We don’t need a damn dresser

Phone conversation between Husband and his mother:

DH:  This weekend, we ordered a crib.

MIL:  Oh!  I want to buy you the matching dresser/changing table.

DH:  Actually, we already have a dresser for the baby.  It was Mrs Whatsit’s mom’s when she was a kid.

MIL:  But, what about a changing table?!

DH:  We’re going to put one of those curved changing pads on top of the dresser.

MIL:  But you need something with a lip so the changing pad doesn’t fall off!

DH:  Look, we have a small apartment.  If a new large piece of furniture comes in then we have to get rid of some of the furniture we already have and we’re not getting rid of Whatsit’s mom’s childhood dresser.

MIL:  Okay, don’t get excited, I’m sure the baby will get changed somehow….

In which I’m horribly ill

So, a couple weekends ago, I had just gotten to the point that the worst of the first trimester woes had passed and I was actually feeling pretty good.  I was down to one nap a day instead of three!  I was even ready to tackle cleaning up the apt. (I have church stuff all over creation due to preparing for a special event).  And then, I started sneezing.  I thought it was allergies or something, but I woke up the next day with a cold and felt absolutely miserable.  I barely got out of bed and didn’t even shower, that’s how bad I felt.*  The universe is cruel.

So, I’ve been recuperating this past week and I actually feel quite a bit better, although both my grandmother and mom say I sound awful (thanks, guys).  Basically, I’ve been laying around the apt., drinking OJ and tea with honey and taking lots and lots of naps (and coughing up a lung and using boxes of kleenex).

But, I’m looking forward to getting back to a good version of my old self soon.  So, I’ve informed Husband that, as soon as that happens, we are going into full-fledged baby prep mode.  I have no idea how long I’ll be feeling good and I hear that the third trimester is pretty miserable, so we’re going to make the most of this time while it lasts.  This will involve purging enough books to eliminate one of our bookshelves (out of six) to make room for the desk from the study (aka the baby’s room) in the living room and repainting a dresser** and moving it to the baby’s room.  Also, we need to rent a storage unit and move everything out of the baby’s closet into the unit and a lot of the stuff in our little storage space next to the apt. to make way for baby stuff.  Oh, and move the cat litter from the baby’s room to a hall closet (where we shall also keep the diaper pail; it’ll be the stinky closet).  Then, we’ll have room to move in baby furniture and accoutrements.  It’s a lot of work and it’s not the kind of thing I can do when I’m 8 mos. pregnant, so we’re going to try to get it done now.

Of course, there’s also the possibility that we’ll move (which, due to lease constraints, probably won’t happen until I’m 8 mos. pregnant).  We’re waiting to see if Husband will be getting much of a raise in July.  If he does, we’ll be looking for a place that’s slightly larger and, more importantly, with a washer and dryer in the apt.  Right now, we have to drive to the laundry facility in our complex and that’s going to suck after the baby gets here.

So, big plans afoot.  Just as soon as I get better (Hello!  Immune System!  Time to get a move on!).


*Even during my absolute worst case of depression, when my doctor started suggesting I go to a hospital, I still showered everyday.

**The dresser belonged to my mother when she was a girl and my grandparents let her paint it herself.  It’s really very sweet–white with large, sixties-ish blue flowers–and normally I’d want to keep it the way it is due to it’s family history value.  But, the paint’s peeling in a lot of places and God knows if there’s lead in it, so I’ll be repainting it.

If the government shuts down

Husband works for a company that contracts with NASA.  His office is in a NASA research center.  If the government shuts down, he can telecommute for awhile.  If the government shuts down for an extended period of time, he will not be able to telecommute for the entire time and will have to start taking vacation time.  If the government shuts down for a really long time, he will run out of vacation time and he will not be paid. Not, “he’ll still be paid but he won’t get a paycheck until the government starts up again.”  He. Will. Not. Be. Paid.  And seeing as how I’m currently unemployed, we will have no income.

A cut in income and no vacation time has pretty big meaning to us right now.  My brother is getting married in June in Iowa.  Will we be able to afford to go?  Or rather, will we be able to afford for me to go because Husband will have to stay home due to having no vacation time.  And then, there’s the baby.  Obviously, a decrease in income is not good when there is a baby on the way.  But, the loss of vacation time is also not good.  Husband’s company does not offer paid paternity leave.  He can use sick time for that (and pray he doesn’t get sick until he accrues more sick time) and he was going to do that, but he was also planning on using vacation time.  He’s been trying to save as much vacation time as possible in preparation for this, but obviously, it is more important to us for him to receive a paycheck right now so he will take vacation time now if he has to.

I don’t agree with many of the budget cuts the Republicans want.  But, at this point, I don’t give a damn.  Just pass the budget already.

Women who “don’t work” run the world

This morning, I got an email from a fellow church volunteer who abruptly said she needed something large, complicated and wooden that I had gotten roped into making by this Sunday.  No deadline had been mentioned when I got roped into making this piece.  In order to have the piece ready given the time constraints and weather constraints, I was going to have to forgo most of the plans I had for the rest of the week (including little things like menu planning and buying groceries) and do some of the work indoors (sawdust and polyurethane, great!).

As I stood in the shower, I thought about making this thing and trying to get the other stuff in my life done (realizing that buying groceries was actually not optional), I got totally overwhelmed and started to cry.  Which is when I decided I’d had enough.  I was done.  I was not making the Large, Complicated and Wooden Thing.  If she wanted it, she could make it her own damn self.  I sent an email to that effect (only slightly more polite) and then I called A the Ubermom.

A was on her way to French class with her two children, but she had a couple of minutes to talk.  She is also a volunteer at the church and, well, we were both feeling a little bit fed up with the status quo (actually, there’s quite a bit more backstory to this situation, but it’s not really important for the point I’m trying to make).  She reassured me that it was okay that I was not making the LCWT.  And then she said, “You’re doing enough, you’ve got a lot going on and you’re a very busy person.”  And A is right, I actually am a very busy person.  I agreed with her and then said, “Which is really funny because I don’t work.”  And A said:

“I have come to realize that Women Who Don’t Work run the world.  If all of us women who ‘don’t work’ were to stop doing everything it is that we do, schools, libraries, churches, and most non-profit agencies would come to a screeching halt.  And that’s not even counting housework and kids.”

Guys, I am perfectly willing to believe that there are women out there who do not bring in a paycheck, do not have children to take care of, do not have to take care of their houses and spend their entire days and nights doing nothing but leisure activities.  It’s just that I don’t know any of them.  All of the women I know who do not bring in a paycheck are involved in umpteen volunteer activities in addition to doing the lion’s share of taking care of the children and of the housework.  And, they grow their own vegetables.  And, take classes online or at community colleges.

I may not have children (yet), but I am just as busy with volunteer work, housework, growing our own vegetables, and taking classes.  In fact, I’ve had to cut back recently due to my need to sleep 16 hours a day (does that go away?  Please say yes).  Because I’ve been so tired, Husband has been doing quite a bit of the laundry and cooking and cleaning, too (he always does the dishes because I Don’t Do Dishes).*  This busyness was unexpected to me.  I really had thought there would be plenty of time to read  4 or 5 books a week and churn out a handknit sweater once a month or so (I didn’t think that’s what stay-at-home-moms did, I know taking care of children is a lot of work!).

So, be nice to Women Who Don’t Work.  Your favorite school/library/church/charity might fall apart without them.


*These were things that we had previously shared the workload for but that I taken over because I thought it was only fair since he is at work all day.  The reasoning went something like this:  he’s at work all day for which he earns a pay check that contributes to our life together, so I should do housework during the day as my share of contributing to our life together and then we will both be free at night and on the weekends to do stuff together.  This will change a bit when the baby arrives because I anticipate being about as busy with the baby during the day as he is with his job during the day.

PSA: Go to a bra shop. For real.

Since becoming pregnant, there have been some changes with my body.  The worst one, as far as I’m concerned, is that my breasts have basically been hurting continuously, day and night, for the last 5 weeks.  It’s not excruciating, but it’s always there.  It’s a bit like having a minor headache for 5 weeks straight.  It’s not the end of the world, but it’s unpleasant and, frankly, it’s not helping my mood any.

Well, last night, I decided I had had enough.  I looked at Husband (who has been hearing me say that my breasts hurt every day for the last 5 weeks) and said, “I can’t take it anymore.  I’m going to a bra shop.  It will be crazy expensive.  I don’t give a damn.  This. Has. To. STOP!”  He (very wisely) answered, “Okay, that sounds like a good idea.”

I had heard very positive things about bra shops in general from various female friends, who are, shall we say, a little on the busty side.  I had heard words like, “the most comfortable bra I’ve ever worn,” “life-changing,” and, “it made me look 10 pounds thinner.”  Basically, women who had been to bra shops could not say enough positive things about them.

My friends, it is all true.

This morning I went to a shop recommended by a friend.  I went into the store and told the woman working there, “My breasts hurt.  They need more support.  I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”  She looked slightly taken aback, but assured me she could help.  I explained that I am 7 weeks pregnant, and she put me in a lovely fitting room, measured around my ribcage, showed me why my current bra was not going to give me what I needed explained what she thought I did need, and brought me bras to try on.  It was beautiful.

As soon as I put the first one on, I knew I was hooked (no pun intended).  It was the most comfortable bra I had ever worn, it was life-changing, and it did make me look 10 pounds thinner (for real, guys).  And my breasts no longer hurt.  The salesperson (and I hesitate to call her that, because I really feel she deserves a more grandiose title like, “Bra-fitting Goddess”) explained that she was bringing me bras that were particularly stretchy in certain regions because my breasts were going to continue to grow (Oy!  Say it ain’t so!) and with pregnancy, I would likely put on weight in my ribcage.  So, she wanted me to have a bra I could grow in a little bit, while still providing me with the support I need.  She also said she was bringing me a very popular, basic bra that was in the low end of their price range.  “I can bring you $200 bras if you’d like, but since you will probably need a larger bra in a couple of months, I thought you might not like to spend that much.”  Indeed.  I remarked that I would likely need these bras again when my breasts decrease back to normal, they will go back to normal, right?  “Don’t count on it,”  she said.  Double OY!

With each bra, she evaluated the fit and brought me another size if it didn’t fit the way she thought it should.  I could tell which ones fit properly and which ones didn’t simply by how comfortable they were.  Additionally, she said women who get diagnosed with “blockages” (whether in milk ducts or lymph ducts was unclear) often have ill-fitting underwire bras that are putting too much pressure in one spot of the breast tissue.  I’m not sure what the data is for that, but I can see how it could be true, given where the underwire on my old bra was ending up under my arm.   She showed me where the underwire should end up under my arm for a good fit.  She mentioned breast-feeding that women who breast-feed unevenly often end up with uneven breasts, so beware!

In the end, I bought two bras which cost about $140 in total.  This was a whole lot cheaper that I thought it was going to be (I was prepared to spend up to $150 per bra if necessary, that’s how much distress I was in!) and, actually, not much more than I had spent on two of my ill-fitting bras.  I did try on one very pretty (and sexy) black bra with stretch lace at the top that would also allow me to grow that was a little over $100, but I decided to save it for next time (because I’m absolutely sure there is going to be a next time, and probably in about a couple of months).  She didn’t pressure me to buy the more expensive bra, she just asked if I wanted her to write down the brand, model, and size in case I wanted to come back for it.  She didn’t even mention buying a matching panty (which I’m sure they had).  Her goal was to get me in a well-fitting bra that I liked, not to get me to spend as much as possible in the store.

I wore one of the new bras out of the store.  I really couldn’t bear putting the old one on again.

To give you an idea of what kind of change we are talking about here, I walked in wearing a 36D (the size recommended to me by the saleswoman at Victoria’s Secret) and walked out wearing a 38E.  The 36F was a little too snug around the ribcage even though the cup size was right.  I was a little distressed about the cup size.  The Bra-Fitting Goddess tried to soothe me, “Don’t worry about it, it’s just a letter.”  Yes, but it’s a letter that indicates I will probably always need to buy the more expensive bras (although, as I said, the two I got were not that much more expensive than others I owned).

Why did I wear such ill-fitting bras for so long?  Well, one reason was that I had balked at the idea of going to a bra shop because I thought all of the bras would be at least $100 or more and I didn’t want to spend that much on a bra.  This was somewhat faulty thinking, though, considering how much I wear each bra (I usually only have two or three at a time and therefore wear each one about 3 days a week).  Really, given how much time I spend in each bra and how important I feel it is to be comfortable, a very good, expensive bra makes a lot of sense and is a smart investment.  I had come to this conclusion about my eyeglasses a few years ago (I wear a pair of glasses 16 hours a day, every day for two or three years, so it’s worth it to me to buy a nice pair that I really like), but really hadn’t put the same kind of thought into undergarments.

The other reason, I think, is that I was “comfortable enough.”  I didn’t feel like I was falling out of my bra because it looked pretty good from the front and I didn’t have the double-boob thing going on.  The band didn’t feel “too” tight.  (And, it wasn’t possible to try on a larger cup size in the places I typically shopped for bras.)  There’s a lot of, “just suck it up and deal,” advice given to women in just about every area of life.  We are meant to think that some things are slightly uncomfortable and that’s just the way it is.   I hated wearing a training bra before I really had breasts–I thought they were uncomfortable–so when I truly had to wear a bra (because being without one was more uncomfortable than wearing one), I didn’t necessarily think that it should be comfortable.  On top of that, my mother is an A-B cup and so didn’t have the same experience I have had, dealing with much larger breasts, so she didn’t teach me the importance of a well-fitting bra (not that A-B cup ladies don’t deserve to have well-fitting bras, they absolutely do, but it’s my impression they have less to worry about in terms of support, weight, and pain–please correct me if I’m wrong).  So, I was pretty much screwed from the beginning.

The key difference, I think, in shopping at a proper bra store versus shopping at a department store, or even shopping at Victoria’s Secret, is that the saleswomen in a bra store are professionals.  They really know what they are doing and this doesn’t seem to be a part-time or temporary job for them (the woman who helped me had been mentioned in yelp reviews going back at least three years).  I actually worked at a Victoria’s Secret right out of college, before I found a research tech job, and none of us were given any training in how to properly evaluate bra fit.  We only got a very brief talk about how to measure someone for a bra.  And we always, always had to suggest the matching panty.  All of the advice we were given was about how to increase a sale.*

Given my experience at this store,  how comfortable I have felt since putting on this bra and how much better I look, I will definitely be going back to this bra store in the future and if I move elsewhere, I will track down a bra store there.  I may be preaching to the choir, here, but if you’ve never been to a proper bra store (and you will know right away if you’ve found one by how knowledgeable the saleswoman is) I really very strongly urge you to go hunt one down.**  It might not be as expensive as you think and you have nothing to lose.


*Even though we were not paid on commission they did keep track of each saleswoman’s sales and if our sales were routinely low, we had to have a talk with a manager.  This is why it is important to remember the name of the person helping you in clothing stores and to mention it at the counter when you go to purchase something.  They key in a code before scanning in the merchandise which allows the computer to keep track of each person’s sales.

**Bra stores are a bit of dying breed, though.  If you don’t live in a major metropolitan, it may be difficult to find one.  But it will be worth your time.

An unfortunate series of events

So, last Sat. night, Husband and I were in a fender-bender.  We were on our way to a tapas restaurant in a nearby town, on unfamiliar streets, after dark, in the rain.  Husband was driving.  Well, we approached an intersection, and the left turn signal was red.  We were not turning left, but Husband was stressed out about driving in unfamiliar territory, in the dark, in the pouring rain and he started slowing down to stop.  Just as I was about to say, “What are you doing, the light is green!” we were hit from behind.  It was surprisingly loud.  Fortunately, were weren’t at a complete stop so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.  Airbags were not deployed.

However, I did not handle it well.

See, for the last week, my thoughts have run something like this:

Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, “What?  Sure, let’s have chicken tonight, “ baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, “Huh?  Ummm…no, I haven’t seen your phone,” baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.

If Husband had said to me, “Honey, I think we should raise chickens on our back patio.”  I probably would have responded something like, “Hmmm?  Oh.  Yes, fresh eggs would be nice,” and go on thinking baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.

Which is why, when Husband came back to the car looking for a pen after talking with the other driver, and looked at me and said, “Honey, it’s okay,” I shrieked, “IT IS NOT OKAY, WHAT ABOUT THE BABY?!?!?!”

Well.  This was not the best possible response.  Unfortunately, I’ve been pretty stressed out for awhile now, and the last week had been the worst.  First and foremost, I’m desperately worried about a miscarriage.  Yes, great, I got pregnant, but now I have to stay pregnant which is not as easy as it sounds and at this stage in the game, I really have no control over it.  Then, there are all of these things that are related to the baby.  For instance, we recently got a cat who is less than a year old and he has a tendency to bite and I really need that issue resolved before there’s a baby in the apt.  And, the other day, I suddenly realized that if I wanted to knit Christmas presents I should do that now because there will be very little chance to do that after the baby comes (who would be due to arrive mid- to late Nov.).  Then, I chastised myself for thinking about Christmas which is months and months away, let’s stick to getting through the next two months, okay?  And, I’ve been reading up on nutritional requirements during pregnancy (and I have a lot to say about that) and wondering how I could possibly fulfill all of them.  Additionally, I volunteered to cook a meal for a friend who just had twins (!) and I had to find a ride to get the food there because Husband had a car and then I visited her and she’s having trouble breastfeeding but not looking into all available resources about it, which threw me into a tizzy about women and not asking for help and being socially conditioned to suck it up and deal.  Which led me into a tizzy about women’s health.  And what about cloth diapers?  They’re better for the environment and there’s a diaper service nearby, but Husband looks at me like I’m whacked every time I mention it.  Wait, no, that’s months away, too, focus on the present!  Also, I’ve been taking this class that required me to spend time volunteering in an elementary school classroom which was in a Title I school and, my friends, the situation there is absolutely appalling and it is a poster child for everything that is bad and evil about standardized testing (more on that at another date).

Frankly, I was so scatterbrained from everything that was going on (and really tired on top of it) that it could very easily have been me who got the lights confused.  Just the other day, I was at the grocery store before picking up Husband at work.  I unloaded the groceries, got in the car, started it, put it in reverse, and then noticed a shopping cart directly behind the car.  And I thought, “Dammit, what idiot left a shopping cart directly behind my car?  People really inconsiderate jerks these days!”  And then I realized that I was the one who had left the cart back there.

So, with one thing and another, I was A Woman On the Edge.  And despite normally being perfectly level-headed and calm in small emergencies like a fender-bender (at least until I get home and then I fall apart) I completely lost my shit and sobbed after handing my purse to Husband (“Here, you look for the pen!”) and while husband was talking to the other driver.  Fortunately, I was able to pull myself together right before Husband got back into the car, at least enough to stop crying and say, “I want to go home.”

Unfortunately, Husband did not handle the situation well, either.  In the immediate aftermath of the accident, he hadn’t thought about the baby and when I brought it up it rattled him.  Therefore, he got the phone number of the guy who hit us and that is all.  No name, no insurance information.  It was all his fault, Husband  thought, why get the other guy’s info?  Never mind that we were rear-ended after slowing down and therefore, the driver behind us either wasn’t paying attention or following too closely.  I assured him did not think it was his fault, even if he was confused about the lights and I didn’t blame him at all, but the damage had already been done.

So.  We got home, ordered take-out, called the insurance, and I had a glass of wine.  Oh yes I did.  One glass of wine was not going to hurt the baby and I needed something to settle my nerves.  When Husband left to pick up the food, I called my friend, A, who I teach Sunday school with, told her what had happened, told her I was having a glass of wine (“Good,” she said*), and informed her I wouldn’t be coming to teach in the morning or to church, but I might be up for some light knitting in the afternoon if she wanted to do that.  But, I would likely need a ride.

The car appears to be fine, but appearances can be deceiving.  I was once in an accident while driving my friend’s, R’s, car and in that case, I rear-ended the person in front of me.  The was no apparent damage to the car I hit, and there was only a small crack in the bumper cover of R’s car.  However, when R took the car in for a new bumper cover, it turned out that the bumper underneath was totaled and had to be replaced.  So, despite the fact that the car looks fine, I want to take it in to a mechanic to make sure before we drive it very much, if at all.

In terms of the pregnancy, everything seems to be okay so far.  But, I realized last night that I am simply doing way too much right now and I need to cut down my activities considerably, sit back, take a deep breath, and relax.

It’s going to be a very long 9 months.

*A is is, well, kind of an ubermom as I like to call them.  There are several in my knitting group, which is where I met A.  She is also a Le Leche League leader and has been for the last five years.

Some news

Figure 1. Pregnancy test result. Test was performed twice and then confirmed by testing using a different method three times. For real.


It’s feels odd to be posting after such a long absence, but I wanted to share my news with you guys (if any of you are still reading!).  I am finally pregnant!  It’s early days yet (I’m only at 5 weeks), and we aren’t even telling many people until I’m in the 2nd trimester (because the risk of miscarriage is highest in the first trimester), but I thought I could at least share with you people.

As many of you know, this has been a very long time in coming.

To recap (grab some tea, it’s going to be a long one):

(If this kind of saga bores you, skip to the conversation between me and Husband)

I first started wanting a baby after I turned 30 (7 years ago), but was in grad school and wanted to wait until I was done.  And then grad school dragged on and on (and on) and then it became really complicated because Husband took a job that was half a continent away and I was still in Grad School City.  That situation continued for approximately three years.  And then, Husband and I were united, but I still had to write my thesis and defend.  And, I was trying to get on as low a dose with my meds (antidepressants) before getting pregnant which unfortunately backfired on us and we had to wait until I became stable again.  And then we decided to wait until after I defended because trying to get pregnant is not all rainbows and unicorns and I was under enough stress already.  Then, last spring I finally, finally defended.  So you’d think we’d be all clear, but then I was trying to get off of my restless legs medication because there’s no information about it regarding pregnancy in humans (boy, do I have a rant about that).  That didn’t work either (despite trying acupuncture, yes, you read right, acupuncture, apparently there’s a study going on at Stanford that shows that it has some affect on restless legs).  So, we had to wait until that was all sorted out because I was getting about 3 hours of sleep a night.  So, for those of you keeping track, that takes us to last September.  I did a search, found an ob that I liked (more about that another time) and then we actually started trying to get pregnant.

Except, it was still rather complicated because Husband travels for his work.  A lot.  And sometimes that coincided with with ovulation.  Or he was leaving the day I was ovulating (in one memorable case, I was ovulating on a Sunday so I went to teach Sunday school, then skipped church, came home and we had approximately 15 minutes before he had to leave for the airport).  Or it was the holidays and we were traveling so much that we decided not to complicate our lives any further by tracking ovulation.  Given that ovulation and Husband being home were often not coinciding, we even (briefly) discussed artificial insemination to get around this traveling thing.*

So, it was complicated.  And, emotionally stressful, which doesn’t help, of course.  But, we were trying when we could and if, after 6 cycles of trying, we didn’t get pregnant, my ob wanted me to come back (because I’m over 35 and we don’t have a lot of time in which to mess around).  Actually she said 6 months, but I felt we couldn’t count the months when we missed each other during ovulation.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, I got a call from my mother.  My sister was pregnant.  Again.  And this time, she was on the pill and she still got pregnant.  You may wonder at my reaction considering I was trying to get pregnant without success while sis was trying to not get pregnant without success.  Well, I laughed.  Granted, it was laughter with a tinge of hysteria, but I laughed.  The situation was so ridiculously absurd that there was nothing I could do but laugh.  Needless to say, it was not the reaction my mother was expecting.  We talked for awhile, hung up, and then I took a nap for two hours (I had been feeling very tired lately).  I woke up having to go to the bathroom** and I thought, damn it, it’s only a few days before my period is officially late, I’m going to use a pregnancy test.  So, I drove to the drugstore, picked up some prescriptions and a box of three tests, went home, and peed on a stick.  And waited.  And waited.  And then, to my shock and surprise, it said Pregnant.  Not, Not Pregnant.  Pregnant.  There was really no mistaking the result.  And yet, I stared at the test in disbelief.  I walked out of the bathroom and came back in and stared at it some more.  I took the test out to the dining room table and stared at it some more.  It still said Pregnant.

At this point, I decided to call Husband who was traveling (of course) but was on his way home and coincidentally happened to be in Denver on a layover.  I told him the news.  He was appropriately delighted.

Husband:  Yaaayyyyyyy!

Me:  I don’t believe it.  I don’t believe the test.

Husband: [Concerned]  You don’t believe the test?

Me:  No.  I mean, I don’t have any reason to disbelieve it except that it seems too good to be true.

Husband:  Yes, I can see what you mean.

Me:  I’m going to take it again.  It’s only one test.  What if it’s malfunctioning?

Husband:  Yes.  Yes, you need to replicate the result.  That’s the only way to be sure.

So, in the meantime, I was home alone with this Really Big News an no one to talk to, so I skyped my mother.  I kept the test by me, and would look at it every so often, sure it would change to Not Pregnant.  But, it didn’t.  And the next morning, I used the second test AND I used one of these little test strips I had (which can be more difficult to read because the test band might be very faint) and they both registered pregnant.  So, you’d think I’d be reassured.

But I wasn’t.

I talked with my good friend, A, about it (who is sworn to secrecy).

Me:  It all seems too good to be true, so I tested again today.  With two different methods.  And they both say that I’m pregnant.

A:  Wonderful!

Me:  I think I’m going to test again tomorrow.

A: ??????

Me:  I don’t know, I just can’t believe it.

So, the next morning, I woke up and tested, and, indeed, the test registered that I was pregnant.  And the test line was darker.  And then I tested the next morning and the test line was darker still.  So, that was five–count ’em–five positive results.

People, I am pregnant.  After 7 years of wanting to have a child, I am pregnant.  For reals.  I have 5 test results.  I’m calling the doctor on Monday.

But, I still might take a pregnancy test that morning.  You know.  Just to be safe.


*You may be wondering why I didn’t just go with him.  Well, for one thing, my cycles are a little irregular in length and so it is nearly impossible to predict when I will ovulate more than 10 days before the big event.  The second issue is money.  All of that traveling gets expensive after awhile, particularly if you would be buying plane tickets less than 2 weeks in advance.

**This was important because you are supposed to wait several hours after the last time you urinated before testing and because I drink a lot of water (and tea), that means I usually have to wait until after I first get up.

Think like a scientist

It’s been over a year since I’ve done any labwork whatsoever.  But I still have a scientific bent towards the little things.  I don’t “observe,” I take data, I use the word “aliquots” instead of “portions,” it’s not a “procedure,” it’s a protocol.

Husband and I are (finally) officially trying to concieve (yay!) and, as one might expect from two scientists, we are trying to be scientific about it.  Or at least I thought we were.  Recently, we have had to make a few sacrifices.  I have given up alcohol (curse you wine, why did you have to be alcoholic??) and caffeine (no more Mt. Dew or caffeinated tea *sob*).  Husband has switched from briefs to boxers.

Or so I thought.

Scene:  Folding laundry in the bedroom

Me:  Wait a minute.  What are these briefs doing in the laundry?

Husband:  Well, I ran out of boxers….

Me:  Why didn’t you say something?

Husband:  Well, I didn’t want to pressure you to do laundry.

Me:  [growing impatient] But, I could have bought some more!

Husband:  I suppose….

Me:  You can’t go switching from boxers to briefs and back again!  That’s just.. [sputtering]…BAD PROTOCOL!

Husband:  Alright….

Me:  I don’t want to be sitting in a doctor’s office a year from now, saying, “Well, sometimes he wore boxers!!”  [muttering] Calls himself a scientist, can’t even set up a properly controlled experiment….


This blog has been in my thoughts quite a bit lately.  Usually, I think something along the lines of, “Hey, I should post something to the blog,” and then I start composing a post in my head and that’s all the further it gets.  The truth is, I’m not sure what to say.  I don’t know how this blog fits into my life now, if it fits at all.  My blog fell pretty solidly into the “disgruntled grad student” category of blogs and, well, I’m no longer a disgruntled grad student.  I’m also not doing any science whatsoever, so the blog doesn’t really fit into the science blog category, either.  Perhaps that’s part of the problem, I’m not sure what I am anymore.  I’m not a grad student and I’m not doing science.  Those two things were such key elements of my life for so long, I’m not sure who I am without them.

Right now, the only category you can really put me in is “housewife.”  This is an unusual designation for a modern woman.  Especially since I’m not currently aspiring to any other occupation.  Well, I suppose you could say I’m aspiring to be a stay at home mom.  But, that’s not the kind of thing you can tell people at a cocktail party (recently, I was obliged to hobnob with Husband’s colleague, an activity I dreaded because inevitably people ask me, “So, what are you doing now that you’ve graduated?”).

I do feel much better than I did in my last post and I think this is partially because I have found something concrete to focus my energy on.  I am volunteering to teach Sunday school at my church.  I’m teaching 1st-3rd grade children and it has been pretty crazy thus far.  The program we are using is Montessori-based and we are just starting up at this church.  Montessori education involves a lot of materials and mostly they need to be handmade.  So, for about a month I worked on making materials every weekday. We have had three classes so far and each time I feel I’m in a little over my head.  But, it gives me a purpose and a sense of belonging to something bigger than myself.  And that’s a good thing.

What’s up with me

So, you’re probably wondering what I’ve been up to.  Well, I graduated.  There was a hooding ceremony and since Advisor was otherwise occupied, Husband hooded me.  It was pretty awesome and I was very happy I participated.

That was a month and a half ago.

That was also probably the last time I was happy.

So, what’s been going on?  Well, as you know, I’ve been trying to get off of my meds so I can try to get pregnant.  I had gotten off of my sleeping med.  I wasn’t sleeping so great, so I tried Benadryl.  Not only did that not help, but then my restless legs started acting up making things worse.  From a restless legs website, I found out that sedating antihistamines can aggravate restless legs.  So, I stopped the Benadryl, but my legs didn’t go back to normal.  My sleep got worse.  My depression got worse.  My doctor recommended going back on my sleeping meds which was a step backward in the whole trying to have a baby plan.  That made me more depressed.

I thought a lot.  I thought about how my medicine for restless legs is not approved for pregnancy and there are no human studies for it and how it seems less and less likely that I will be able to go off of it.  I thought about not going off of it and what that might do to a future baby and if I could handle having a baby with a birth defect which was quite likely caused by taking a medication.  I thought about the odds of us getting to adopt a baby.  I thought about how I was recently denied life insurance by two different companies because I take medication for depression and decided the odds of being eligible to adopt a baby were slim to none.  Plus, we couldn’t afford it anyway.

I thought a lot about how, when I was younger, I had so many hopes and dreams for the future and how now, at 36, I’ve come to realize that, due to a number of circumstances, many of those dreams are not going to be attainable.  Like owning a house.  And, maybe having children.  And maybe having a career I don’t hate.

And I came to the realization that I hate my life.  I hate just about everything about it.  I hate where I live for many, many reasons.  I hate the fact that the closest family is 1000 miles away.  I hate the suburbs.  I hate this town.  I hate where we live in this town, I hate my apt. complex, I hate my apt.  There are a lot of good reasons for living where we do, but that doesn’t stop me from hating it.

I hate my body.  I hate that I’ve gained weight since starting grad school.  I hate that I have a chronic illness.  I hate depression.  I hate restless legs.  I hate that most nights I sleep on the couch because I can’t fall asleep in the bed.  I hate that I wake up in the middle of most nights and have to get up and stretch my legs so I can go back to sleep.  I hate the fact that I simultaneously have fine lines around my eyes and zits around my chin.  What the hell is up with that?  Will I ever not have acne???

I hate that I’m 36 and still have no children and no idea if I ever will have children.  I hate seeing other people with children.  I hate hearing about other people having babies.  I hate making things for other people’s babies.

I hate that I had to get a new doctor upon coming here and that, after having gone through the trouble of finding that doctor, our insurance has changed and she is no longer in network.  So, I hate health insurance.  I hate that I’m so dependent on health insurance.

I hate that I can’t find a church that I like.  I’ve been to several and they all suck in some way and I’ve finally given up on going for the near future.

I hate doing housework.  I have never liked doing housework and now I feel obliged to do it because I don’t work.  Don’t even get me started on the laundry situation.

I love my husband and like living with him, but I hate that living with him means living in a place I hate.

So there you have it.  I officially hate very nearly everything about my life.  The amount of stuff that is wrong is so overwhelming, it’s hard to know where to start to fix it.  I’m not even sure it is fixable.