bathroom with the kids, so they sent her alone and closed the door behind her. She was terrified. And refused to use the toilet for ANYTHING the rest of the vacation. I’m glad I brought lots of extra clothes. And apologies to the restaurant in Samana.

I have also somehow retained the dizziness often felt for a few hours after disembarking, a condition known as Mal de Disembarquement Syndrome, common among women in the 40s (NOT) who are prone to motion sickness (definitely) and migraines (for sure) and take hormone supplements (like the birth control pill?). It’s like vertigo could last for years, something I am not excited about.

Enjoy the pictures, I am off again to our annual convention, this year in Washington, D.C. I get to fly instead of taking the bus. Weather better not delay my return to my family on Sunday!

Cane Garden Bay Beach, Tortola

Coki Beach, St. Thomas

Parasailing, Great Stirrup Cay

Leaving Miami

Samana, Dominican Republic