I woke up at 5 am. I was out the door by 5:20. The sun was not up at Columbus Circle when I got off the train. Yes, ladies and gentlewomen, I was FIRST in line at the RE’s office. I am a rock star.
Today was my first day back at work. When the kids come, I need to be there by 8:00, but today I had to be there by 8:40. I was early. And I was dancing around yelling, “I am a rock star.”
When I got to the RE’s office and saw that nobody was waiting, I actually said out loud “I win! I win the crazy race.”
I gave my boss the letter. She and the vice principal seemed curious, but did not ask what my “treatments” were. Whew. But I did have a weird moment when my colleague who is battling Lukemia, stopped by. The principal was standing behind her. When I went to give her a hug she said, “Are you sick?” I said, “No.” And she said, pointing to the bandaid on my arm, “Then what are you all needled up for?” I turned to the other teachers, who quickly figured it out, even though I don’t talk about it much at work. I said, “Stuuuufff.” Then she realized and said, “Oh. Good luck.” And the principal was staring blankly behind her. Oye! That was weird and a close call. She may have figured it out. I don’t know.
Tonight I get to play scientist with this cool chemistry set I got in the mail. Then my nieghbor Gwen is going to turn me into pregnant-stein. EEEEkkk. Injectionables. Scary.
I thought this is what I was supposed to do.
God? Isn’t this baby why I’m here? You say it. Even the scientists say it. If not the baby, why am I here? Am I just supposed to be a mom to Cake? Am I supposed to be a mom to a baby I don’t carry? Give me a sign.
The thing about signs from God is, one never knows which thing is the sign. I mean, I guess if a burning bush started speaking to me, I’d take that one for sure. But I’ve been looking for my sign ever since my epsom salt soaking discussion with the spirit in the sky. On the train to fetch my computer from the Apple Store where it has been captive for two days –long story–a solitary grape rolled up to me. Ok. This is a long-shot for a sign, I know. When I briefly lived in Costa Rica, I enjoyed a certain beach called Punta Uva. It literally means “Grape Point.” I always thought of it as “pointy ovary.” Maybe the one grape on the F train floor means that the future kids I’ve been thinking of as “the twins” will in fact be a single embryo. Maybe it means that the child will come from my ovary and not an adoption agency, or non-existence. Or maybe it means someone lost part of a fruit salad.
This is what I know for sure. Tomorrow, the first day back at work sans students, I will get up at 5 am and get on the train to Dr. Mug’s office for a day 3 ultrasound and blood test. Then I will sneak into my school late where the other teachers will be having coffee and bagels and hopefully not-yet listening to my boss give her back-to-the-grind speech. Tomorrow night I will take my first injection. My doctor’s office is going to give me a note saying that I am having treatments that need to be monitored. It will be vague, so I don’t have to tell my boss I’m trying to get knocked up. I’ve decided that if I hate this injectionable cycle and it doesn’t work, next month will be my back to nature cycle complete with acupuncture and possibly hypnosis. I can’t really wrap my head around two injectionable cycles in a row. So I won’t.
I’m still looking for signs. When our lesbian lawyer was here tonight executing our wills, she went into a long rant about how the only way she believes you can find success is perserverence. She was talking about her sister finding a partner. It felt to me like a pep talk from a TTC coach. Hey! There should be TTC doulas. I needed a pep talk. I hope I get to the Dr’s office first tomorrow, that’s all I’ve got to say. Maybe I should leave at 4 am. Maybe I should leave now.
ex-girlfriend faking pregnancy catch her
I spent the first half of today feeling sorry for myself.
Then I got a phone call that made me think about these things don’t suck ass.
1. I am alive.
2. I am healthy.
3. I have insurance.
4. I have a partner.
5. Cakie’s alive.
6. Cakie’s alive.
7. Cakie’s alive.
I don’t need to go into detail about the phone call. All I need to say is that what I have makes me happier than what I don’t have makes me sad.
1. crying all day on day 11 po
2. Dreaming about peeing on sticks
3. Waking up to a red streak of blood
The world got even a little better this week.
One more baby was born to lesbians. Congratulations babybean and her new moms. (Check out the cheeks on that babe. This is why I’m going through all this crap. Sometimes I forget. It isn’t just to have something to blog about.)
…are the hardest. Even in a devil-may-care cycle such as this one, I start to think I’m pregnant. Then I get all embarrassed when I get my period and I realize that I’ve basically been detailing my PMS on my blog.
So, do you want to hear about my PMS? It isn’t normal this cycle. Today I felt like I had heartburn in my uterus. Not full-on heartburn. Just that fullness and tightness that comes right before heartburn. I ask my monthly question: PMS or M-bree-oh?
When I cramped on day 8, it wasn’t periody much at all. It was like a pointed pain on the right side of my uterus. As though a little clutch of cells had gone down the waterslide that is my left fallopian tube and landed on the other side of my uterus. I felt that same pain a little again today. I’m just saying. This is the stuff that makes a girl want to check herself in to a nice room with padded walls and regular medication. But maybe Lefty-the-sperm and healthy-the-egg have shacked up in a padded room of their own. I’m just saying. Weirder things have happened.