This Is Your Brain On Infertility

(At some point I believe I shall have something else to talk about besides pregnancy. Unfortunately for you, that point is not now.)

Jason is picking out baby names and looking into college savings plans.

My mom sent the first baby gift with a tag made out to "Our Newest Little Angel" and is gathering up mementos of my babyhood to pass along.

Jason's mom is planning the nursery design.

My friends are gathering up their old maternity clothes for me.

Other friends have already started knitting.

My sister is planning to fly across the country for the baby shower.

As for me, I can't stop thinking about taking another one of these, just to make sure.

I just don't know yet. I'm too nervous/scared/bitter/jaded to move Tadpole out of the realm of the hypothetical and into the "Holy Shit, I'm Having a Baby" category.

Maybe I'll feel better in another six weeks or so. And we'll see what my belly looks like then.

 

The Irony & The Ecstacy

Okay, okay. Now that y'all know the Great Untellable News That Dare Not Speak Its Name, let me rewind and give you a full timeline of all the shit I couldn't blog about before.

MONDAY, PERIOD WATCH 2005 BEGINS

I decide to take a hiatus, because I'm busy at work. But also because I'm tired, soooo tired, and crying over EVERY BLOOMING LITTLE THING. Runs in my stockings, whiskers on kittens, other people's pregnancies and the dread that only comes when you're preparing to go back on Clomid, the fertility pill of Satan.

THURSDAY, DAY 1 OF PHANTOM PREGNANCY

I post a conversation in which I bitch to Zoot about not being pregnant and that the stress of life has screwed up my insides and making my period 21 hours late and waaaaaaaaaaah. A button pops off my pants. Goddamn it.

FRIDAY, DAY 3 OF PHANTOM PREGNANCY

We go out for dinner and I am a bitter, bitter date. The entire world is against me. I am fat and unlovable but everyone should love me because waaaaaah. Jason orders steak tartare. Amy bolts for the restroom. Jason mentions that maybe, just maybe, I should think about taking a pregnancy test.

"Bah!" I say. "I'm so not getting suckered in again. I'm just fat and cranky and now possibly getting the stomach flu."

"Whatever." Jason says.

SATURDAY, DAY 4 OF PHANTOM PREGANCY

It snowed, so it seemed like a good time to go stock up on the bad weather essentials: light bulbs, milk, wine and pregnancy tests.

I took the first test and got two lines. And I freaked out for exactly 15 seconds. And then I realized that I'd accidentally bought the digital kind, so you aren't supposed to look at the lines, you're supposed to plug the pee stick part into a digital reader thing and wait for the LCD display to tell you your results.

(You know how on TV when someone gets a positive test another character always asks, "Are you sure you took the test correctly?" And then the woman always goes, "I think I know how to pee on a stick, moron?" Yeah. Apparently, I don't.)

Anyway. Many curse words were said. Innocent pee sticks were hurled against walls. Stomping of feet, pouting of lip, etc.

Luckily, I had to pee again like, 20 minutes later. This time? Positive. The overly-complicated test was quite sure.

"JAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSOOOOOOOOONNNN!" I shrieked in a voice that was not quite human. "IT SAYS I'M PREGNANT."

We stared at the stick in disbelief for a few minutes. Jason commented that we'd just bought a lot of wine that I wouldn't be able to drink. I think I cried. Some more.

Just to be sure, I took the last remaining test an hour later.

To: Miss Zoot
From: Amalah
Subject: Jesus Lord God in a Blanket

I have taken three pregnancy tests today.

They all said I'm pregnant.

I am freaking the fuck shit ass out, because this can't be right.

WHY did I decide to wait until the weekend to test? I am going to be a wreck by Monday. A. Wreck.

To: Amalah
From: Miss Zoot
Subject: Re: Jesus Lord God in a Blanket

Holy Crap. You're totally pregnant. You realize that dont you? I mean -  you can actually say the words "I'm pregnant" and they are TOTALLY TRUE. Because - that many tests? CAN NOT BE WRONG.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Now. The blood test numbers will tell you if your body is happy about being pregnant or not - but jesus - it doesnt matter because YOU'RE TOTALLY FUCKING PREGNANT.

HA!!!!!

SUNDAY, DAY 1 OF ACTUAL REAL-LIFE PREGNACY

To: Miss Zoot
From: Amalah
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: (etc.) Jesus Lord God in a Blanket

OH MY GOD I JUST WENT OUT FOR LUNCH AND FELL DOWN THE STAIRS ON THE WAY TO MY 300TH TRIP TO THE BATHROOM.

I. Fell. Down. The. Stairs. All Scarlett O'Hara like. And when the hostess came running towards me I started shrieking at her that I'M PREGNANT AND CANNOT FALL DOWN STAIRS.

And then I started crying. And everybody backed away from me in terror.

Ok, it wasn't a full flight of stairs or anything...I slipped on one stair and smacked the middle of my back on it. Still. AS IF I DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH TO FREAK OUT ABOUT. I am not getting out of bed for the rest of my life.

Later, I tried and tried to think of a funny way to write about my fall that left out the pregnancy bit, but I couldn't. Every fictionalized version of the event ended up including alcohol, and that felt WRONG, like the word would jump off my screen and into my bloodstream and pickle my tiny embryo.

This was also the first time I said the words "I'm pregnant" out loud to anyone, and I still felt like I was lying for the sake of dramatics.

MONDAY, DAY 2 OF ACTUAL REAL-LIFE PREGNANCY

I called my doctor's office, and they were...calm. Not hysterical at all. And even more unbelievable, they apparently BELIEVED the pee stick results completely.

Amy: I took three tests this week and they were all positive so do I need a blood test and I need my beta checked and oh my God oh my God.

Them: Okay, come in on Friday for your first prenatal visit.

Amy: Pre...natal? You mean I'm actually pregnant?

Them: Don't forget your insurance card, freak.

I went to the grocery store for lunch and hit the salad bar, mentally checking off all the folic acid/calcium/iron-rich foods as I made the healthiest lunch I think I have ever eaten, topped off with bottled water, milk and orange juice.

And I also picked up a different brand of pregnancy test, which I took in the restroom, AT WORK, while humming "This Is Where It Ends" by the Barenaked Ladies.

To: Miss Doxie
From: Amalah
Subject: Re: The Thing We Talked About Last November But Never Changed The Subject Line On Any Email Since

I took another test today, in the bathroom, here at work, because I'm insane. But even more insane because I wrapped the (positive!) test up in toilet paper and put it in my purse. Because one day I may show my child how much I loved them from the start that I peed on a stick at work for them.

Maybe their first boyfriend or girlfriend would like to see it too!

TUESDAY, DAY 3 OF ACTUAL REAL-LIFE PREGNANCY

At this point, I was beginning to suspect that I may be pregnant. And it just HAPPENED. By ACCIDENT. Like we were unwed crack whore teenagers.

Thanks to the Inneret, I'd learned that my due date was September 28th and that I had a really long way to go before I made it safely out of the first trimester. Which meant no posting about it. Which turned into...no posting at all. As Mirella would later say, "I imagine it will be hard to blog when you can't blog about the one. Thing. Consuming. Your LIFE."

FRIDAY, THE DAY OF THE DOCTOR

Jason came with me, which was awww, except that it was too early to be a fun appointment, and all he ended up witnessing was a pelvic exam, from which I'm not sure he's fully recovered.

Doctor: La la, you're fine, Tadpole is fine, see you in four weeks, get a sonogram in two, please accept this cheap photocopied booklet of clipart and stuff as your complete guide to pregnancy.

Amy: So when does it all go horribly wrong?

Doctor: Huh?

Amy: When does the bad news start? The bleeding, the blighted ovum, the tubal pregnancy?

Doctor: So I take it you spend a lot of time on the Internet?

AND...FAST-FORWARD TO TODAY, BECAUSE ENOUGH ALREADY

So hi. I'm pregnant. It's still really, really early and y'all are lucky that you know about it all, because the original plan was to keep it quiet for another SIX WEEKS. But then the news kind of got away from me, as one of the rarely-mentioned symptoms of early pregnancy is that the words "I'M PREGNANT" start popping out of your mouth at every occasion.

Cashier at Grocery Store: Can I get a price check on oranges?

Amy: I'm pregnant!

Cashier at Grocery Store: Um, okay. Do you have a bonus card?

Amy: Pregnant!

I tried to keep it quiet at work though, I really did. But it just didn't work out that way and I ended up telling my boss yesterday, so clearly, what's the point in the silence?

I'm only six weeks pregnant. A hell of a lot can go wrong in the next month or so. I really hope it doesn't.  I also hope if you're a coworker, you can keep this quiet, and by that I mean please do not tell another non-Amalah-reading soul.

(I'm not sure I've ever typed a more pointless sentence, but you know, it makes me feel better to go through the motions.)

Anyway! My boobs hurt! I pee a lot! No, really, a lot! I get queasy at night! Heartburn! Constipation! By the late afternoon I'm retaining so much water my belly looks four months pregnant! None of my pants fit! And I really wasn't expecting pregnancy to be this gassy!

But after two years of nothing? It's so wonderful -- no, mind-blowingly fucking AMAZING -- to finally have something.

Even if it is just a wee tadpole who gives you gas.

Wednesday Advice Smackdown

Amy: Hey, remember the Wednesday Advice Smackdown?

You:  No, not really. Was it like wrestling?

Amy: The thing! With the advice! On Wednesdays! I used to do it every week. Until two weeks ago-ish.

You: Yes. Two whole weeks have gone by. It is forgotten. Over. We have moved on to bigger and better and more frequently-updated weblogs.

Amy: Fine then. Fuck all y'all. I will just give out advice to my own damn self then and I hope you and your new favorite weblog will be very happy together.

You: Nooooo! Amy! I'm kidding! I could never love anyone as much as I love you. Never! I'm sorry! Look, I will give you money for no reason!

Amy: Well...okay then. I do enjoy money.

You: Wait. I totally did not just say all that stuff. You typed it yourself. That is so not cool.

Amy: La la la.

You: Give me back my money, bitch.

Amalah, I seek your sagilicious advice, since you are so experienced in blog-related drama.

I think I have a blog stalker. See, after my very first blog post ever, this girl commented that she loved my site, so--yay! Why don't I check hers out. Which I did, to find out she had copied my "about me" word for word as her own. Weeks later, I mentioned this to a friend, who then commented on the stalker's site--why are you stealing (insert secret identity blog name here)'s stuff? Stalker promptly apologized, removed my writing, and all was well with the world.

Until another comment popped up on my blog from someone with a secret identity extraordinarily similar (different by one word) to my own. She's started a new blog. Just like my own. Using my template at blogger (I know. I use a Template. Hate me forever and flog me twice). And with a catch phrase also similar to my own. She would like me to link to her on my blog. I am certain from her description, location, and--hell--MO that this is the same copy cat as before.

Here's the thing. I admire your brattiness. I could probably use some more of it myself. She's not a mean gal, and I don't wish to be mean toward her. How can I tactfully say to her: no, I do not want to link to you, Miss Copy Cat Stalker?

Love,
Real Girl

Can you believe I have never been plagiarized? Everybody's been plagiarized. I honestly don't think you're somebody until you've been plagiarized. I'm a nobody! Nobody wants to steal from me.

Possibly because they sense that I would personally break their index fingers if they did.

Anyway, you need to fight Crazy with Crazy. Here is what you write to Little Miss NutJob:

Dear Little Miss NutJob:

Thanks for commenting! You type very pretty. I bet you have handwriting like a serial killer.

As for your request for me to link to you, there's a bit of a problem. If I linked to your site, I would actually be linking to MYSELF, as there is so much copy-cattitude going on at your site I fear that linking to you would rip a hole in the blogosphere time-space continuum and Blogger would crash and suddenly we'd be in some parallel universe where I was copying from you and doing it in Chinese, for some reason.

And none of us want that. Only communists want that.

Love,

Real Girl

P.S. I heart Cheerios!

Hopefully she won't bother you again, because clearly, you'll have her beat in the unbalanced department. Suddenly emulating your site won't sound so great to her anymore and she'll go copy somebody else. Like me! And then I will get some violence, and everybody will be happy.

And then you go get somebody to make you a custom template. Just sayin'.

Amalah:

I know you are Very Busy right now, but I have a pressing question: We adopted a dog two weeks ago. Jelly is not as tiny as Ceiba, but she is small, and she has a lot less hair than she used to due to the grooming we gave her (necessary to get rid of all the crap - figurative AND literal, I'm afraid) that was in her fur. (See here for the before-and-after.)

Anyway, Jelly seems to be an elderly lady and she's cold a lot. She shivers and her little gums even flap. She does have an outside coat, but I'm afraid we may need to break down and buy her a sweater to wear indoors, esp. at night when we turn our heat very low (because we are cheap and also because it's nice to burrow into warm covers in a cold room).

So, here's my question: What does one look for in a dog sweater? Any styles, colors you think might be appropriate for an aged shih tzu/lhasa mix living in Maine (pleeeease don't say flannel!)? And, finally, how do we avoid being laughed at by all the other dogs and people?

Many thanks,
mc

First of all, you will never avoid being laughed at by other dogs and people, because people? Are assholes. And a lot of them, apparently, are really really bugged by small dogs.

Is it the Paris Hilton thing? The Taco Bell thing? The assumption that EVERY SMALL DOG IS A CHIHUAHUA, because that’s the only small breed people know about?

I really don’t know. But after we got Ceiba, I was shocked by how mean people can be about small dogs. In the first month we had her, Ceiba was:

1) Referred to as a seizing, bald hamster,

2) Made fun of on an online forum, and

3) Called an ugly rat purse dog by total strangers.

And I got really fucking pissed off, each and every time. For Christ sakes, she was a PUPPY, in the CITY, where there are NO YARDS, and also? MY DOG.

Now I take it more in stride. I gently correct people when they say, “Yo quiero Taco Bell” at Ceiba like it’s the funniest thing ever, and I no longer punch people who ask me if I keep her in my purse like THAT’S the funniest thing ever.

And she wears her sweaters and coats unapologetically. Well, I put them on her that way, at least, because she fucking hates them. Luckily, a lot of people put coats on their dogs (big and small alike) in our neighborhood. The key is to buy ones that are practical. Simple. Not floofy.

Because if you’re outside waiting for your dog to take a shit so you can pick it up with a plastic baggie and your dog is wearing a pink fluffy cashmere sweater with flower-shaped buttons? You deserve to be laughed at. In fact, I’m laughing at you right now.

I’m also laughing at this.

In fact, let’s make that your first rule. No sweaters made from any type of luxury material. Mostly because your dog will end up eating most of the clothes you buy for her. Ceiba has destroyed three.

So just get a nice simple sweater, with no bows or bells or other dangly things. Be careful with turtlenecks, as they have the tendency to make your dog look like a giant Q-Tip. And no feather boas. Ever.

Dearest, loveliest, tartiest (in a good way!) Amalah:

What do you believe the shelf life of bangs will be this go 'round? Are bangs to go the way of ponchos or will they have the staying power of capris? Inquiring minds want to know.

Signed,
BG

All the cool kids are growing out their bangs.

Mine are already all the way down past my eye sockets!

(Sigh. I just spent 20 minutes trying to Photoshop some cool graffiti on a brick wall that says BANGS ARE DEAD before I remembered that I have no artistic talent whatsoever. And also that it was a stupid idea.)

Dear Ama lama ding-dong, and no, I don’t know what struck me to refer to you in this manner:

I am a married man seeking the advice of a married woman who might know about these things (I didn’t mean for that to come out like a personal ad, but there you have it) --

What would be a good present for the 2nd wedding anniversary? Mine is coming up soon and I am somewhat at a loss with the traditional “cotton” theme. The limited research I have done suggests things like sheets and pillows, which we already have in abundance. I’d like to do something that fits within the theme, but not so run-of-the-mill.

Any inspiration to share?
Tommy

Okay, I'm going to tell you about The Greatest Anniversary Gift Ever now. Ever!

It was our wedding anniversary -- our ONE MONTH wedding anniversary. Couldn't you all just gag?

I was still in school at Penn State, and Jason knew that I read the Daily Collegian paper every damn day. (Because I used to work there for like, two weeks I felt I knew all the inner workings of the paper and finding copy editing mistakes totally made my day.) He also knew I always read the classifieds, so he placed the following ad that day:

Sun: This is it. Go to (such and such address) after class today. Dress sharp.

(Yes, his nickname for me was Sun. As in Sunshine. Shut up.)

The address was a jewelry store downtown, where the salesgirl had a little bag waiting for me with a necklace and earrings set in it. And a note from Jason telling me to head to Victoria's Secret in the mall.

There I met more salesgirls who were completely in love with my husband and presented me with a bag full of very sexy underwear that he'd picked out earlier. And...a note telling me to head home.

At home, there was a new dress laid on on the bed, a dozen roses on the table, and a note telling me to meet him at the Allen St. Grill back downtown. Which was the end, and dinner, and champagne, and la la la best day ever.

So yeah. Do that for your wife. Or you know, get her some nice cotton towels. I'm sure she'll like that just as well.

Amalah,

So, I have this friend who recently found out that she's pregnant. She has told family and some close friends, but has not yet disclosed this information publicly on her bloggy website thing. And I know that she must be dying to. Because she's struggled with fertility problems for a while now -- shit, this woman went so far as to buy a three pound dog that some might say looks like a seizing, bald hamster just to quell her baby cravings. And now she's going to have a REAL LIVE BABY! And that is VERY EXCITING! Especially considering her past non-pregnant difficulties. And I say that she should let the cat out of the Coach bag and tell the world, or at least her internet readers. How do I convince her to do so?

xoxo,
Martha

Well, you could always out her on her own damn advice column.

Which I guess you already did! Huh.

(Do you think anybody will actually read all the way down to the end of this post?)