XBoy “took a tumble” (his words) Wednesday at school down the church steps (outside). He said he tripped, fell on his head and then flipped over. He had a knot on his forehead and a scraped up knee. No blood. He said the grown-ups and his classmates came to his aid.

He’s fine.

However, do you think that this incident qualifies for a formal notification to the parents, via either a note, email, phone call, etc., or not?

I ask because we did not know about this until we noticed his knee during his bath that night. I did see he had a red mark on his forehead when I had picked him up at five but didn’t think much of it as he has a tendency to bump into things (I think I’ve mentioned before his large head which tends to screw with his center of balance).

I am wondering if I should have expected a note about it or if I’m just being an overprotective Mom. If you wouldn’t expect a note for this example, what kind of injury would you expect to receive notice for, whether it’s daycare or school?

no. 609 – Rorschach Test

Got the message loud and clear: I’m boring the shit out of you. I can appreciate that after two and half years of "something" going on, my writing about Nothing is sending you off to greener pastures and acute narcolepsy.

So fine, I’ll talk about the pregnancy by answering your unanswered questions:

Have you picked out any baby names? I have one name for one sex and I guarantee everyone will most likely hate it. I’m so confident in that, I haven’t even told Mr. DD but it’s one of my maternal grandparent’s name who died when my Mom was only three.

What are the colors in the "nursery"? It is still the spare bedroom and will be for sometime as we will probably just put the baby in a drawer or laundry basket in our room until s/he outgrows it. When s/he get evicted from there, the room will be yellow – which is its current color.

Have you told anyone else? I haven’t, but Mr. Big Mouth did. Sunday after we told his parents he spent the day sending pictures of ultrasounds and texting his siblings and nieces and nephews. I was livid since my mother doesn’t get back until next week from Jordan so no one on my side of the family knows yet.

Are you still not going to find out the sex? I would like to, but Mr. BM (well that’s fitting) remains fixed in his opinion. No, I’m sure I couldn’t find out and not give it away. Could you?

Tuesday is the anatomy scan. We will record a bit of it on tape to show XBoy. I thought about bringing him, but if Murdock ends up being a lizard instead of a normal looking baby, I’m going to be in no mood to explain why at that moment.

Last question: What’s been the grossest thing about pregnancy?

Sweat-stained knickers.

Kinda looked like a butterfly.

no. 608 – The Goodyear Blimp, It Is Not

Every Monday, XBoy’s class gets to go to the library at school and pick out a book for the week. Books have been integral to our routine over the years, but I have to admit that since he started Kindergarten and the proceedings to emancipate himself from Mom and Dad, the nightly readings of three books have turned into a mighty fuss and roar about whether or not he needs to wear pajamas, brush his teeth and straighten his room all followed by him passing out in an exhausted heap.

He’s already brought home two versions of the Bible, elementary style. He liked the illustrations.

And then Stiletto mentioned something about one of the books The Boy brought home from school and it reminded me of one of XBoy’s recent acquisitions:

Hindenburg Ummmm, call me a little overprotective of my sweet, darling baby boy, but is this the kind of book a librarian should steer an impressionable six year old towards?

It’s got pictures of severely burned passengers in it.

It’s got pictures of the cloth covered bodies in it.

Actually, I don’t know if he knew that or not as he never opened it while it was in our house, but I did sit down and read most of it myself (too bad about that whole helium vs. hydrogen business because it really does sound like a nice way to travel).

The week before it was a book about the different kinds of lightning there are. That one I ended up reading cover to cover for him, but only because it had really large font and the words were on one page and really cool pictures were on the opposite. Go ahead – quiz me about lightning. For that matter, go ahead and quiz me about the Hindenburg. I wonder if I can get him to bring home a pregnancy book…

By the way, does anyone else see the irony in the instructional books for teaching your child how to read "phonetically"?

no. 607 – Adrienne & Shelli

I really don’t know what to say. Oro pointed me in the direction of this fairly new blog, written by Adrienne who discovered that she lost her baby girl, Claire, around her 36th week. I don’t know if the author will be back, but as Oro pointed out, it’d be nice if she saw the support this community can offer at such a sad time.

Also, Shelli had her second ultrasound and her baby’s heart had stopped beating sometime after her 6w+ scan last week and today. Shelli, I am so very and truly sorry.

no. 606 – You Guys Are So Smart!

Ask me about reproduction and I can give you all the clinical babble of ovulation, corpus luteum, luteal phase, progesterone, hCG, etc., etc.

Now ask me about pregnancy.




Yep, that’s uncharacteristic silence on my end.

It matters not that I’ve had a term pregnancy before. I just followed along in the book from month to month about what is expected. The book found it’s way to the trash a couple years ago and out of superstition, I just cannot get another.

That’s why after your comments about anterior placentas, I googled my brains out. It makes sense now to me. Plus I know that kind of information probably isn’t in any book, especially one rendered in watercolor with a very pregnant woman in a nightdress rubbing her abdomen absently with a quilt illustrated background *gah!*.

By the way, do you all know what anterior placenta means? It means that if you had x-ray vision and was able to view my gelatin-like abdomen, the placenta is between you and Murdock. In most cases, the placenta is behind the baby, attached to the uterus like a bean bag between the spine and baby.

Now I have no idea if that’s what I have, but I’m clinging to that thought for the next six days. My anatomy scan is next Tuesday. I’ll find out then if my placenta is indeed anterior and if Murdock is developing normally or if s/he is possibly going to end up like this "baby". Download walmart.wmv

no. 605 – Letting the Cat Out

There’s so much more now on the line. We told XBoy about Murdock, and as most of you guessed he responded excitedly. Thankfully, there were no technical questions we had to answer just an affirmation that yes, I will get fatter. I let him listen to the heartbeat with the doppler and even used it on him.

I wasn’t sure if he would dwell on it, and thankfully he hasn’t. Every once in a while he’ll ask baby-specific questions: "Did you keep my baby stuff?" "Can the baby sleep in my room?" "Can we take the baby to the beach this year?", but I’m actually grateful that he doesn’t constantly go on. One person in the household obsessing about it was enough.

That was Wednesday. Then Saturday night, out with Mr. DD’s parents, XBoy told his grandparents. They were uncharacteristically happy about the news. I say "uncharacteristically" because they are very stoic people. My MIL was glad to hear that "we finally got one to stick."

But now I’m even more paranoid that something will go bad. I’m glad we told XBoy about the doppler so I can go use it without having to sneak away. It doesn’t help that I still haven’t felt any movement at 18 1/2 weeks, even though it’s not uncommon for women to feel movement earlier in subsequent pregnancies. I can’t even say I’ve thought I’ve felt movement.

That and my perception that physically I’ve had little change leads me to joke outwardly with the few friends that know that I’m going to give birth to a child with tyrannosaurus rex limbs which are ineffectively punching at my uterus. I try to use logic when I’m out of jokes that it’s all about fetal placement; or maybe I had nerve damage from my c-section and can’t feel the movement.

It’s what these past few years have been full of: outward jokes to deflect the standard platitudes and inward bargaining and reasoning, both used to keep me as sane as possible. It’s exhausting and I can’t plan any further ahead than tomorrow. It’s "funny" how with each milestone I think I can relax, and so far I haven’t reached any one particular milestone that I have really felt that my guard can come down. I sincerely doubt I will.

Hairy Scary

I got a haircut last weekend and I don’t know what the hell happened to me. When she said she was going to cut in some layers, I must of mm-mmm’ed, distracted by People magazine’s attempt at journalism.

How could I forget when my hair reaches a certain (short) length, it begins to show just the tiniest of wave? Of course I didn’t notice at the time because my hairdresser dried my hair using a $100 boar’s hairbrush the size of a soda can. It wasn’t until I washed it the first time and looked in the mirror with my damp hair.


So no more Katie Holmes hairdo. I now have what could be this commercial┬ámodel’s hairstyle after I spend too damn long with a hot curling iron and some hairspray, something I didn’t have to do before. By the way, I’m talking about the model with two legs, not four.

Would you believe I have proof! I tried to take some flattering pictures of me, but three things thwarted my attempt:

  1. I’m using a camera phone;
  2. In the bathroom with bad lighting;
  3. And I’m the least photogenic person in the world (and I feel weird smiling at myself).


no. 604 – I Ain’t Bambi’s Bitch

Day 1

Him: DD! Come here and look at that! There’s deer in the back yard!

Me: Oh my god! That’s so cool! Get the camera!

Day 2

Him: DD! Come here and look at that! There’s deer in the back yard again!

Me: Oh my god! That’s so cool!

Day 3

Him: DD! Come here and look at that! There’s deer in the back yard again!

Me: Oh. My. Gawd.

2253850276_d77c1c449c (picture from my bathroom window) It really is pretty amazing to look out your bedroom window and see a dozen deer either grazing on the prairie grass of the backyard or still bedded down from the night before. But I have to admit, the novelty is wearing off. I mean, c’mon! Every night when I drive home, we’ll see six, twelve, twenty and even the other day, a herd of thirty strong grazing in the nearby field or crossing the road. Eventually the animal you thought was a beautiful epitome of forest and prairie wildlife suddenly morphs into Bambi’s evil twin brother who was sent to military school when he decided to rearrange his juvenile spots to say "fuck you".

I’ve seen them rutting, enjoying the voyeurism. I watched one the other morning take a dump in our front yard. Did you know they squat down like a dog? It’s not so cute anymore, trust me.

2253850438_61e9ea79cd (picture taken a half mile down the road) There have been some awesome sights out here from the comfort of our own home. That I cannot deny. A pair of bald eagles fed on some carrion in the corn field down the road. The other morning, I very large wild turkey meandered down our lane to cross into the trees on the other side of the road (don’t both with "why did the turkey cross the road" jokes, mmkay?). While it’s not unusual to hear coyotes out here, I saw one prowling the field. Mr. DD’s big fear is the humongous hole, which is probably home to a badger, dug directly into the roots of the mulberry tree on our property’s border.

But the deer have got to go. They will destroy my gardens (if I ever finish landscaping). They spread lyme disease through deer ticks, and even though there aren’t many trees yet where we are, remember XBoy did pick up a tick last year. And when it comes to deer vs. car? While the deer usually loses, having your car towed in with the perfect imprint of a deer across your hood to the nearest auto body shop sucks.

Good thing it’s not illegal to discharge a weapon outside city limits.*


* Now, while I’m certainly no PETA sympathizer, I don’t think I could shoot and kill Bambi. However, my Dad had a nifty trick to keep the two goats we had when we were little from the cattle feed bunks: he would shoot them with a pellet gun aimed at their hips. A pellet hitting your ass smarts. Since I’ve shot at and killed a bat in our old house once, this would be cake.

no. 603 – “I Love My Computer Because My Friends Live In It”


Today I am happy. I’ve noticed that little by little I’m sloughing off some of the fear and depression. Today I am able to look at my calendar and notice that it’s been 16 weeks since our donor’s egg retrieval. And each day was made just a little easier, a little brighter, by those of you who have tolerated my incessant whining, which I promise won’t stop, and even indulged my comment-whoring.

I don’t believe I would have made it here without you. I’m sure I would have given up ages ago.

Suz from Within the Woods recently passed her Best Blogging Buddies Award unto me, which is such an honor as she was (and still is) my inspiration. Now while I understand I need to pass this on, to pick just a handful seems so incredible restrictive. What makes the "Best"? Best comments? Best email exchanges? Best because they’ve been with me for over two years?

On the other hand, does it matter? How about because these people consistently rock my world?

Many of you may not even recognize some of these blog names. Most of them are "Old School" bloggers who have been doing their thing before I even read my first blog two and half years ago, but they accepted my lame attempts at getting their attention and have, overall, given me the best blogging experiences I’ve had – which is the ability to laugh when I least expected it or when I least wanted to.

Thanks, ladies.

no. 602 – Daytime Television

I got to stay home with XBoy yesterday as he coughed and snuffled and fevered his way through the day. I coughed and snuffled as well and found the remote oddly comforting molded to my hand. We were wholly unproductive.

I found myself perusing the DHLTH channels, including all those cutesy pregnancy stories. While I still can’t force myself to sit through A Baby Story, I did watch a little Runway Moms (being a former supermodel and all…) (don’t click through if you don’t want to be exposed to three very naked and pregnant bellies, because, wow! nothing like cliche website imaging).

One model finds out that during her 35 week ultrasound that the amniotic fluid is low. However, because she’s adamant on having her birth plan, she ignores the initial advice of her OB and requests only more monitoring. 10 days past her due date, and she now has to be induced. Baby is in NICU after swallowing meconium, but luckily, the infant recovers.

I get that women really want to go with a birth plan, which somehow almost always includes "vaginal" and "natural", but to put that before the baby? Snap out of it! This model even says something to the effect that a c-section is surgery and therefore has risks associated with it. Newsflash, honey: no birth goes without risk.

A c-section wasn’t my ideal way of delivering XBoy, but I didn’t burst into hysterical tears when they told me that’s what was going to happen, like a lot of these women do on these shows. I did not place my selfish needs above my baby’s, just so I can go to the Kindermusick session and compare episiotomy scars or forever hold over my husband’s head the old standby, "When YOU squeeze something the size of a watermelon out of your hoo-ha…" in the middle of every argument.

Alright. I totally lost track of my point here. What I wanted to really cover was how different now these shows are and their diversity. They have Birth Day, Pregnancy for Dummies, House of Babies…but other regular shows that provide more current and not-so-happy-happy-joy-joy. There’s Adoptions Stories* and The Baby Diaries, which shows how new moms and dads are given a reality check in the form of sleepless nights and what seems to be the never-ending fussiness of a newborn.

I also sat through Twins by Surrogacy** and Born with Two Mothers*** and realized I related better with these stories the feelings of loss, frustration with the system, and the technicalities that come with ART. I don’t look at these shows as capitalizing on other couples’ pain, which is surprising knowing the amount of cynicism and bitterness I have. I just wish they would stop using the term "implanted" when it comes to the embryo transfer.

* The one episode I watched is where the couple adopted from India and I was surprised that the couple never had any travel involved in their adoption. The couple? They were expecting a baby as well and no one told them they couldn’t still adopt. And people wonder why so many couples look at international adoptions.

** The narrator said that Lupron was used to stimulate egg production – wrong! And the RE didn’t put the surrogate on any meds to make sure their cycles coordinated because as sisters, they thought they were on the same menstrual cycle. Here’s my virtual *smack* upside the RE’s head.

*** While this was a reenactment based on real-life events, it felt like a documentary, which was a good thing because there wasn’t an abundance of over-acting. I liked that Dr. Drew would explain some of the legal and technical issues involved during breaks. On the downside, I really doubt the ending would have been the same if the biological parents had been Anglo, even though it’s how it should be. If you’ve seen this, you’ll know what I mean.

no. 601 – Yakkity, Yak, Yak

What do the bubonic plague, hantavirus and bird flu all have in common? They were all unwelcome visitors at our humble abode this weekend.

Well, obviously not, but since Mr. DD and I had never seen XBoy as sick as he had been, we take advantage of the event to grossly exaggerate.

XBoy came home with Mr. DD Friday night and after having supper, they went into our bedroom and vegged out watching TV. As I walked by XBoy lounging in our bed, I ruffled his hair, which is when I first noted his fever. He hadn’t complained of anything yet, but we decided to give him a fever reducer.

About 9:00 while I was sitting in the family room enjoying How to Look Good Naked, I was snapped out it by a pounding on the wall. Usually Mr. DD gives a thump or two when he notices he’s out of toilet paper (why can’t men notice that before they sit down to poop??). But this wasn’t the SOS for t.p. This was a pictures-falling-off-the-wall pounding.

I found both XBoy and Mr. DD in the water closet and the smell of vomit greeted me before I saw what looked like a scene from a horror movie: red liquid and chunks of stuff were on both walls as well as all over the toilet. You think that’s gross? Well, you didn’t have to see or smell it.

Mr. DD said XBoy was asleep when he started to cough then gag and suddenly stuff was coming up. He picked him up and carried him into the bathroom just as XBoy released the rest of his stomach contents.

XBoy thought all the yuck was blood and freaked out even more, especially since he’s never vomited like that before. We assured him that it was punch and ketchup. Actually I let Mr. DD assure him since I was throwing towels to them, getting cool washcloths and preparing a mop bucket.

What is it about the smell of bile that makes you want to empty your own stomach, anyway?

XBoy slept in our bedroom so we could keep an eye on him. He was sick again in the early morning hours and all day Saturday he was in a pretty vegetative state, sleeping off and on and demanding cuddle time (he NEVER cuddles). His fever never let up, and it was all we could do to get him to take a sip or two of fluid at a time. Last night I was worried we would have to take him to the ER, but after checking his hydration via the pinch test and the fact he was able to pee before going to bed, we decided to see how he was in the morning.

He slept hard, and woke with low-grade fever and stomach cramps. After getting him to finally eat something and take some more fever reducer, he’s doing much, much better. Just in time to annoy the crap out of Mr. DD with excited chatter as they get red-necktified by the Daytona 500.

As for me? I’m going to take advantage of the distraction and catch a nap. I’ve caught a nasty cold myself, which seems to be located mostly in my back. My cold is the direct descendant of Mr. DD’s man flu. So a whole weekend, shot to shit (and vomit) with the help of a variety of illnesses. Yeehaw.