Just Trying to Make a Cub

Confession

2011-08-03T17:35:00.000-04:00

My toddler thinks ice cream trucks are fire trucks (he also knows that actual fire trucks are fire trucks). He heard it going by one day, playing its music, and said, "Fire truck, Mommy!" And then I agreed with him. This has provided me with significant ice cream savings.

This has also provided me with significant judgement from my husband every time the ice cream truck goes by.

Couponing drama?!

2011-07-17T21:55:00.000-04:00

I can't even type the above title without giggling, but it's true....when you coupon, sometimes there is drama.

I got my first taste of the theatrics when I came across an internet coupon that would give me free band-aids. Free band-aids!!  Most internet coupons only permit you to print two, but every now and then you'll come across one that lets you print unlimited amounts and the Nexcare band-aids coupon was one of them. Tons of free band-aids!! Now this leads you to actually ponder how many band-aids one truly needs. Surely, more than two boxes. I have a kid, after all, and intend to have another. Cuts, scrapes, nonexistent boo boos that just need to be covered to feel better. Four boxes? Hmmm.  Was I going for a lifetime supply of band-aids? They do take up very little space. It's not like my house would be filled to the gills with band-aids. I settled on eight boxes.  Eight felt right. A substantial amount but not enough to get me on an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive (I love that show, by the way, but that's a whole other post). Eight it was. I headed to my local Shop-Rite.

I walked up to the register with my wide variety of eight boxes to suit all my band-aid needs. Waterproof, comfort fit and active fit, of course, since exercise is very important to me. It consists of walking at approximately 1.5 mph with my son as he demands that he push the stroller.

"Ummm...." the cashier says and she looks over the coupons and turns her on light to blinking. Sigh...and we're blinking. But still, I'm not worried. My coupons are legit (they always are, that's how I roll).

Enter the front end manager, douchebag extraordinaire from hell. She looks me and my coupons over, all judgemental and then tells me the coupons are fake. She proceeds to tell me that I copied them from a circular which is not permitted. I calmly and politely (you have to be super polite when you coupon because some people find your coupons annoying right from the start) explain where I got my coupons.  She tells me they're fraudulent. She keeps going on and was just being such a b!tch about it. Whatever...my band-aids were a no-go. I should've thrown them at her, but I politely walked away with my head held high.

I head to customer service to talk with them. We put our heads together and concluded that I should come back with the coupon printed out in color instead of black and white and intact rather than cut out of the 8 1/2 X 11 paper. Okey dokey. I go home, follow my instructions and come back with said coupon (now #9) in hand. Customer service looks it all over, initials it as okay, but tells me I can only use four of the same coupon at a time (that's an optional rule the store can use as its discretion). I thank the customer service woman, tell her to have a great day and go back to retrieve four boxes of band-aids (two of them being active fit due to my extreme exercise regimen).

Up at the registers, I am now faced with a dilemma. Which one do I go to? I decide to go to the same girl as before because I don't want anyone to think I'm sneaking around, trying to pull a fast one with my so-not-fraudulent coupons. I say hi, show her the golden initials and on goes the blinking light again. She quietly explains that she doesn't want to get in trouble with the front-end manager so she has to have her approve it. I take this as exhibit B that front-end manager is in fact the b!tch that she appears to be.

Enter the manager, who proceeds to tell me that she still thinks the coupons are fake. And how did I get more than two of them if I didn't make copies which is illegal? And how come this one's in color when the rest are black and white? After she has exhausted her Nexcare interrogation, she tells the cashier that she has to accept them anyway if customer service ok'd them but that she was going to go look them up online tonight when she got home.

What.a.complete.and.total.b!tch.

But guess what, b!tch? I've got free band-aids. And tomorrow, I'm coming back and getting four more boxes of glorious, waterproof, comfort fit, active fit, soothing, healing, bacteria-blocking goodness.

So there.

See? I can be a bitch, too. I'm just polite and smile at you while I do it.

Updates and anger

2011-06-27T15:22:00.001-04:00

I've posted previously about the work I've been doing to pay down my family's debt. It's such a slow process...boy, is it slow. But I'm proud to say that since starting this process back in mid-February, we have paid off $3,500 in debt AND acquired no new debt. We could've paid off significantly more had we been prepared for me to not get paid through the summer, but we weren't, so we didn't. At this point, it is what it is. Now we take a pregnant pause as we await September and getting back into the swing of things.

In the last week, there have been developments here in New Jersey that have been so difficult to swallow. Our Democrat-dominant state with our Republican governor, Chris Christie, passed legislation last week that will further cut my take home pay next year. It was already cut this past year. In addition to this, I taught without a contract last year and I don't see a settlement in the near future.

Wisconsin came to New Jersey this past Thursday as a bill was passed crushing public unions' abilities to negotiate their contracts. And I rallied outside my capitol building, I made signs, I called my legislators...I did all I could and still I will make less next year than I did this year which was less than last year. I am now required to pay more into my pension and more towards my health insurance. In addition to this, any future raises (generally spread across 3 years) cannot exceed 2% and I as make more, I will be required to pay still more for my benefits. Worse off are retirees, whose cost of living adjustments have been suspended for 30 years. 30 years! I can't even wrap my head around that.

How did this pass in a Democrat-led state? I was baffled until I started reading up and learned that a key Democrat, to whom many other Democrats owe significant favors, is in cahoots with our Republican governor. Favors were owed, votes were cast and this sh!t passed. The more I begin to understand all the politics involved, the rich getting richer on the backs of the working class, the sicker I feel about the whole thing. It's disgusting.

So what now? What happens next to the paycheck-to-paycheck family who is waiting for their income to drop still further? Honestly, I don't know.  We pray, I guess. That the cars keep running okay, that there are no major health issues, that we can maintain the status quo for a little longer. And we keep going because we don't have a choice.

But I can't let go of the anger. Not yet.

The not-so-relaxing weekend

2011-06-13T16:32:00.001-04:00

The hospital wasn't able to fit Mr. Jaguar in the schedule that Friday. His inferior vena cava would have to wait to be installed until the following Monday. I would spend the coming days intently staring at him, watching him for any signs of trouble. The tiniest sputter from him would be followed by the question from me, "Are you okay?" I must've been really annoying that weekend, but I was so terrified that he would drop dead in front of me. I spent Friday in a kind of denial, repeatedly convincing myself that everything would be fine. What's 48 more hours? No biggie.

I spent Saturday fixated on what it would look like if my husband had a pulmonary embolism in front of me. Every time, I would try to block the thought out but the visualization kept returning. One of the doctors who had treated my husband earlier had said there would be a lot of blood. Would BabyJaguar be in the room? Would it be quick? Would my husband be terrified? Would my son be hysterical crying? The questions just kept coming. Saturday was a really bad day for thinking.

I can't even really remember Sunday. I was emotionally exhausted by that point. But I assure you it still consisted of interrogating my husband whenever he made the slightest sound. It was just such a strange weekend. Surreal.

The filter was put in place that Monday. It took a week or so for my head and heart to really wrap around the fact that my husband should be okay. The filter has stayed put and is doing its job. Mr Jaguar continues to take his blood thinners. My only worry now pretty much revolves around him getting into some kind of accident that causes him to bleed to death, but I'm rolling with that fear. That's so odd to stay, but that concern is just part of my new normal.

My husband and I are still discussing what to do in terms of testing BabyJaguar for the mutation. The hematologist has said to wait on it. The pediatrician doesn't really have an opinion on it. They just refer you to a pediatric hematologist. I'm debating scheduling that appointment sooner than later. Before testing him, I have to consider whether we want to get a life insurance policy for BabyJaguar now as a positive result could result in insurance difficulties for him later on down the road. We'll see how this all unfolds, but for now, I'm just tremendously grateful for my little family of three remaining a family of three.

Greatest fears

2011-04-11T21:28:00.004-04:00

They never did an ultrasound of the clot in his leg.

If they had, they would've confidently made the diagnosis of a pulmonary embolism (a small one, thank God). They would've seen that the once stable clot they had examined a few weeks ago was no longer stable and in danger of going to his lungs. But they didn't.

My husband and I returned home and discussed the doctors' conclusions or lack thereof. We both felt he'd had a pulmonary embolism.  It was the only thing that made sense of all of his symptoms. Within a few hours of moving around, Mr Jaguar began complaining that his chest felt just slightly tight. Not as bad as before but still there.

By the grace of God, my husband had a previously scheduled appointment with his hematologist two days later. The doctor was quite unimpressed and frankly, pretty pissed, that the hospital hadn't taken my husband's high risk factors for a pulmonary embolism seriously and he was shocked that they hadn't gotten another look at the clot in his leg. He ordered the ultrasound.

My husband got the ultrasound Friday morning. As he left the imaging center, his phone rang.  His doctor on the other end shared the findings. The clot was unstable.  He was now certain Mr Jaguar had had a pulmonary embolism and he was in danger of having another one that could be fatal this time. My husband would need an inferior vena cava filter installed as soon as possible to prevent this. The doctor would call the hospital and try to get it set up for that afternoon.

My husband pulled over to the side of the road and cried, his only thought was what if he didn't get to see Ben grow up?

Too close for comfort

2011-04-11T21:10:00.001-04:00

I haven't talked much about the last few weeks and figure I probably should. I especially need to get the last week off my chest.
Around mid-March, Mr Jaguar was diagnosed with a blood clot in his leg. He'd had a clot in his bicep late last year but it was due to an injury so no red flags were raised at the time. He was closely monitored until it resolved on its own. But this one in his leg was different. We couldn't think of anything that would have caused it...no surgery, no extended rest periods, no injuries. We wracked our brains and the only thing we came up with was that about a month before Mr Jaguar had fallen down our hardwood steps. He had gotten seriously banged up but didn't injure his knee in the fall.

Anyway, the doctor actually thought this clot was a cyst and sent Mr Jaguar to have an ultrasound just to be safe. To rule out a clot. But it was a clot. And the doctor called my husband while he was still in the ultrasound room to say go immediately to the emergency room. Do not stop home. Do not go anywhere but the emergency room. She was calling ahead to the ER to let them know he was on his way. He would be admitted to the hospital. The husband called me and relayed all this to me. I, at home with BabyJaguar, quickly made arrangements for someone to watch the baby while frantically packing an overnight bag for my husband. I raced to the hospital where my husband and I then impatiently sat in the waiting room for nearly 3 1/2 hours until he was seen. They were packed and my husband wasn't having chest pain. Chest pain trumps blood clot.

Eventually he was examined and the doctor opted to send him home on injectable blood thinners. A visiting nurse would come over the next morning to go over giving the shots. Except they never actually gave us the prescription for the medicine (they gave us a Lovenox starter kit that contained no Lovenox. It wasn't supposed to but they never told us that or gave us the actual script). My husband needed to take his next shot by noon the next day and we had no meds. It was 2:30 in the morning. Not the time that I want to be solving problems like this. Also, they never set up the visiting nurse. Mr Jaguar figured out the giving himself shots part (thanks, infertility shots).

In the coming days, my husband had bloodwork done and was diagnosed with Factor V Leiden Mutation, a hereditary gene mutation that makes your blood more likely to clot. I'll be talking with BabyJaguar's pediatrician about it at his well visit next month to see about testing him. My husband continued with his blood thinner medication, notified his family so they can get tested, ordered his medical identification necklace and we settled in as his bloodwork revealed that his clotting levels were slowly getting to where they should be.

A few weeks later my husband was out helping me in the garden. He overdid it and suddenly his heart started racing, he began shaking and his leg was throbbing. Mr Jaguar attributed it to lack of activity since the clot diagnosis and that his blood pressure was up, putting pressure on the clot. He sat down, drank some water and settled down. Later, he went in and laid on the couch for a bit. He said he felt better but, also, still felt a little off, not quite himself. He ran to the market later and that's when the cough started. He got home and that was when he realized he had coughed up some blood. He showed me his reddened palm.

I would love to say that this was the moment when I was calm, cool and collected. The Grace Kelly of medical emergencies. But I can't. Because I was anything but.

I jammed the just purchased bags of groceries in the fridge and threw BabyJaguar in the car (the poor guy had just pooped and I didn't even change his diaper). My husband got in and I raced to the hospital. I was driving like, well...like I needed to get to the hospital. This would be a funny time to mention that I have this little thing from my insurance company hooked up to my car to monitor my driving habits so that I can potentially get a good driver discount. I'm not so sure I'm going to get that discount now. Damn clot.

I was freaking out. Tears streaming down my face, my whole body tensed up like I was driving in an awful snow storm. I think I was talking a lot but don't remember what I said. I dropped Mr Jaguar at the doors to the ER just as my friend Kristen called to tell me she was pulling into the hospital lot. She was going to take BabyJaguar for me. I don't even really remember calling her to set that up. We pulled up next to each other, I basically threw my child at her (I didn't even say goodbye to him which I felt terrible about later) and raced off to find a parking spot which was frustratingly far away. Apparently, I unknowingly left my flashers on at this point, but fortunately my car battery didn't die. Then I ran full speed to the ER in tears. We didn't have to sit in the waiting room this time. They took Mr Jaguar back quickly. At some point during this, I went to use the restroom and ended up in their sobbing aloud. I took a minute to pray in there. Funny, you'd think I would've been praying from the second the whole thing started but I could barely get my mind still enough to do it. I figured God would know that I was praying in spirit. And then I smiled as I realized how ridiculous that sounded but figured He knew what I meant.

After some tests and exams, the doctors felt that my husband was not having a pulmonary embolism, but they weren't really sure what he was having. They opted to admit him so that he could be seen by a pulmonologist the next day. Mr Jaguar, after resting for a while, was feeling better but still not quite like himself.

The next day at the hospital, we waited and waited for a pulmonologist to come see us. I kept wondering how much it was costing our insurance for my husband to lie in a bed and get his vitals checked every few hours but, other than that, receive essentially no medical care. Later in the afternoon, after several polite requests on my part, a pulmonologist came down and asked my husband ample questions about drug use and exposure to chemicals but continued to dismiss the possibility of a pulmonary embolism because Mr Jaguar's chest CT with contrast did not show evidence of one. Eventually, the doctors basically said that they weren't really sure what was going on with Mr Jaguar but that, since he was feeling better, he could go home.

They never did an ultrasound of the clot in his leg.

An Irritating Pause

2011-04-05T22:12:00.022-04:00

I don't get paid in the summers. Because I'm a teacher. And because we have never reached a point in our finances where I can set money aside from each check that is earmarked for summer.

And so every summer we're kind of....well, screwed. My husband receives a quarterly bonus check and we also have our tax return. Those things generally go to the summer-stay-alive fund. And other money pops up at different points that goes in the same direction. But still, every summer, any savings that we have established seem to get devoured.

I've really got to change that. It truly is a sh!t plan.

To be exact, I lack my regular paycheck from July 15-September 15. I work during the summer for my school district for 4-6 weeks. However, I don't typically get paid until September 1. I know, that makes for one hell of a summer job. Still, I can't beat the money for the number of hours I work. On the days I work for the district, I pay half day daycare for BabyJaguar, but that's a good deal, so we save a good deal of money on daycare throughout summer. Also, with the debt that should be paid down before summer (crossing everything), we would save $175 every month. So there are bright spots in the summer budget where we will save on bills a bit.

But we have a wedding in August. In Boston. And while I'm so excited to see a great friend get married to the woman of his dreams, I'm a wee bit (a ton) freaked out. It's going to be a costly trip. Boston is by no means known as an inexpensive city. Also, I think it will be the first (and second, two nights probably) time that I have to leave BabyJaguar overnight. Ever. (Insert visual of me looking like I'm going to vomit here.) The other bummer is that we have some really great debt reduction momentum going right now and I hate to have take time off from it. It's just a bummer.

A goal I am thinking of setting for next school year is that I take $100 out of each check to go to summer savings with the long term goal, once more debt is paid off, of gradually increasing that amount to $350. That would adequately prepare us for summer and alleviate significant stress.

Progress!

2011-04-02T15:48:00.002-04:00

Our mini-emergency fund of $1,000 is complete! Here is photographic proof (I'm a visual person...and a nerd). So at the close of the first official month of the debt diet (plus two weeks of prep work in which some money was saved), Mr. Jaguar and I have created a mini-emergency fund, paid off the Kohl's debt (it was a tiny debt, but still!) and paid $427.00 towards our next smallest debt. Our April budget is already made and in effect....I'll keep you posted.

No Magic Wand

2011-03-26T21:43:00.017-04:00

So how did we save a lot of money in one month to start paying down our debt? I'm going to bullet this post since I'm going to be talking about a lot of different topics, but I should start off with a couple main points. One, Mr. Jaguar and I knew we had to bring in more income but wanted to spend as little time away from BabyJaguar as possible. Bottom line....the cub is only going to be a cub for a brief time and we don't want to miss out on it. Two, I always thought that in order to make a real difference in my debt, I had to make a big splash. Like I had to find a way to make a big dent in what we owe to make any real progress (remember back to how I said I was trying to pay a little bit extra on everything but felt like I was spinning my wheels? That's what I'm talking about.) However, I didn't think about the impact of saving a little and bringing in a little extra. If I save $20 on what goes out of my account, but bring in an extra $20, too, that's actually $40 we're talking about. So anyway, without further ado, here's what my family has been up to.

I am tutoring on Monday and Wednesday mornings as well as Wednesday afternoons. I haven't been paid yet for the morning tutoring (will happen soon) but I brought in some extra cash for my afternoon tutoring already. I also took a part-time job distributing free prescription discount cards. I set my hours for that, work from home and move at my own pace. It will take me a bit to make any money on that though. Still, I'm happy that I'm doing something where I can not only make a little extra money, but help others in the process.

Mr. Jaguar found some extra work on a couple Saturday nights per month. He has not started yet, so the money is yet to come in. He won't have to leave for work until 5:00 or 6:00. BabyJaguar is in bed by 8:00, so it's minimal time away from the boy. He will have to work late, but will nap when our son does.

We bumped every single bill down to minimum payments to allow us to focus all of our extra cash on just one debt, our smallest one. This made a huge difference!

One bill is actually paid ahead a few months (so I guess I was making a little progress before!). We made no payment to that debt this month and instead put that money towards our smallest debt.

I called my cable company to talk about my bill. They knocked off $20 a month for the next year (just because I asked) and then I returned a cable box for a TV we never watch, saving myself $5.

I called my car insurance company to discuss my policy. We updated my policy (only made very minor changes) and knocked money off that bill.

I finally got my butt in gear and switched to mail order prescriptions. It was so easy and I should've stopped procrastinating about it a long time ago. This did not save me money this month but now I don't have to purchase my regular scripts in April or May.

I cleaned out my freezers. What does this have to do with my budget? I got rid of old food. Now I know what is actually in there that I can use to make my family a meal and I have space to stock up when there is a super awesome chicken sale (was that too much enthusiasm about chicken?).

I switched to store brand or cheaper brands on a few products. I use the Target brand Cetaphil face wash and switched to Tresemme shampoo. Some stuff I tried to switch to the cheapo brand and there was no comparison but where I can switch fairly painlessly, I am.

I make a shopping list and stick to it. I really stop and think before I put something in my cart. I kind of hate it, but it does make shopping easier.

We really worked so hard this month to stick to the budget. When we did something outside of the budget, we discussed it first. Here's where we strayed this month: Wawa $11.63 (I was at the ER with Mr Jaguar that night. At 2 am, we agreed to splurge on dinner so we could just get home and go to bed), Children's Place $3.18 (bought BabyJaguar 2 shirts with store credit, this amount was the difference in price), Wendy's $8.28 (this was a night we worked super late and just wanted the family fed), Mucinex $9.51 (it was needed), TurboTax $64.15 (did the taxes), propane for grill $18.00, watch battery $18.00, J.C.Penney's $2.75 (pants for BabyJaguar), McDonald's $2.14 (I had to go from work to physical therapy to the dentist and didn't bring any food), donation $12.84 (local homeless shelter was in need of streamers and balloons). That's it: $150.48 worth of straying. Still though, that's $150.48. All that little stuff added up.

We use the Target Red Card. We have the debit version, meaning no monthly bill. It gets us an instant 5% off our order every time we shop.

I'm really studying the grocery store circulars. Generally, I make a small list of sale stuff from Shop Rite and my husband and BabyJaguar go take care of that while I do the big shop at Target. Both places are very close to my house so I don't feel like we're wasting money on gas.

I cancelled my gym membership. Seriously....who am I kidding? I can't even pee by myself let alone get to the gym. I take plenty of walks with BabyJaguar and that will do just fine for now.

That's all I can think of tonight. If anything else comes to me, I'll post it later. There were definitely glitches during this first month. We went over what I anticipated for groceries but I'm not holding that one against this time because I really was taking a shot in the dark when I budgeted for what to spend on groceries. I had no idea what we usually spent. Also, BabyJaguar went up a size in clothing and we realized we needed a few more items for him. Finally, Mr. Jaguar discovered a blood clot in his leg a couple weeks ago (hence the ER visit). That brought in some unexpected doctor's visit and prescription copays beyond what I had budgeted for unexpected copays. No worries, the husband is improving and should be okay. Oh, and we needed a box of diapers this month. I had less stocked up than I thought. Which reminds me....we also switched from Pampers to Target brand diapers.

So what's next? Well, we have started working on our second smallest debt so we keep plugging away at it. The husband should start his Saturday night job soon. He also has several old comic books we are looking to sell and we're going to go through BabyJaguar's old toys to get rid of a few things we are not interested in hanging on to. Those are our goals for April. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that there's a section on each monthly budget to list goals for that month. Giving this post a final read before I hit the "publish" button, I realize that people who aren't interested in debt and budgets are going to be seriously bored with this read.

Cinching the belt

2011-03-26T21:07:00.006-04:00

I mentioned in a previous post that my family has gone on a debt diet. Actually, I prefer to think of it not as a diet, but a lifestyle, because the goal is permanence and the word diet seems temporary in nature. However, given my adoration of alliteration (did you catch that?), I will refer to it as the debt diet.

Almost two months ago, my neighbor and friend, Angie, told me that there was a book I had to read. In the past months and over the course of a few long walks with our boys, she and I had confided in one another about the challenges and stress of our finances....feeling like we're living paycheck to paycheck even though we make decent money, worrying what would happen if something catastrophic (or even relatively minor for that manner) struck that would impact our ability to work, stressing about our retirement, just generally wondering what we could do to get ourselves into a better place financially.

Prior to this conversation, I had set a goal for 2011: to reduce our family's debt. I had previously been focusing on this, but while I was working hard at it, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I seemed to be spinning my wheels. The credit card was never used for recreation or luxuries. All of our credit debt was basically from situations where we needed money right at that very moment for something essential: dental work, vet bill, new roof (CHA CHING!). There was not a whole lot of fun in our budget, so I couldn't figure out where to trim the fat. We were already quite lean. Nonetheless, I worked furiously to pay extra on our bills. It was getting me nowhere.

You may by now be wondering, why does she keep saying 'I'? Well, the finances are my gig. I'm in charge of the bills in the house. No worries, I still have a husband.

So anyway, Angie rushes out of her house one Friday when she sees me walking by and thrust this book at me, The Total Money Makeover (why is there no underline feature for blogger??? Irritating) by Dave Ramsey. She tells me that I need to read.it.right.away. She knows how to solve her debt issues. She has a plan. It's not that hard. The book makes it simple. Just.read.it.right.away.

I read it right away (I can take a hint). I blew through ninety pages that night (usually I get through about six pages of reading before I pass out) and skimmed the remaining pages to have an idea of what was to come. My husband came in later that night and I basically tackled him. I know how to solve our debt issues. I have a plan. It's not that hard. The book makes it simple. He needs to listen.to.me.right.away.

Mr. Jaguar and I had a long talk that night and he got right on board. We took the second half of February to get everything in order so that we could get this debt diet into full swing come March. The first two goals were to create a monthly budget and make a list of our debt (I made a poster. What up, overachievers?) The next goal was to save $1,000 as a mini-emergency fund. By the start of March, we had $283.44 set aside and got started on month #1 of the budget.

March is coming to a close in just a few days and I'm proud to say that our emergency fund is complete and our first and smallest debt, Kohl's, is paid off. Beyond that, it looks as though we will save about an additional $400 towards our second smallest debt.

This would be a good spot to mention that, unlike many other financial advisors, Dave Ramsey recommends paying off your debt from the smallest amount to the largest, rather than paying off debts with the highest interest first. This allows you, as debts are paid off, to take what you would have paid to those now satisfied debts and put it towards your next debt more quickly. He calls it the snowball effect. My husband and I made a couple minor tweaks to this (we moved our two credit card debts up a smidgen on the priority list), but for the most part we are sticking with Dave.

Back to what I was saying about saving money, I am shocked that we were able to save that much money. Shocked. But we did it. And I can't wait to do it again next month. Are you wondering how we did it, especially when we were already on a super lean budget? More on that later.....

First sentence!

2011-03-04T20:36:00.004-05:00

Today, I was driving through town when I saw my husband and BabyJaguar in the park. I quickly pulled to the side of the road and waited impatiently for an opening in the traffic so I could open my door while my husband worked to contain my son who was frantically trying to get to me from across the street. And then, BabyJaguar, through tears, cried out his first full sentence:

"I want my mommy!"

I'm sitting here trying to come up with the next sentence that captures how happy those four words make me, but there are no words. You will instead have to visualize me with a huge grin on my face, my eyes all squinty from the big smile and my shoulders all scrunched up in squishy, love filled joy.

Caught in the whirlwind

2011-02-27T15:01:00.009-05:00

I have been horrendously MIA these last months and really wish it weren't the case. So often my mind is on something and I think, I'd really like to blog about that. And then it never comes to fruition. Life has been indescribably hectic and so I can't really complain, but I really wish I were blogging with greater frequency. I miss it terribly.

So what's new with me? Can I bullet? Let's bullet.

Work is crazy busy. I came into this school year with a group of kids who had significant emotional needs and behavioral concerns. For the first couple months, I was a mess. I couldn't even enjoy them in their brief moments of calm because I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Insert Zoloft here. It is working wonders and I feel like my more-or-less normal self again even though I am surrounded by daily craziness. Also, one of my needier students moved and, while I miss him, it has made the year a bit easier to have one less in my crew. On top of that, the kids settled down somewhat as they have learned that my rules are the only rules in my classroom (I feel so Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds when I say that).
At the start of 2011, I embraced a mission: to reduce my family's debt. My husband got on board and we are knee deep (okay, ankle deep) in the Total Money Makeover by Dave Ramsey. There's no magic bullet to this, just good old fashioned hard work while following some sound steps. I could not be more excited. I have made a poster of our debt (I know, I'm a nerd), created a strict monthly budget and even drew a little fundraising thermometer to help us record our progress towards our first goal (I know, I'm a huge nerd but I can't help myself). I will write more about this later.

Ben is growing at the speed of light. He is now nearly 22 months, is putting lots of words together and is very fond of the phrase, "No Mommy", which he doesn't say rudely but rather matter of factly. He is flexible yet demanding, independent yet affectionate and the center of my world. I continue to feel so astoundingly privileged that I get to be his mommy.

Life is crazy, life is stressful, life is rewarding and life is good. That's it in a nutshell. I'll be back. I promise!

All things 'no'

2010-09-05T10:42:00.001-04:00

My mornings generally start like this: I get BabyJaguar out of his crib and put him in my bed where he lazily reclines back on my propped up pillows and drinks his milk while I try to wake up. This lasts about a whole five minutes and then he is off and running. Literally. He hops off the bed and heads full speed for all things 'no'. As in, "No litter box. That's for the kitties." And, "No dirty diaper. Mommy has to take that downstairs with us and throw it out." And, "No billy club. Daddy has to use that if he ever has to beat a burglar." (Am I the only one whose husband is ready to defend the family on a moment's notice? Yeah, it's tucked against the wall behind his side of the bed. Ben has discovered it.)

And so it goes for the rest of the day with the exception of nap time (and people wonder why mommies still nap even as their children get older. It's nap or drink). I gotta tell you...it's completely exhausting. I don't really know how I sustain this pace everyday. Nor do I know how I'm going to manage returning to teaching with my child going at this current pace.

And, in my defense, my house is reasonably baby proofed. I've got locks on several cabinets and enough gates to simulate a lockdown at a state prison. But still, it's not enough.

And when I say 'no' to something, in BabyJaguar's head it means, "GAME ON." And he will proceed to go for the 'no' object seventeen more times in a five minute span. And I read up on parenting. I try the avoid-a-power-struggle-with-your-little-one-language to avoid the big N-O as in, "We can have the Cheerios after we eat lunch," instead of, "No Cheerios." No luck with that in this house. Actually, when I tell the little man he can't have something right when he demands it, he gets this little glint in his eye. His face shows nothing but sheer amusement as he thinks, "This dumb hieney thinks she can take me." (He knows he can't use the word ass. He at least respects the no swearing rule. I guess that's something.)

What does this all mean? Does he have ADHD? Oppositional Defiant Disorder? Is he destined to become a common criminal? A lawyer? Or just a regular ol' fifteen month old with some kind of stubborn streak? I think it's the latter (at least I hope!).

So how am I handling all this? I'm counting (a lot). I'm taking deep breaths. I'm trying to think of the ridiculously adorable things he does during the moments when he is at his most challenging. I'm visiting him often when he is asleep in his crib to cherish a completely still moment with him. Daddy and I are taking turns a lot so the other can take a break when they need it. I'm being consistent, consistent, consistent.

And I'm remembering that I would never give up being BabyJaguar's mommy for even a minute.

Saying goodbye to an extraordinary year...

2010-08-05T14:01:00.009-04:00

No time for that, mommy. I'm a mover and a shaker now.

2010-08-03T21:40:00.004-04:00

My little monkey is all done nursing....well, almost all done. He's all done for function's sake anyway. Every now and then, he kinda remembers I have boobs and decides to hop on for three seconds and then is right back off and running.

I introduced cow's milk after BabyJaguar's first birthday. We eased into it. Just a bit mixed in with a bottle of breastmilk that got sent off to daycare. Each week, I added another half-ounce or ounce until eventually, lo and behold, his daycare bottles were nothing but cow's milk. We continued to nurse at home. I stopped pumping at work (insert picture of me with my arms raised to the heavens shouting, "PRAISE!!!"). Life was good.

And then gradually, my milk lessened a bit and the little monkey was not as satisfied after nursing and would take a bottle afterwards. And then, even more gradually, he started wanting a bottle instead of nursing.

Hmm. Such mixed emotions about it.

It was a good fourteen months, bunny.

Absence of thoughts

2010-07-17T10:28:00.003-04:00

I've been MIA for quite a bit. It's not so much that I haven't been on the computer or even that I haven't checked in on my blog. I have. I guess I've just been quiet. I'd sit here at the computer, fingers ready to type away, only my brain was either still or blank (mommy brain). I tend to think of something to say when I'm not actually sitting at the computer and then I think to myself that I should jot it down so I don't forget and then my mind jumps to a new topic and I forget to write it down so I remember it for later. It's tragic really. When I think of all those lost blog posts. Just tragic.

Apparently this mommy brain (previously called pregnancy brain) is permanent. Mommies don't tell other women this. It's a secret that they don't share with anyone outside the club. You need a secret password to be privy to this inside information and the password involves babyfood in your hair and a faint smell of spit up combined with baby poo. Sure, when you join the I'm-with-child club, we'll give you the watered down version of the secret and tell you that your IQ is going to drop 40 points and your brain will turn to the consistency of rice cereal all because you're pregnant. But when you pop that little one out, that's when you hear the real bombshell. This newfound IQ level is permanent. Welcome to the idiot club, sister. So nice to have you.

Muted apprehensions

2010-06-06T14:37:00.005-04:00

Motherhood has left me with me with this very frequent, intense feeling of being so very blessed. It's not always at the forefront of my mind, but it's constantly there. At least a few times a day it makes it way to the very front of my consciousness and shouts at me, "Boy!! Are you lucky!!"

And I am. So very very lucky. I look at my son and I can't help but feel like my world is just so....full. With joy. With hugs. With giggles. With pride. With smiles. With just immeasurable love. It's indescribable. Like the parents who came before me told me it would be. And while I believed them, I could never grasp the depth of it all until Ben came into my life.

But with this newfound joy and wholeness comes this nagging anxiety that whispers to me, it could all slip way. Like suddenly life is so amazing that I realize there is just so much to lose. And it's absolutely terrifying. Because I know that if Ben ever somehow slipped away, I wouldn't know how to get out of bed every morning or how to force my lungs to fill and empty over and over. I could never go back to life without Ben.

When the topic of old age comes up, I tell people flat out that I plan to die in my seventies. Seriously, I know I can't control much of dying before that beyond the obvious don't smoke, don't drink and drive, don't play on the train tracks, blah blah blah, but your late seventies seems pretty ideal. Hopefully your body isn't completely failing you yet. For most, the mind is still intact. Many maintain a good deal of independence. After that, it's just kinda downhill. My grandmother lived into her nineties. She didn't have much of a life near the end. I don't want that for myself, relying almost exclusively on others.

Anyway, when this discussion came up recently, I shared my plan and then I realized that my late seventies is in 40+ years. And you know what happened? My stomach dropped. That anxious feeling returned as I realized that means I only have 40+ years with Ben. That's not enough time. And right then, I realized. No amount of time will ever be enough.

Banana Sunday

2010-05-02T22:10:00.002-04:00

These days, I usually start my morning by pumping one breast before getting Ben from his room and then I feed him on the other. I have a manual pump that I use just for mornings. Its portability seems to make life a bit simpler.

Today, Ben woke up early and was ready to get out of his crib before I pumped. I obliged, fed him and then crept out of my room with Ben on my hip and the pump in my hand. I figured Mr. Jaguar could sleep in a bit.

Once in the den, I put Ben down on the floor and got settled to pump. Well, Ben went bananas. Bananas. He was so intently looking at my boob and howling. It was quite clear that he did not want me to pump. I tried anyway. He continued to go nuts. I finally gave in, put the pump down and nursed the boy again. He snuggled in and was completely content.

Ten minutes later, he unlatched and sat up. Are you ready for what he did next? You won't even believe me.

He handed me the pump.

Who da thunk it?

2010-05-01T12:04:00.003-04:00

I got a period. As in PCOS-and-nursing-got-a-period. It was quite a surprising development. About a month ago I started having a lot of pain in my lower abdomen. It felt an awful lot like when I had ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome so I was obviously a little freaked out. Was I ovulating? And if so, was I somehow breaking my body in the process? It really hurt! There was a point when I tried to lie down on one side and I couldn't. After 4 or 5 days, I called my midwife and, given my history, she sent me to get a pelvic ultrasound. Well, the radiology place couldn't fit me in until the following week and by then the pain had mostly subsided but I went anyway, still concerned that something might be broken. I checked out okay and then a few days later, I got a period. Bizarre, I know.

And in complete and utter inconvenience, I was out of town when it happened, had just arrived at my brother in law's house, could not drive myself to the store for supplies since we took my husband's car which is a stick and I only know how to drive an automatic. So I had to go ask my brother in law if his wife had anything I could use. It was great.

"Hey, I know I haven't seen you in months but could we awkwardly discuss tampons? That'd be super."

Still, score one for the girl with PCOS...she ovulated!

And then it all came crashing back...

2010-03-11T20:01:00.002-05:00

It turns out that there are a handful of women from my school who have also dealt with infertility at some point. Once you join the club, you hear about who the other members are. Most of us ended up going to the same RE and, eventually, becoming pregnant.

But one of us didn't. We'll call her Nora. Up until this particular day, I don't know if Nora knew I was infertile and I don't know if she knew that I knew she was infertile.

It was a Friday morning. And it was a jeans day. That's a recipe for a good day for any teacher. Throw in a pay day and we actually click our heels in the hallways. I bumped into Nora as I signed in at the office and she stopped to ask what was on my necklace.

"It's a mother necklace. It has Ben's name on it," I happily answered without thinking at all. I love this necklace. I love wearing something that makes me feel like Ben is with me even when I am here and he is there.

"You're so lucky," she responded. Those three words...they were so much more than three little words. Four syllables that were just filled with distant pain, the kind that is stored in the back of your mind. I can't even explain her voice when she said it. Wistful is the closest I can come to capturing it.

"I know," was the only reply I could come up with. The conversation ended and we both continued on in our separate directions. I eventually ended up back in my classroom and I was a wreck. I didn't know what to do. All I could think of was all of those moments back before I got pregnant when someone's innocent comment would tear away at the infertile me. I needed to talk to her, to apologize for starting her day off like that, to let her know that I wasn't one of them, a fertile. I had to go tell her that I was sorry if the necklace had upset her. That was exactly what I would say. I am sorry if the necklace upset you.

I headed out the door towards Nora's classroom. Then I stopped about ten feet later. What happens after I say that? Where would this conversation go? I don't even think she knows that I know about her infertility. How will she react when I just throw it out there? After wrestling with these questions to no avail, I turned on my heels and headed back towards my class.

Crossing my room, I stopped again. What do I do? I turned back to go to Nora again and stopped again. What the hell? What is the right thing to do?

Finally, I decided I needed to go talk to her. I didn't know how the conversation would go or how she would react but I couldn't bear the thought of starting off her day the way I had without at least attempting to fix it. I ran into her in an empty hallway.

And I just blurted it all out. How I was sorry if the necklace had upset her and how I was infertile and how I didn't know what to say after she told me how lucky I was and I was just sorry. And I cried and I felt like an ass for that so then I apologized a lot for crying.

And she hugged me. And then she cried. And then I hugged her.

And then we moved on to the rest of our day. We chatted for a few minutes about our dysfunctional families and laughed about that. Eventually, we had to separate because we both had kids arriving shortly.

I thought a lot about that ten minutes of my life in the following days. I'm an infertility cheerleader. I've always been the one with the mindset that we all become mothers, some how, some way, we eventually find a way to the beautiful child that we are destined to hold and nuzzle and cherish. But Nora didn't. And she won't. I don't know why. It's none of my business why really. But I'm just so struck by the fact that some of us don't become moms, like it never even really occurred to me because I've always stayed in this positive, determined, focus-on-the-goal mindset when it comes to other infertiles.

Some of us don't become mothers.

And now that I am a mother, that's one of the most heartbreaking realizations I've ever had.

Where's hannah?

2010-02-24T11:51:00.001-05:00

So, though I have thought about this often, I've yet to post about it.

Where does your infertility go once you have a baby? Does its bitterness continue to hover over you? Does it sit across the room from you, staring at you while your little one dozes on your chest? Or does it simply disappear?

For me, it was none of these. And I know this may sound cliche or overly dramatic, but I swear, I had an infertile-to-mommy transitional moment.

During Ben's first few days at home, I was grappling with my infertility. What do I do with this huge part of my identity that I've been carrying around for so long? What happens when the hand that has only known alcohol swabs and needles now is grasped by tiny yet perfect fingers? What happens once the infertile is a mommy?

And then one day, it was only Ben's third or fourth day home with me, I was standing over his swing, staring at him contently swaying. He was the most amazing creature I had ever seen and I couldn't believe he was mine. I could keep him. Nobody (the fertility police?) was going to show up and say there was a mix up and that I hadn't actually been pregnant. At least I was pretty sure that wouldn't happen. Half my brain knew that wouldn't happen but the other half still thought it was a pretty strong possibility.

I've spoken before about how my infertility, or Hannah, seemed to always be hovering over my shoulder, invading my brief moments of peace. I never felt completely alone to fully relax and let my guard down. Napping, studying, hot showers, private moments with my husband. They were all invaded by her presence. And now, standing there admiring my tiny son, this exquisite little being, I felt her there, literally just over my left shoulder and I again pondered how I'm supposed to reconcile these two very different pieces of this new me: infertile and mommy.

And then she stepped back. Into the shadows of my subconscious. She stepped back. And as she did, she whispered softly that though she wasn't going anywhere, she would let me just be a mommy for now.

I can't even begin to fully explain this moment. I physically felt her step into the background of my mind. It was strange. And powerful. And finally, after a long and difficult journey.....peaceful.

Caution: wide load

2010-02-19T16:51:00.003-05:00

My baby weight is gone, as well as some of my just-husky-in-general weight and this pleases me. I will be the first to admit that I have done absolutely nothing to make this happen except nurse and so I make no effort to take any credit for this loss, but still, I'm happy it's gone.

However, my current body is quite different from my previous body. There's more jiggling involved. And a thicker middle. And my arms look their best ever. And my butt is gone. It's just flat and weird. So now most of my clothes fit differently and I'm working with the new me, adjusting to this similar but just different enough to make my old wardrobe tricky body.

I weigh myself a lot because it feels kinda good to see the number. It could be even lower but it's good. I admit the weighing frequency may be (definitely is) a bit compulsive. A few days ago, I learned that I should just stick to weighing myself and not get carried away.

Are you ready?

I tried on my bathing suit.

It was a really bad idea. Like one of my worst ones ever. Like when I thought it would be funny to let the cat play with a large piece of masking tape bad (in my defense, I just wasn't thinking).

I truly thought, I can't look that bad in a bathing suit, right?

WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! SO VERY VERY WRONG!

It was alarming and scary and wide.

forget-me-nots

2010-02-02T11:50:00.000-05:00

I wrote this in Ben's first weeks and never got around to publishing it. Looking over it, I'm so glad I got some of these tidbits recorded because, already, he no longer does so many of them. He has moved on to new and just as beautiful little habits. How quickly he is changing and growing right before me.

There are so many things I don't want to forget about you, Ben, and our time together so far. You're growing and changing so fast. I can't even believe it. Here are some of the things I want to remember to tell you later...

In the early weeks of nursing, you were so funny! You would push yourself back off my boob and growl at it! Then you'd pounce on it in true BabyJaguar style. You would do this over and over again while whipping your head from side to side. You looked like a wildcat hunting and attacking its prey and it was absolutely hysterical.

You would make this adorable surprised face and hold it. You'd raise your little eyebrows and form your mouth into a perfect little 'O' and then just stare at me like that. Cutest thing ever.

You are so loved.

You have freakishly long nails and use them like weapons. They grow so fast and are really sharp! You claw at me when you're upset and I try to grin and bear it so I don't get you more upset by startling you.

When you'd be up on my shoulder being burped, you'd try to nurse on my cheek. Now you prefer to mouth my (and everyone else's) neck or shoulder. It's really cute even though it's really wet.

When you're tired (and nursing...do you see a theme?), you often cover your face and my boob up with your arm. Daddy throws his arm up over his face when he sleeps, too.

When you're almost entirely asleep, you make these big smiles....all while still nursing.

You have made my heart swell with love.

You don't like having your back rubbed when you're eating. You arch your back to get away from the touch. But you like the back rubbing when you're up on my shoulder.

I love when you give the side-eye. Sometimes you're in a position to look at me head on but you push your head off to the side and then side-eye me instead. It's really funny. That's another face that you hold for a few seconds for dramatic effect.

In the beginning, I would stroke your hair to settle you (I love when people do that for me). Now I often catch you with your little hand up on your head doing it yourself. It makes me happy.

I love having you beside me in the co-sleeper at night. Sometimes when you're already asleep, I fall asleep holding your hand.

You are loved beyond words.

The holidays wrap up

2010-01-02T21:42:00.000-05:00

Here we go....the holidays in pictures

First there was Halloween. I killed myself to get this costume for him. It was way expensive but I found it on Craig's List for cheap! Then, after agreeing to purchase it, I learned that it was an hour drive away. And yeah, I drove an hour one way. That was a total freak mom moment for me. A few weeks later, when Halloween rolled around, my husky little man had grown out of it! I had to squish him in a bit. See the ankle sticking out?

We hosted our first holiday! Thanksgiving was kinda crazy but really nice. MrJaguar was recovering from knee surgery but he cooked up his first turkey and stuffing. It was amazing.

My bunny turned seven months old but we had a bit of a hard time capturing the moment with a sign.

And then there was Christmas! It was so fun opening gifts with Ben. We actually had a white Christmas which is unheard of around here. We got nearly two feet of snow which is also unheard of around here.

He was shocked to find out that a fat man in the very same outfit as him would bring him toys!

He got a new hat!

And a wagon for rolling with his homies!

And he celebrated the new year with his mommy!

Truth be told, I have mixed emotions about moving into the new year. This is the year when I heard my son's first cry, when I stayed home to savor his first few months, when I discovered all the silly ways to make him laugh. And while I know this coming year will be filled with many new firsts, it's hard to let go of the old ones. This growing up at the speed of light thing has been hard on me.

The Notebook

2010-01-01T21:04:00.003-05:00

It's full. The notebook is full. And I am sad.

Way back when, I received a gift from a friend and fellow infertile nestie, Stephanie. It was a notebook that she had taken the time to personalize and send to me with a thoughtful card. As I admired it, I wondered what I'd used it for and decided it would have to be for something special. I set it aside and waited for that special time to declare itself.

Finally, after a long summer of being stuck in the same cycle with doctor appointment after doctor appointment trying to kick my body into gear, I finally got the go ahead to start injectables. I decided the notebook would be the perfect place to keep track of my injections, the bloodwork and ultrasounds and anything else that seemed important.

Finally, after that cycle proved quite successful and I had carried my little one for forty weeks and one day, I used that notebook to record the times for my contractions before deciding to head off to the hospital. I even recorded the mundane details of those unforgettable hours like the fact that I insisted on unloading the dishwasher between contractions in an effort to keep my mind off the blinding pain that was wracking my body every three to four minutes. The notebook was tucked into my dufflebag for safekeeping. Later, as I focused on the challenges of labor and delivery, my husband and brother were given the task of recording the stats in the notebook.

The notebook really got going on Ben's very first day at home. It was initially intended to track his neverending breastfeedings and dirty diapers but it quickly grew into so much more. It became the place where I recorded all of his firsts; his first smile, his first laugh, his first coos. It became home to the copious notes of his milestones. It became my treasure chest of little thoughts for my Benja-Bean, telling him how grateful I am to have him in my life, the endless ways he amazes me and how he is the greatest gift I have ever received. The notebook became sacred.

And then I started realizing that it was running low on paper. I actually felt really anxious every time I noticed the dwindling supply.

Until, last month, when it was full. With a heavy heart, I closed it up, carefully tucked it away and walked downstairs to make this distressing announcement to my husband. Then, I went out to the store and bought a new notebook.

Bad Mommy

2009-12-12T17:17:00.016-05:00

I have been such a slacker with pictures. It's not that I don't take them. I take lots. It's just that I don't do anything with them after I take them. So, in an effort to catch up, let's celebrate birthdays.

O months

The wobbly flailing phase

Got a decent pic later that night

Your camera bores me....

This is also the moment we realized he could sit up on his own without support! Surprise!

This pic had to be taken a billion times. He was all over the place! Also, he loves Sock Monkey so it was hard to get a shot of either one of them sitting still.

His seven month birthday is in just a few days...let's see if I can get my act together and post the pic in a timely fashion.

Sitter #2, I heart you

2009-11-03T12:30:00.004-05:00

So, after our douchey babysitter quit, we opted to go with the sitter who watches up to seven children at once, despite my anxiety over the many cooties BabyJaguar would catch (and he has, we're now on illness #3 since my return to work). And you know what? He.loves.it.there.

He loves being around all the kids. I am now considered quite boring in BabyJaguar's eyes as there is only one of me. I in no way can compete with the several tiny tots and bushels of toys that are at Nancy's house. It's true. And I'm okay with it. In fact, I'm happy about it because I know he's happy and well cared for.

And Super Sitter Nancy? She's great. Nancy's one of those people who is just meant to care for young children. She's so laidback and you can tell she enjoys the kids. Nancy took the time to talk with me on the phone, meet me in person and then meet BabyJaguar in person, too. And she was really sensitive to my concerns about how many children were there. She let me bring my own Pack'n'Play that is just for BabyJaguar where the other kids who are older share them. And Nancy always encourages me to call and check in whenever I want and she's just warm and fuzzy and lovey and all the things you want in a sitter.

She's so good that, sometimes, when I drop BabyJaguar off in the morning, I feel grossly inadequate as a mom as I watch her deftly care for four or five little ones at once and I, meanwhile, didn't manage to eat breakfast while just caring for my one, quite easygoing kid. But that's a good thing, too. It means my kid's in the right place.

The other thing that makes me really happy is that he's being raised in a home by a good family. Nancy has three children, all in their twenties, and when she's having a hectic day, they help out. Her own children are so nice and just naturals at caring for kids. I came in the one day to her twenty something son feeding one of the babies a bottle and just cooing away at the little guy, laughing and talking with him the whole time. It was adorable.

You know when you meet someone and they just immediately give off the "good people" vibe? That's what it is. They're a family of good people. Sure, we've had hiccups along the way: bibs that are MIA, a puppy eating a teething ring and that one time we realized another kid was drinking BabyJaguar's bottle of breastmilk, but the bottom line is, they're just hiccups. Those things are all small when I know that he's cared for by someone who truly cares about him.

I think Douchey Sitter #1 came into my life for a reason...to let me know when a really great sitter came along. If BabyJaguar had started off in Nancy's care from the beginning, I would've just thought that this is what all sitters are like. I wouldn't have known how special she is and how lucky I am that she came into my life. So, I guess I have to thank you, Douchey Sitter #1, for showing me what sucky daycare is really like. Your gross inadequacy at showing my child affection and attention is much appreciated.

And, as for you, Nancy, well, I big pink puffy heart you.

Aquaphor, I love you

2009-10-31T14:14:00.002-04:00

I didn't know about Aquaphor until I became a mom. I had heard of it, but just thought it was a super overpriced hand lotion. But, oh no, it's so much more than that and it's worth every penny.

I didn't know until my pedi told me that I'm not supposed to put baby lotion on babies when they're young...which seems like the perfect time to put it on them being as it is called baby lotion. You're not really supposed to put much of anything on them, except clothes and diaper rash cream. And Aquaphor.

Aquaphor is the duct tape of the baby world. It can be put on scratches resulting from little baby fingernails, irritated neck creases, diaper rash, minor skin irritations and dry patches. And it's awesome on my super dry hands from washing 7,412 times a day and sanitizing them 1,893 times per day.

Elmo's gone rogue

2009-10-30T13:59:00.001-04:00

Somewhere in Cincinnati, there is the Pampers headquarters.
And somewhere in the Pampers headquarters, there is the design department.
And somewhere in the design department, there is a 21 year old guy.
And he is laughing at me.

Here's why:
BabyJaguar, being the husky little beast that he is, has been in the size 3 Pampers for a while now. And the size 3s present a new challenge. Rogue Elmo. I previously referred to him as Wandering Elmo but, as time goes on, I find him to be more menacing hence the name change.

There is where the 21 year old guy comes into the picture. He's clearly new to the job, has no children of his own and likes to stir up trouble. Because he has made the decision that on some of the size 3s, Elmo will be on the front. And on others, the back. Elmo now shows up in different places and different sizes just to mess with me.

How do I know he's a 21 year, childless man? Because no mother in her right mind would start screwing around with new, exhausted moms in the middle of the night who are changing their children in the semi-dark by placing Rogue Elmo in different places all over the diaper. This is exactly how new, exhausted moms put their children in diapers backwards.

Damn you, Elmo. Damn you.

And 21 year old, childless, new guy. I will find you. One day....I will find you.

Looking back

2009-10-22T20:08:00.004-04:00

This is from his first days on the outside. He really doesn't even do anything in the video but it's one of my favorites. I love this kid.

Continuing....

2009-10-22T19:54:00.003-04:00

with my previous post. This picture of sick baby and caring momma is grossly inaccurate for several reasons. Let's investigate...

This baby appears peaceful. Sick BabyJaguar was not a peaceful child. Sleeping was work for him because he was so stuffed up.
This baby does not have his mouth wide open to help him breathe because he sounds like a little mini-Darth Vader.
This baby does not have bodily fluids leaking from every hole on his face, including his eyes because why wouldn't a horrible cold have to include pinkeye as well?
Either the momma has really great skin or she's wearing makeup. I vote that she's wearing makeup. No part of my days with a sick baby included makeup. This included any visits to the pediatrician. And the dark circle under my eyes from too little sleep looked hot with no cover up on.
And finally, this momma doesn't have vomit in her hair that's been there since the wee hours of Saturday morning and, oh my God, it's now Sunday afternoon and I still haven't showered because I've been taking care of BabyJaguar. Where's her vomity, crunchy hair?

See what I mean? Inacurate picture, grossly inacurate.

Sick

2009-10-11T16:59:00.003-04:00

I was reading an article today about colds, flu and swine flu in babies. According to this article's photographs, this is a momma and baby when baby is sick:

I would like to take a moment to say that this photo is complete bull. I can speak from experience on this one as we are now on cold #2. I do not look anything like said woman nor does my son look said baby. Let's discuss the reality of sick babies in bullet form:

Wait, I can't. The baby just woke up. I'm not even kidding...

Fuck her

2009-09-27T17:31:00.003-04:00

The babysitter quit last Thursday. She'll stay until I find somebody else. But who the hell wants to send their kid to a woman who you know doesn't want to spend time with him?

Babysitter #1 is our friend's sister. She was watching two children (our friend's daughter and another child) and was eager to add BabyJaguar to her responsibilities. She had him every week day except Thursday. On day seven of watching the boy, she asks me to see if I can change her schedule to have Wednesdays off instead. I tell her I don't think I can do that but I figure it out by day 9 and tell her she can have Wednesdays off instead of Thursdays. She declines. WTF? On day 10, she quits. Her reason? "He cried a lot today. And when I picked him up, he'd stop so I know he was fine." Ummmm....yeah, he's a four month old who's getting over a cold, got vaccines last night and is teething. He may occasionally have days when he needs some extra love. I'm so sorry you had to show affection to my child. Fucking asshole. It seems that the third child is the straw that broke her back. She cannot fit a third carseat in her car and it leaves her stuck at her house. Her 3rd grade daughter forgot her lunch that day and she couldn't bring it to her so she had to call her mother-in-law because her daughter couldn't eat the sandwich or cereal that the school would provide to her child due to the forgetten lunch. What a crisis of mass proportions. I'm surprised I didn't feel the Earth stop on its axis.

So now I'm looking for a new sitter. So far I found two possibilities: one who is just up the road from my job but watches up to seven children at a time (when my kid is too young for both the regular and H1N1 flu shot) and one who is totally and completely out of the way but would only be watching BabyJaguar, leaving me driving a lot of miles each day but with peace of mind that he's not catching every bug in sight.

We'll see how this all unfolds. It may involve me throat punching my original sitter.

I need to win the lottery

2009-09-18T21:51:00.004-04:00

Work was awful today. Like crying by 9:30 in the morning awful.

But the thing was, it wasn't that awful. Like nothing so horrible happened that I shouldn't have been able to recover, but I couldn't recover. I'm still on the edge of tears and have been for most of the day. I woke up ridiculously tired, my daycare lady is trying to change our schedule after only working eight days, my principal is trying to make my rearrange my classroom furniture, and I couldn't pump in the morning because I had a meeting where I had to argue about what is considered appropriate testing for my special ed students. And I may have used the word "stupid" at least five times in that last conversation, not about my students, but about the fact that the district requires me to test my students using material that is way too hard for them. Sure, it was a heck of a bumpy morning, but I should've been able to bounce back.

But I couldn't. I couldn't because returning to work is so much harder than I thought it would be. I hate it. This was my first full week as the last two were only two days and then four days. These last five days were so hard. For one, I'm exhausted. BabyJaguar still rarely sleeps through the night and lately has been waking up twice instead of once, leaving me dead tired on most days. Second, pumping at work is taking its toll. I try to pump three times a day. I always pump on my prep period and at lunch. Plus, I also pump either early in the morning or sometime after lunch depending on when the boy last ate in the morning. This cuts my lunch and prep period in half, twenty minutes apiece. It's not enough time. It's not enough time at all. I don't have enough minutes in the prep to get done everything I need to do and I don't have enough minutes in the lunch to regain my sanity. There's no down time. Ever. Sometimes, I just cry in the closet while I'm pumping because I'm feeling so overwhelmed. Also, I have a mediocre milk supply so I'm always stressing about how many ounces I'm pumping. I need to start addressing that.

I just want to be home with my baby so badly. Not worrying about pumping or washing a billion bottles, not constantly rushing, not wanting to shatter my alarm clock at 6 am. I just want to be home taking care of Ben.

When I was at home full time, I had one job: mommy. And I was good at it. Now I have two jobs: mommy and teacher. And I feel like I kinda suck at both of them. I'm too tired and don't have enough minutes in my day to be successful.

I know this will get easier. But right now, it feels impossible.

Where am I???

2009-09-05T10:29:00.005-04:00

I'm so disoriented.....

This morning, BabyJaguar woke up very early. I fed him, we hung out for a bit and then Mr. Jaguar got up and took him so I could sleep a bit longer. My husband is generally very good about this on the weekends. He sees how often I go to bed after him, get up during the night and then wake up before him, so I slept for an extra hour.

Then I woke up but BabyJaguar had gone down for a nap and was still asleep, so I showered.

Then he was still asleep, so I shaved.

Then he was still asleep, so I pumiced. Just because I could.

Then he was still asleep, so I ate.

And now here I am....rested, clean, smooth and fed all by ten thirty in the morning. This is unheard of in my world.

In other news, my return to work was as okay as it could be. I was a flat out mess on the first day. I shouldn't have even bothered to put on makeup because I cried it all off. And since I'd been out on maternity, everybody wanted to welcome me back with a hug and that just made me cry harder and then I got more hugs because of the tears which made me cry harder...you get the idea. It was a vicious cycle. I settled down after a while. BabyJaguar had a great day away. He was happy and rested well and that's all that matters.

The second day wasn't too bad because I knew I had five days off at the end of it and I was busy working in my classroom. Oh yeah, my classroom.....for the past three years, I've taught in-class support where I work in someone else's room, so I haven't had to set up my own and instead have just helped my co-teacher set up theirs. Well, that was supposed to be my gig this year until state test scores came in, the special ed kids didn't do well and my principal decided to shake everything up. So on August 26th, one week before work starts, I get a call that my job has changed, I teach in a different grade and I have a classroom to open. And I have to wait to work on my room until the other teacher moves her stuff out and she's been in that room for about 15 years. Awesomeness. The first day and a half of my two days back to work pretty much consisted of helping the other teacher move her stuff out. Needless to say, the room is in shambles. Whatever. It will be done when it is done.

Next week is only four days long and then two days with BabyJaguar.

D-day

2009-09-01T07:26:00.002-04:00

Daycare day has arrived.

I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Sadly, I did not win last night's lottery. Shocking, I know.

I'm too sad to come up with a title

2009-08-29T22:54:00.000-04:00

I adopted a mantra when I entered into mommyhood: this is temporary. When BabyJaguar screams like a loon for an extended amount of time for reasons known only to him, I remind myself. This is temporary. When he feels compelled to stay up for an extended stretch in the middle of the night just to hang out, I remind myself. This is temporary. When BabyJaguar fights a nap with all his might even though it's the one thing he needs, I remind myself. This is temporary.

And, believe it or not, the mantra works. It makes a huge difference for me, keeping me relatively unphased in the tougher moments.

And in the good moments...oh, the good moments. It reminds me to cherish everything about him because he's changing and growing so quickly. The smiles he sends my way. They're like gold to me. When I watch him suck on his entire hand, knowing that in only a short time he'll have moved on to some other new skill. This is temporary. When he makes that weird Bill Cosby face in his sleep. When he works with all his might to turn over. When he raises his eyebrows as he "talks" to me. When he snuggles into me during our naps. When he tries to suck on my nose. This is temporary, this is temporary, this is temporary....

And now, as I try in some way to brace myself to return to work on Tuesday, the mantra, sadly, still rings true. This brief time at home with BabyJaguar, the most amazing vacation I've ever been on, it's all temporary.

Can't sleep

2009-08-28T00:00:00.002-04:00

I should be sleeping because BabyJaguar is sleeping and the rule of mommyhood is sleep when the baby sleeps and instead I'm up. Up thinking about how I have to return to work on Tuesday. Up thinking and crying.

I went to a good friend's house tonight and was shocked to find her daughter standing, a new accomplishment of the last few days. And then she crawled over to me, another new accomplishment of the week. I even got to watch the video of the first time she stood and cried tears of joy and pride for her great accomplishment.

And then more tears of sadness for myself and BabyJaguar over the firsts I know I'm sure to miss.

I had no idea how much this would hurt. How hard this would be. How much my heart would ache.

Double Hooray!

2009-08-25T12:53:00.000-04:00

I officially have a nipple shield free baby! And while the shield wasn't a huge deal (I had ultimately resigned myself to the fact that we may require it forever), I'm thrilled to not have to bother with it anymore!

Hooray!

2009-08-19T20:43:00.001-04:00

BabyJaguar, at 13 1/2 weeks, just took himself off the nipple shield on my left breast! And he stayed off! We weren't even trying. He was lying there while I was reaching for the shield and he just didn't want to wait and hopped right on! Woot!

Get my freak on? I can't even find my freak.

2009-08-18T11:16:00.006-04:00

Mr Jaguar and I still have not done the deed since BabyJaguar was born. It's my fault entirely which I'm sure you can guess is no surprise. I hope he doesn't freak that I'm blogging about this but I think it warrants discussion and that I'm not the only one struggling with this.

There are a lot of elements factoring into this. First, pushing during delivery can lead to hemorrhoids and, unfortunately, it did. And, unfortunately, three months later, they're still not entirely gone. Improving but not entirely gone. So there's my concern about extra physical pain added on to the common physical pain of sex after shoving a baby out of you. Second, BabyJaguar sleeps in a cosleeper in our room, as in his sleeping area is strapped securely to our sleeping area. Third, I've always been a multi-tasker, but this has now reached a whole new level. I go to bed thinking about what has to be done and I find it very hard to quiet my mind and let myself be present in the moment when it doesn't involve BabyJaguar. Fourth, I have BabyJaguar in my personal space all day long. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely adore it. I love nursing him and playing with him in my lap and and having him doze on my shoulder. But at the end of the day, I often need my own space for a while. Fifth, my hormones are not what they used to be. My libido is really really really low right now. Sixth, I feel like I've lost a lot of my sexual identity. Through infertility treatments and then pregnancy where sex was banned the majority of the time, I can barely connect with my sexual self. I don't even know where she is frankly. Seventh, Mr Jaguar and I are negotiating our way through the bumps of being new parents. It can be stressful and the adjustment has been difficult at times, leaving us both tense as we are stretched thinner than normal. Eighth, I feel really unattractive right now. My body is not what it used to be and I'm still working on accepting it. Ninth, it seems my body has been repurposed. Its responsibilities include growing a baby, delivering a baby and now feeding a baby. My sexual self is not included in any of those three categories. Last, I am completely exhausted. This has improved somewhat but by the time my head hits the pillow, I am beat. And I'm counting the hours until BabyJaguar is going to wake up to nurse. Geez, this a long paragraph. I told you there were a lot of factors.

How's my husband doing with this? Not great, but okay. He has been extraordinarily patient and understanding with me in this arena, but he is ready to get back in the saddle and has been for a long while. We don't actually use a saddle...that's just an idiom. Just wanted to be completely clear on that.

How am I doing with all of this? I am riddled with guilt. I am definitely feeling like a failure as a wife in this department and, ultimately, as a mommy because I know I have to take care of my marriage to be a good parent. And I love my husband so much and feel like I'm letting him down, neglecting his needs.

So my friends keep telling me I need to make a date with my husband. But I start back at work on September 1st (a very depressing post that is soon to come) and, honestly, I'm not willing to give up time with BabyJaguar when I know I will have to leave him for over 40 hours a week very very soon. I can't do it. And I would ruin the date. So, in September, I vow to make a date with my husband and see if I can get my sexy back. It may be a slow process, but I'm up for the challenge. My marriage is too important.

Needles, no matter how scary, are your friend

2009-08-13T10:47:00.005-04:00

So yesterday, in one of my many hours of nursing on my couch, I watched an episode of the Baby Story. There was this adorable woman on, cute as could be, worked for Sesame Street. Perky and energetic to boot.

Fast forward to her labor scene where the poor thing is struggling. I mean, her contractions were some serious business and, out of an intense fear of needles, she was delaying getting an epidural until it was absolutely necessary. So she is writhing around on the bed, starting to cry and then she says, completely serious....

"Am I dying?" And I can't help it, I laugh. Because that is a perfectly reasonable question right at that moment. She's saying what so many women must think in the throws of labor. Surely this has to be the funniest line in the scene.

"Cause I don't wanna die......" I can't help it. I'm laughing harder. Surely this is the funniest line in the scene.

But then the nurse, completely deadpan, follows with, "So are you ready for that epidural now?" I am dying with laughter by this point and my son is glaring at me because I'm being disruptive during nursing.

And yeah, she was ready.

I do not miss those pre-epidural contractions. I still need to post my birth story (I know, such a slacker) but from the get go, my contractions were no joke. No.joke.

Post-partum ickiness

2009-08-12T10:44:00.000-04:00

I thought you would all like to know that last week I entered the post-partum stage of shedding. Seriously, I'm like a polar bear on the equator.

The perks of late night nursing

2009-07-29T10:12:00.011-04:00

I was up nursing around 4 a.m. this morning. Sometimes, if I'm very tired, I watch TV during the nighttime nursing in an effort to stay awake. So I'm flipping through the guide which seems to pretty much consist of paid programming at that time of day and I find one of my fav.or.ite things on: Quacker Factory on QVC.

Do you know what it is? It's freakin' awesome. It's a line of clothing that is very....how do I capture it?....Florida AARP chic. And this woman Jeanne Bice, queen of all things sequined and appliqued, is usually on chatting about the items. Let me find a picture of Jeanne...

Does the headband give you an idea of why I love watching Quacker Factory? It's mesmerizing. I can't look away.

Sadly, Jeanne was not on the air this time which left me with an oddly empty feeling in my heart, but this was the first item being pitched: the Quacker Factory Seasonal Fiber Optic Cardigan for $34.12. It was glorious. A boxy red cardigan with an excessive variety of hearts, vines and flowers climbing up the front. And then, the host turned out the lights and it.lit.up. The wonders of technology. Get the phone!

One of my favorite things about QVC and any home shopping network for that matter is how the host has to talk about a particular item for an outrageously long amount of time. They inevitably start babbling. The two women on the air must have talked about the hideous sweater for at least ten minutes. They talk about the colors, the detail, the fiber opticness (obviously!) and then list the places and events where this sweater would be just perfect...."I wear this shirt to wear errands all through February and I get so many compliments! The mailman at my post office just loves it! He always makes me light it up for him." That's because you're the only person whose clothing involves batteries.

As I sit there astounded by how long a host can describe one item for, I also can't help but watch the ticker of how many have purchased the sweater. It's amazing! Hundreds of people can't live another minute without that fiber optic sweater! It was selling out in multiple sizes. Do you think that ticker is even real? I kind of wonder.

Anyway, if you're flipping through the channels and you see Quacker Factory, you should absolutely check it out, if only to see what headband Jeanne is wearing. I'm seriously considering DVRing it.

And as for that sweater, don't you worry lovely ladies of QVC. You had me at fiber optic. You had me.at.fiber.optic.

Update to the update of masters watch '09

2009-07-25T17:00:00.001-04:00

DONE!

Update to masters watch '09

2009-07-25T15:56:00.002-04:00

One paper done, next one is started....

Masters watch '09

2009-07-25T12:35:00.003-04:00

I am slated to complete my final masters courses in seven days!!! I have two papers to go! However, in an effort to have five extra days with BabyJaguar classwork-free, I have begun the final paper first. This way, I will complete the paper that is due sooner last, being forced to finish all of my work by TOMORROW when the first paper is due at midnight! The finish line is in sight! I'm almost done one of the papers and then I've got one to go....

Right now, all I have left is bullsh!t reflection stuff. And if you're one of my professors who in some freakish scenario is infertile, stumbles upon my blog and figures out my true identity, then by "bullsh!t reflection stuff" what I really mean is "time to meaningfully look back on the knowledge and insight I have gained over these past eight extraordinary weeks stuff".

4th of July fail

2009-07-07T11:50:00.008-04:00

So the 4th of July rolls around. The husband is running in my town's 4 mile race which is first thing in the morning, right before the parade. BabyJaguar and I had had a rough night. Technically, he had slept through the night making it just shy of six hours straight, but.....then he didn't go back to sleep. So we'd both been up since 4 a.m. If that's sleeping through the night, I say "no thank you". I'll take waking up every few hours over that any day. So I rush BabyJaguar and I to the parade, arriving at the last minute to meet up with friends. I was self-conscious of my outfit since I wasn't even a little patriotic but dismissed it thinking that people would let me slide since I'm a mom with a young baby, right? I didn't even have a super cute 4th outfit for BabyJaguar. Whatever, I got there and that's what matters, right? Right? Right?!

Wrong. My friend, Kristen, is there gloriously put together with her 6 month old daughter. Her baby is in an adorable stars and stripes outfit with matching bonnet. Mommy is in a cute red shirt, navy and white striped cardigan, perfectly fitted capris and red white and blue shoes.

Red white and blue shoes?!?! She even had on red white and blue shoes?!?!

Yes, red white and blue shoes. And you know what? They were stinking adorable. Navy with tiny white polka dots and red trim. The little ballet flat style but they're canvas sneakerish instead.

Man, I dropped the mommy ball. Look out for me next year. My son will be dressed as Uncle Sam, I'll be Betsy Ross, my stroller will look like an American flag and I'll have goddamn sparklers in my hair.

Freakin' red white and blue shoes....

at 6 weeks, 2 days.....

2009-06-29T11:52:00.002-04:00

BabyJaguar is 13 pounds, 2 ounces and has grown to 24 1/4 inches. He is now in the 97th percentile for height and weight! I can't believe how big he is...and neither can most people we run into in public. Nobody believes me when I tell them how old he is.

My son, my superhero

2009-06-24T12:58:00.002-04:00

So BabyJaguar has some super powers. Three to be exact.

1) Thermal sensors....he can sense when there is hot food within 30 feet that his mother intends to eat (preferably while it is still hot) at which point he will cry and demand to be fed.

2) Horizontal sensors...he can sense when his mother has transitioned from upright to horizontal and will then immediately begin to cry.

3) Super poop shooting skills... he has the ability to cover everything in the immediate vicinity in poop while avoiding soiling his own clothes. More on that later. It is so impressive it warrants its own post.

There are Wheaties in my breast milk

2009-06-22T12:44:00.002-04:00

At only 5 weeks 2 days old, my husky little BabyJaguar weighed in at 12 pounds 10 ounces! He is growing so fast.

An extraordinary gift

2009-06-20T12:52:00.000-04:00

On BabyJaguar's 5 week birthday, he and I were up at dawn. First light had just hit the bedroom and I was holding him and making conversation. Then he looked me right in the eye and smiled. It was his first real smile that was actually in response to something, not just the random ones he throws around that could be from gas.

And I smiled, laughed and cried all at once. Happy 5 week birthday, BabyJaguar. Mommy liked her gift.

A whole month?!?!

2009-06-16T12:46:00.004-04:00

How the heck did a month go by? Please time, slow down. This is all going by too fast. I want the minutes to drift slowly by so I can cherish each one.

Irony

2009-06-15T16:18:00.001-04:00

I missed the breastfeeding support group meeting today.

Why? Because I was sitting on my couch breastfeeding. LOL

Home stretch

2009-06-13T16:21:00.002-04:00

I'm 80% of the way done my Masters. Two classes to go. Last day is July 31...sooooooooooo much to do between then and now and sooooooooooooooooooooo little motivation to do any of it. I just want to sit and stare at Baby Jaguar instead. Or sleep. Stare or sleep.

Joys of motherhood....or not

2009-06-09T10:35:00.003-04:00

Thus far there have been so many joys of motherhood that I can't even begin to describe....this is not one of them. This is one of those stories that is just so ridiculous that it crosses over to being pretty darn funny.

Yesterday was hot but I had forgotten to turn the air on and then decided I would wait until the evening to put it on. Ben woke up from his nap seeming a bit warm so I decided to change him into just a onesie.

Change diaper. Change his outfit. Start nursing.

Ben starts pooping. Okay, that's normal. But then he's not stopping. Still pooping. Still pooping. Still pooping.

And my lap is wet. Okay, stop nursing (the boy is now not happy), take off my pants, take him to changing table, strip him down, clean up the outrageous amount of poo, lean over to throw out diaper.

It's raining on my arm. No, that would be pee. In the crazy poo clean up, I forgot to cover Ben up so now he's peeing in a big arc right out of the Pack-n-play.

Okey-dokey. Start cleaning up the pee, go to pick up Ben and the pee has puddled underneath him and he is soaked from his feet all the way up to his neck. Let's just take a bath. Pantless mommy bathes the boy, finally gets new diaper on him and gets another onesie. Back downstairs and finally get back to the nursing.

My husband comes home from work, questions my pantlessness and then tells me that his friend who is also our life insurance agent will be over in about twenty minutes because we have to sign some forms. I finish up nursing in fifteen and get pants on just before agent friend arrives.

I like agent friend. He's a good guy. We all chat for a bit. Then Ben starts going bonkers rooting on my cheek and neck. Did I mention how much breastfeeding went on that day? A lot. Ben ate 16 times that day and gave me only ten to thirty minutes breaks in between. It was some kind of freak hunger day...maybe a growth spurt? So I throw on my nursing cover to start feeding him again and go to unbutton my henley style shirt.

Only it's already unbuttoned.

To below my breasts.

And has been the whole time I've been sitting here chatting with agent friend.

Good times.

Hey, at least I remembered pants.

The first moment

2009-05-29T11:09:00.004-04:00

Every day I say to myself that I need to blog because I'm afraid that I will forget things that I never want to forget. And every day I can't tear myself away from Baby Jaguar or when he's napping there are chores to be done or papers to write or I'm too uncomfortable to sit in the office chair (yeah, that bites) or I just can't stand the thought of putting him down. And so I think I'm starting to forget some stuff.

I came into mommyhood scared of a million different things but really scared of one thing: connecting with the baby. I'll be completely candid. My mom has some great qualities but mostly she's just nuts. Like please-God-just-go-on-medication-nuts. So I don't have much of a relationship with her. I never have. And it scared me that I wouldn't be able to build some kind of connection with Baby Jaguar.

Don't get me wrong. I loved to feel him move inside me. I talked to him. I sang to him. But I was unsure the whole time if I felt as much as I was "supposed" to feel. My best friend wrote her unborn child letters and I remember thinking to myself, "Am I supposed to write letters?" I thought it was amazing that she felt that intensely connected to her child while I simultaneously worried that I didn't feel that.

Throughout the latter part of my pregnancy, people kept asking me if I was excited and I mostly said yes (y'know, because you're supposed to say that), but I wasn't that excited. I was scared. And I wanted him out. Those were my two predominant feelings. God, please don't let me mess up this whole parenting gig and also, please get him out immediately. I was so uncomfortable.

When labor actually rolled around, I still wasn't truly excited. "Are you excited to meet him?" everyone would ask. (Yes, because that's what I'm supposed to say.) In my head, I couldn't get to the moment where I actually got to meet him. I could only think about how I needed to get him out of my womb. Are you sensing a theme that I was outrageously uncomfortable by the time he made his appearance?

In the final weeks of my pregnancy, Mr. Jaguar would tell me how he couldn't wait to meet the baby and I, yet again, was wondering what the heck was wrong with me. Still, my only thoughts were get him out, get him out, get him out and please God don't let me suck at being a mommy.

And then Ben was born. They placed him on my chest. I looked at him. He looked at me. I didn't have to check for all of his fingers and toes. I didn't panic waiting for his first cry.

I knew he was just right.

And that he and I were a perfect match.

This jungle has a new cat

2009-05-23T12:24:00.011-04:00

Presenting Baby Jaguar

Ben made his big arrival on Saturday, May 16th (sorry I've taken forever to post). After a successful version, I was able to avoid a C-section. Ben weighed in at 8 pounds 12 ounces and was 22 inches long.

He is the most exquisite creature I have ever laid eyes on.

I am completely in love.

It's time

2009-05-16T05:42:00.000-04:00

Headed to the hospital

40 weeks later...

2009-05-15T08:12:00.006-04:00

Jungle Villas Complex
123 Wildcat Way
Amazonia, Brazil 54321

May 15, 2009

Dear Baby Jaguar,

This letter is in regards to previous requests to rectify issues resulting in complaints from your neighbors. Your belongings continue to exceed the amount permitted given the square footage of the property which is in direct violation of housing code M.O.M., section 5.15. We have tried to work with you to address this situation in a cordial manner, but are sorry to inform you that you are ordered to vacate the premises immediately. You must remove all belongings within 48 hours, return your key to the office and leave the property in the condition you initially found it in (minus normal wear and tear). Failure to do so will result in the loss of your security deposit.

Thank you,
The Management

Not so breech now are you, mister?

2009-05-07T18:51:00.003-04:00

The little guy is back where he should be, no longer breech. I would love to tell you that he was so obedient and helpful that he turned completely on his own, but that would be a big fat lie. Instead it went a little something like this.....

Mr. Jaguar and I headed to the hospital around lunchtime at which point I realized I forgot to pick up the necessary paperwork from the OB yesterday because I now have a memory like swiss cheese. So I end up rushing, which I hate and which at one day shy of 39 weeks I pretty much suck at. In my doctor's office, I see the doc who is scheduled to do the version so I relax a little realizing that I can't be all that late. Get my paper, rush to the hospital and head into admissions. At this point, I get paired up with a woman I guess is new to the admissions process. That's my nice way of saying she's really slow. Then she decides that I need to sign all of my forms for when I deliver right now because it will make it so much easier later. Oooooookay....let's sign quickly, sister. I got somewhere I gotta be. Sign sign sign....up to labor and delivery.

I get changed into the gown, monitors get attached, one last ultrasound to be sure Ben is still breech, IV in, shot of turbutaline to relax my uterus and the doc starts rolling up his sleeves well past his elbows. Seriously, I thought the man was going to start stretching and jogging in place to warm up. This procedure looked to be some serious business.

A mountain of the ultrasound goo was poured on my abdomen and then it was go time. While I tried to focus on relaxing my abdomen, the doctor started smearing that goo all over the place (now I understood the very rolled sleeves). And then it started. Painful but manageable at first, maybe about the first 30 seconds. And then not manageable at all, for about the last 30 seconds. I couldn't speak through the last half which was probably good because I would've been begging him to stop and then he might have actually stopped which I'm now very glad he didn't. I made some I'm-in-pain noises that I can't even recall because I think I blocked out those 30 seconds as much as possible. And then the boy was flipped.

I laid there staring at the ceiling, trying to regroup while I listened to Ben's now slowed heartrate. I had read up ahead of time so I knew it was normal to slow and should come up on its own. I glanced over at the monitor but couldn't tell if it said 54 or 94. Mr. Jaguar told me later that it had dipped very briefly to the 50s and then quickly went up to the 90s before climbing back up to normal.

The boy is doing well. I am hanging in. I feel like....well, like a baby inside of me was turned 180 degrees from the outside. Not comfy but I could be much worse. I am now sporting a sexy, hot girdle in an effort to keep him in place. It spans from just below my bra to the top of my hips and I am instructed to wear it "as much as I can stand it" which to me means it only comes off to take a shower. I'm not going to lie, it's hot and itchy and uncomfortable but I can't deal with the potential guilt of taking it off and then having him flip and feeling like it's my fault. He may very well flip anyway but at least I'll know I did everything I can.

The whole procedure felt so weird. I couldn't see what was happening because I was lying flat but I could feel it all. I could feel my entire abdomen being moved while the rest of my torso stayed in one place. Mr. Jaguar witnessed the whole thing and when all the medical people left, he looked at me and said, "Whoa.that.was.crazy." And that about sums it up.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Breech

2009-05-05T16:52:00.003-04:00

Well, the little stinker pulled off his own feat in the past few days.....not to be outdone by his large, slow mother climbing in a window at 38 weeks pregnant, he has decided to turn himself to breech. At my last 3 appointments he has been head down and the ones before that he has been oblique (diagonal) but still with his head downward. At my 37 and 38 week appointment, he had dropped some but was not fully engaged.

So now he is undropped.....lifted??!! And his skull is pushing up into my ribs which I am not so impressed with.

The good thing in all of this is we know he's breech. I got sent to Labor & Delivery yesterday for some funky spotting and bleeding. All was fine...except that he was now breech. When the resident doing the ultrasound told me, I didn't believe her. I couldn't see the screen because of a glare and just figured she must be a major newb or something. In my head, I scoffed at her, thinking, "You silly goose, that's a skull, not feet."

Apparently, she was not a newb and that skull really was a skull. The doctor said it was very good that I ended up at the hospital that day otherwise I could have gone into labor not knowing he was breech and had I gotten to the hospital late in the game and God forbid......etc etc etc. So where does that leave us? On Thursday afternoon, Mr. Jaguar and I head to the hospital to try an external cephalic version to see if we can get this little guy flipped around in the right direction. The odds look to be about 65% in our favor and then hopefully, if we can get him there, he'll stay there. If we can't, it's a guaranteed C-section. I'm trying to make peace with the C-section. Before this, I always knew it was a possibility and thought I was okay with it, but it turns out that it makes me pretty sad. I want to hold him right when he's born (this is the one that really gets me). I want his uncle to be there for the birth (only at my head). I want to be able to nurse right away. And while I know I can't guarantee those things if I try for a vaginal delivery, I'd at least like a shot at having them happen.

On another note, I'm terrified of the external version because I'm so scared it will hurt. I know...I'm a big wuss. What am I going to do when it's actually time to have this baby? I'll be the one curled up in the corner of the bed, rocking myself and sucking my thumb because I'm a giant wuss.

38 week feat

2009-05-03T17:50:00.003-04:00

So this past Friday, at exactly 38 weeks to the day, I accomplished something quite impressive. This would also be a good time to mention that for the past few (hell, many) months, it's been very difficult for me to lift my legs to put my socks and pants on.

I got locked out of the house. That's not the accomplishment part, that's the dilemma part. I had a contractor working at my house and, on Friday, when he finished up early, he locked the front door. Which was very thoughtful and responsible. Only he locked the lock we don't use because we don't even have a key for it. So when I came home Friday, completely exhausted with my nasty swollen feet, I couldn't get in my house to my glorious couch that was just shouting my name. I could hear it through my front door along with my crying greyhounds who couldn't figure out why their mommy wouldn't just get in the house already.

I pondered the predicament. It's an old house with a wide variety of old windows, but we are very good about locking the ones on the first floor that we open regularly. Hmmm....I decided to explore. I paused at the first window that we can never manage to get to click all the way shut. After some moving and shaking, I determined that this screen was not a screen that goes up or comes out. Is that even possible? Whatever, it wasn't budging. I moved on.

I came upon my back steps and scoped out the scene. We never use the kitchen windows because they don't stay up on their own. Maybe some of them don't click all the way shut and I just don't remember. I placed my palm against the first one and attempted to slide it up. It practically fell in the kitchen! Christ on a bike! That's not very secure. Note to self: invest in new windows or Sloman Shield immediately.

So I slide up the window which I have to hold up so it doesn't fall back down, lean into to move my kitchen table out of the way, greyhounds move into the now open space to give me some love and then I realize that the bottom of the window is at the top of my hips. Hmmm.....visions of my daily ritual of trying to put my pants on dance through my head. This could be ugly.

It took me about five minutes to find the energy to attempt the task and then three tries to get my leg in the window. It was pathetic. I move in slow motion. It must have been like a sloth trying to get up there the whole ordeal took so long. Once I got a leg in, I was eventually (and slowly) able to heave me and my 34 extra pounds in the window all while not letting the window crush my head or a limb. I'm pretty sure this moment will be recorded in my personal history as one of my sexiest moments ever.

One month

2009-04-15T18:14:00.003-04:00

30 days

720 hours

43,200 minutes

....until my due date. That means I've been pregnant for 250 days. Wow. In some ways, it feels longer than that. In other ways, it's flown right by.

Still, I can't get over the fact that, in 30 days, I'm due to have my son. So many days that I still can't even believe I'm pregnant and now we're actually going to meet him.

It's unbelievable.

Apparently I'm at a loss for a title, too

2009-04-10T09:04:00.004-04:00

Over the last day or so, I keep finding myself at a loss for words, answers and just cohesive thoughts in general. On Wednesday, I found out that my friend's IVF cycle is having complications (yet again) and then yesterday I learned that a fellow nestie lost both of her twins after delivering at 24 weeks. And yet here I am, preparing to deliver my son in five weeks.

I don't get it. I just don't get it.

And so I'm kinda mad at the universe lately. I'm trying to make sense of why some things work out and some don't, why some have no issues conceiving, others deal with infertility, some never conceive and then for others, the inconceivable, losing a child. But the bottom line is, I can't make sense of it. Because none of it makes sense.

I briefly questioned God's role in all this yesterday, but forced myself to dismiss it. I ultimately don't believe he chooses who gets babies and who doesn't. In my head and heart, his role is to support us along the journey rather than choose the path. So that leaves the universe. How vague, huh? I feel like I have to lay blame on someone or something, so the all-inclusive "universe" is the winner. I recognize that it's kind of a cop out.

I know that infertility and loss isn't the only cause for this kind of thinking. I'm sure people dealing with issues like terminal disease and natural disasters have asked the same kinds of questions and wondered about the same big ideas. And what about those people who manage to make peace with all of this stuff? How do they do that? Like Randy Pausch in "The Last Lecture"? How does one find a sense of peace in devastation? I'm in awe of this kind of thinking, but I can't figure it out for the life of me.

So today, I'm still stuck in search of an answer: Why do some of us get the brass ring while others are left just grasping for it?

Recovering Catholic infertile seeks peace of mind

2009-03-29T16:55:00.002-04:00

Infertile guilt. It's there and has to be dealt with once an infertile gets pregnant. Combine it with the Catholic guilt I already carry around and it makes sense that I decided to seek out a therapist last year.

Infertile guilt is interesting. It is rooted in our sheer loathing of hearing easily impregnated, fertile women complain about how horrible their pregnancy is. We think about screaming at these women, responding with obscenities and even smacking these people. And all of these desires are completely legitimate. We as infertiles are in no position to have to be subjected to pregnancy complaints. We swear up and down, on a stack of Bibles, on our mothers' graves that we will never....ever.....in a million years complain if we manage to get pregnant.

And many of us infertiles do eventually become pregnant ourselves. Hooray! We're shocked, stunned, can't believe it's finally happened. All of our hard work, extra stress and tears have finally gotten us to the finish line or at least to the point where we can see the finish line on the horizon. Our anxiety begins. Am I really pregnant? Is this too good to be true? How many sticks should I pee on before I let myself believe that I'm really truly pregnant? (Approximately 27.) Is this little bean going to stick? If I start to enjoy the fact that I'm pregnant and let my guard down, is something bad destined to happen? We try not to tempt fate or fail the universe in any way to ensure that the bean remains with us. We are understandably superstitious after having looked at so many single lines and having swallowed down the bitterness of failure for so many months before.

And then......here it comes. We start to feel like complete shit. Welcome to pregnancy. We want to sleep all the time. In the hopes of finding some small sense of relief, we're wearing sea bands and sucking on ginger drops, gagging on ginger tea and drinking outrageous amounts of ginger ale all to no avail. On top of physically feeling like shit, we now emotionally feel like shit, too, because......that's right, we swore we'd never complain. We promised. We raised our right hands and declared it so many times when we listened to pregnant people bitch and complain about pregnancy, the one thing we desired the most. Those bitches. And here we are. Fighting the words that are about to come out of our mouths. Feeling like complete and total hypocrites and traitors to our infertile sisters.

"Dear.God.I.feel.like.I'm.going.to.die."

It's out there. You can't take it back. You've officially complained. About the one thing you wanted most and worked so long for.

And you know what?

It's okay. Go look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that over and over and over again because it takes a long while to sink in and truly believe it. Some days I still have to go look in the mirror and say it again when my infertile guilt creeps back up.

Now I'm not saying you should call up all your infertile friends you've made up to this point and bitch every day about how awful you feel and how this pregnancy is so incredibly difficult. That is still inappropriate and those friends would still have permission to want to punch you in the face. You may have a few extremely close friends who are comfortable with listening but, for the most part, the majority of infertiles should not be subjected to your complaints unless they are also currently pregnant or have had kids.

But when it comes to all those easily impregnated, fertile bitches? It's on like Donkey Kong. Complain away. After all, you had one hell of a road to get to where you are, that few of them can begin to understand. So let go of the guilt and bitch when you need to.

Counting down

2009-03-26T08:14:00.007-04:00

50 days to go.

I can't even believe it. In one sense, I'm excited to be somewhat close to the homestretch. Not quite in it yet, but certainly getting closer. It's so weird and overwhelming to imagine meeting Ben, seeing if he has my eyes or his dad's smile or just doesn't look like a big, hairy wookie.

In another sense, I can't believe I still have 50 days left to carry Ben around on the inside. This child is seeming quite large these days. I read in one of my books last week that he would double in size between now and 40 weeks and I actually almost cried at the thought.

And in another sense, I am absolutely terrified that in 50 days, I'm going to attempt (hopefully successfully) to shove a baby out of my vagina. I find no comfort in the gaggles of women who have done this before me. None at all.

Well that's something new.

2009-03-24T17:20:00.010-04:00

Click on the video....

Can you hear that? That's the sound of me trying to turn my cart around in the middle of the aisle in Target only I can't because the width of me plus my belly plus the cart is just too much!

I had to tell Mr. Jaguar I'd meet him in the next aisle and take the long way around.

I'm officially ready....

2009-03-21T17:34:00.004-04:00

for something to be easy. Anything. Minor, major, just something that goes smoothly without any hassle or aggravation. This, unfortunately, is part one of a series....

My maternity leave is (allegedly) worked out. Basically, my union has been fighting with my school district for over a year regarding the district not following federal law as well as their own contract in terms of family medical leave and benefits for teachers out on maternity. Enter me, stage right, the next person in line to be screwed over. For weeks, I've been dealing with this, stressing over it. Basically, my HR person reached a point where she just started ignoring my very polite, friendly e-mails regarding what she was telling me versus the law. They really were friendly. I'm not even being sarcastic. I've got people that can vouch for my friendliness.

So last Thursday, the day of reckoning was looming: the union's attorneys and district's attorneys were prepared to meet the next day. If things could not be resolved at this meeting, the union would file a federal lawsuit against the district. Who should e-mail me but the HR lady asking me to call her when I had a minute. This would be a good time to mention that HR has put absolutely nothing in writing regarding my maternity leave, even in e-mails (because the f-ers know they're shady). So I call her and what does she say?

"I just wanted to let you know that everything worked out with your maternity leave. You do qualify for federal Family Medical Leave (no shit) and your benefits will be covered through the summer."

Here's what I wanted to say: "Thank you, go f#ck yourself." For needlessly stressing me out. For making me sob, worrying about money. For wasting my time for weeks. For ignoring my e-mails. For completely disregarding the law which was written so clearly and in such layman's terms that a goddamned monkey could understand it. Just.Go.F#ck.Yourself.

What I actually said because I need this woman to work with me in the future: "Wow. That's the best news I've heard all day! Thanks. Have a great day. Talk to you soon."

But seriously, SHAME ON YOU, SCHOOL DISTRICT! Shame on you for treating your employees like this. Shame on you for wasting time and resources intentionally trying to screw people over to save a buck, people who work hard for you. Shame on you for blowing my union dues on unnecessary attorney fees. Shame on you for spending money on your own lawyers that could be going to our students, or God forbid, raises for your staff. Shame on you for wasting my precious 40 minutes of prep on who knows how many days because I was calling you trying to figure this crap out or e-mailing back and forth with our union leaders about this stupid bullsh#t waste of time.

I can't help but wonder how many women got the same call that Thursday, less than 24 hours before the attorneys go at it, to say, "Tada! Everything's fixed!"

I haven't heard the outcome of the attorney's meeting yet. I'll write about it when I know what's up.

P.S. I forgot to mention my thoughts on this poor HR woman. Basically, last year the real, trained, lawyer HR woman's contract was not renewed and she was never replaced so the woman who was essentially her assistant is now in charge of the entire department and I think just pretty much doing whatever the superintendent says. Can you imagine the position she's in?? This is another reason I try to be very nice to her. I'm not sure she's okay with what she's being required to do. Still, I hope she's really a mole, reporting all this crap to the Department of Labor when she gets home at night. That would make her my hero.

As of approximately four minutes ago....

2009-03-11T22:00:00.002-04:00

I am 60% of the way done my Masters! Woot! I just finished my final paper for my two current classes and I now have off until.....Monday. OK, the Monday part isn't all that impressive but still, I'll take it. Provided I didn't royally screw anything up, I officially only have 18 weeks left of grad school.

I'm not sure that I've even really blogged about my Masters' program. Basically, late last spring, while feeling like a complete failure in the infertility arena, I decided that I should find something I could be successful with. I decided I should pursue my Masters, but also decided that I really really like my bathrobe. So then it was decided that I should get my Masters online. Genius, right? Well, yeah, it turns out it is because I can do the whole thing in my bathrobe. A major concern, however, was that I am huge procrastinator, or at least I was for my entire undergrad experience. But it turns out that once you hit 30 and actually pay for stuff yourself while fully understanding the impact student loans have on your life, you step up to the plate and figure out the whole growing up thing.

Last June, I started my accelerated program. On July 31, provided everything goes well with the remainder of my pregnancy and the arrival of Ben, I will be finished with the program. I have had little to no social life since last summer and will finish the last 9 weeks of the program with a newborn, God willing. What the hell am I thinking? I'm thinking I don't want to return to work in September with an infant and two grad classes left. The road has been bumpy. Full time work plus part time work plus full time school has not always made for a happy pregnant woman (not even close, in fact she has often been sobbing), but I'll be done. I'll have a (slightly) higher salary to take care of my child. And I'll have more time to spend with him after a long day apart. And I just have to keep telling myself that for the remaining 18 weeks of my program.

In other news, I am awating the arrival of my Snuggie (more on that later). That's right, I'm getting a Snuggie, in monk-maroon no less. Can you picture me at the computer, blogging or writing a paper while not having to deal with that pesky blanket thrown over me that keeps slipping off my shoulders? You know you're jealous...as you should be.

Fact of the Day

2009-03-07T23:36:00.003-05:00

Brought to you by three hours of breastfeeding class this morning...

When breastfeeding women climax during sex, they often let down their milk. That's right, when they orgasm, their breasts start leaking everywhere or possibly even spraying everywhere. So keep a towel handy.

There are no words.

If you are one of the breastfeeding women this did not happen to, please leave a comment letting me know. If you are someone this happened to, keep your trap shut! I don't want to hear about it! Lalalala.....I can't hear you!!!

Freakin' priceless

2009-03-06T23:42:00.001-05:00

Follow up to my rant about children wearing inappropriate clothing. This morning, a mother comes in with her 5th grade daughter to talk with me about a project. As we're all talking, I realize the daughter is wearing a Juicy shirt which at the bottom says in small letters, but not too small (bigger than the font you're reading right now):

"Kick a$$ couture"

Instead of dollar signs, the s's were little hearts.

WTF??? I don't even say anything in front of the mom because I decide I am not in the mood to start my Friday morning with a confrontation. Instead, I talk to the daughter later that morning right before I make her go flip her shirt inside out. What does the daughter say?

"My mom knew my shirt says this, but she thought the words were so small that no one would notice."

Oh, okay...then it's totally fine. By the way, your mom's a moron.

Some parenting thoughts

2009-02-28T07:54:00.006-05:00

Before I vent, let me preface this post by saying that I in no way think parenting is an easy job. Nor do I think I will be some stellar example of parenting perfection. And, for the most part, I think that I'm fairly open-minded most of the time. I don't stress much at the possibility of my eventual teenager having blue hair, intentionally ripped pants or being that token hippy or punk rock kid in my neighborhood, provided they clean it up a bit when they're with grandma and consistently treat others with respect. If he wears his baseball hat sideways, that's another issue, but that's a personal thing that drives me up the wall. I just want to raise my kids to be respectful with good heads on their shoulders.

This week I was at school with my 5th graders and noticed that one of my boys was wearing a shirt with two hands on it held up in capital L's as if holding an invisible camera. The phrase posted above it?

"Picture me caring".

On the same day, I noticed that one of my girls had writing on the behind of her sweats.

The very next day, another one of my boys came in wearing a shirt with a pair of eyes rolling upward and the following word:

"Whatever".

Cue my rant of the week or month or whatever. Why the hell do parents allow children to have writing printed on their backsides and wear shirts with rude remarks on them??!!! Seriously...I've had enough of this. My students are 10 and 11 years old! Why do people think it's okay for young girls in our society to have attention intentionally drawn to their behinds? I don't get it. Have you taken a look lately in a kids' clothing store? A ton of stuff for the girls is more like outfits for teenagers or women that are just smaller. It makes me ill. And don't even get me started on the Playboy Bunny that has popped up on shirts, keychains and purses in recent years. I can't even begin to talk about that. Our society sexualizes our children younger than ever and then is baffled by why they are dealing with issues that kids previously struggled with much later in life. And so, early on in the words-on-a$s trend, I came to the conclusion that any daughters I may have will not be permitted to have any butt print of any kind. I don't care what it says....pink, justice, field hockey. No to all of it. Because I don't want my kid to think that's what's important in her life should be announced via her a$s.

The rude shirts thing annoys me even more. And you know that 10 and 11 year olds are not out shopping for their own clothes which means some dipsh!t parent is out with them, chuckling over the fact that they're about to drop $20 on a shirt that has a comment on it that would make me want to smack a child if the comment actually came out of their mouth. And the thing is, the kids who wear these shirts to school, let's just say that in my nine years of teaching, none of them are winning any awards for their outstanding dedication to their studies or positive attitude towards life in general.

And in the same respect, why are small children wearing clothing with statements like, "100% spoiled brat" or "diva"? I don't get it....if your kid's wearing it, it's generally because there is some ounce of truth to it that makes the shirt humorous to whoever purchased it. But really, what's funny about it? What compels you to advertise the fact that your child is currently struggling with behavior? It's normal for kids to go through difficult phases, but is it normal for parents to brag about it via a onesie like they hope it continues forever and ever?

I'm all for kids expressing their individuality and coming into their own. In fact, I think it's an important part of their development. But why aren't some parents providing a little more guidance in this department?

JackiJaguar steps off her soapbox, bringing her judgemental and harsh but completely honest rant to a close.

I feel like I never talk about anything baby...

2009-02-25T18:10:00.002-05:00

My posts often seem to be about stuff that, while it has to do with the boy, are often not about the boy directly. So I need to take some time to chat about him....

Well, first off, he has a name. Benjamin Michael. My husband loves the name Benjamin and I do, too. However, I never brought the name up because I have a college ex by the same name, so I just assumed it was off limits and was fine with that. Eventually, Mr. Jaguar brought the name up and we both talked about our love of the name. So, Mr. Jaguar, being the confident man that he is, announced that he could care less that it's the same name as my ex and I decided that I could be on board with that kind of thinking. Some of my friends from college will probably have a field day with it and it's one more reason I'll never join Facebook, but it's all good.

So far, Ben is big. He measured 24 ounces back when the book said he was supposed to be 20 ounces. That's not so much, right? Except when you realize that's 20% larger than the book says. We had another ultrasound when the book said he should be between 1 3/4 and 2 pounds. He was 2 1/2 pounds. That's 25%+ larger than the book says. I know you're not supposed place a lot of faith on the u/s weights, but still, I hope to get this kid out via my vagina. I'm just saying. The whole thing is a little alarming. Makes me feel a little sore down there.

Sometimes, Ben gets the hiccups. It's the craziest, strangest thing.

Ben prefers to chill on my left side. He's breech right now and seems to be jabbing his little hiney out to the left of my belly button at all times. Nothing symmetrical about it. This also puts him in the perfect position to repeatedly kick me in my pubic area. Little feet just kicking straight down at me.

Ben's nursery is, ummm....coming along. I'll post more about that later. Let's just say it's going to be a very slow process. The windows just arrived as well as the interior door. Are you getting the idea?

I have my 1 hour glucose test tomorrow. Wish me luck. I do not have the sick days to take a half day off if I fail and have to go back for the 3 hour. I'm throwing up little glucose prayers to Baby Jesus.

Shades of blue

2009-02-23T11:15:00.005-05:00

I've been looking over my posts and realized that I haven't said anything about the third trimester. I'm there! Who'da thunk it, huh? Still can't always even process the fact that I'm actually pregnant and here I am at 28 1/2 weeks.

I'm definitely back to being tired like in the first trimester. And as for the "2nd trimester burst of energy", I kinda rank that with other mythological beings like dragons and unicorns. The 2nd trimester could better be referred to as the "few months when you somewhat stay alert for the majority of the day." It's by no means a burst of energy, at least not for me. It's more like the trimester when you feel more like a regular human for a bit.

My head has been in a rough place these last couple weeks. I've been really tired and just generally stressed. While I'm so excited to meet our son, I'm beginning to have some anxiety about it. I had my first baby dream and it was definitely stress related. In the dream, he was in a sling but the sling was really like this deep duffle bag. And he was in the bottom of it, completely swaddled but the swaddle was wrapped all around his face. I was in a panic thinking he couldn't breathe and had died, but when I get him out of the duffle and the swaddle, he was just all red and sweaty. And in that moment of relief, I realized my baby was not cute at all. Doesn't that sound horrible? Like completely shallow? But in the dream, he didn't even look like a baby, he was like a little ugly man baby. Sorta like Danny Devito.

I'm also having a lot of money concerns but that's really not anything new. It's just that now those concerns are a little bigger because we will be a family of three instead of two. Pile on to that the fact that I don't get paid over the summer because I teach and well, I'm just really stressed. Every summer, I teach a summer program but obviously won't this season, so I'm worried. I squirrel away money where I can but it still worries me to no end. There are proactive steps I've taken to address the money issue. I tutor 3 hours per week to generate some extra income. I'm in school full-time earning my Masters' so that I will have a pay raise next year. But the problem is that doing those things while pregnant is exhausting and is making me even more stressed.

Finally, my school district is screwing me on my maternity leave, like completely illegally screwing me. My union is in the process of grieving this issue and my understanding is that if it does not get resolved, a federal lawsuit will be filed. Basically, the district is saying that, because I will not be in school in June to finish out the year and do not have enough sick days to cover me through the end of the year, they are not responsible for paying my health insurance for the summer. This goes against everything in our contract as well as the law in general, but my district has a tendency to do whatever they want and deal with those pesky details later on. So even though I will only be missing the last 4 1/2 weeks of the school year, they are requiring that I take a full 12 weeks of Family & Medical Leave time which will last me through July (assuming I can work up until my due date). Then I will be responsible for paying health insurance for the month of August for myself, my husband and the baby. The sooner I have to go out on maternity, the earlier my 12 weeks will be up and the more health insurance I will have to pay. Awesome, right? Hopefully, my union and district will resolve this before my maternity starts but I honestly am not hopeful at all. In the meantime, I need to suck it up and keep my mouth shut because I won't be tenured until next school year.

Where's my husband in all of this? I don't know really. Finances are a topic we generally struggle with communication wise and there's often a large wall between us on this issue. Sometimes, I think he doesn't talk about it because it stresses him out. But most of the time, I kinda think he just thinks it will all work out in the end because it always has in the past. I handle the finances and sometimes feel like he has too much faith in my to fix things that are not fixable without some major, major changes.

How could I forget? There have also been some major issues with my baby shower....family stuff that is too personal to explain on a blog. But the issues are driving a major wedge between me and my husband as well as making me pretty unenthusiastic about my shower. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely grateful that people I love are going to come together to celebrate the birth of our child and shower us with the many things needed to have a baby, but the stress of the other issues is just making me wish we had gobs of money so that we could just go buy what we need and forget about all of it. With the stress of everything else going on, the shower issues are just becoming too much to handle.

So that's where I'm at...stressed, tired and often teary. But still really grateful that I'm pregnant.

In honor of Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T09:26:00.000-05:00

Before I begin this post, you should know that these words are not all mine. In fact, most of them are not. This post was created after several wonderful nesties spoke of the important stuff, both big and small, that their spouses do to help them survive and manage this adventure called infertility. So here goes…

This is for our other halves…our husbands, partners and lovers. Infertility is one hell of a ride and, without you, we may have demanded to be let off this crazy roller coaster early. While nobody can be all of the things on this list all of the time, you sure are a lot of them…

This is for the ones who join us on the couch for the sobfest. They listen for as long as we need and manage to say exactly what we need to hear.

The ones who exude positivity.

The ones who bring us Cheetos….or whatever else may be the snack du jour.

The ones who ask the doctor questions other men can’t even imagine speaking aloud.

The ones who cook for us on the nights we’d just as soon starve than get off the couch.

The ones who arrange their work and social schedules around injections, even when we could easily give ourselves the shot.

The ones who support our dreams.

The ones who aren’t embarrassed to talk to others about infertility.

The ones who know how to read our charts.

The ones who don’t speak of their fear of needles even though we know it’s true.

The ones who keep a cool head when our heads have exploded.

The ones who get up early after working late just to go with us to have blood drawn or an ultrasound.

The ones with the endless supply of hugs.

The ones who never laugh at any of the kooky ideas we’re willing to try to get pregnant.

The ones who are all too familiar with the sterile cup.

The ones who answer the phone when we know it's news from the RE's office and we just can't bear to hear it firsthand.

The ones who never comment on the extra mileage on the car because the RE’s office is an hour drive one way.

The ones who feel sad about our bruises.

The ones who are our endless cheerleaders.

The ones who don’t ever want us to feel alone on this crazy journey.

The ones who make us laugh…and laugh…and laugh.

The ones who show up for the IUIs.

The ones who know when the only thing they can do is hug us.

The ones who come to the endless appointments.

The ones who show up at those appointments with their questions written down ahead of time.

The ones who remind us to take our temp.

The ones who know just when to bring us flowers.

The ones who don’t point out when we’re having an irrational moment.

The ones who have the serious talks even when we know they don’t want to.

The ones who visit the dirty magazines room without complaint.

The ones who take their vitamins.

The ones who watch their alcohol and caffeine intake.

The ones who tell us we’re beautiful, regardless of our infertility weight gain.

The ones who bring us a little something special when we get our periods.

The ones who weather the moodiness of infertility meds like a champ.

The ones who love us unconditionally even though we feel “broken”.

The ones who don’t complain.

The ones who know when to cuddle up next to us for the pity party and when we need our space.

The ones who pack the igloo cooler for the day when we’re on bedrest.

The ones who are always there.

The ones who would rather be infertile with us than fertile with someone else.

The ones who will do whatever it takes.

The ones who one day will be the most amazing fathers.

Need something added to the list? Leave a comment and I'll be sure to do some editing.

Imposter!

2009-02-07T09:37:00.003-05:00

Mr. Jaguar and I went to a 30th birthday party for a friend this past weekend. Besides the couple hosting the party, we weren't good friends with anybody there. It didn't really matter though, we had a nice time just the same.

But here's the thing. I was one of three visibly pregnant women there. Instead of being the infertile, unpregnant woman surrounded by bellies, I was one of the bellies. And the truth is, I felt like a fraud. It was like I was waiting for someone to come over and pull the pillow out from under my shirt and wave it around in the air all while shouting, "She's a fraud! The belly's a fake! She's an imposter! She's really infertile!" It amazes me how I can simultaneously feel so pregnant and unpregnant so often. It's been 26 weeks, I'm making all the preparations for our son to arrive and half the time I still can't believe there's a real, living baby inside me.

As I sat around chatting at the party, I found myself rewinding back in my head, recalling snippets of conversation from each woman throughout the evening in an attempt to be sure I wasn't in the room with another infertile, unintentionally but inevitably hurting her with my big bump. I was pretty sure that I was the only infertile gal at the shindig, but I couldn't shake the nagging worry that someone in the room was aching over three, joyful bellies. As the night wore on and pregnancies were discussed, I openly spoke about our infertility treatments, both for myself and for any shadow infertiles who may have been in the vicinity. I speak for myself for selfish reasons of alleviating self-imposed guilt but also to help lessen the stigma so many in our society place on infertility. I speak for others who, for whatever reasons of their own, haven't found or don't feel comfortable to use their voice and so that they know they're not alone in their quest for motherhood.

The whole night got me thinking about my niche as an infertile but pregnant woman. In counseling months ago, my therapist told me that I'm no longer infertile because I'm pregnant now. Infertile is simply a state of being. To be pregnant means that I'm therefore no longer infertile. You can't be both. I corrected her, informing her that my infertility is a huge part of me and it will remain that way regardless of the state of my uterus. And honestly, I wouldn't want to drop my infertility by the side of the road and just drive off. My infertility has been a journey with many lessons, both painful and rewarding.

About a year and a half ago, I participated in the Breast Cancer 3-Day. For those of you not familiar with it, it's a 60 mile walk over 3 days. Each walker is required to raise at least $2,900 to even show up. Just getting there is a project and, well, actually finishing all 60 miles is a major feat. Past walkers had explained to me what the weekend would be like beforehand, but there's no way to do it justice. It's one of those things that you just have to do for yourself to really "get it". Over the 3 days, I couldn't believe the support that everyone provided one another. The socks and bandaids that were passed around, the ice that was split up among water bottles when it briefly ran short in the 90 degree heat, the words of encouragement and the complete strangers that showed up along the course with signs cheering us on and giving out treats. I cried like a baby over those 3 days, sometimes from pain and exhaustion but often from being so overwhelmed by others' support.

At the end of the walk, we all meet in this large field. And then we wait. And we wait. And we wait. And that's fine because we're completely exhausted anyway so we're content with the idea of sitting for a while and most of us are probably just relieved we don't have to walk anywhere else. But why are we all waiting? Because closing ceremonies don't start until everybody gets there. So we wait by the finish line and we cheer for each walker as they cross over. Then we wait even longer. Why? Because we're waiting for the very last walker to finish. There are frequent announcements about how far away the final walker is from the finish line. Nobody's in a rush, nobody's frustrated. We just wait patiently.

And then she turns the corner and you can see her in the distance approaching. She's not walking alone though. Because every safety volunteer that has monitored the course for the last three days, greeting us with warm smiles and encouraging us, is there with her, forming a protective semi-circle around her as she takes her final steps. The crowd all gathers closer at the finish line as whispers that, "She's here," spread through the throngs of people.

The crowd goes wild for her. And, as I look around, I'm surrounded by a sea of tears and cheers as we welcome the last woman over the finish line. Complete strangers line up to hug her and congratulate her on getting there.

Pregnant and infertile can be mucky territory. We have a huge, bumpy barrier that now, in many ways, separates us from our other, infertile sisters. This issue comes up often on the Nest as women move from the infertility boards to "Success After Infertility" board. We want to remain active on the infertility boards. We've forged many friendships there and want to offer the same support that others have given us along the way. But at the same time, we know that some days the pregnancy tickers in our posts are the last thing someone needs to see. Our u/s pic might be too much for another infertile woman on a good day, let alone a bad one. Sometimes our words of hope, no matter how heartfelt, sting a bit. And that's just the way it is. And we understand. Because we were there, too.

But know one thing. Infertility is a lot like the 3 Day. As each infertile woman crosses over the finish line, the infertile sisters who have crossed before her are right there. Waiting, with open arms, cheering and shedding tears of joy for each woman to cross the finish line. And this is where we will remain, until our very last sister crosses over.

Wobbling watermelon

2009-02-04T09:10:00.008-05:00

Johnny: (approaches Billy and Baby) Hey cous, what's she doing here?

Billy: She came with me...she's with me.

Baby: I carried a watermelon.

(Johnny, unimpressed, exits scene to go dance with Penny)

Baby: (in digust) I carried a watermelon??!!

While I'm not actually carrying a watermelon, it sure looks like I am. This pic is from 25 weeks and 3 days, just a few days ago. Sorry, it's blurry. I didn't notice until just now. I actually think my body's a little funny looking in this picture.

Everybody keeps asking me lately how I'm feeling and, for the most part, I try to keep my answers peppy, but the truth is that my back pain is getting worse and worse. I'm having many moments of hobbling around briefly before I can get walking normally. I'm basically just trying to ignore it, but this is becoming a tougher and tougher task. It makes me feel very geriatric.

In related, very exciting news....we have 100 days left until we meet our son! That's right, 180 days down and 100 days to go. I can't believe it.

Much better than a crockpot

2009-01-31T16:22:00.006-05:00

I've been thinking for a long time about how I would like to thank the staff at my RE's office. They really are amazing and I can't imagine what it would have been like to go through all of the stress of infertility without them there supporting me along the way.

So how do you thank people for a kid?

An Edible Arrangement? Healthy and delicious (provided you spring for the chocolate covered strawberries), but insufficient. Cookies? Yummy, but still insufficient. Sincere, handwritten note? Thoughtful and genuine, so let's give it a whirl.

I attempted this note several times to no avail. I sat in front of a blank piece of stationery wrestling with my words. I thought back to the many thank you notes I wrote throughout my life, especially around the time of my wedding.

There was the crockpot......Thank you so much for the baby! I can't wait to try it out once our new kitchen is set up!

The towels....Thank you so much for the wonderful baby! It's so soft and matches our bathroom perfectly!

The check...Thank you so much for your very generous baby. Joe and I will put it towards renovating our new bedroom.

The frame....Thank you so much for the beautiful baby. Every time we look at it, we will think of you.

Hmmm....this isn't quite working out the way I planned. How do you actually thank someone for your child? For starting your family? For the gift of life? For making a dream come true? The bottom line is there are no sufficient words in the English language, nor is there a tangible gift that can be purchased at Macy's that sums up my feelings about the impending arrival of our son.

So I continue to think on it and I've still got nothing, until I remember my post about my first RE visit titled, "A Day of Hope". The last bit of it goes like this:

"I was, and continue to be, overwhelmed that people take on the job of reproductive endocrinologist. This includes the nurses and office staff. I am in awe of them. I try to imagine being in their shoes, giving the news to a hopeful couple that a procedure has failed, taking the call from a pregnant woman who has begun bleeding, holding the hand of a woman trying again after yet another miscarriage. I bear the weight of only my own story while they shoulder the burden of so many women's heartbreaking journeys.

Without a doubt, they are doing God's work."

Deciding that this was the best I could come up with in terms of articulating my gratitude, I print out the entire post, write a note at the bottom explaining how there really are no words that can capture my thankfulness for the work they do every day, for my son that is on the way and for the support they provided me along the journey. I get in the car to drop it off along with my left over injectables to donate which are now resting on a bag of frozen edamame.

I head in the office to find three women, who bring an automatic smile to my face, chatting around the front counter. We catch up for a minute or so while I hand over my meds. One tells me how she saw our IUI pic on my blog! I had completely forgotten that I told her about the blog and was touched to see that she not only read it, but had continued to read it since that picture was posted fairly recently.

And then I hand over the letter. I quickly realize that this is going to be tougher than I anticipated. I stumble over a sentence or two, saying something to the effect of, "This is my attempt at saying thank you."

and then I say, ".....I have to go now because I'm going to cry." Maybe I kinda waved after that. I don't know. But I left because I was definitely starting to cry.

I made it about five steps out of the office before it hits me that I didn't hug them. These women who were so wonderful to me, so supportive of me and so happy for me when I finally got my positive. I turn on my heels, rush back in and say, "I didn't hug you" and, in full-on-tears, dole out proper hugs while thanking them for everything.

Eloquent? No. Dignified? Not quite. But sincere? Yeah, definitely sincere.

I'd like to take a moment to welcome....

2009-01-20T20:10:00.003-05:00

my second chin. Welcome to the world, little friend. I think you're completely overrated.

Public Service Announcement for sharing your pregnancy news with infertiles

2009-01-19T10:45:00.007-05:00

Dear Infertile Abby,
I just found out that I'm seven weeks pregnant! My husband and I are thrilled and shocked! It was a complete surprise. We weren't even trying. My issue is that I have a very good friend who has been trying to get pregnant for a very long time and is going through infertility treatments. What's the best way to share my news with her? I think it's best that they hear the news from us in private. We're thinking of inviting them over for dinner and telling them then.
Thanks,
Fertile Fran

Dear Fertile Fran,
Are you high? It's called e-mail. If you don't have a computer, it's called a phone. Your friend's probably going to cry and doesn't feel like doing it in front of you and your husband. It'll just make her feel like a shmuck.
Take care,
Infertile Abby

This situation has reared its ugly head.....again. When my friend lured me to her house with the promise of sunny weather and a barbecue, I unfortunately responded to her pregnancy announcement by getting inebriated and crying on her front curb for about an hour before coming in to fail at faking enthusiasm throughout the rest of the evening (link here). This time, it happened to a good friend. Just two weeks after her 3rd IVF cycle had to be cancelled, her brother and sister-in-law felt the need to come over to visit and share their "big news". And it broke my heart.

Now here's the thing. I get what fertile people are thinking. I do. I really do. In their head, they have this vision of a sit-down where they gently and thoughtfully share the news of their pregnancy and then maybe place a hand on the infertile's knee, tell us how they know it will happen for us and that God has a plan for us or something to that effect. They think we'd be crushed to hear the news from someone else rather than directly from the source. And e-mail or phone? Instant message? No way! In most other situations, it's considered tacky or rude to share big news in these manners. I understand where you're coming from and that you have good intentions. I really truly do.

But here's the thing. You're wrong. I hate to break it to you, but for 99% of infertile people, you're wrong.

Let's change the scenario a little bit because infertility is something that is so difficult to connect with unless it's touched your own life. Let's talk about homes. Most everybody can understand that your home is your safe haven, a place where you find comfort. It's filled with memories. Most of us put a lot of effort into creating a home.

Now imagine my house just burned down. Or that I lost my home to foreclosure. You, on the other hand, have just sealed the deal on your custom-built McMansion. You're understandably thrilled. You want to shout your news from the rooftops. And that's cool. I'd want share it with the world, too. However, would you invite me over to share the news with me personally? Do I have to hear your news right before I sit down to enjoy a meal with you? A meal that maybe I was looking forward to as a nice distraction and a chance to get away from the stress of dealing with losing my home?

It doesn't seem so important, or even appropriate, that I hear the news directly from the horse's mouth, does it? In fact, maybe it would be better to hear it from someone I'm close with like my sister or my mom. Because I'm probably going to get upset. I'm not getting upset because I don't think you deserve your dream home or don't want you to have it. It's not personal (most of the time). But my first, second, maybe even third emotion is probably not going to be happiness for you. It's sadness for myself.

Your joy is a reminder that I'm in the process of losing a dream. Your news is a reminder that I am broken. Your granted wish is a reminder of my unanswered prayers.

Please stop telling us your news in person. It hurts us. Not because we don't love you. Because we do and we don't our pain to take away from any part of your joy. So give us a little time. Please. Send us the e-mail or give us a ring. And then give us some time. We really are happy for you. It's just that, for many of us, our dreams are now ashes scattered around our feet.

How do I measure a year?

2008-12-31T22:06:00.007-05:00

I dragged myself to the gym a couple days ago and forced myself to walk on a treadmill. I felt husky as I crawled along at a snail's pace in order to maintain any sense of a reasonable amount of breath, but oh well. At least I was there.

I read for a while as I walked and then flipped through my Ipod for a bit, trying to find a song that would make the time pass more quickly. I settled on one and enjoyed the few minutes until it faded out. And then "Seasons of Love" came on. And out of nowhere, I was totally and completely overwhelmed by what this year has brought me. Like tears streaming down my face while walking to nowhere. Like trying really hard to keep from shifting into "the ugly cry". Luckily I go to this new and oddly trendy gym (in my defense, it's close to my house). In their trendiness, it's really dark in there so I don't think anyone knew I was a wreck. Also and on a complete sidenote, there's loud techno music playing all.the.time.

So why was I crying? Because it suddenly hit me all at once how much has happened in a year. This is the year that the elephant called infertility meandered into my living room with a surprising quietness, settling down next to me until I eventually noticed him. The year when my gyno checked the box "infertility" under reason for visit. The year of Clomid tears. The year when so many people I love got pregnant when I could not and I felt jealousy and even resentment at times. The year of waiting and waiting and checking and checking for my period. The year I was labeled PCOS. The year of the nearly season long cycle. The year I had to let go of the notion of conceiving a child in our bed. The year of often shutting people out. The year of needing my husband's hugs more than ever before. The year of spending a lot of time on my couch. The year that my husband jabbed me with needles repeatedly. The year when nurses jabbed me with needles repeatedly. The year when sometimes people said the completely wrong thing to me about my infertility. The year when some people said just the right thing about my infertility. The year of seeing one pink line. The year of endless doctor's office copays. The year I questioned if I am meant to be a mom. The year of shedding tears of self pity. The year of often feeling like a failure. The year I met so many of my wonderful, infertile sisters who bless my life in ways they don't even know. The year of shedding tears for those infertile sisters' struggles and losses.

But this is also the year my husband and I battled our way through infertility. The year when I saw two pink lines and was so baffled I didn't even celebrate. The year that I got to videotape the moment my husband saw 10 pink lines, 2 for each of the 5 tests all lined up, and did celebrate. The year I had searing hyperstimulation pains that I was sure were a miscarriage. The year the hyperstimulation resulted in 3 weeks of bedrest. The year I struggled to find my niche among other women with my new label of infertile but pregnant. The year I cried tears of joy as many of my infertile sisters climbed over the invisible infertility wall with me. The year I got the bag of samples for the mommies-to-be. The year my body seems to be changing at the speed of light. The year we rushed to the ER when I was bleeding. The year we got the call that there was a problem with our ultrasound. The year that we got the news that we're having a boy. The year that my son is kicking me from me the inside out. The year that my husband got to feel the baby kick. The year that we became a mom and a dad. This is the year we made it to the other side and, honestly, after more than 21 weeks on the other side, it still often does seem real to me.

This was my year...of infertility and so much more. What a year it's been.

I'm halfway there

2008-12-27T20:15:00.005-05:00

140 days to go! Actually, if you want to get really technical, I'm only 19 weeks and 6 days in this shot, but I'm figuring you'll let me slide. I've gotten quite a bit larger since the 17 week pic. And most of that growing happened in the span of one night. One morning shortly after I took the pic, I woke up and realized I had grown overnight. My boobs got bigger, my bump got bigger. It literally happened overnight. It was bizarre.

This is me earlier in the day.....

And this is me later that same night. I grow so much as the day goes on. That's another part of pregnancy that I find so odd. You wake up kinda small and you go to bed quite large and then (except for that one night where I magically grew a lot) you wake up smaller again.

Best Christmas gift ever!

2008-12-26T20:06:00.001-05:00

Joe and I returned from our Level II ultrasound with amazing news! Not only were there no other abnormalities found, but the cyst disappeared! We are very surprised that it's gone but thrilled with the news of a completely normal ultrasound of a healthy baby! Thank you for keeping us in your thoughts and prayers....we appreciate it more than we can ever express in words.

So this is where parenthood starts to get scary

2008-12-25T09:37:00.005-05:00

Early last week, we got a stressful voicemail on my cell phone. It went something like this:

"Hi Jacki. This is Dr. Bumble (the OB). I need you to call me back today about your ultrasound. I will also try to reach you at work, but I know you said it's hard to reach you there. When you get this message, call me back. If I'm not available, I will be sure to leave your file with the nurses."

Sound the alarm! Emergency! Red alert! There's a problem with the ultrasound! I had called the week before to check on my ultrasound report at which point a nurse told me their office hadn't received it yet and they would only call me if something was wrong. She was very emphatic about the fact that they would only pick up the phone if there was a problem. Now, a week later, I had settled comfortably into the idea that there were no problems. And then this stupid message arrives in my voice mailbox.

In a panic, I immediately call the OB's office to receive this message: "Our office is closed for the day. Please call back during our normal office hourse." Are you ready for this? The office had closed 18 minutes ago. Now what? Do I call the on-call doc? No, he won't have my file at home. But what if it's Dr. Bumble on call? She would probably remember what's wrong with the ultrasound. What if someone is still at the office, finishing up paperwork and they could check my file? Hell, the night time janitor can tell me the problem, so long as someone tells me the problem tonight! Waiting until tomorrow is not an option I can fathom.

Thank God for an amazing on-call service. I have to say that I love my OB office. You often wait forever for your appointments, but they are such a wonderful staff and so supportive, especially of their pregnant patients. I big pink puffy heart them. So I call the on-call service. I open with, "I'm sorry if I am blatantly abusing the on-call service but I am freaking out and don't want to wait until morning." I explain the situation and he's so kind. He tells me he will send a message to the office with the hope that someone is still there as well as let the on-call doctor know about the situation to see if there is anything that can be done. We hang up and I wait. And wait. And wait. I guess there is nothing that can be done.

I sit in a chair for a while staring at a wall. I can't spend the entire night like this, thinking the worst when I'm not even exactly sure what the worst could be. I think back to the ultrasound. There was no moment when I saw the ultrasound tech with a traumatized face and she never gasped in horror, at least not in front of me. I take these as good signs. She had admired the great shot she got of the four chambers of his heart. Also good. So what? What could it be?

I'll call Booth Radiology! They did the ultrasound. Maybe someone can check it over and tell me what's wrong. A woman answers, I explain and she pulls up my report. She sees no notes stating that I have to come back, she makes no horrified sounds in response to my report but then states that she can't read me my report over the phone for privacy reasons. I have to come pick it up. Joe and I hop in the car, race to the radiology department and I dash in for the report. I look it over......normal...normal....normal...choroid plexus cyst on his brain....what?

As we drive home, I ponder this development. Oddly, I'm relieved even though I have no idea what a choroid plexus cyst is. Still, an answer, a name, a label is better than none. We head home and I assume my position at the computer as webMD, Google extraordinaire, Dr. Jaguar. The white lab coat and stethoscope casually thrown around my neck make the whole thing much more official.

The first article I click on allays most of my fears. A choroid plexus cyst is a cyst on the baby's brain that usually appears during the second trimester and goes away on its own during the third trimester, causing no harm to the baby. It's like a little visitor, hanging out for a while and then leaving. These cysts are discovered in 1-3% of all pregnancies.

http://www.babyzone.com/pregnancy/health_wellness/prenatal_tests/ultrasound/article/choroid-plexus-cyst

Little visitor...okay, I can deal with that. Granted, you weren't invited so I find you terribly rude, but whatever. However, there is one risk to the baby that increases with the discovery of the cyst: Trisomy 18. My risk for trisomy 18 prior to finding the cyst was 1 in 3,000. Now it is 1 in 300. Still really solid odds in my opinion. 300 marbles in a bag, only 1 labeled Trisomy 18 and I only have to pick one marble from the bag. I'm a mathematical person by nature. Can you tell? The logical part of my brain is fine with this idea. Still, the emotional side is not. I don't want to think about this for our baby. I really preferred the heavier bag with all 3,000 marbles.

So what now? We wait until tomorrow at 3:00 p.m. Tomorrow is the big day when we go to the Perinatology department (yikes!) at the local hospital, the hospital where we plan to deliver our son, for our Level II ultrasound. A perinatologist will do the ultrasound himself and we will hear the results right then. The ultrasound was scheduled a week and a half ago and it's been impossible not to do a lot of thinking during that time. About how one ultrasound can affect a baby's entire life. About how dreams can quickly change from watching your child grow into a healthy adult to just having an opportunity to meet him and hear his little cry, watch his little chest rise and fall. And while I know all of the odds are still immensely in our favor, that one little marble out of 300 scares me in ways I can't ever begin to explain.

And so my Christmas wish is simple: that a cyst is just a cyst, nothing more. If you can spare a prayer, a positive thought or some good juju, we could use it tomorrow and would greatly appreciate it.

Kiss of the bumblebee

2008-12-18T18:44:00.000-05:00

I can't believe I never posted about this. I really have been so awful about blogging, it's not even funny. And have you noticed how I cheat with the dates? Because I don't want my blog to look like I post five things in one day (which is what I'm doing right now), so I tweak the dates. Tweak is a nice way to say I lie. I backdate the posts so I look like a much more diligent blogger than I really am, at least lately anyway.

Waaaaaaay back on Halloween, I spent the day trying to crush children's extreme levels of hyperactivity. My co-teacher, unbless her heart, decided to call out on one of the most stressful days to be a teacher to attend the parade celebrating the Phillies World Series win. This left me, with 27 students, attempting to teach on the day when, really, I'm just hoping the students don't burn the building down. I prayed to God several times that day to just get me past lunch time.

Here's the thing about Halloween: as stressful and exhausting as it is, it is one of my favorite days of the year, a day that I most love being a teacher. Why? Because of the Halloween parade. Because at 2:10, my students return from lunch, grab their costumes and dash to get changed. Two classes worth of girls cram into one classroom, the boys head to another and the madness begins. Some girls aren't bashful at all and in their excitement yank their outfits off and climb into their costumes. Others sheepishly hide themselves behind closet doors while I hold a coat up to block the view after swearing up and down that I won't look. There are feathers, wigs, makeup, stockings and 8 billion things that need to be tied. And the cameras. Someone is always taking a picture of someone who's all ready to go while a half-dressed 10 year old shouts that she had better not be in that shot!

From there, we head out for the parade. It never fails that I become teary eyed as I watch them walk the giant loop on display for all the parents with their cameras and camcorders lined up like paparazzi. Everyone is having so much fun, myself included. And for that little bit, they're not my students, they're just my kids. No schoolwork to do. No tests to prepare for. I love this day and wouldn't trade it for anything.

This year, I realized that a costume presented an interesting challenge. I had a very small collection of maternity wear and couldn't fit into most other stuff. What would I be? I'm one of a handful of teachers who dress up for Halloween and I was not planning on skipping it this year. So I settled on a black maternity shirt and black maternity pants. Now what? Hmmm.....I would be a road! The black would be the asphalt, masking tape would be the painted lines of the road (hence the Dollar Store theft incident) and I could use stickers for the rest. I found fire engines, construction vehicles, cars, trains, traffic signs, even little orange cones. I set to work with the road beginning at the neckline of my shirt and running all the way down to my feet. The stickers were attached. There was a full blown construction site (my husband even thought to "knock" over one of the orange cones because they're never all standing upright) and train tracks crossing over with the barrier coming down across the road. For a maternity costume, it wasn't too shabby.

Teachers with small children often bring in their own kids to walk in the parade with their class. Enter Anna, our 5th grade math teacher's kindergartener. She is adorable on a regular day, but as a bumblebee, her cuteness is unparalleled. I've only met her once or twice before and it was never for any really length of time, just a quick hello. As I leaned down to admire her costume and tell her how much I liked it, she reached for my belly and asked how the baby was. At only 13 weeks, she was one of the first to really touch my belly and acknowledge the baby in there. We chatted for a minute about how I didn't know if it was a boy or a girl and that, when I found out, I'd let her know. The whole time, she gently pet my belly, staring intently at it as though she might be able to see the baby if she looked hard enough. Then we had to separate to get to the parade.

At the very end of the day, I was walking down the hall, completely exhausted. Thanking God for a great day. Thanking God that I survived it. Thanking God for the weekend to recover from it. And who should turn the corner, but Anna the Bumblebee. Her mom and I said hello, wished each other a good weekend and continued on our paths.

Anna, however? She paused, walked over to me, ever so gently kissed my belly, looked intently up into my eyes and then rushed to catch up with her mommy. Me? I happily cried my eyes out.

Finally a belly pic

2008-12-15T18:32:00.001-05:00

I know, I've been horrible with posting pictures of my expanding waistline. In my defense, I had some from 12 weeks on saved on my camera and somehow, when Joe downloaded a bunch of the pics to the computer, several didn't make it including all of the belly pics. I'm disappointed because it had my Halloween picture as well as the first day I was wearing both a maternity shirt and maternity pants, but I'm slowly picking up the pieces and moving on.

So here you go, me at 17 weeks sans makeup and hair products, but whatever. I never promised either of those.

Repent!

2008-12-13T18:10:00.001-05:00

I tried to pay the Dollar Tree back the $1.07 I owe them for the masking tape I stole in my morning sickness, sleep deprived hysteria. The cashier's response?

"I don't care if you owe the store a dollar!"

Okay then. So, in an effort to make things right with the universe, I will donate a couple extra bucks when the next charitable opportunity presents itself.

Can you hear me, universe? I'm trying to right my wrong!

A bad day gone good

2008-12-11T12:43:00.003-05:00

Two Saturdays ago, at 16 weeks pregnant, I started bleeding again. I went to the bathroom and when I wiped, there it was: bright, red blood and a lot of it. What scared me the most was that there were bits of something in it which I was terrified were some kind of tissue from the baby or something the baby needed. Two more wipes worth of a fair amount of blood and it's safe to say that I was completely freaking out.

I called the on-call doctor and waited for the call back, trying to settle myself enough to be able to speak coherently when he returned my call. A few minutes later when my phone rang, I was able to talk normally though in what I'm sure was an extremely stressed out tone. The doctor told me I had to go to the ER so they could be sure I wasn't dilated. Yeah, dilated. That's the part where I freaked out again sobbing.

I grabbed my husband from the yard and quick got dressed and headed to the ER. Did I mention that this was the day we were also supposed to be celebrating Thanksgiving with my family? Yeah, that would have to wait. Instead, we spent five hours at the ER. It would have been much longer but a wonderful triage nurse (who also happened to struggle with infertility) got us back into a bed. After the ups and downs of hearing various test results, the answer was that our son was fine. That's right, our son! The ultrasound tech asked if I wanted to know but I wouldn't let her tell me because Joe wasn't allowed to go into the ultrasound with me. Instead, she whispered it to the nurse who arrived to bring me back to my room so that Joe and I could hear the news together.

I left that emergency room exhausted from the stress of the day and all cried out, but grateful for the knowledge that we had our healthy, baby boy. Happy Thanksgiving to us...as for the bleeding, the ER docs had no idea what was up with that and were just glad that it stopped.

I just found this!

2008-12-07T19:07:00.002-05:00

I competely forgot that we took this picture. This is Joe and I at our IUI...the day the baby was conceived! I had to lay there for 10 minutes afterwards so Joe and I were in the room by ourselves taking pictures and laughing our heads off because our camera was so loud in the quiet office. We were sure the office staff could hear us through the door and were wondering what kind of pornographic things we were doing with a camera when I wasn't wearing any pants. I'm so happy to have this picture...what a gift that only infertility could give me.

All I want for Christmas.....

2008-12-05T19:03:00.000-05:00

is a commode so I won't have to walk so far to pee in the middle of the night. Do you think Santa would bring me one? I'm even willing to go sit on his lap in the mall and ask for it oh so politely if it means there is even a remote possibility that I will find one by my tree on Christmas day.

Pregnancy should require a passport...

2008-11-28T19:37:00.005-05:00

because it's all so foreign. I don't even recognize myself. I thought I'd be so excited to see my body change when I got pregnant, but really, it's just weird. Don't get me wrong, it's amazing, but it's also really, really weird. People didn't tell me most of this stuff ahead of time. I think I may know why...a lot of it is a little gross. I'll try to leave out the grossest stuff as a courtesy to those of you who know me in real life. I don't want to supply you with visuals next time you see me.

Here are my observations (not complaints, just interesting observations that warrant recognition):

~I'll start with my breasts. They're not mine. They're someone else's that happen to currently be attached to my body. Here's the thing: they're the wrong size now. I've had the same breasts for many years and these aren't it. They're weird and large and well, foreign. And as time has marched on, they've gotten even stranger. My breasts look just like the inside of my wrists. I can see the blue of my veins on them. Not hot.

~My belly amazes me, intrigues me and baffles me. I look forward to seeing it each time I pass by a mirror and yet it still surprises me every time. That strange bump is mine. It's the darnedest thing.

~One more thing about my belly. It now has a fine layer of hair over it (normal, thank goodness). I'm a really fair skinned girl with really dark hair. I'm sure others wouldn't even notice it, but I'm really self-conscious about body hair. It makes me feel a little wookie-ish.

~There are a lot of strange things happening down there. Just a lot more...activity. Spotting and other stuff. And I'll leave it at that.

~I'm out of breath a lot. Yet I'm only 16 weeks. I read up on this and it's because the increased hormone levels relax my systems, including my respiratory system. It's amazing to me how every little thing is connected to the pregnancy. I still can't fully wrap my head around that. I didn't think I'd be out of breath until I'm much closer to the end when the baby would be squishing the rest of me.

~This week, the baby is developing pads on his or her fingertips! Holy cow! That amazes me. The baby is still so small but is developing fingerprints.

~I pee.all.the.time. It's a phenomena. Some nights, I wake up three times to pee (those are not my best nights). So much pee.

~Out of nowhere, I will become completely famished. Like violently hungry. My pregnancy hormones have not been too bad (I think Joe would agree), but when I get overly hungry, look out. I'm an instant lunatic.

~Happy things make me cry very easily. "Do you hear what I hear?" is my most favorite Christmas carol and now I cry when it comes on the radio. Why? Because I love Christmas and I love this song. It's ridiculous. I find myself laughing aloud through my tears because I realize how silly it is that I'm crying yet again from the same song. I am yet to hear the song about the Christmas shoes (do you know which one I mean?). I'm sure I'll be a sobbing wreck for that.

~I recently learned about the mucous plug. Enough said.

There are more pregnancy oddities I could speak about, but I'll leave it at that for now. I've got 24 more weeks of strange things happening....I'll keep you posted.

::whispering because I don't want it to hear me::

2008-11-22T12:05:00.002-05:00

but I think it's safe to say (knock wood) that my morning sickness is over. Please let me be right. It really has been a while since I've felt nauseous for no reason (besides pregnancy). Don't get me wrong, I still feel awful if I go more than three hours between snacks, but I think (and hope and pray) that the official morning sickness is done. I am now hungrier than ever. I go from a normal, pleasant human to a raving, cranky lunatic within 5 minutes if I don't eat at a reasonable time and reasonable is sometimes completely arbitrary. In my crankiness, I have no time to wait for food to be prepared (NO TIME!..THERE'S NEVER ANY TIME!!), I just want food to magically appear on its own.

P.S. If you picked up on the no time reference, you're my favorite.

WARNING: Pregnancy can impair judgement

2008-11-07T11:04:00.003-05:00

I stole from the dollar store. It's true, I did it. And now, a week or so later, I'm still not even sorry. Oddly, I feel justified...even though I know I owe the Dollar Tree $1.07.

Preface: I'm your typical upstanding citizen. I'm friendly to customer service people, I blatantly pick up litter in front of the people who intentionally dropped it while giving them the I-hate-you face, I return items to the proper shelf when I find them on a store's floor. All around, I'm a decent person.

So, on the day before Halloween, I threw my upstanding citizenship out the Dollar Tree door and into the cool, autumn air when I stole a roll of masking tape. Here's how it all began....

I've been struggling with insomnia as a lovely side effect of my pregnancy for the past 13 weeks. It's not fun at all. I've been unable to nap during the week and randomly wake up at night for hours at a time. There's generally no real catching up on the sleep that I miss out on. On that particular Thursday morning, I woke up at 3:30 a.m. and was up for the rest of the day. By 9:00 a.m., while sitting at my desk waiting for my students to arrive to start the day, I burst into tears of exhaustion while my co-teacher looked on baffled. I just couldn't even process the idea of twenty seven students that day, let alone the next day, the beloved yet dreaded by school teachers everywhere, Halloween.

My day carried on with me mostly in an exhausted stupor. The kids eventually went home, I left as well and headed to the glass store to get new panes for two of the windows in my house. I stumbled through that process and got back in the car to go buy stickers for my Halloween costume for the next day's parade at which point a slew of obscenities flew out of my mouth. I had forgotten the masking tape and mailing labels at work that I needed for my costume. Now, I would not only have to buy stickers, but the masking tape and labels as well. Damnit.

I went to Staples first. Masking tape was only available in a 4-pack for $8!!? No. I'm not paying that much for something sitting in my desk drawer at work. While in Staples, I called Joe who quickly found mailing labels to bring home from his office. Unfortunately, his office does not use masking tape. Odd, no? Staples also did not have the stickers I needed but I wasn't really expecting them to. Right around this point is when I start realizing that I have to eat. I'm starting to feel a bit nauseous. Damn having to eat every three hours.

Next stop, Dollar Tree. As I walk in, I'm stunned by the week-before-Christmas-length line. And the Christmas items on display and the many people who are actually purchasing them. What the hell? I've fast forwarded to December 20th. Maybe the line will be down by the time I have to pay. I find my roll of masking tape but no stickers, which means I still have to drive to the craft store two towns over. Damnit.

Done shopping, I head up to the front of the store only to find that the line is still just as long as when I arrived. I cannot bear the idea of standing in that line. It is so long, I am so tired and I feel like crap. I stall, thinking that if I wander the store for a couple minutes the line will go down. Doesn't work.

And then it hits me.

I have to steal the tape.

I have no other even slightly reasonable options. I need the tape for my costume. I would like to throw up. My eyes are half closed. The line is not even a choice to me right then. I am going to steal the tape.

Right at this moment, my phone rings. I pick up and it's one of my good friends.

"Hey, Jacki! What are you doing?"

I throw the tape in my bag and head out the door.

"Stealing a roll of tape from the dollar store," I whisper into the phone. The sound of her dying laughing on the other end of the line makes me erupt into giggles. And I begin telling her the story of why, even though I have money sitting in my purse, it was completely and totally reasonable that I took the tape.

Easy Silence

2008-10-19T20:56:00.004-04:00

I've entered into this odd, almost Zen-like stage of queasy, sleepy quietness. Simply put, I don't have much to say. I've witnessed this with many other infertiles' blogs. In the depths of my own infertility, I couldn't imagine having nothing to say. I was astounded that these women could lapse into silence. How am I no longer privy to their innermost thoughts, especially at a time when I want to share in their joy? Embrace their celebrations?

And yet, here I am...or not, essentially. It seems I've got nothing but crickets in my blog lately.

I've spend a lot of time analyzing this. Why so quiet, Jacki Jaguar? I haven't really pinpointed any solid answer yet, but I have a few ideas bouncing around.

1) I'm pretty damn tired. Once I'm done work, I'm generally useless for the rest of the day.

2) My thoughts are so disjointed lately. In my infertility, I recognized so many poignant moments, snapshots that captured my thoughts and feelings perfectly. Something would happen and right in the thick of the moment, my main thought would be: I have to write about this. But now, now things are different. I'm still working on wrapping my head around this pregnancy, still processing that I've crossed this enormous hurdle in my life. It's like I can't get my own thoughts together even in my head, let along type out anything remotely cohesive.

And so, I guess I'm asking you to bear with me. I'll be back with something funny or heartwarming or just plain sad at some point, but that point just isn't right now.

Here's some other quick follow up stuff:

~ I didn't keep the dog who went to crappy counselor therapy with me. I found Brownie's owners and he was happily reunited with them later that same day.

~ I did not go back to crappy Beverly for more crappy counseling and I did speak with the intake counselor about the fact that Beverly is not your go-to girl for all things infertile, or anything infertile for that matter. Beverly will however always have a small but special place in my heart as a fellow dog lover.

~ Sadly, my co-teacher's IVF was not successful. And so now, we're gradually making our way through dealing with my pregnancy, in some ways together and in some ways on our own.

Last but not least, this week is INFERTILITY AWARENESS WEEK (October 19-25). Spread the word, you just may change someone's world for the better.

Late but still sobbing

2008-10-09T17:24:00.002-04:00

I heard this song on the radio a few weeks ago and I feel like it's speaking directly to me about my infertility. Every time I hear it, it brings me right back to where I was ten weeks ago, not yet pregnant and feeling so lost. I can't listen to this song without tears.

Broken by Lifehouse
The Broken clock is a comfort
It helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow
From stealing all my time

And I am here still waiting
Though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best
Like you've already figured out

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain, there is healing
In your name, I find meaning
So I'm holding on, I'm barely holding on to you

The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded
I'm an open book instead

And I still see your reflection
Inside of my eyes
That are looking for purpose
They're still looking for life

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain, is there healing
In your name, I find meaning
So I'm holding on, I'm barely holding on to you

I'm hanging on another day
Just to see what, you will throw my way
And I'm hanging on, to the words you say
You said that I will, will be okay

The broken light on the freeway
Left me here alone
I may have lost my way now
But I haven't forgotten my way home

I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain , there is healing
In your name, I find meaning
So I'm holding on, barely holding on to you

I think of a million different things when I hear it. The barely holding on to your day to day life, like how some days you're just going through the motions. And the idea that you feel like this huge part of you has died but you're still here, walking and talking like everything is fine. But also about how we hurt and heal and hurt again. We do gain things along our journey; strength, endurance, empathy. We change, hopefully for the better in the end.

And we wonder, where's God in this whole thing? Is He around and what's He doing? Is this part of His plan or is just He riding this out with us, His arm around our shoulders? And in our darkest moments, many of us wonder where He is at all.

I know this song is talking about holding on to our faith, but I also think of us holding on to our spouses. Our marriages face such huge challenges through infertility. We jump hurdles over and over, only to face more. And sometimes, we're barely holding on to each other because we're so consumed in our own grief.

And so, I guess this post is for my infertile sisters, especially my 6+ nesties. I love you, guys and you're never far from my thoughts.

The leaf turns

2008-10-04T08:51:00.004-04:00

and I finally begin to truly let her in. The spotting has stopped. My fear piece of pregnancy seems to have settled down. I still have a wave of 'what if' panic on the way to an ultrasound but I'm pretty sure that's normal. I'm starting to look forward.

I'm in the eighth week of my pregnancy and the super news is that I'm back to work! I went back on Monday on limited activity...sitting as much as possible, no lifting or twisting. This coming week, I won't officially be on limited activity but still have to try to take it easy for one more week. My right ovary at last check was still ten centimeters but the RE seems to feel I've turned the corner. He kicked me out! I'm officially an obstetrician only girl.

Work this week was...a whole new definition of exhausting. A friend was asking me what it's like and I responded that it feels like I'm coming down with something all the time. Like you will probably have to call out of work the next day, but you won't because you're pregnant, not sick. From the moment the alarm goes off, I'm beat. When my mom and I were discussing this, she reassured me that it will only be like this for another month or so. That concept is too overwhelming. At this point I try not to look past tomorrow when I think about work. Still, it's so great to not be stuck on my recliner anymore. It was a crazy, hectic, busy week, but I'm so grateful to be back at work.

My morning sickness seems a bit better now that I'm back on my feet. I definitely have to eat every couple hours and it's worse at night, but smells are no longer bothering me all day long and I'm not having as many food aversions. I think being busy helps because I'm not just laying here thinking about how I feel nauseaus. Currently, my body is not so impressed with the idea of sleeping though it craves it more than anything. You know when you're tired but not sleepy? That's me. I try to nap after work and stare at the ceiling. I go to bed early but remain awake. I randomly wake up in the middle of the night for an hour or two at a time. Good times.

You know what is funny about pregnancy? Everything makes me cry. Things that fertile women do without a second thought leaves me sobbing. At my first OB appointment, the nurse brought me this big baby-decorated bag filled with samples and pamphlets. My response? Crying. Why? Because I get a bag. Not every other women in the office while I leave with some sh!t pamphlet on PCOS or alcohol swabs for my injections. I get the bag. These moments are milestones for me where other women don't even recognize the significance. And you know what? Those moments make me appreciate where I've come from. The long journey makes you so grateful for where you are.

Remember to breathe

2008-09-25T11:56:00.002-04:00

I will be seven weeks pregnant tomorrow. I've seen the heartbeat, heard the heartbeat and had my first OB appointment. So when will I let myself begin to feel, celebrate and embrace this pregnancy?

The truth is, I've been terrified to acknowledge this baby. Even typing "this baby" feels uncomfortable to me. Because I'm...scared. Of getting to know and love this baby and then lose her. Yeah, I've been calling it her the last few days.

Last week, my husband was leaning over me as I lay in the recliner (like always). He kissed me and then lifted my shirt a bit, kissed my belly and said hello to the baby. And you know what my first reaction was? To tense up. How f*cked up is that? Because I'm so scared of losing her that I don't want to get too comfortable with her. I don't want to let her in and then have her be gone one day. My beautiful child, my dream, slipping right through my fingers.

People have been asking me all the time, "Are you so excited?" And I say yes, but in my head my response is no. Not yet. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like this pregnancy is too good to be true. Like I've spent so much time and energy in my infertile shoes that I'm scared that they truly are the pair I'm meant to walk through life in.

I've spotted five times in the last couple weeks. Two more if you include the fact that my cervix is bleeding from my OB appointment. The doctor tells me everything looks fine but the bleeding certainly doesn't help me embrace hope or excitement.

But...

I'm beginning to let her in, a bit, here and there. Sometimes, I immediately kick her right back out, but at least I'm peeking out the door through the crack rather than barricading myself behind it.

Fast forward

2008-09-19T16:02:00.004-04:00

The day that started off with a faint line ended with four more very distinct positive pregnancy tests, two dollar store and two digitals. Honestly, I still didn't know if I should celebrate because I felt like I needed a doctor to tell me it was real. But I did feel it was time to tell Mr. Jaguar. Initially, I debated waiting until I was certain but I didn't want to leave him out of a day like today.

I had to stop at three different Hallmark stores in search of my treasure. I hadn't purchased it before because, well, I didn't want to jinx myself. At that point, I only had the three positive dollar store tests and it hit me that I wasn't sure if the husband knew that two lines means pregnant, so I grabbed a three pack of digitals on my route. I raced to beat my husband home and get everything situated.

Mr. Jaguar arrived home right on schedule. I was ready with the camera behind my back set to record video. Now I just wait, right? He'll head into the bathroom at some point. Nope. I continued waiting. We made small talk. Nothing. Finally, I blurted out, "I think the toilet's leaking." That'll get him to the bathroom stat, right? Wrong! He still hemmed and hawwed, browsing through the mail.

"I don't know. Maybe it's not the toilet. I can't tell where the water is coming from but it's definitely coming from somewhere." Still nothing.

Finally, he headed for the toilet to investigate. Breezed right past the bathroom counter without noticing my little display.

"I don't see any water. Where's it coming from?"

"I think it's behind you." At this point, he noticed the counter and the camera in my hand simultaneously. He started laughing, I started laughing and he leaned in to investigate. Five positive tests all lined up with the pregnant Willow Tree figurine standing watch over them.

It was a great moment. I'm thrilled that I have it on video.

Fast forward to Friday. My abdomen had been having small, crampy pains all week, like little pulls and pinches. By the end of the week, it was significant enough to call the doctor's office and check in. At the point of our IUI, my one ovary had been enlarged but I wasn't officially labeled as having ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome. I'd been close, but not official. The doctor had informed me that, if I did in fact get pregnant this cycle, my ovaries were going to get worse before they got better. So on Friday when the pain was a bit worse, the doctor fit me in on my lunch break and labeled me "a little hyperstimulated". My ovary had increased in size but things weren't in any kind of danger zone yet. The doctor told me to do a weekend of bed rest, measure how much I drink and pee and no lifting. After that, return to work but take it easy. Try to sit as much as possible, limit crouching and bending, relax when I get home. Okee dokee. I'm on it.

After a weekend of rest, I returned to work, carefully navigating my way through my job and students and taking it as easy as possible. I made it through Wednesday.

Thursday morning, I woke up at 4:50 to pee. As I headed back to my bedroom, I had a searing pain through my abdomen. I can't even explain how much it hurt. It didn't drop me to the ground but it left me holding myself up in the doorway trying to breathe through the pain. After about thirty seconds, the pain hadn't really lessened up much but I knew I couldn't stay there. I gingerly made my way to the bed. The RE had told me sharp pains are normal if they're quick, but if a pain lasts more than twenty minutes to call. Let the clock watching begin. I woke Mr. Jaguar. I was so scared it was a miscarriage. I couldn't imagine that a pain this awful could be no big deal. I started to cry but my diaphragm catching made the pain so much worse and I had to force the tears to stop.

At the twenty minute mark (5:11), I called the on call service and left a message. At 5:30, the doc called me back. I explained everything. What do I do? My options were to go to the emergency room now or to take some Tylenol and wait the hour and a half until the office opens. I would probably be seen quicker in the RE's office and could wait this out in my bed rather than an uncomfortable, waiting room chair. I chose my bed.

After an hour, I actually managed to doze off for a bit. Mr. Jaguar woke me and I struggled into clothes and made my way downstairs. I looked like hell. No two ways about it. At the doctor's office, the nurse brought me back fairly quickly. I waited for the doctor.

Here are the words you don't want to hear at the beginning of your ultrasound: "Let's try to figure out what we're looking at here."

Ummm....what??!! My insides are unrecognizable??!! After a moment, the doc realized that one of my ovaries was filling the entire screen. We thought it was the left one being as it was on the left side. But guess what? It was the right one on the left side and the left one had pushed itself over to the right side. They had opted to trade places and check out one another's living quarters. Both of my ovaries were measuring around nine centimeters and I had a small pocket of fluid that had collected in my uterus. How does the fluid get there? It actually oozes out of your ovaries because they are so full.

And it was official. I was to be on bedrest for the remainder of the week and two full weeks after that. My response: sobbing hysterically. All of my sick days shot in the first month of school. How would I go to OB appointments? What if I get sick? What if there are any other problems with this pregnancy? Sob....sob....sob.

I had to stay for a few minutes to get my betas done and make this pregnancy official. I waited in a chair near the waiting room, continuing to sob. The doctor noticed that I was still a wreck and I was moved to the conference room where I would "be more comfortable".

"You mean because I'm sobbing?" I asked.

The nurse looked at me with a sympathetic smile and quietly responded, "Yes."

That part was actually pretty funny.

I've been tackled

2008-09-18T22:19:00.002-04:00

So I've been triple-tagged by Mats, Nikki and and Mrs. Blondies. I'm flattered. I love love love being tagged.

The Rules:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.

2. Post the rules on your blog.

3. Write 6 random things about yourself.

4. Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them.

5. Let each person you have tagged know by leaving a comment on their blog.

6. Let the tagger know when your entry is posted.

My Randomness:

1. I can't sit near people if they're eating cottage cheese. I can't look at it, I can't watch others look at it, I just can't be near it. It makes me think about vomit.

2. I have this thing about symmetry. If I scratch one leg, I have to scratch the other to keep things "balanced". It's the same thing for the rest of my limbs, face, etc.

3. I'm constantly calculating numbers. It's a freakish habit that I've had for as long as I can remember. If a commercial is on and it posts a phone number on the screen, I add the digits, or multiply them, or combine them to make multi-digit numbers and then add those new numbers, or turn them into fractions to multiply together. Mr. Jaguar teases me because, occasionally, when we're watching TV, he'll catch me calculating in my head or I'll suddenly say "174" and he'll realize what I'm doing.

4. I can talk about candy for, like, hours. I can analyze the flavors and textures of various candies. Weigh the pros and cons of a particular sweet treat. Compare and contrast different candies. Also, Tangy Twister Mike & Ikes changed my life.

5. I think the Beatles are just okay. I try not to even say it aloud that often because people generally get all riled up about it, but really, I'm not that into the hype.

6. This one morning, I woke up and there was a tiny dead spider in my mouth. Swear to God. It was grosser than gross. I went to work, but looking back, I really think I should've called out sick for that. Eating a dead spider can't possibly be the start of an even remotely good day.

And so now I get to tag a few folks. I choose Sweet Spikette, Maya, Jackiemac, Allison, Lari, Chrys and Maye. Hope to hear from you, gals.