no. 627 – The Thaw

I’ve made it no secret that I’m having a hard time accepting that everything could work out just fine with this pregnancy. Not to overuse a bad pun, but a positive outcome seems…inconceivable in my head.

But I really do try to out-shout those thoughts daily. I make myself walk by the maternity and infant sections in the department stores. I make myself look at sites like Babies R Us so I can know what’s out there. I am trying to make plans for July.

I thought I was making some headway when this weekend I showed Mr. DD some items that I would like to get for the baby, including a play-yard nursery set and a stroller/carseat set. That was Saturday and he did nothing more than make a remark about the color. I expected nothing more or less as he is a guy after all.

Then last night as I was quietly sitting on the bedroom floor, folding the week’s laundry, he came in and asked me to wait until April or May to make any purchases. "Just in case…"

I felt defensive about it and told him that having those things in the house even if something does go horribly wrong will not make it hurt any more, but he quietly insisted and asked for my patience.

After having him be so optimistic at almost every turn and twist we have gone through since 2004, this threw me, and hard.

I already felt like I’ve been letting down Murdock. Not believing in him/her. Not believing in myself has been hard enough and now in a way that I’m sure Mr. DD did not intend, I sense his doubt as well, even though it stands to reason that he is finally admitting that all of the failed cycles and miscarriages have impacted him more than he’s ever vocalized before now.

Instead of him trying to convince me everything will be alright as he’s done in the past, I find the roles reversed, forcing me to commit more of my heart into something I’ve been trying to keep an emotional distance from. Somewhere along the line, I’ve fallen in love with this baby and that has led to feeling something that I thought had been frozen so deep inside it would never thaw: Hope.

no. 626 – She’s Got Balls and Ovaries

I don’t know if it makes me feel better or not to hear that Angelina Jolie  is rumored* to have used fertility drugs to help her ovulate, producing her current boy/girl twins.

I’ll chalk it up to ovary-envy.

* OK, so I’ve edited for you persnickety readers. You like potato and I like potahto; you like Gonal-F and I like Follistim, … for we need each other, so we better call the calling off off. Let’s call the whole thing off!

At least there’s no talk of her just wanting it so badly, it happened by sheer will-power or that it’s because everything she touches turns to gold. Not yet.

no. 625 – Linked

I have added several links to blogs on my sidebar since the huge majority of you do like to see your name in lights.

I’m sure I’ve missed someone along the way, so let me know with an email to or a comment.

As I was going through this I remembered why I stopped trying to keep it updated: TypePad only alphabetizes on the blog itself, not in its file. So I have to print off the list from here; print off my list from bloglines and cross-reference the two….I’m sure there’s an easier way but I have yet to be enlightened. (hint hint to any TypePad gurus)

Have a great weekend everyone. It’s the first weekend in four consecutive that we haven’t had to travel to either The Metro or to The Capitol to look/drive/buy a new mode of transportation. What’s done is done. We said our final goodbyes to our Sequoia and I am actually enjoying my new status as a minivan driver (it looks just like the picture).

I may be driving a van, but I’m still repeating in my head, "Lead, Follow, or Get the Fuck Out of My Way!".

no. 624 – It’s a Veritable Wild Life Reserve Around Here

Besides the rootin-tootin time my husband had shooting up my parent’s house, this past weekend was just full of events that I had to mentally file away under "potential blog post".

Friday night I was heading to our basement (basement of a newly constructed home, unfinished – just so you know it’s not a "cellar" or something like that – relevant) to do something irrelevant to this story. The steps go halfway before stopping at a landing, turning and more steps down. When I got to the landing I saw something at the bottom of the stairs sitting on a remnant of carpet. Here are some of the thoughts that ran quickly through my head:

  • Did the dog poop down here? Oh wait, we don’t have a dog.
  • Did a raccoon get in the house and poop? Naahhhhh.
  • Did XBoy poop on the floor?! No way.

With those thoughts, you can get an idea of what I might have been looking at.

Then part of the "poop" moved.

(EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!) *me silently screaming*

Mice! Again!

I dashed back upstairs just as Mr. DD and XBoy were getting home. What do you think the first thing I did was?

I grabbed my camera, of course, and told Mr. DD to keep XBoy quiet and occupied.

I popped on the telephoto lense, headed to the landing and snapped a couple of pictures. Want to see? Well, you can’t because our good laptop is still under repair and this old one is like using dial-up even thought it’s not.

Then I went upstairs to tell Mr. DD to take care of the problem. Except he suddenly has a heart attack.

OK, he didn’t have a heart attack. It was a stupid case of indigestion that made him turn into a big pussy. (Get pregnant and then tell me what heart burn feels like, you ass).

I took the plastic bag out of his hands, put on my winter gloves (oh, shit, I just realized I wore them today and haven’t washed them – Ick!) and headed down the stairs again.

I should mention that these were baby mice, but they weren’t in a nest. There were no pieces of fabric or paper that indicates a nest. They were just all huddled together. I bent down and scooped up the cluster and one little fucker jumped and got away. The other three were dumped in the bag.

Another trip up the stairs with my prey. I stopped to let XBoy peer into the bag to see three tiny, furry mice trying to climb up the side of the bag, pleading for mercy staring up at us with their cute beady black eyes.

Xboy asked what I was going to do with them. I told him that I was going to let them go outside. When he asked to come with me, I told him no and that it would only take a second. I felt like the cruelest person in the world as I tied off the bag and placed it inside the cold burn barrel.

Even worse? Later that night, Mr. DD went down to the basement and found the fourth baby mouse had returned to find his siblings, squeaking for them. He bagged that one, too, who found himself faced with a similar fate as the other three.

We both felt pretty sad about those little vermin critters. That is until I realized there are at least two more mice running around. Sometimes, this prairie living is for the mice, deer, birds.

Guess Who’s Still Pregnant?

You all ready for an update on Murdock? I know, I know. Another pregnancy-related post from an infertile blogger…how dull!

22 weeks and 6 days. Good enough for me to say “23 weeks”.

I have actually gone up to three days without using my doppler thanks to enough Easter candy consumed to keep Murdock buzzing for hours. It takes a lot of sugar to get him/her to kick hard enough to feel it through that annoyingly placed placenta…and stomach fat.

Women often describe the feeling of having the baby kick with such sweet sentiments like, “it feels like butterfly wings” or “softly popping bubbles”. To me it feels like gas except I know that my intestines have moved too far out and up to be that. Or here’s another description I gave to my husband the other night:

You know how you get a muscle twitch in your back or your eyelid and no matter how many times you rub or squeeze or poke at it, it continues to twitch involuntarily? Yeah. Now that’s what it feels like.

My boobs have morphed into those of a 40 year old wet-nurse. Oh, wait. Never mind.

I wish I could brag about my “bump”, but it’s in a rather sad state. Because of the weight I gained during the years of treatment, all in the middle section, it’s like I have a double decker bump: above the belly button is the top deck carrying my stomach and then below the belly button is the bottom deck with Murdock. Another way to imagine it (if you dare) is take a regular inflated balloon and squeeze it in the middle for a while then let go. See how it goes bump, indent, then bump again?

My thighs have become things of beauty, if the Rubenesque figure was still in vogue.

So there you go. An honest disclosure of pregnancy at six months. All told, it’s not been too bad. Hell, I’m still pregnant, right?

Three more months to go, give a week or two. All I have left to do is buy the necessities for the baby since here is the list I have:

  • Crib

And here’s what I need:

  • Everyfuckingthing else

I’ve got plenty of time, right?

no. 622 – While It Could Have All Gone So Wrong, Everything Is Alright

Easter Sunday we went to my parent’s farm for dinner. After the normal amount of bickering between my Mom and Dad, good-heartedly refereed by my brother, sister and myself, we started to get ready to head back home.

My Dad and brother went outside to do "chores" (sit in the shop and bullshit), Mr. DD woke up from his hour-long nap on the sofa and XBoy was getting bored and antsy. As we sat around the table, chatting about nothing, my husband wandered into what we call the den. It’s just a very small room that doubles as an entry-way that has space for nothing more than some hanging plants, a few items of taxidermy, an antique writing desk, phone and the gun cabinet.

Mr. DD is quite the gun fancier, unfortunately. He gets the "hobby" from his dad who has enough rifles, guns and ammunition collected that when he showed a small group of Japanese business men his safes, I’m sure they thought he was his own personal militia as firearms are a no-no in Japan.

On the other hand, my own father’s collection is just a handful of old rifles, most probably not in working condition. My husband pulled out an old .22 rifle from the cabinet. He discovered it was loaded and proceeded to unload it (safety first). He took out two rounds and then found one jammed. I can’t describe exactly what he saw or what happened since I was in the next room. All I can say is suddenly a loud BANG came from the room.

I jerked around in my chair at the table to peer around the corner. There stood my husband, dumb-founded. Without even touching the trigger, the rifle had gone off. He was holding the rifle, barrel up at the time so we looked to see if it had actually discharged a round, or if somehow a blank, like a "bird-banger", had gone off. We didn’t see a hole in the ceiling, so we figured it was a blank.

However, on the wall, up high there was a display of pheasant feathers and upon closer inspection, we saw the hole hidden behind the feathers, which was about 10" from the ceiling.

At the same time, XBoy called me from the bathroom, which was on the other side of the wall. He was doing his thing when he heard the bang and wanted to know what was going on. There he was, still sitting on the toilet and I saw something in his hair: white flecks of plaster.

I looked up at the wall adjoining the den and bathroom and saw the exit hole of the .22 and another entry hole into the ceiling, which leads to the attic (luckily).

I have to admit that we all initially found the whole situation rather funny. My husband just shot up my parent’s house. I reminded him that this was much worse than the time I shot the bat in our old house with a pellet gun. But as the shock and surprise wore off, we all started to realize how badly this could have gone.

Mr. DD could have been holding the rifle differently and hit himself; hit my sister sitting in the doorway; or what if XBoy had been in the room and Mr. DD had held the rifle at another angle, say looking down the barrel? Or the angle of the shot could have gone a little lower and shattered the wall-width mirror in the bathroom instead of shooting over it with XBoy opposite? The what ifs when it comes to the bad things that could have happened…

I find myself asking "what if I hadn’t lost Vivienne in 2004", trying to imagine how better things might have been. To have to wonder what could have happened Sunday has given me nightmares. A million other scenarios could have happened. We were lucky it ended with this one. Very, very lucky.

no. 621 – About the Memorial

In February I silently noted the passing of the due date of our pregnancy from May – the one that "should have been" considering that we surmounted the odds and got pregnant through IUI with my eggs and Mr. DD’s sperm – something we hadn’t been able to do with any of the prior IUIs.

Once I lost Vivienne, I stopped cataloging my due dates. For me they were just "potential" dates, nothing more. Instead the dates that remain the most vivid to me are the ones surrounding the falling betas and D&Cs, the moment it felt as if the world was crashing in around my ears.

I think that’s one of the reasons I started the website The Maternal Heart’s Essence right after that miscarriage, to give that date, and the three others, more validity, to make real what is no longer physically present.

A recent post by Tina from My Many Blessings and a subsequent one by Mel over at Stirrup Queens reminded me that the site is not just for me. It’s a memorial to anyone who has lost someone precious and not just to themselves, but to our community through blogging as well. Many of us went through these losses hand-in-hand with the support and comfort of fellow bloggers, and too many go through it alone. No one should have to.

I want to thank Mel who is advocating the Maternal Heart’s Essence purpose through her Lost and Found and Connections Abound site. I plan on providing reminders monthly here about it as well as ask you to stop by there to see who might appreciate the extra thought, the extra gesture, during a painful time to the couples who have their dates listed.

I have also created a badge that links to the site. Here is the code if you would like to add it to your blog’s sidebar (replace the * with " )

The link goes directly to the "About" page and provides the email address requests for dates can be sent to.


  • 30 votes – cleaning Service
  • 9 votes – knife set
  • 5 votes – “head light”
  • 5 votes – iron
  • 1 vote – salad serving set
  • 1 vote – earrings
  • 1 vote – horse shoe game 
    • 52 total votes 

I think that’s what we call a “landslide” in the voting department. Shall I now give you what could be the bad news? The GC for the cleaning is just for $25.00. But that’s fine with me. Now I have to figure out when I want it done.

I thought about using it as part of my “spring cleaning”, which doesn’t seem to be any different than my usual lame attempts at monthly  weekly cleaning the house. How sad is it that when I come home from work, I sit down and watch a little TV (CSI Las Vegas, thank you). Not just that, but while I’m sitting there, becoming one with the loveseat, I can see out of the corner of my eye, the dusty film building up on our entryway floor.

It’s at the point I calculate the amount of dust that certainly must be all over the house. It’s just an unfortunate fact that hardwood flooring shows off that dust in all it’s glory. Lord, I hate cleaning.

Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad except we live on a hill, in the middle of a prairie with nary a yard in sight. Any sand and dirt that blows somehow accumulates safely in our house through the smallest and most insignificant openings.

My dream for a grassy backyard instead of what currently now appears to be a beachy retreat will probably remain on hold this summer. While I don’t have the same great aspirations for expanding on the landscaping we started last year, I have already purchased a new tree and another flat of ornamental grass. Who will plant any of this stuff?

I’ll just let you know this: if you stop by my house sometime this May or June and think you see a ginormous pot-bellied pig holding a shovel and wearing the most obnoxious yellow crocs you’ve seen in your life, that’d be me.

Inside the house, you may just find a bevvy of model-ishess women in frilly aprons and armed with ostrich feather dusters happily sucking up my cleaning gift-certificate within 15 minutes.

No rest for the wicked, as they say.

no. 620 – But When Do They Get Around To The Petri Dish?

We received in the mail recently a care-package from a relative. I won’t say which side of the family this relative sprouts from, but every day I thank my stars above that I somehow lucked out with the "normal" one….

In the care-package was a little book: Where Did I Come From by Peter Mayle

Oh, this is cute I thought as I flipped through the first couple of pages on the verge of flagging down XBoy to show him his new book. My brain came to screeching halt when I saw this:  Wdicfbath

What the hell do two old people taking a bath together and playing "tugboat" have to do with the point of this book??! And as an aside, anyone else notice that we get the pleasure of the man’s butt-shot in the wall mirror? Yep. That was necessary.

Then they get Grandma and Grandpa out of the tub and start describing the differences between them including the "two round bumps on her chest".  Grandma’s got quite a nice rack, wouldn’t you agree? "Some people call them the bosom….Other people call them titties, or boobs." I covered these names here in a much earlier and unrelated post.

By the way, for you parents who struggled with whether or not to use nicknames for your children’s body parts, I highly recommend you start off with the correct terminology because it’ll all go downhill once they hit Kindergarten. XBoy has known the word "penis" since the day he found it in the tub with him and just starting to talk (not the penis, but the toddler). Well just a couple days ago he mentioned something about his "wiener". So let me just take a moment to thank the parents and older siblings of the classmates in XBoy’s class for introducing that lovely word into his vocabulary. The point is teach them the technical terms early because they’ll slip into those delightful colloquialisms soon enough.

Wdicfwork Don’t think that the woman gets all the attention in the book. There’s this delightful mention of the penis: (I’m providing it as a picture since I’m sure I’ll get enough weird search hits from this post as it is…)

Then we get down to business. The sex, or as the book has it labeled, "Making Love". Did you know that "making love is like skipping. You can’t do it all day long." no matter how enjoyable the "tickling" is.  Wdicfskip

You know, there’s just no way I can do this book justice, positively or negatively. It’s garnered rave reviews for its frank humor while at the same time, it’s considered offensive to others. I must be a bit of a prude as I found it inappropriate only because too much time was put into describing sex itself.

Wdicfhug Does a 5 year old need to know it feels good? That the man "likes to be insider her" or that the woman "likes him to be insider her" or that the "big shiver" at the end is a bit like sneezing? It kind of squicked me out, to be honest.

Worse yet, the imagery in the book will somehow become part of my subconscious at the worst possible times. "Oooh, I’m going to sneeze…I’m going to sneeze!…yes, YES, I’m sneezing!!"

Now if you happen to have this book and liked it, feel free to tell me why you did (or even if you didn’t).

no. 619 – Hypothetical Blasphemy

Have you ever had to go pee so badly but had to hold it because you were either in a car with no rest areas in sight or a meeting that drones on and on so that by the time you get to go you swear you saw God, or at least heard angels sing?

OK. I’m done talking about religion now, I swear.

In other news, I will try my ever-lovin’ hardest not to end up as a story on this site since it appears to be an almost certainty that I will be going from a soccer-mom-mobile driver to an ugly-tailgating, merge-deficient,  and self-absorbed, minivan driver. Not much different than my blogging, really.


award7.jpgaward6.jpgaward5.jpgaward4.jpgaward3.jpgaward2.jpgaward1.jpg  These are some of the things that were on the web-site as “rewards” for employees where I work. While there’s quite a variety of things, I pulled these as my favorites. I have to narrow it down to one.

Actually, YOU are going to help me narrow it down to one.

Whatever item gets the most votes will be the one I get, so follow the link and begin your voting pleasure! (btw, I have this poll set up so you can’t see what’s getting the most votes)

surveysTake Our Poll

no. 618 – Going To Hell

I happened to be doing some "research" (I use the term loosely since I have no intent of suddenly writing a dissertation) on the Catholic’s view of IVF. Shall I just cut to the chase and give you the actual summary of their view?

"In summary, the Catholic Church condemns as gravely evil acts, both IVF in and of itself, and stem cell research performed on IVF embryos. "

Gravely Evil, people. Gravely.

LolembryosWhile they did actually include some researched data from the science of Human Embryology, it was this statement that had my grey matter firing in confusion and anger:

     "IVF violates the rights of the child: it deprives him of his filial relationship with his parental origins and can hinder the maturing of his personality. It objectively deprives conjugal fruitfulness of its unity and integrity, it brings about and manifests a rupture between genetic parenthood, gestational parenthood, and responsibility for upbringing. This threat to the unity and stability of the family is a source of dissension, disorder, and injustice in the whole of social life."

I bet the person who wrote out that little tidbit of double-talk was once an attorney (no offense to those of you in the legal field…you’re already going to hell, too).

Now the statement doesn’t even take into consideration us hellions here on earth who have pursued third-party (donor/surrogacy) reproduction. Let’s just say we are also going straight to hell; do not pass GO; and don’t even think about Purgatory.

During my aforementioned research, I stumbled upon an infertility blog being written through the eyes of a Catholic – assumed devout – woman. An RE was out of the question for her and her husband because of the Catholic church’s stand. She also mentioned that one of the few places she could go for treatment of any kind was right here in Nebraska! Pope Paul VI Institute!

While I found myself a bit chuffed that her description of the institute and their goal was to actually find a cause for her infertility as opposed to all those hell-bound REs who just are trying to gloss over the causes, the clincher in the blogger’s life was that her recent updates include the fact that she and her husband are divorcing.

Soooo….it’s OK for this couple to seek divorce, but not reproductive assistance? Now I understand that obviously if they had actually went against the church originally and sought an RE that it wouldn’t have saved the marriage. I just find a certain irony to that whole thing since it’s  encouraged for the couples to believe that their infertility is something they should accept, but a crappy marriage? Pfffftt! Nothing a little "annulment" can’t fix so that the Church will welcome them both back into the fold, while at the same time don’t you dare go about IVF so you can raise your child to be a threat to the unity and stability of the family as a source of dissension, disorder, and injustice in the whole of social life.

That would just be wrong.

Now where’s my handbasket . . .

no. 617 – How To Ask If A Woman Is Pregnant

I was "outed" last week by someone in another department. As many of you know, there’s a certain irony there.

Then earlier this week, another person from a completely different department came into my office, squatted down next to my chair and whispered, "I just have to ask…you’ve always have had a flat tummy*…are you pregnant?"

She’s smooth, wouldn’t you agree? "Flat tummy"? Hooo-boy, talk about laying it on sweetly before going for the jugular.

And that’s how you ask an acquaintance if she’s pregnant.

Certainly better than the "Is there a bun in the oven?" question.