no. 636 – Getting It Off My (Sagging Boob-ed) Chest

I had several paragraphs in draft lamenting how my body has finally changed and the aches and pains that come with it and worrying about feeling guilty since I know I should be on my knees every day thanking the good lord for my good luck in being pregnant at all, and then I thought, so what?

If I want to bitch about it, then I should be able to bitch about it. Why should anyone think that I should be crossing myself over and over because a hemorrhoid (or a multitude of them) decided to bleed, giving me what I’m sure was a mild heart-attack when I went to the bathroom? Or how I’ve noticed in a completely random exploration of my body, that I have nipple- lint/jam? Or that I’ve thrown up in my mouth more times than in the toilet because my stomach has seemingly overnight eloped with my heart so any burp, harmless yet enjoyable 6 months ago, now is my cue to find a water-proof receptacle?

Maybe I should even be jumping for joy (if I could without stunning myself into temporarily paralysis with the inevitable Braxton Hicks) that my husband said to me this weekend, as I safely bitched to him, that I did "get pretty big really fast", considering that a month ago I was worried that the baby was going to be of gecko proportions at term.

Of course, let’s not leave off the fact that by the time I take off my socks at the end of the day, that the pattern of the socks is left perfectly imprinted into my foot. Now I’m not talking about the tight-but-stretchy opening of the sock leaving a pattern. I’m saying that the PATTERN of the sock (let’s say today – argyle) is imprinted into my skin, because the bloatiness is not content to micromanage my abdomen or face or fingers.

I hope you will bear with my overall malcontent I have with my body, which I realize is not going to get any better over the next 12 weeks. Especially since my diet has consisted of left-over Easter candy I’ve hidden from XBoy and evenings filled with CSI marathon showings on Spike. Maybe when I come down from my sugar high, I’ll feel a little more remorse.

no. 635 – Gone Missing

Want to hear a funny story?

It’s not really funny, but kind of tragically-funny and it’s about XBoy and his most recent school adventure (I can’t hope but help that he gets his personality from me so that we won’t be prematurely gray(er) when Murdock reaches this stage. However, I’m fairly certain he’s getting all of this from his father).

A few days ago I received a phone call from Mr. DD who said that the school had just called him. Since it was about a half hour after school had been dismissed, I figured it was because my mother, who said she would pick up XBoy, forgot; therefore he was sitting at school waiting for his ride home.

Instead I was told that one of XBoy’s friends, Zeke, was missing and it was suspected that he left with XBoy and my mother.

The hairs curled on the back of my neck and the prickly sweat caused by adrenaline broke out in my armpits.

I told Mr. DD that my mother had asked if it was OK for XBoy to get a milkshake before his swim lessons which started a couple hours after school, so Mr. DD volunteered to hit the streets, or what we fondly refer to as "Burger Row" to see if he could spot my Mom’s car.

In the meantime, I agreed to run home to see if they were there. Yes, I tried calling our house phone several times, but there was no answer.

When I turned down the lane I saw my Mom’s car, which was good since Mr. DD had called to let me know he hadn’t had any luck. When I walked up to the mudroom from the garage, I could see through the window XBoy starting off on an ice cream cone. I opened the door and asked him if Zeke was with him. Before he could answer, Zeke popped around the corner, "Yep!"

I just about died.

I looked over at my Mom and told her in what I hoped did not sound like screeching and informed her that Zeke’s Mom has no idea where he is. "Oh…well I heard the phone ringing but I didn’t know where it was, and he told me that his mother knew he was with XBoy."

I was too upset to respond. Instead I instructed both XBoy and Zeke to get in the van as we were going back to school. XBoy, who was realizing he was in deep poo, didn’t want to go. I insisted – strongly.

With the boys loaded in the van, ice cream cones still in hand, we jetted back to the school, which I had already called to confirm that I had Zeke.

Once we arrived, I escorted them both into the principal’s office. Zeke was oblivious. XBoy was reluctant and scared. The principal briefly talked with the boys, reviewing their policy about permissions, while I stood quietly in the corner. He was very calm and patient with them, but you could feel the underlying tension.

XBoy and I left Zeke in the principal’s office as he made more phone calls. When we stepped outside, XBoy burst into tears.

I told him that I didn’t blame him and I wasn’t angry, just scared. We had two six year olds discussing a playdate and ultimately convincing themselves that it would be OK; on top that, telling my Mom, a woman from a place and generation that never locked the car when in town, that everyone was in the know…well, it was a situation where no one person could be blamed.

I never informed the school that my mother was picking up XBoy (yes, I should have), but they let him go without a second thought. Why would they blink if there were two? How could the teachers standing outside know who is to be released to whom? My Mom, bless her heart, should have known a little better. Instead I had to lecture her a bit (after I had calmed down), that I would have told her if someone else was coming home with XBoy.

From start to finish, it was an hour. But I’m sure within those 60 minutes, Zeke’s Mom aged a million years. We’ve "lost" XBoy at Target once when he was two and that was just for a handful of minutes, and the thoughts that went through my head…they are thoughts every person has when you get that phone call in the middle of the night or when your caller ID shows up as the daycare or school or when you yourself were a child and you turned around and found not one familiar face in a crowd.

I’m not happy that this happened, but I guess if Zeke had to be lost, I am glad that he was somewhere safe, with my Mom, enjoying an ice cream cone with a friend.

no. 634 – ** 44 **

I’ve been blogging since Summer 2005 so I didn’t get to wish a Happy 41st Birthday that year to Mr. DD.

April 2006, I was "enjoying" IVF number two and his 42nd was mentioned only in passing.

April 2007, for his 43rd Birthday, I shared this picture I used in the local paper for his 40th. He swears I photo-shopped the second from the left picture. I swear I didn’t. See prior post for hair reference.

April 2008. Today. Mr. DD is 44. He lamented this age by reminding me that when Murdock turns 16, he will be 60. While we both wish we would have started a family earlier, we have been able to take pleasure in acting out the things that Kindergartners enjoy…like potty jokes, burping contests and blaming farts on each other.

Maybe at 60, Mr. DD will get a kick out of showing Murdock how to convert a muscle car into 4WD. He did it once, why not again?

He doesn’t read here even though he knows about my blog, but someday when I convert this all to Blurb, I want him to know that I think of him with love and frustration and joy and irritation every single day.

Happy Birthday, Mr. DD.

no. 633 – A Senior at Heart

Remember the senior pictures from yesteryear?

Mallbangs_2Pinchroll_2 Bangs up to heaven and the bottom of your jeans were pinch-rolled? I guess I should clarify: if you were graduating from high-school in the 80’s. You younger bitches just didn’t have style, I’m telling you.

Your poses, if you had pictures taken in a independent studio, were pretty basic: head shot where you sat with your body turned three-quarters and facing the camera (chin down…we don’t want to see up your nostrils!) Maybe you had one where you rested your chin on your fist, which always looked as if someone was giving you an uppercut; and for those with truly daring photographers, a full-body pose outside wearing a denim mini-skirt, scrunch boots, a big ole’ hip belt and pink bandanna. (Oh, yes. I did. It was my first realization that while I may have been a size nothin’ at the time, my thighs were like crystal balls into my future of cellulite).

The world changes, but as I get older, the more I start muttering about today’s youth like the crazy cat lady who refuses to buy groceries from any area of the grocery store but the pet aisle.

Senior pictures today look like either head-shots for a remake of Showgirls; or a cover shot of a Christian songs CD. Examples?

Showgirl_2  This one’s pretty tame picture considering some I’ve seen. Others have girls posed in a way where it looks like they aren’t wearing a top/bra. Moms: you must be so proud! 

Girls aren’t the only ones who find themselves lured by the potential myspace avatar’s siren: guys are just as guilty. In fact, the inspiration for this post came from a senior portrait displayed proudly in our local mall. Before I show you that one, here’s one I really don’t get…

Hatsilo Really? This is a senior picture??

Is it wrong that for as much as I love artistic photos, I hate this? Therein lies how old I’ve become. What will senior portraits be like when XBoy or Murdock reaches that age? CT scans of their brains, colorized?

If nothing else, I can guarantee that every one of these kids will look back on their pictures in 20 years and wonder what the fuck were they thinking. Don’t you?

Here’s the picture that was being used to advertise a local photographer’s studio. Sorry about my reflection in the glass and the quality – still using my phone because our good laptop is still in ICU (after being sent three sets of HP start-up discs where the first two sets were defective…I’m hating on HP).

Seniorsword Are your eyes deceiving you, you ask?

Oh, no…it’s really a kid wearing a polo and wielding a sword.

I can’t explain why I feel the uncontrollable desire to kick this kid’s ass.

no. 631 – PSA on SBS Scam

My husband asked me recently what I had to pay for my TypePad account. I told him it was than $50 a year. Why?

He noticed on our credit card statement a $9.95 charge for the past couple of months. The first time saw it he just figured it was something related to my blogging or something for XBoy. But a second time?

I looked at the statement and saw that the charge was associated with "SBS Fun Family Rewards". I had no recollection of signing up for anything so I did some internet searching and just by typing in that string of words, "credit card scam" and "unauthorized" popped up everywhere.

I called the number on our statement and after asking how they acquired our credit card information, I was told that based on an online purchase I made from JCPenney (for some items my Mom took to Jordan to give to her grandkids), somehow I had "agreed" to this program and that an email containing information was sent to us.

I was furious as I always try to make sure to unclick/click those damn default boxes for special offers and emails. In the meantime, Mr. DD saw that the charge went back four statements. I told the rep to cancel the membership and demanded a full refund. When he tried to protest, I countered that he can take care of it now or I can file a dispute through our credit card. He finally confirmed the cancellation and a credit.

SBS (Stonebridge Benefits Services) Fun Family Rewards appears to actually be one of those insurance/benefit providers that tries to piggy back many credit card programs. As I read many complaints posted about both the program and the telemarketers from this company, I wondered how many others are getting charged $10 a month and do not even realize it, or have only filed a complaint and not called to cancel their "membership".

Mr. DD and I pretty much take our statement for granted. I see things that I assume are related to his work and RC Racing and if he doesn’t recognize a purchase, he guesses that it’s related to my shopping/blogging/charity/XBoy purchases.  We’ve agreed to make sure to ask each other every time we see something that doesn’t jive, even if it’s a nominal charge, like this stupid $10 which could have easily turned into $120 because we each assumed the other knew about it.

Look over your statements. And if you know you’ve made one from Penneys online in 2007 or more recently? Be especially wary.

no. 630 – Is MYODB an Appropriate Answer?

One of my friends/coworkers had a business lunch with a couple of women from another department. One of the women asked my friend if my pregnancy was an "oops" or was it planned.

Thank god she was the one asked that question because I’m sure I would have answered, "It could be considered an ‘oopsy’ if I had wandered into a darkened room, tired and needing a nap and fell into a valium-induced conscious sedation, spread-eagled and bottomless, on an exam table with my feet resting comfortably in some stirrups….and if four other people with masks wandered in and just figured every vagina looks alike via a ultrasound wand….and the embryologist accidentally slipped some fertilized embryos from a pipette into my uterus…"

Yep. That’d be one hell of an accident. I’m trying to cut her some slack because not EVERYONE knows, right?

I guess I’m irked since the woman who asked has absolutely no personal interest in me, or at least has never shown it much less acknowledged my existence. Purely juvenile snoopiness.

Maybe I should ask her to be the baby’s Godmother since she’s suddenly taken an interest in my gestational status?


A couple of you remembered I had my 24 week OB appointment yesterday. I didn’t mention it because it was uneventful, if not downright dull. Weight OK. Blood pressure OK. Uterine growth OK. I did ask for an iron screen, which came back ever-so-slightly below my doc’s preference so I’ve been given a script for an iron supplement.

I return April 30th at which time I will get another ultrasound to make sure Murdock is on target for growth and I go through the glucose screening. We even threw a couple of dates out there for the c-section (no VBAC for me and I have no desire to even try). He’s thinking about 7 days from the due date, but that could be problematic since I went into labor with XBoy 10 days early.

Maybe I should worry about getting through April, May and June first, huh?


Things must be fairly tame around here since I haven’t udpated my password protected blog. Of course, I’m sure I’ve just jinxed myself.


Remember how Mr. DD asked me to wait on buying any baby-related stuff? I just found out that my little impulse buying behavior is nothing compared to his: he bought a frickin scissor-lift from ebay a few weeks ago and I just found out. A scissor-lift! Yeah, like he’s going to have any time this summer to be messing with shop projects. What a twit. It’s a good thing I love him.

no. 629 – A Heavy Post About Lightening Up

I remember when I first saw the previews for the movie Juno. I really wanted to see it because it looked funny. My only worry (and certainly not a “real” one) was sitting in a theater watching some pregnant girl and trying not to involuntarily throw popcorn at the screen and think “lucky bitch”.

I never got to see the movie. The hype that started surrounding the whole adoption issue irked me, to say the least. I didn’t expect a movie to expand my opinion or educate me on birth-mothers and adoption processes, but that’s what it turned into for just about everyone in blogging who has been touched, whether negatively or positively, by adoption.

My desire to see the movie was based on my wish to be entertained. I had hoped that my husband, who probably considered the movie a “chick flick”, would come with me and we would get a babysitter for XBoy and we would eat stale, salty popcorn iced in fake butter, eat Mike & Ike’s and drink enough soda to send us to the bathroom at least twice. Ahhhh, Paradise.

That didn’t come to pass because I had been inundated with the controversy. How could I sit and watch that movie passively?

Now there’s another movie coming out: Baby Mama, about surrogacy. I love Tina Fey. I love Amy Poehler. Both brilliant comediennes. But already it has started. You may have seen the Newsweek article on surrogacy that was recently on MSN’s home page. I actually came away after reading it without the icky taste in my mouth I normally get when news articles try to discuss topics of infertility. The article on donor eggs made my skin crawl in comparison.

In the former article, it does reference briefly the stereotyping that surrounds surrogacy and how the movie, Baby Mama, caricatures that with the casting: “She hires a working-class gal (Amy Poehler) to be her surrogate. The client is a savvy, smart and well-to-do health-store-chain exec while Poehler is an unemployed, deceitful wild child who wants easy money.”

To me, this is pure Hollywood razzlematazzle to exploit how many people think. If the film industry wants to provide more reality, then they would promote a documentary. Those interested in a more accurate portrayal would then go see said documentary. If you want fact, don’t spend your hard-earned money and see a movie that happens to be categorized as a “comedy”, e.g. Juno.

If I really thought I could get an education and opinions from the entertainment industry then I would find myself believing that ancient Romans spoke English; that a form of martial arts would allow me to fly; and that hobbits walk the face of the Earth.

I would never expect Hollywood to provide me anything but a bang for my buck. Education isn’t their responsibility and to blame them or have higher expectations from the entertainment industry is like pointing a finger: when you do, there are always three pointing back at you. Simple reminders as to who is really responsible for knowing the difference between fact and fiction.

We should welcome a laugh whenever possible and we deserve to have simple joys, even if that means giggling at the joke that no one else gets. Infertility is a fucked-up joke, and you can’t tell me that while you are reading through your list of blogs that someone along the way doesn’t make you smile, or even guffaw outright, while describing something infertility-related.

Reality can be too painful as it is. Enjoy the improbable and the ludicrous. Take a break from that reality once in a while and eat some overpriced and crappy popcorn.

no. 628 – Breaking Ground

XBoy: When I eat food it goes through my body and comes out my poop hole.

Me, correcting him: Anus.

XBoy: And when I drink something, it goes through my body and comes out my penis.

Me: Hm-mmm.

XBoy: But when you drink something, it doesn’t come out your penis ’cause you don’t have one. It comes out of your poop-…anus.

Me: Uh, well, no. Girls may not have penises but their pee comes out a different hole.

* break ground with shovel *

XBoy: Where?

Me: Do you remember when you would help changing the girl babies’ diapers at daycare? They have a vulva and in the vulva are two holes, one is a urethra and the other is the vagina. Girls pee out their urethra.

* start digging hole *

XBoy: What’s the vajna (sic) for?

Me: Babies come out of a Mommy’s tummy through the vagina.

* continue digging *

XBoy: No they don’t. They come out of the tummy after the doctor cuts it open.

Me: Well, that’s how you came out, but most babies come out of the vagina. You had to come out through the tummy because the doctor said you weren’t going to come out the other way and you had to come out quickly.

* still digging and telling myself to just shut the fuck up already *

XBoy: Oh.

XBoy: Mommy?

Me: Yes.

* holding my breath and wondering just how the hell did I end up in this discussion *

XBoy: Can I have a WebKinz?

Me: Of course!

* breathing sigh of relief as I crawl out of the deep hole I had dug myself into *