Dear Media: You're Not Helping

Warning: ranty post ahead.

The media has never really been kind to infertility. Then you get movies like Baby Momma and the ever horrifying The Backup Plan that kind of muck things up once in awhile. Only recently have we started seeing more empowering coverage such as Self Magazine's ground-breaking infertility article last August and shows like Giuliana & Bill. That said, we still have a long way to go.

Which leads me to my first point. Dear Media: Leave Guiliana and Bill Rancic alone.

Hang in there, Guiliana.

I realize that's a loaded statement given the fact that they've created a reality show based primarily on their infertility experience. Also, in full disclosure: I haven't watched their show, but I've followed along in online updates. They did something pretty brave by putting their infertility struggle in a very bright public light, and I applaud them for their courage and resolve. I can't even fathom coping with a miscarriage on national television.

So I was rather annoyed when I read an interview with Giuliana, titled "Giuliana Rancic: We Are Done With IVF For Now." The not-so-subtle spin there? The Rancics are quitters. When I clicked through and read the interview, I was even more infuriated that the question immediately following "how are you handling your miscarriage" was "Have you considered adoption?"

*facepalm*

No! Gosh! What is this "adoption" you speak of, oh wise media outlet? The thought has never crossed the minds of couples who can't have children. Goshemgollygeewhiz what an idea!

Why - why - is that always the first question other people ask in the wake of infertility? It's insensitive and just plain rude. I'm not knocking adoption by any means, but man - give this woman a break. She just lost a pregnancy following an aggressive IVF treatment. Have some respect.

It doesn't matter if Guiliana and Bill Rancic have a TV show or not. If they want to take a break from IVF, so be it. IVF is no walk in the park and no couple should ever feel like they're quitters just because they want to take a break, whether it's IVF, DE, IUI, or even natural conception. Sometimes you just need a break from the babymaking madness - and that deserves respect, not rejection.

. . .

Seriously. Please close your mouth.

Rant #2. Dear Media: Stop perpetuating the idea that getting pregnant, especially as a teen, is super easy and sort of cool.

Kim Kardashian: let me just file this under "topics I never thought about which I'd blog." But I'm getting ahead of myself.

You may have heard that there's apparently something in the water in at Frayser High School in Memphis, Tennessee: 90 young women are currently pregnant or have had a child this academic year. Granted, the school has a program for teen moms, so the superintendent claims it's a "magnet for pregnant teens."

Let's all just have a moment to scream silently: "90 pregnant teens in one high school and I can't score even one positive pregnancy test ?!"

Sweet, I feel better. You? Fab.

So then Kim Kardashian opens her big fat famewhore mouth (I know, not the most feminist-empowering or politically correct word I could use but let's face it: I'm callin' it like I see it) and blames the whole mess on MTV's Teen Mom. Two of the women from the show rightfully fire back at Miss Kimmy's holier-than-thou stance, reminding us that: "she made a sex tape when she was younger and she wants to bash the girls on Teen Mom?"

Word, Teen Mom lady, word.
 
On the other hand, I can understand where Kim "Wait, Why Am I Famous Again?" Kardashian is coming from. Much like the "pregnancy pact" drama of last year up in my neck of the woods, teen pregnancy is a subject the media loves to glamorize. Exhibit A: the film, Juno - because having babies at 16 is all iconic t-shirts and cheeseburger phones.
 
The issue I take is that there is a media perpetuated and culturally dictated message that if a young dude so much as breathes on a young lady, BAM! Teen pregnancy. (That's been one of my biggest gripes about abstinence-only sex ed in high schools.) At 17, I was super paranoid about pregnancy... and I was still a virgin! That's how paranoid I was. So, color me shocked when just a decade later, I'd like to get knocked up and I find out that all of those media messages and the borderline-Puritanical tone of high school health classes are a lie. That no, it's actually not that easy to get pregnant and millions of twenty and thirty-somethings have this idea that they'll land a bun in the oven on the first few tries.
 
And then millions of us wait another month or two longer to talk to our doctors because, it's just a little horizontal mambo, how hard could this be? Everybody (media, society) said this would be easy. Birds, bees, and all that jazz.
 
It's irresponsible, The Media. It's just fucking irresponsible.
 
We need the media to talk more responsibly about young women's health, not stories that turn babies into damned matching accessories. We need young women to a) thoroughly understand what's happening in their bodies and b) to recognize when things aren't right. We need young women (and men) to know that 1 in 8 could be them in 10 years, 5 years, next year- but they didn't even know it because they didn't feel empowered enough to talk to their doctor. We need high risk young women and men to think about fertility preservation - they might not know at 16 if they want to have children, but they should still have the chance if they want to later in life  and so they need to know how to talk to their parents and doctors about it now.
 

Because seriously? I should never have to agree with Kim Kardashian on anything. Ever.

In these unguarded moments

Photo by Alfonso Surroca via Flickr.

It's been a few days since I've posted, I realize... A stellar start to my new year's resolutions. To be fair, work has once again started eating my soul, for a mid-academic year snack. August and January... my least favorite working months of the year. Now that classes have started today, I'm hoping my schedule eases up just a smidge.
. . .

You may have noticed I've done a little reorganizing and layout changes here. New year, new haircut... I figured it was time to spruce up the look of the place around here. Blogger has this lovely little template designer tool that I've been hesitant to try but I think I've made it work for what I need here. Oh, and my blog is now super girlie pink. Very vagina-y and feminist empowering, I think. Good for the barren bod. What do you think?

. . .

ICLW begins tomorrow. I'm back in the game to get me back in the habit of posting regularly. Hope to have an intro post up late this evening.

. . .

The winter is a hard season for me. I've been all over the map emotionally and for whatever reason, I'm finding it a little harder to cope with infertility right now. I tell myself, but Keiko, you were doing so well! What happened? as if there is imaginary imposed sense of decorum and composure I'm supposed to have at any given moment. For some reason, now that I'm public about my identity on this blog, I hold myself to a high standard, unrealistic even. I'm not an infertility superhero. I know I try to be, but... I'm not. I just try to live each day and keep myself toegether as much as I can.

Yesterday, I didn't.

I went to lunch at the Whole Foods near where I work. I was just finishing when I received an email from a dear friend, due in early March. It was an email to her family and friends letting us know about their schedule for visiting once the baby arrives. They both have large families and wide circles of friends so an email like this is a must for all of the myriads of folks who can't wait to see the new grandchild. I found it very helpful actually and have filed it away as a "keep for later" idea.

And then out of nowhere... tears welled up in my eyes. I swallowed quickly and grabbed my trash, dashing for the exit. A perfectly sensitive, well-composed, informative and ultimately joyous email, and yet - my emotional levee burst open. For a moment I thought, what's wrong with me? but dismissed it, realizing that I needed these tears and I had to quickly find a safe space for a few minutes.

As I got up, I saw that the woman sitting at the table next to mine was bottle feeding a young child in her arms. I sucked in a steadying breath. As I put my compostables in the appropriate bin, a female cashier turned to greet me on my way out: "Have a nice day!" she called to me, her large, round pregnant belly visible under her green apron.

I practically ran to my car, shut the door, and just sat there in the parking lot of Whole Foods, crying. You've got five minutes to get this out, because you've got to go back to work missy! I told myself. In those five minutes, thoughts roiled in my mind. I was torn between feeling sorry for myself, feeling jealous and then feeling bad about my jealousy, then getting angry with myself for this irrational outburst, and then I stopped myself.

I can have this moment if I need it. And so I turned off my brain for a few more minutes and just cried.

Reaching for a napkin from the glove box, I wiped my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I had a busy afternoon ahead of me, and it was time to get back to work. The ache was still present in my heart, but I had allowed myself the release I needed, a little steam from the valve.

I went back to work and got through my busy day.

I can never fully prepare myself for these unguarded moments, but I won't bottle them up. Otherwise I'll just have these endless bottles of tears and terrors that won't do anyone any good, bottles of self-pity and self-loathing that just take up entirely too much space in my life.

I'd rather let the tears flow, bathing my mind clean in the catharsis.

And then I go back out into the world, and do what I have to do: live my life, take it a moment at a time, and remain hopeful.

A most wonderful dream

Last night, I had a pretty rad dream:

Larry and I were at some random party. The Winkelvoss twins of "The Social Network" and Facebook settlement infamy (and yes, they were also played by Armie Hammer in my dream) were there as well and pulled us aside.

"We wanted to give you this," they said, handing us a card and two small wrapped packages, and exchanging a knowing grin between them.

We open the card and there's a very lovely, heartfelt message from them to the effect of "We know how much this means to you, and we want to make your dream of having a family a reality."

I open the first package, and it's a Hello Kitty wallet I had when I was growing up. It had a bajillion little pockets, and each one was stuffed with several hundred dollar bills. Larry opens his gift and it's an old Italian leather wallet of his, also with a million little pockets inside, and each stuffed with cash.

We both start crying, thanking them over and over and over again.

That's right: I dreamt that the Winkelvoss twins, played by a movie actor, gave Larry and I $20,000- in cash- to start the donor egg and IVF process.

In other news, that Armie Hammer boy is a dreamboat times two!

Man, if only, right?

I will say this though... how did they get old wallets of ours? I mean, I know it's a dream and all, but wicked creepy. I also don't think I've ever had a more clear cut, no interpretation needed dream in my life. And I've had some pretty bizarre dreams (i.e., Saturday night I dreamt I was a spy and infilitrated a Nazi military base and stole a Jeep), but this was pretty straightforward.

Seriously... no more pizza right before bed.

A little kindness and compassion

...can go a long way.

Photo by Sarah Murray via Flickr.

I sometimes straddle a difficult line with blogging and being public about my identity. Sometimes there are things I am dying to write about here, but I know that even with strategic re-naming of the parties involved, people will recognize themselves and that someone will eventually be hurt by what I write. I practice a high degree of self-censorship in that regard.

But sometimes, when people go out of their way to be so kind and pleasant to you, well, I can't help but write about it. If anything to prove that even though infertile folks have to deal with some of the most asinine but well-intentioned advice, we can also be the recipients of some of the most humbling compassion.

Right before Christmas, my niece began crawling. My sister was so excited and proud of her wee little one- as well she should be! - and wanted to share the good news. On the way home from work, she called me and we were catching up a bit. We would be seeing each other on Christmas Day, so it was more of a "Hi how are ya" conversation. And then my sister got quiet for a minute.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, can I ask you a really stupid, silly question?" she said after a minute.

"Sure. I'll have a stupid, silly answer for you," I teased.

She paused. "How do I know if it's okay to talk about Willow?"

The car was quiet for a minute, the only sound the soft murmur of the highway under my wheels. I thought for a moment. "I suppose you could just ask me, I won't be offended."

My sister went on, "Well it's just that I know you've been in a funk lately and I don't want to babble on about her if you don't want to hear about it. I just don't want to make you upset."

I smiled, deeply touched. "Seriously, you can just ask me. I'll let you know if I don't want to - I'll be honest if it's one of those days."

"Should we have a code word or something?" After a few minutes of debate, we decided that we would refer to Willow in the form of potato products, since her in utero nickname was Spud.

"So... how do you feel about french fries today?" my sister asked.

"Why, they sound delicious! Tell me more," I smiled.

. . .

Not too long after that conversation I was talking with a dear friend, Nicole, online. (PS, totally random shoutout - she is one stellar photographer. Check out her stuff - for seriouses.) Larry and I were heading down to their house for New Year's weekend as part of a very coordinated surprise 30th birthday party for a mutual friend. There were folks coming from all over the country to celebrate our friend's birthday, and sleeping space was at a premium, especially beds. Thankfully we RSVP'd early enough to guarantee a bed of some sort (futon, air mattress, or otherwise) and Nicole was in the lovely position of playing human Tetris trying to figure out where everyone would be sleeping at her house.

Nicole, I should add, is 7½ months pregnant with her second boy. There would also be a recently announced pregnant couple there, as well as another couple with a toddler. We were catching up online when she asked if Larry and I would mind sleeping in the baby's room so the birthday boy (the couple with the toddler) could sleep downstairs in the basement with all of his friends from high school that were coming.

At first I wasn't sure, so I bought myself some time to think about by saying that I'd bring it up with Larry that evening and get back to her. Nicole was very honest, explaining that the baby's room was decorated, painted, and the crib was up, but there was plenty of room for an air mattress on the floor. Given the number of people coming, she had to get creative with the sleeping arrangements.

I thanked her for being so considerate enough to even ask in the first place; it's not that I wouldn't have expected her to ever be so kind, but it was a nice reminder of just how awesome a friend she is to Larry and me. That night I did bring it up with Larry and he said he didn't mind if I didn't. I told him I was on the fence; I was already worried at the potentially baby-centric weekend it could potentially be.

The next morning, a chat window from Nicole popped up. "Problem solved," it said. She had talked it over with our friends coming with the toddler and put them up in the baby's room instead. Larry and I got very lucky and got the quietest, darkest room in the house (our favorite place to sleep when we stay over there). New Year's weekend was a blast, and my "I'm the infertile surrounded by parents and pregnant ladies" fear was overblown. The baby talk was barely non-existent and I had a wonderful time, despite picking up one of the many colds that everyone brought with them.

. .

It's these little moments of compassion that can really go a long way, and that leave me humbled and thankful for the love and support we get. It's nice to feel like sometimes, we're not just floating out on this lonely island throwing bottles of rolled up wishes into the sea: that our friends and family hop into a little canoe, knowing they're headed to an uncomfortable destination but willing to take the ride all the same just to show their support in some way.

What moments of compassion have touched you in your journeys?

Chopped

It's a New Year, a new decade, and time for a new 'do. I've worn my hair long for the last 2 years but on December 22nd, I chopped it ALL off.

Before:

The only picture I could find of myself with my hair down, circa April 2010.
Even had old glasses! And a super huge pout for some unknown reason.

After:

And now, let's talk about my historical love/hate hair affair.

I've had a love/hate relationship with my hair ever since I was a wee one. As a small child I hated having my hair brushed or my scalp touched (I still freak out a little when people touch my head). As my mom and Aunt Kay would say, I was tender-headed. I'm pretty sure I single-handedly kept Johnson's Detangler on the drugstore shelves in my town. I practically went through a bottle a week as a kid.

My first haircut was when I was 4, in Charleston, South Carolina, at a beach house that no longer exists. (Hurricane Hugo washed it out to sea in 1989.) My Aunt Kay cut my hair. I remember it taking something like 3 hours, but that is small child memory sense of time, so in reality, it was probably like 20 minutes. My hair was down to my butt at the time and shorn down to a respectable level just below my shoulders.

I wore bangs throughout elementary school (who didn't? It was the late 80s/early 90s - it was as natural as slap bracelets and jelly shoes) but didn't really take the plunge until 8th grade. That's when I went for the Dana Scully-esque bob cut. Unfortunately, I wasn't exactly a hair styling pro, so it never quite looked that cool. (Remember, cool is being used as a relative term to the mid-90s awesomeness of the X-Files at that time). Still, I was practically beaming for my eighth grade portrait.

I grew it out through high school and then got it cut sometime senior year. It had to have happened after senior portraits were taken (as my hair was just past my shoulders) but sometime before I started college, as there are early college pics of me with my hair growing out. I have only a few pictures of that haircut while it was fresh: it was an incredibly short haircut and it wasn't done very well.

Around my 21st birthday, I lopped off my hair again. There is a very awkward picture of me holding up my brand new license (that's right, didn't get my license until college) with my brand-new haircut. In retrospect, the haircuts themselves weren't necessarily bad... I just had no idea how to style them. I grew out my hair again, graduated, moved in with my boyfriend, started working in the real world, got engaged, and got married. I was terrible about getting my hair trimmed regularly and always kept it long. Right after we got married, I did what every single one of my married lady friends did post-wedding: I chopped it all off since I had grown it long for the wedding. I mistakenly went for the oh-so-2008-what-was-I-thinking style "pob" - the reverse angled bob cut made popular by Victoria Beckham - after the stylist assured me it was an easy style to manage.

Lies. I couldn't wait to get my hair trimmed back to one length and growing it back out as that hairstyle was a nightmare to maintain.

I never really got into the whole "doing my hair" thing, contrary to my Southern New Jersey upbringing. Styling meant I added hairspray or added a barette. For the last few years, I had 3 hairstyles: ponytail, bun, or tossed up in a hair claw. It is a RARE day indeed when I would wear my hair down. Just before the New Year, on a bonus day off, I decided to take the plunge and go pixie.

Granted, I have to "style" my hair every day and it's still a learning process. I still haven't achieved the same "just styled" look right out of the salon, but I'm okay with that. The styling process takes about 5 minutes in the morning so I'm not too overwhelmed. (Mostly it's towel-drying, adding some anti-frizz cream, parting my hair and smoothing it all down. I rarely blow dry my hair.)

Other pros of the pixie cut:
1. No more random long shedded strands stuck to my clothes.
2. No more balling up my hair and throwing it over the pillow when I go to sleep at night.
3. Less shampoo consumption (Never realized how much shampoo I used until that first hairwash post haircut.)
4. More opportunities for adorable hats and dangly earrings.
5. No more getting my hair caught in ____ (doors, seatbelts, jackets, under my husband's arm when he puts it around my shoulder, cats' teeth).

I've had this cut for just over 2 weeks now and I love how easy it is and how I look. It's a nice change of pace. The day I got it cut, I splurged with some Hanukkah money I'd been holding onto and a clothing store gift card from my mom. I got my hair cut, bought me some new duds, and then dropped- oy, I'm embarrassed to admit how much I spent- $128 on makeup at Sephora. I'm usually a Cover Girl/Maybelline sort of gal, but it felt nice to spend money on some really nice (if a bit overpriced) makeup. I needed to replace everything anyway as it was all  at least a couple of years old, plus I had to throw out all of my eye makeup when I got a bad stye in December. And now I've made a commitment to actually getting up, styling my hair, and putting on makeup in the morning (lol, of course except for today. The hair is a must but there was no time for makeup this morning).

Larry has been in awe of this super new girly-girl wife of his.

I admit, it's a big change for someone who, for the past 5 or 6 years never regularly wore makeup; makeup was reserved for special occasions only. But it feels nice just to take some time for myself, doll up my face and hair, and walk out the door feeling good about the way I look.

Cheers to 2011

Photo by Canon in 2D via Flickr.

I couldn't end the year on such a downer of a last post. I'm in a very different place this year: last year, 2010 couldn't come fast enough. Going into 2011, I look back at this year of blessing and abundance. We've been very lucky and have had many triumphs, successes, and joys in our lives, so this year I'm not necessarily rushing into another year. While I'm still basking in the glow of a retrograde Mercury, I do go into the New Year reflective, introspective, contemplative.

With Larry turning 29 last week and seeing my niece crawling around and so big already for six months, it gives me pause. As we head into a new decade, nearly the third decade of my own life, I'm realizing the value of little moments, to savor experiences, and that ultimately, to let the dumb stuff just roll off my shoulders. Life's too damn short to be bogged down.

Infertility still gets me down. This is always a challenge this time of year. It's winter in New England: the days are short - but getting longer and thus, brighter. Another year, another turn of the wheel.

Maybe this will be our year. Maybe not. Whatever happens, we'll roll with it.

. . .

I obsessively try to put together New Year's resolutions, every year. It's kind of a silly tradition. I pump all this hope and good intention and expectation on myself that come January, oh, 15th? they're already forgotten. I even write them down, but hardly glance at them after their writing. In fact, I've begun most of my journals throughout my life* shortly before the New Year, only to write in them for a few months and then leave the rest of the pages blank, memories unsaved and stories untold, off and running to more interesting pursuits than burying my nose in another journal.

*Speaking of these journals... I've recently found ALL of my journals from 7th grade through senior year of high school. I even found my very first diary, from 4th grade. I will be sporadically sharing some of these gems throughout the year.

So instead of making some resolutions, I think I'll just make some... promises to myself? Reminders? Things for which to strive? Hm, I guess that would be resolutions. Whatever.

In 2011, I will:

...become more invested in writing, both here, at a couple of other sites, and damn it, I'm writing a book. Bigger picture: find a little clarity and peace and write about it in the process.
...seriously taking a more active role in keeping up with housecleaning. (Doubling the square footage of living space has been quite the shock to someone who's never really been Lil' Miss Household Chores.)
...keep things in perspective.
...teach myself or learn something new.
...cook more and take some risks in the kitchen (that don't involve breaking the stove... again.)
...get moving (C25 what did you say again?)
..."read" more (or audiobook it up).
...redesign this blog (it's a bit overdue).
. . .

2011 could be our year. Ideally, we'd like to get the ball rolling by late fall/early winter. We have some interesting opportunities on our family-building horizon so who know's what's in store for us this year. I'm keeping things in perspective so if 2011 isn't our year, then it isn't. Won't know until we take each day at a time.

In 2011, I'll take it just like this year: I won't give up.

I survived Snomageddon.

Hope you're all still following along...

. . .

We got close to 19 inches in Salem, MA this weekend. And as a first-time homeowner, I got to shovel my very own driveway with my husband. After 3 hours and almost nowhere to throw the snow because we live on a very narrow one-way street, we managed to get it done. There are 3 six-foot piles of snow on our property: a pile on either side of the driveway on the sidewalk (no way in hell that sidewalk is getting cleared because that's where everyone else threw their snow) and another pile behind our little white picket fence behind the driveway. My shoulder, arm, neck, and back are killing me today.

Afterward? Sledding at Mack Park in gale-force winds. My first attempt down the massive hill? I hit a rock, went airborn, and then rolled the rest of the way down the hill. It was pretty painful. My second run: a lot of fun and very very fast. My third and final run? I probably managed to get up to 30 mph, spun around backwards, and hoped to G-d I didn't take out any of the toddlers trudging through the snow at the bottom (I didn't, and only just barely). Then it was home to the fireplace and homemade chili (my best chili yet, actually).

[insert pictures that I have yet to upload from my camera

of said Snowmageddon here ]

. . .

So... the radio silence for the last two weeks. Yeah, about that.

Remember how I was in a bit of a funk? The funk just got way worse. I don't think I've ever been so gloomy for the holidays before. I think part of it was because I stopped my birth control for two weeks; I was finishing an antibiotic the week I was supposed to start them again, but since we all know the tale about antibiotics and birth control pills, I figured I'd just start them the following week since the penicillin was rendering them useless anyway. Apparently this put my hormones in a tizzy like no other, so I'm just starting to feel normal again.

I had a lovely Christmas with my family, if abbreviated. The plan was to drive down Christmas Eve morning and get Chinese with Larry's family. Then we'd head up to my sister's with my parents and spend Christmas Day with my whole family and my new niece. Sunday we'd tool around, maybe hang out with some friends in the ol' South Jersey, and take our time heading back to MA on Monday, since Larry and I both had the day off.

So... our house was a mess and we decided to leave at the ass crack of dawn Christmas morning and head straight to my sister's. We never did clean Christmas Eve and got Chinese at this place called Fantasy Island that we've passed many a time but never stopped by to eat. We make it to my sister's in 4.5 hours and play with Willow while we wait for my parents to get there. We have a delicious ham dinner, we open lots of presents, and we got to Skype with my Obachan and Uncle Yusan in Japan. And then I checked the weather report for home since Larry mentioned we might get "some snow."

"Some snow" had turned into a blizzard warning and coastal flooding watch, so we stayed for a cup of coffee, said our goodbyes, and got right back into the car and drove back home. We got home at about 12:30am Sunday morning. By the time we woke up on Sunday, it had begun snowing a full two hours earlier than forecasted. The grocery store was a zoo, but we stocked up, came home, and I made chili while Larry baked some skillet cornbread. We lit a fire, we vegged, and Mother Nature dumped 18" of snow overnight.

. . .

No news on baby-making, in that, we have no money to afford anything and the timing just isn't there. I'm kind of sad all the time right now, randomly. It's frustrating because I put on this great show of being an advocate and championing hope to all who read this. But I don't have a pot o'gold at the end of my infertility rainbow. I'm still waiting. I'm still praying. I'm still bitter and sad and jealous and tired.

I know going through donor selection is going to be hard, that going through IVF and hopefully pregnancy and birth will be hard and that parenting an infant is no cakewalk. I get that, should we be blessed enough to have a child, I will not suddenly start pooping unicorns and lollipops and everything will be grand. I know, I know - but I just want to be a mom. I want to make Larry a dad. Forget means, forget funds, let's just get this show on the road.

And right now? Right now I'm just sad all the damn time. My motivation to write has virtually disappeared. I've even found it a struggle to "read" (I use quotes since I'm listening to audiobooks right now), and I find that when I'm listening to a good book, I write better and with more frequency. But even now I've grown weary of dear Simon Vance reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest. I suppose that's a statement for my entire state of affairs: I've just grown weary period.

Mercury can't get out of retrograde fast enough.

Anyone else feeling that holiday funk?

At first I thought it was just me, but a friend on Facebook posted a link that shed some light on the situation.

I blame Mercury.

Professor Trelawney would agree.

Mercury is in retrograde right now (trust me, I'm sure). In a nutshell, Mercury is the planet of communications, the Roman god of whimsy and michief (the Roman counterpart to the Greek Hermes). When it goes into retrograde (a planetary illusion of moving backwards through space), it throws communications-related things into a frenzy. I'm a Gemini. Our planet? Mercury. When Mercury goes retrograde, my astrological self has a small breakdown. Apparently, everything starts going haywire just a few days before the planet actually goes retrograde, during its shadow period, and can last longer past the retrograde until it reaches full release.

At first, I thought this was hooey. I dabble in astrology in that I understand my sign quite well and am a pretty textbook Gemini. But then I took at look at the three other times Mercury has been retrograde this year, and I took a look at what was going on in my life. The periods below include both Mercury Shadow through Full Release:

Dec. 9, 2009 - Feb. 4, 2010 (Retro Dec. 26 - Jan 15): Thyroid woes. Also? Forgot my husband's birthday entirely last year (yeah, I left that little tidbit out of my blogging that year). Started getting super worried about Larry's unemployment at the time. I felt pretty awful about my job at the time and I started having weird stuff with my ovary. I even mentioned in that post that I was "in a weird funk lately."

Apr. 4 - May 28 (Retro Apr. 18 - May 11): NIAW 2010 and an unusual burst of creativity; after my video I was inundated with hundreds of emails and comments, like a communications overload. I spent a good amount of time waxing existential right smack in the middle of this retrograde. According to the Gemini chart for 2010, both creativity and spiritual reflection are the highlights of this particular retrograde. And there was lots of confusion about my job and future job title at work.

Aug. 1 - Sep. 27 (Retro Aug. 20 - Sep. 12): Work ate my soul. The clusterfuck that was trying to buy our house. Moving into said house and feeling very unsettled during the relocation process. Oh? And the house fire just 9 days after we moved in.

Nov. 22 - Jan. 18, 2011 (Retro Dec 10 - 30): Thanksgiving plans weren't really solidified until Wednesday afternoon. Vacay was awesome, but I'll admit, I was nagged the whole trip by this weird feeling I can't really describe. Maybe it's  that Larry and I just aren't "relaxing vacation" people, but I felt slightly restless the whole time. Also? Two car accidents, bookending our time off (long story, not getting into it here, we're fine, Larry's car is finally fine, mine's still in the shop). Oh, and then I got strep randomly.

I realize this looks like I might be reading into things, but when I look at all the non-retrograde parts of the year, that's when all the really awesome, good, even-keeled stuff is happening. So I guess I'm just SOL until January 18th :-/

. . .

But seriously... I've been in a weird holiday season funk, more so this year than usual. I don't celebrate Christmas, but having grown up with it, I feel really nostalgic this year. The infertility thing has hit me hard again... I tweeted the other day about nearly crying in the BJ's this week. I made the mistake of checking out the sale books and of course wanted to see what children's books they had (btw, Obama's "A Letter to My Daughters" is probably one of the most empowering children's books I've ever read). Yeah, that was a mistake. I got so bitter and sad and resentful it nearly overwhelmed me, right between the bulk soda and bath product aisle. I ended up crying in my car for a few minutes before returning to work (because of course, I was there on a work related shopping run). Like, what the hell? I've normally got this shit together, man!

I just feel all out of sorts. Anyone else out there feeling Mercury's mischief?

Also, randomly: we're going to see Weezer tonight. Pretty stoked.

Back from the Cruise and Back to Life

I'm so sorry I have fallen off the internet radar in the last twoweeks. Just two days after coming home from our vacation, I managed to get one ugly case of strep that knocked me flat on my ass for three days this past week. Even though I was literally been in bed for 48 hours, I've been in so much pain and on so much medication that the thought of sitting down to blog was just too much. And then add to that I'd been out of work from our vacation, back a day, and then out sick for three days... I had a ton of catching up to do.

That being said, I'm back! And I have what I'm sure is going to be a lengthy travelogue of our vacation, because brevity is not my strong suit (my Japan travelogue, which I've not published here, but probably should at some point, is 31 pages and 14,000 words long). Here are the quick hits:

+ Cruise: Awesome! Relaxing. Norwegian is very different than Disney. Love love love me some cruises.
+ Grand Cayman: Beautiful, expensive, touristy, and the ocean water was just the most beautiful cerulean. Managed to avoid a sunburn but got a nice base tan. Bonus: drove a Jeep on the left side of the road (intentionally).
+ Cozumel: Touristy like WHOA, downpouring rain, I really don't like ATVs, and I need to go back there on a fishing charter. Bonus: learned that Cozumel is basically Fertility Island according to Mayan worship.
+ Miami: Art Basel 2010 was in town, South Beach is hopping, hip, and very VERY rich, ate at a delicious authentic French cafe, might have gorged on some gelato, relaxed on the beach before heading home again.
+ In sum: A really wonderful vacation.

And now for the detailed travelogue... Pull up a chair, get comfy: this got long.

We left for Miami the Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend bright and early; we landed at MCO at 8:35am. Having never been to Miami before, we figured we'd tool around for the better part of the morning and head over the ship... the trouble was figuring out what to do with our luggage. We found out we could drop it off at the port starting at 10am, so we took a cab down to the port area and got ourselves some breakfast while we waited. Even though it was only 10am, Larry ordered himself a Cuban sandwich and a smoothie; I went for eggs, ham, and a Cubano coffee. While we ate breakfast, we realized we hadn't made any plans before getting onto the boat. Hm.

Normally, Larry and I are Mr. and Mrs. Travel Agent when it comes to planning our vacations, but we had no clue what do to for the next four hours. We're reading things like Yelp and random travel websites just to get some ideas. In my infinite wisdom, I find a rather misleading blurb for a "Sunday Village Market" featuring "craft sellers" and other neat sounding vendors. I'm thinking it's going to be this very kitschy, hipster, trendy thing.

Oh no. It's a bunch of really lame (less than 10) stalls in this very weird high-end strip mall in the middle of the financial district in Miami. We got there planning to spend a couple of hours checking it out, and we made the rounds in about 20 minutes. And considering it was a rather expensive cab ride to get over there, we didn't just want to turn around and head back to the port. So we did the next best thing: we hit up the Publix and got ourselves some bottles of Coke*.

*Good thing too: I'll get to that reason later.

We decide to head to the ship early and just chill out and explore the boat until we set sail, so it was another $20 cab ride back to the port. Getting onto the boat was easy, but just like at the airport, it was no drinks allowed, so I chugged my little bottle of Coke while I waited in line. Then it dawned on me:

What if the Norwegian is a Pepsi ship?!
 

We couldn't check into our cabin right away so we wandered around the ship, checking out all the restaurants and lounges and nooks and crannies. As we set sail, we headed down to the pool deck for a Caribbean inspired barbecue with steel drums and plenty of fruity cocktails. We splurged and got ourselves a fruity concoction of orange juice, strawberries, and a fair amount of rum. As we set sail and watched Miami fade into the distance, we were already feeling mighty relaxed.

The next day we were at sea all day, so we got to explore the various activities on board. We watched a delicious cooking demonstration and got to meet the Executive Chef of the ship. We hung out by the pool and got a nice tan. We met another couple on the boat who we would end up running into throughout our trip. We played shuffleboard (way harder than you would think) and I loved just watching the water. The coolest part? Seeing several schools of bonito (flying fish) glide over the waves and back into the water. I wondered at what point does a school of flying fish become a flock. I was also just amazed at the changing palettes of blue as I gazed out at the sea- I never knew there could be so many subtle shades. For dinner, we went to the sushi restaurant on board where I couldn't resist ordering bonito sashimi... it was friggin' delish.

The next day we anchored at Grand Cayman and took one of the first tender boats to the island. The heat was almost a shock to our systems: just oppressively hot in the late morning sun. What amazed me more: the folks who headed right off the boat and pulled up a seat at the port-side bar. Really? At 10am? Larry and I aren't big drinkers, so this was a cultural thing that was beyond us. (Sidebar: I really don't know how recovering alcoholics can go on cruises. The amount of drinking combined with how much it's peddled at you is almost overwhelming.) We headed out for our 4x4 Jeep tour of the island. As we hopped on the shuttle bus from the port, we became acutely aware that everyone was driving on the left. Oh right.... British colony and all. Well, it should certainly make driving our Jeeps interesting!

Larry's inaugeral drive on the left side of the road.

Larry drove first. We were paired up with a lovely little old lady from Wisconsin named Shana. She had no interest in driving (thank G-d) but she was a total shotgun hog the entire time. Otherwise, very pleasant, sweet woman. The driving took a little getting used to: we drove on the left, but our Jeep was American and not retro-fitted for left driving, so the steering wheel was also on the left. When I got to drive later in the tour, the sensation was very disorienting. Making right turns were not only cognitively confusing, but just plain dangerous, as my muscle memory was conditioned to look pretty much left before pulling out (your last look should be to the right as you have to cross a lane of oncoming traffic. Like I said, disorienting and dangerous).

We stopped at the National Forest and overlooked a stunning view of the reef- the second largest barrier reef in the world. From the beach to the reef are depths of anywhere between six and fifteen feet. Beyond the reef, it's a straight drop of anywhere from 2000-6000 feet! In the forest, we were told to keep our eyes peeled for wild iguana... sadly the only one I saw there was roadkill :-/

From there we headed to the Tortuga Rum Cake Factory. Remember when I mentioned that I'm glad I chugged the Coke before boarding the ship? Turns out: you either have to buy a soda plan with a special mug, or pay $2 a glass on the boat. So of course, even though Grand Cayman is probably one of the most expensive Western Caribbean islands (because everything on the island is imported), I still put down $3 for a 20 oz bottle of delicious, delicious soda. We also tasted a sample of some rather sweet rum cake (Larry swears it's his Nan's sherry cake recipe) and did a shot of some rum that tasted somewhere between rocket fuel, banana, and delicious. Oh and then I drove again. How's that for responsible? We made another stop at Hell, this weird coral formation in the middle of the island that looks like... well, hell. There I saw an iguana in a tree and nearly stepped on one that then ran up a coconut tree.

It was back to the beach for a couple of hours where we finally got to go into the ocean- it was so warm and clear. We even went snorkeling and saw lots of awesome fish just neck deep out. We added another layer to our tan and felt totally relaxed and exhausted after just a couple of hours in the waves. After a 2 hour clusterfuck nightmare trying to get back on the boat when we got on the last tender boat back to the ship, Larry had a little chat with the front desk and we ended up with a free dinner and a bottle of wine at the steakhouse on board (food is free, but they have upgradable dining experiences). The filet I had was bangin'. Larry's porterhouse was obscene. The wine- a carmenere- just perfect.

The next day we docked at Cozumel. We were up early again for our big ATV adventure in the jungle. As we got off the boat, we were surprised at how chilly it was, and saw the looming dark greyness on the horizon. As we waited in our excursion holding area at the port, we saw the darkness slowly begin to hide the landscape behind a thick grey veil. It was headed right towards us. We ran inside one of the portside shops for cover as the downpour hit. It was our first encounter with a Mexican pharmacia - where I could literally take my pick of otherwise prescription drugs in the United States. It was surreal.

The rain continued and we made our way through near ankle deep water toward the bus. The streets were flooded and yet our bus zipped along the highway at breakneck speed. We arrived and the rain subsided only long enough to watch our safety video. By this time, Larry and I were already soaked to the bone. As I picked up my helmet and said a little prayer for safety (I was pretty much terrified out of my mind to do this), the rain came down even harder. Great, I thought, just great.

The guide put me in third gear since this rattling gas heap of death was a semi-automatic ATV. Larry took the ATV in front of me and we were off - way faster of a start than I would have ever liked. There was a short rush of exhileration as I got up to about 40 miles per hour in that first flat stretch that turned to panic as we started hitting the rougher terrain. The trails were completely flooded. It was like riding through a river of chocolate milk. I'd zip along and then slow down suddenly when I'd hit dips of 2-3' deep waters, then gun the engine to slosh through it, mud flying all around me and all over me. I stalled twice (once shouting at Larry in front of me as he just sped away) when I slowed down too much in the water.

Never, ever again.

We reached the midway point of the adventure and took a break. It had stopped raining and you could see the sun straining to break through the thick layer of clouds above. Our guide Jaime took us to the top of a hill where we stood in the middle of Mayan ruins. As my back and arms ached from the ride so far, our guide told us about the history of the island of Cozumel. The Mayans are known for being a people who practiced human sacrifice, but none were performed at Cozumel. The island was sacred to the singular Mayan goddess, Ixchel. As the Mother Goddess, Mayans honored and respected her by not defiling her island with such sacrifices. And cue the "we can never really escape our infertility" moment: she was of course, the goddess of midwifery, birth, and fertility, so ancient Mayan couples (and even present day Mexicans) traveled to the island to conceive and venerate Ixchel. Supposedly, those that conceived on the island were blessed with very large families. Between our three guides alone were 19 children! (Jesus, the man who would save me from my two stalls, was father to 11 children. Um, nuts.)

Jaime made some jokes about this excursion featuring a special massage package: "So tell me, men, have you liked your cajones massage so far? And ladies, how is your boobies massage?" It was the first time I really cracked a smile, and we were back on the ATVs. "The rest of this is much easier, less rocky," Jaime promised.

Lies.

Yeah, he loved it.

Deeper, longer stretches of water, seriously rocky sharp turns, and the whole time I'm convinced I'm going to flip off and get crushed by this vehicle or drown, I'm not sure which first. The ATV was genuinely a bit tough to steer. Adding to the fact that I was smack in the middle of the line, I had to drive much faster than I wanted just to keep up. The sun managed to come out, as did the mosquitos and some huge, radiant butterflies. We finally made it back in one piece. Larry was grinning from ear to ear - he loved it. I was pretty much exhausted, soaked to the core, and ready to take a shower.

We went back to the ship covered in mud. I was freezing, as the wind was still going strong, so I just shivered the whole walk down the dock. After a hot shower, a clean change of clothes and a snack, we went back to the port to do a little shopping. We checked out all the various touristy shops, looked at some jewelry, cohibas, and endless bottles of tequila but only walked away with a magnet. We decided to stop by Señor Frog's, since we'd heard so much about "that's the place you have to go to in Mexico!"

Oh my. Oh my goodness, Señor Frog's. We managed to spend $33 on two yards (28oz) of pure fruity alcoholic madness between Larry and me, and get three free shots of tequila as we danced in a congo line where the waiters shot the alcohol from squeeze bottles into our open mouths as we passed them. I basically experiened a lifetime's worth of College Spring Breaks in about... 20 minutes. Yeah. 20 minutes and that much alcohol. I was wasted before we even got back onto the ship, which was only a 10 minute walk from Señor Frog's to the gangway.

And of course, we were heading to the ship's cinema for the lighting of the menorah on board. It was the first night of Hanukkah and I have to hand it to Norwegian - they had a rabbi on board, a hanukkiah with actual candles (and a fire extinguisher on hand), latkes and Manischewitz. We sang songs and said the blessings- from what I remember, it was lovely. About 60 people showed up, way more than I would have expected. It was nice.

I then headed back to the cabin where I pretty much passed out for two hours and slept off some of the shame that was Señor Frog's.

The rest of the time was at sea as we made our way back to Miami. I forget the blur of nights on the ship, but we saw two magic shows: one in the theatre (he made a helicopter appear onstage. The levitation bit at the beginning was cheesy, but I admit, the helicopter was pretty cool) and one in the cinema where he did nothing but sleight of hand card work. Admittedly the latter was the better show: I basically had to pick my jaw up off the floor. (I have a thing for magic.) We also saw two improv performances of a Second City troupe (best show on the boat) and one of the ship's performers' "shows." I use quotes because their show was just... a trainwreck. But whatever, it was free entertainment and we were happy to be entertained.

Before we knew it we were back in Miami, after some rather choppy waters on the way home. I never got seasick, but it did give me a headache. Best $80 of the cruise was spent on having our bags sent ahead to our plane from the boat. We breezed through Customs and had the whole day and early evening to explore Miami. We took a cab and made a beeline for South Beach.

I posted on Facebook that day that South Beach is basically a foreign country. There was a point at which Larry and I could have moved there, and so we kept looking at it through the lens of once-potential residents. We walked down the famous Lincoln Road, checking out all the shops and galleries. Art Basel 2010 was that weekend in addition to already being a pretty art-centric town to begin with. (I love the description of Art Basel from their website: "Art Basel Miami Beach is the most important art show in the United States, a cultural and social highlight for the Americas." Translation: I'm kind of a big deal.) We discovered an artist we hadn't heard of, Britto - he's got a thing for adorable cats. He's like Keith Haring on Prozac and E.

We made our way to the ever expensive and scenic Ocean Drive, passing hotel after hotel. At one point we passed a group of people, presumably family, that no joke looked straight out of National Lampoon European Vacation, when they're all wearing the ridiculous Italian "fashions" except the people that passed us were for real. Totally had to be in town for Art Basel. G-d, I hope so anyway.

We stopped down Espanola Way into the Spanish Village Historic District and ate... French. Very authentic French at A La Folie Cafe. From there we grabbed a quite bite of pretty amazing gelato and off to the beach. The water was surprisingly cold, so we just laid out and sunbathed for a couple of hours. As sunset approached, I whipped out the menorah I had been carrying in my purse (what can I say, I'm a prepared Jew) and we lit candles for the third night of Hanukkah right there on the beach. We strolled up and down Ocean Drive people watching and ogling the many very fast, very expensive cars that lines the street. I loved walking around and hearing various techno and electronica being played from every store. We even passed a clothing store- a clothing store!- where a live DJ was actually spinning tunes in the window. The urge to dance randomly was strong. Remember what I said about Miami being a foreign country? Yeah. Totes.

We grabbed a slice of pizza, got a second helping of gelato for the day, and took a cab to the airport. It was time to go home. In all, we had a really wonderful, relaxing time. You know it was a low-key trip as we only took about 150 pictures total (Japan we took something like, 900 pics and and hour of video). Although we're usually power-travelers who need something to do everyday and we did get a smidge cabin fevery on the last day at sea, it was nice just to have the freedom to relax. We had a lot of great "us" time.

Team Zoll has had another great vacation. Next year (and Larry's pinky-sworn to it): Israel!!!

Check out all of our vacation photos here online.

. . .
Now, let's get back to getting some posts up about infertility again... I've had a lot brewing in my head the last week. Back to regular posting now - promise :)

NaBloPoMo: I did it!

So yes, while technically in I'm Grand Cayman right now, I've managed to publish 30 posts in 30 days. I made it through my first NaBloPoMo! I want to give a huge shout out to Suzy from Not a Fertile Myrtle for inspiring me to try this blogging challenge. And a challenge it has been!

The secret, I have found, is to schedule out your topics. I set up a new Google Calendar for myself a couple of months back, just to roughly plan out some posts, apart from the life update kind. For each day in November, I set aside a particular topic. I left a few days open to accomodate random life updates. Those "blank" days didn't exactly go as planned. Some of the posts this month were total fluff: things I'm "reading," one of my favorite recipes right now, a movie review and such.

Despite some of the fluff, I also have a few posts I'm proud of, specifically:

+ The RESOLVE of New England Annual Conference Live Blog.

+ Fill in the Blank: a call to finish the phrase "Infertility is..." (Which, if you haven't already added to the list in the comments, please do.)

+ The Infertile's Manifesto: the response to the Fill in the Blank. Some of your comments were so inspiring I had to capture it in one post as a way of reminding myself (and others!) to remain strong throughout this challenging journey.

+ Writing out what I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving.

+ Remembering the 10-year anniversary of my oopherectomy.

I initially decided to participate in NaBloPoMo because I was too chicken to attempt NaNoWriMo. The idea of 50,000 words in just 30 days intimidated the hell out of me. But I thought I'd do a little research and see how many words I've actually written on this blog in the past month.

Including this entire post, I have written 19,150 words during the month of November. While it's no NaNoWriMo, it's still a pretty decent amount of writing.

So since I'm still technically on the cruise and won't be back home until Sunday, I'll catch y'all sometime next week with plenty of photos and tales from our adventure on the high seas. In the meantime: Happy Hanukkah, happy blogging, and catch y'all on the flipside!

A Life of Pleasure

Still on the cruise, still at sea, still having my posts scheduled ahead of time for today and tomorrow.

My dear friend Honeybee shared with me a wonderful activity she had recently done- she wrote down a list of things that give her pleasure. It's not about writing a list of things that turn us on sexually, rather, a list of what fulfills us and makes us just feel damn good.

Photo by Ben Smith via Flickr.

So... here's my list.

Sunbathing at the beach, my cats laying on my lap or curling up with me while I nap, the way my cats rest their heads while they nap, savory dishes like beef bourgogne and just about anything with shallots, vintage prints of birds and plants, hot springs baths in Arima, ice cold unfiltered sake, anything microfleece, the smell of the air after the first few minutes of rain, Milk Duds, the sound of leaves and twigs crunching under my feet when I hike, listening to techno (specifically Wolfgang Gartner's Illamerica) and driving way over the speed limit on windy roads, lighting Shabbos candles, taking artsy photographs, beading, painting, chocolate, reading PostSecret every Sunday, reading Gawker just about every day of the week, leveling up on Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2, gazing at the very old cemetery behind our house from my kitchen window while I do the dishes, getting my nails done, cleaning my engagement ring, sleeping in soft cotton t-shirts, taking my shoes off after a long day, running, the sound of clocks, collecting neat looking stamps, fine writing instruments, witnessing beautiful and profound moments in nature, accomplishing something I've worked really hard for, doodling, Dunkin Donuts hot chocolate, writing, Red Tent Temple gatherings, making food with friends, tea, my cardamom and lemongrass body wash, pearls, draught beer, cold crisp winter nights where you can see every star in the sky, not killing bugs other than mosquitos, buying gifts for my husband, spending time with my family, getting massages, napping, caramel.

This is not exactly an exhaustive list, but it's a start.

What gives you pleasure?

You asked, I answer

By the time you read this post, I should be in Miami on my way to Grand Cayman. (I love being able to schedule posts on blogger.) Some quick updates on the two reunions I went to this weekend...

I ended up going to Larry's high school reunion Friday night, which was... interesting. The open bar was a welcome and much needed amenity. We only really actively keep in touch with about three people from his high school class, so we all went as a group. I only vaguely remember some other people (Larry and I went to different high schools) so I had a blast just eating the food and boozing up for free. It was a lovely affair: balloons, food, music from the 90's, and a free Class of 2000 water bottle as end of the night swag. On the Awkward-O-Meter, Larry gave it about a 6.

And then there was Invasive Question Lady.

Some girl (well, I guess since we're 10 years out from high school I should say woman, but whatever) comes up to Larry, does the high-pitched "Heyyyyyyyy!" and gives him a big hug. I'm introduced, I think she's kind of skanky looking, and she's like, full steam ahead with the invasive questions:

IQL: "So you two are married?"

Us: "Yup!"

IQL: "How long?"

Us: "Three years next January!"

IQL: "Do you have any kids?"

Us: "Not yet!"

IQL: "Do you want kids?"

Larry: "Yeah, just not yet!"
Me: (silently, in my mind) You have no idea, lady. *large swig of my cocktail*

IQL: "So when are you planning on having kids?"

Larry: "Not for a couple of years!"
Me: *angrily chewing ice to avoid saying something rude in response*

IQL: "Me too, we just got married so we don't want to rush into it. But you never know- accidents happen"

Us: *louder than necessary laughter*
Me: *downs the rest of my cocktail in one swallow*

. . .

Last night was my Anti-Reunion at the diner around the corner from my high school. Word on the street is that after we were repeatedly told there would be no tickets at the door to the Official Reunion... there were in fact, tix at the door, because their weren't enough pre-sales. Meh.

I caught up with folks and wouldn't you know: one at the table is 3 months pg with an IVF baby, one is currently cycling with retrieval scheduled for the end of this week (if y'all can put out some good vibes for my friend J.L.C. I would love you for it), and another is planning their first IUI relatively soon. It was great to catch up with folks, relax, have a cheap dinner and a cheap beer and just shoot the shit. It was a lot of fun. In the middle of the evening, I got a text about another friend: a holiday pg announcement.

As usual, it stung.

. . .

For this end of this ICLW, I wanted to answer questions posed to my original call for questions. Thanks to Ashley from Artificially Fertile Myrtle for being brave enough to ask the following:

When I was getting diagnosed and going through tx, I wanted to know everything and do everything right away. I always admire your patience and how you go about obtaining all the knowledge you can about everything. So my question is: Have you always been this patient? How do you do it? Can you write a book please?

I shared these two stories about reunions this week to illustrate just a little of this saintly "patience." When it comes down to it, I put on really good airs, but there's a very small circle of people who actually get to see the Very Private Keiko, who is openly tortured by this experience.

Let me back up: I am not a patient woman. 

Photo by Pamla J. Eisenberg via Flickr.

Ashley points out that I seem to delve into the research fully, and somehow, remain patient through this process. I'm reminded of my 22-month long engagement. I pretty much ate, breathed, and slept the details of my wedding. I immersed myself in the planning because it was the only way I was going to survive an engagement that long- remember, I am not a patient woman.

I never have been, in fact. In the age of instant communications, my demand for instantaneous response is high. But like these two moments this weekend, I somehow have learned to let it all roll off my back in the last year. I am (contrary to what you may read on this blog) a very polite person, however. There's a lot of forced smiles and polite small talk and vague responses.

Sometimes there are very blunt, but still very polite responses as well. And then there's the random crying, the days where I just feel blue and want to be left alone or be jealous or be resentful and hurt and self-pitying. There are substantially fewer of those days, but they happen. Despite the fact that I am super excited for my cruise, the knowledge of yet another pg person in my life still gets me down. I am of course thrilled for them, but I'm jealous, bitter, and frustrated too. And after spending a half-hour yesterday with our friends' incredibly adorable, bright, and talkative 2-year-old, the pang runs a little deeper: I want that too. It's not fair. Why can't we just have babies like everyone else?And yet still I wait and wait and wait. With patience, somehow. In these very public moments of grace, there are the private moments of pain. I share some of those glimpses by writing here, but there's a lot folks don't read or see.

As for writing a book, I had an idea come to me this weekend, at Thanksgiving as a matter of fact. I wrote yesterday that I was blindsided by a whirlwind of emotion randomly at the holiday season. I did what I normally do in these types of situations: I head to the kitchen and start cooking. I think I'd like to write an Infertile's Cookbook: part memoir, part comfort food recipes, part historical reflection- the ideas of our mothers' cooking. It's a very raw idea, but I like it.

Ultimately, when it comes to patience:

I'm reminded of one of the questions I asked in my video: What if I lived in the moment rather than living in an uncertain future?

I just have to take it one day at a time. That's all we really can do.

Our Autumn Vacation

Larry and I have been having a wonderful Thanksgiving break so far. Dinner at my in-laws, and spent lots of quality time with my sister, brother-in-law, and my five-month-old niece as well as my parents. I wasn't expecting to be somewhat emotionally sidelined by the holiday - there are plenty of holiday survival guides out there for IF folks, but I glossed over them this year, considering myself a bastion of healing and grace.

Ha! We're all human, and emotions can come out of nowhere. But today I'm fine. It was a momentary wave of "being infertile sucks woe is me" and then by the time there was turkey in my belly it was gone. I'm taking this as a good sign that it gets easier.

. . .

In these last few weeks of fall, Larry and I decided that we needed a vacation. We're heading to Grand Cayman and Cozumel tomorrow via Norwegian Dawn of the Seas!

I'm on a boat! Or rather, soon will be.

We honeymooned on a cruise for 3 days (the other 4 days were at Disney World) so we're looking forward to this 5-day cruise to the Western Caribbean. Apparently, it's snowing or has already snowed in Massachusetts (we're still in NJ visiting with family) and so it just makes sitting on a beach chair in 80° weather that much more exciting. 


We're planning to drive through the Mexican jungle on ATVs, scoping out some Mayan ruins along the way. That's our big adventure shore excursion splurge; the rest of the time will be spent on the beach, by the pool, or at the buffet :) I'm fully prepared to be carted off the boat via wheelbarrow with how much food I plan to eat. (Self control? What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of all the buffet food I'm shoveling in my mouth.)


I can still remember when two and half years ago, I stood waist deep in the ocean and able to see all the way to my toes, the water was so clear. I can't wait to repeat the experience! Even though we love adventure packed, sight seeing, experiential traveling, Larry and I can be total beach bums when we want. Sometimes you really do just need to relax instead of constantly donning the explorer's cap.


Maybe if we just "relax"on this vacation, we'll come home with a vacation baby... ha! I'm looking forward to this cruise even more than our honeymoon actually - less children (we were on Disney Cruise Lines last time), a casino, more gourmet places to eat on the ship... it's going to be a great time!


That being said, since we're leaving at ass-crack-of-dawn o'clock tomorrow morning, I'll have my last 2 NaBloPoMo posts pre-scheduled and ready to go. Because the internet also costs an exorbitant amount of money per use on the ship and using our cell phones overseas would also bankrupt us, that means a little radio silence here for the first few days of December.


Since I'll be missing the first night of Hanukkah here on the blogosphere, Happy Early Hanukkah! (We're totally bringing a menorah on the cruise.)


Tonight's my Anti-Reunion... wish me luck! And stay tuned for the answers to my Open Interview post tomorrow, and one last wrap up for NaBloPoMo on Monday. Anchors away folks and I'll see y'all in December!