Last Monday was a go-get-'em day. Finished collecting and scanning and sending all the paperwork necessary to RRC.
Thursday was a oh-hell-yeah day, as we had a snow day. Fortuitously, the clinic caught me at home to let me know one piece of paperwork was missing, so I quickly sent it in as well. A few minutes later (after I completed shoveling the 7" of snow off the driveway and sidewalk) Carol from RRC called back. We set up our first appointment for February 1st. Ladies and gentlemen, that is one week and three days away. I was expecting a month at least.
So remember that previous post where I self-deprecatingly stated my impatient personality? Yeah, now I'm freaking out because it is happening so fast! OK, maybe "freaking out" isn't quite the right verbiage here. I'm nervously excited. If I were a toy poodle, I'd be wetting my master's carpet.
I know I'm going to get poked and prodded and scanned and interrogated for about 3 hours next week, and my poor husband has no idea what to expect for himself. It may be time to call my sister-in-law to get the low-down. For now, I'm overjoyed and thinking of where I'm going to put a kid in our 3-bedroom house. Somebody might be moving to the basement sooner than he figured (and, no, I don't mean my hubby - he can stay put).
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Book of Mom
As I think I may have mentioned, patience was not a virtue handed to me at birth, unlike these good looks and charm (HA!). So it may be a recurring theme present on this blog. I'm not a good waiter (or apparently waitress either, since I was asked to wash dishes more than serve pizza at my first job - but that's beside the point). I don't wait well. Better?
In the meantime, while I'm waiting (UH!) for the RRC to call me to set up an appointment since we've got all the appropriate paperwork in, I may have to bore everyone with musings of a different sort, if nothing more than to take my own mind off of the lapsing time.
Here's a good topic: The Book of Motherhood
Now, I know all of my fellow moms out there are nodding, thinking of the day they were handed their very own copy of this instruction manual. They're nostalgically pondering the soft music playing when they were given this volume of priceless knowledge and how-to, complete with diagrams, pictures, and pop-ups. The birds were chirping, the breeze caught each page just at the right moment to turn as we soaked in everything we needed to know about mothering. Bliss. Pure bliss.
Those of you non-moms out there thinking, "of course!," get real! There is no such book. We have no idea what we're doing 95% of the time. It is why our oldest children are so screwed up (or will be) and in therapy (or will be). We listen to the advice of "experts," our mothers, sisters, friends, and strangers in the grocery store who give us that look when we give in and buy the candy just to shut that brat up!
When all else fails, we try desperately to listen to our intuition. Unfortunately, that fickle b!tch doesn't always give us the best advice. In fact, I'm pretty sure my intuition is out to lunch with her friends whenever I have a real crisis on my hands and I'm screaming at my teenager to do his homework for "the last time!" or using foul language in front of them - constantly.
I'm happy to give others advice on mothering, as long as they understand that most of my advice is not proven by experience, but is likely the opposite of what I did (and what failed for me). I have several friends with young children (someone should have told me when I was 23 that the rest of my friends were going to wait until my biological clock was going crazy to start having babies - would have saved me some money and parental blunders along the way). Some bring to me stories of their children doing "weird" things and ask me if it's "normal" - as if I should know. I'm confident that my own children are fairly abnormal, so what others' kids are doing, if different than what mine did, is "yes, absolutely" normal.
My own mothering is (hopefully) going to start a new chapter in the next year with the addition of another little rugrat climbing the furniture and walls, and my oldest will be starting high school. I think I may get it right this time. Maybe. Who knows? I suppose my children's therapists can tell me in 10-20 years.
In the meantime, while I'm waiting (UH!) for the RRC to call me to set up an appointment since we've got all the appropriate paperwork in, I may have to bore everyone with musings of a different sort, if nothing more than to take my own mind off of the lapsing time.
Here's a good topic: The Book of Motherhood
Now, I know all of my fellow moms out there are nodding, thinking of the day they were handed their very own copy of this instruction manual. They're nostalgically pondering the soft music playing when they were given this volume of priceless knowledge and how-to, complete with diagrams, pictures, and pop-ups. The birds were chirping, the breeze caught each page just at the right moment to turn as we soaked in everything we needed to know about mothering. Bliss. Pure bliss.
Those of you non-moms out there thinking, "of course!," get real! There is no such book. We have no idea what we're doing 95% of the time. It is why our oldest children are so screwed up (or will be) and in therapy (or will be). We listen to the advice of "experts," our mothers, sisters, friends, and strangers in the grocery store who give us that look when we give in and buy the candy just to shut that brat up!
When all else fails, we try desperately to listen to our intuition. Unfortunately, that fickle b!tch doesn't always give us the best advice. In fact, I'm pretty sure my intuition is out to lunch with her friends whenever I have a real crisis on my hands and I'm screaming at my teenager to do his homework for "the last time!" or using foul language in front of them - constantly.
I'm happy to give others advice on mothering, as long as they understand that most of my advice is not proven by experience, but is likely the opposite of what I did (and what failed for me). I have several friends with young children (someone should have told me when I was 23 that the rest of my friends were going to wait until my biological clock was going crazy to start having babies - would have saved me some money and parental blunders along the way). Some bring to me stories of their children doing "weird" things and ask me if it's "normal" - as if I should know. I'm confident that my own children are fairly abnormal, so what others' kids are doing, if different than what mine did, is "yes, absolutely" normal.
My own mothering is (hopefully) going to start a new chapter in the next year with the addition of another little rugrat climbing the furniture and walls, and my oldest will be starting high school. I think I may get it right this time. Maybe. Who knows? I suppose my children's therapists can tell me in 10-20 years.
Heart is Racing!
No, I haven't just worked out or run up the stairs carrying my 125 pound teenager on my back; I've just sent in all my forms to RRC. This is what anticipation feels like.
But it's all just hurry up and wait until we have an appointment set up. And then it's hurry up and wait again until we start the actual process. Can my impatient, overly excited self handle this? Having a baby may be difficult if I'm dead because I've had a heart attack from the anticipation of it all!
But it's all just hurry up and wait until we have an appointment set up. And then it's hurry up and wait again until we start the actual process. Can my impatient, overly excited self handle this? Having a baby may be difficult if I'm dead because I've had a heart attack from the anticipation of it all!
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Almost-Middle-Age Angst
My evening with the gals was too much fun. Medical science is right: laughter is a cure-all. We ate, talked, played Dance Central on the XBox, and laughed some more.
So, I ask myself: why didn't my teenage self realize just how much fun being lame was? I had a blast and drank not a sip of alcohol nor smoked a single cigarette. I didn't have to put on tight clothes or extra makeup. I didn't have to spend any money on cover charges or get drinks spilled all over me while trying to walk to a crowded puke-reeking bathroom with stall doors that do not close. I didn't have to ward off advances of men old enough to be my father or with foul-smelling breath. I didn't have to make sure I had my cover story in case the bouncer didn't believe it was me on the fake ID. I didn't have to worry about finding my ride later only to discover she had left with the guy with the stink breath.
Maybe experiences like these were necessary for me to appreciate my life as it is now, but I really wish I wouldn't have had to go to all that trouble just to realize how absolutely lame it was being young. Being almost middle aged is a friggen' blast!
So, I ask myself: why didn't my teenage self realize just how much fun being lame was? I had a blast and drank not a sip of alcohol nor smoked a single cigarette. I didn't have to put on tight clothes or extra makeup. I didn't have to spend any money on cover charges or get drinks spilled all over me while trying to walk to a crowded puke-reeking bathroom with stall doors that do not close. I didn't have to ward off advances of men old enough to be my father or with foul-smelling breath. I didn't have to make sure I had my cover story in case the bouncer didn't believe it was me on the fake ID. I didn't have to worry about finding my ride later only to discover she had left with the guy with the stink breath.
Maybe experiences like these were necessary for me to appreciate my life as it is now, but I really wish I wouldn't have had to go to all that trouble just to realize how absolutely lame it was being young. Being almost middle aged is a friggen' blast!
Certified or Certifiable?
Got the Rubella test and a check-up this week - all systems go. Had many interesting questions from the GP, though. "Why do you want to have another?" "Your children are going to be spaced pretty far apart; are the older kids OK with the possibility of a baby in the house?" "Why have you waited so long?"
Great questions, don't get me wrong. I was just fascinated that the doctor I go to for all my run-of-the-mill ailments and physicals would ask. There were a few more inquiries like these, and I answered honestly (why wouldn't I?). When we were about to head over to the lab for my blood work, I asked her a question: "What's with the inquisition?"
Now, if you're following me, you probably can guess the tone I used when asking the above. I genuinely wanted to know, but I said it in a mocking manner. Dr. Tran (which is pronounced Tron - how cool is that?) turns and smiles, and then she replies, "We like to make sure our patients are mentally stable before making this decision. It's a big deal."
"Gee," I said. "I sure hope I passed!"
"Of course you did. I wouldn't be drawing your blood in a matter of minutes if you didn't."
Phew.
So, with all the craziness of two snow days, a brand new student teacher, and basketball games I had to go to this week, the baby making plans got a little sidetracked. I only now have to pick up my results, drop off or mail Brian's medical release forms with his doctor, and send in or fax all our forms to RRC. That was supposed to happen this past week, but fortunately, my doc and Brian's doc are both open Monday, and we don't have school. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day will be a busy one for me, it appears.
All this planning, all this paperwork, has left me pensive this week. Not doubtful by any means, but thoughtful. I've been trying to picture our lives in this house with a new baby. Dr. Tran's questions added to this reflective period, too.
The boys are excited at the prospect of having another brother or sister. They're both wishing for a sister; and I've made it no secret that I am as well. Brian jokes that he has no desire to have a little girl, although I think he'd be over the moon with a daughter. But what will our family be like with another little one? Logistically, we'd have to do some rearranging and shuffling of rooms in our house. That's doable.
I have a sitter already lined up, too. She's just waiting for the word.
Sleepless nights? 3am feedings? Diapers galore? Just a stage. The time passes all too quickly.
Childhood illnesses? Kindergarten? Braces on a third kid? Bring it on.
If anything, I am more prepared to face the unpredictability and the predictability of another child in our home than ever. There's nothing, not one single thing in the universe, that I cherish more than the milestones, big and small, of a child.
I may be crazy in the eyes of some friends and family, but apparently I am sane on paper.
Great questions, don't get me wrong. I was just fascinated that the doctor I go to for all my run-of-the-mill ailments and physicals would ask. There were a few more inquiries like these, and I answered honestly (why wouldn't I?). When we were about to head over to the lab for my blood work, I asked her a question: "What's with the inquisition?"
Now, if you're following me, you probably can guess the tone I used when asking the above. I genuinely wanted to know, but I said it in a mocking manner. Dr. Tran (which is pronounced Tron - how cool is that?) turns and smiles, and then she replies, "We like to make sure our patients are mentally stable before making this decision. It's a big deal."
"Gee," I said. "I sure hope I passed!"
"Of course you did. I wouldn't be drawing your blood in a matter of minutes if you didn't."
Phew.
So, with all the craziness of two snow days, a brand new student teacher, and basketball games I had to go to this week, the baby making plans got a little sidetracked. I only now have to pick up my results, drop off or mail Brian's medical release forms with his doctor, and send in or fax all our forms to RRC. That was supposed to happen this past week, but fortunately, my doc and Brian's doc are both open Monday, and we don't have school. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day will be a busy one for me, it appears.
All this planning, all this paperwork, has left me pensive this week. Not doubtful by any means, but thoughtful. I've been trying to picture our lives in this house with a new baby. Dr. Tran's questions added to this reflective period, too.
The boys are excited at the prospect of having another brother or sister. They're both wishing for a sister; and I've made it no secret that I am as well. Brian jokes that he has no desire to have a little girl, although I think he'd be over the moon with a daughter. But what will our family be like with another little one? Logistically, we'd have to do some rearranging and shuffling of rooms in our house. That's doable.
I have a sitter already lined up, too. She's just waiting for the word.
Sleepless nights? 3am feedings? Diapers galore? Just a stage. The time passes all too quickly.
Childhood illnesses? Kindergarten? Braces on a third kid? Bring it on.
If anything, I am more prepared to face the unpredictability and the predictability of another child in our home than ever. There's nothing, not one single thing in the universe, that I cherish more than the milestones, big and small, of a child.
I may be crazy in the eyes of some friends and family, but apparently I am sane on paper.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Just Because
I'm fighting the urge to do anything of import today. I've succeeded in this endeavor quite nicely actually.
The weather kept me in. Not because I didn't think it was safe to go outside, but because I just felt so... cold. I'm not a fan of extreme cold, so I stayed inside, mostly upstairs in my room, and only stepped out once - to get the mail.
Now, I find myself in need of verbal release. Since I'm not a socialite (fear social gatherings most of the time), I find solace in writing. Putting my thoughts down on paper has always been cathartic to me.
It began when I moved to Monett from Aurora (Missouri, people. Keep up!), just before the third grade. My best friend Stephaine (no, that's not a typo; her parents got creative) and I started writing one another letters. At first these were simple one-page "Hi. How are you? I am fine. Next week is Christmas. Are you excited? I am." kind of letters. From there, our letters evolved to novellas at times, ranting over something horrible the kids at school did, a boy we liked so much it hurt, or describing a trip in MUCH detail.
During this time, I also started journal writing. Sporadic at best, my diary was nothing short of inconsequential. Besides, I didn't need the diary because I was writing to Steph nearly every week! My favorite gifts were of the stationary sort during those formative years.
When we were old enough to drive, we didn't need to write. Instead, we'd meet at least once a month to hang out. In fact, we had some friends in common (since our houses were a mere 20 minutes away from one another), and often ended up at the same parties. It was then that I started finding fiction to be my genre of choice when writing. I tried my hand at horror (Stephen King was my favorite author from age 11 to 14), and then at romance (which didn't work out because I lack the romantic sensibility necessary for lovey-dovey stories).
What I have found to be my biggest obstacle in writing fiction is my own criticism. I am excellent at editing and commenting on others' writing. I hardly ever allow incorrect grammar or spelling in my own writing (you might have noticed that). When it comes to ideas, I have plenty. I've explored many of those ideas on paper. If starting a novel or short story could be a lucrative career choice, I would excel. Finishing one, on the other hand...
So now I write just because. I like the blog format. I can allow my ideas to spill from my brain, post for everyone or no one to read, and still feel like I've seen the therapist. And it's FREE! I love the interwebs!
The weather kept me in. Not because I didn't think it was safe to go outside, but because I just felt so... cold. I'm not a fan of extreme cold, so I stayed inside, mostly upstairs in my room, and only stepped out once - to get the mail.
Now, I find myself in need of verbal release. Since I'm not a socialite (fear social gatherings most of the time), I find solace in writing. Putting my thoughts down on paper has always been cathartic to me.
It began when I moved to Monett from Aurora (Missouri, people. Keep up!), just before the third grade. My best friend Stephaine (no, that's not a typo; her parents got creative) and I started writing one another letters. At first these were simple one-page "Hi. How are you? I am fine. Next week is Christmas. Are you excited? I am." kind of letters. From there, our letters evolved to novellas at times, ranting over something horrible the kids at school did, a boy we liked so much it hurt, or describing a trip in MUCH detail.
During this time, I also started journal writing. Sporadic at best, my diary was nothing short of inconsequential. Besides, I didn't need the diary because I was writing to Steph nearly every week! My favorite gifts were of the stationary sort during those formative years.
When we were old enough to drive, we didn't need to write. Instead, we'd meet at least once a month to hang out. In fact, we had some friends in common (since our houses were a mere 20 minutes away from one another), and often ended up at the same parties. It was then that I started finding fiction to be my genre of choice when writing. I tried my hand at horror (Stephen King was my favorite author from age 11 to 14), and then at romance (which didn't work out because I lack the romantic sensibility necessary for lovey-dovey stories).
What I have found to be my biggest obstacle in writing fiction is my own criticism. I am excellent at editing and commenting on others' writing. I hardly ever allow incorrect grammar or spelling in my own writing (you might have noticed that). When it comes to ideas, I have plenty. I've explored many of those ideas on paper. If starting a novel or short story could be a lucrative career choice, I would excel. Finishing one, on the other hand...
So now I write just because. I like the blog format. I can allow my ideas to spill from my brain, post for everyone or no one to read, and still feel like I've seen the therapist. And it's FREE! I love the interwebs!
Monday, January 10, 2011
Re-do
I began, and then deleted, blogging about my snow day today. Bah-or-ing! Even though I can tell it all using humor and candor and all the trappings of popular writing today, I just don't feel it, ya dig?
Anywho, several friends have been asking about these grandiose plans of mine to get all knocked up and such. Apparently, my blog (and subsequent posting of a note directing said friends to this blog) piqued the curiosity of a few. Cool.
So here goes another.
This is less of an update, however, for there isn't really MUCH to update. I've been occupied by the beginning of second semester and the routine of everyday living to do a whole lot. I did finish the paperwork. I even got the hubby to help with his medical history forms and sign (his life away) on three forms for the fertility clinic. He still says I'm crazy, and Oprah even verified that the spouse of someone crazy is just as crazy to allow craziness, so he's certifiable as well. (I typed that in one breath.)
I have an appointment with my regular GP on Wednesday, although I may call tomorrow to see if I can't get in a day early since we have another SNOW DAY Tuesday. (Let's hear it for the superintendent who recognizes the lack of driving ability of the personage in his district!)
Here's where I'm a little baffled. My doc has to verify that I have had a screen and vaccination for the Rubella virus in order for me to begin fertility treatments. Now, if I've had said vaccination in the last few years (say, the last 3-5), will I have to get it again? I suppose I'll find this out in a day or two, but ugh! I will have to wait an entire month before I can begin treatments if I have to get the vaccine again.
In case my reader(s) do not know this about me, I must reveal a little-known fact: I am IMPATIENT.
It's true. I am. Waiting at stoplights just about gives me an aneurysm. I read a book or magazine or the mail or my Kindle in the drive-thru. I check my email while brushing my teeth and drying my hair. My hubby says I've got ADD because I have to be doing something all the time, most often while watching TV. (Sorry, it just isn't interactive enough for me!) I record EVERYTHING so I don't have to wait for commercials. If I get stuck watching something that hasn't been delayed, I'll pause it so that I can have "buffer" enough to fast forward later. (Hey, it's the perfect time to go fix a snack, start some laundry, or tuck the kids in. Don't hate.) So, waiting for a month once I get the ball rolling on this fertility stuff is likely to kill me.
I really should take up knitting.
But it's OK. I have plans to fax the forms to the clinic tomorrow. (I love Kinko's! They don't close due to inclement weather or bad drivers.) Then, oh, then, can I call and set up the appointment. The BIG appointment.
The first one will be BIG. Like 4 hours big. I think there's some tests - probably an ultrasound, maybe a peek at the respective reproductive (ahem) organs - both of us have to be there. There will likely even be some discussion of procedures, time lines, fees and payment options (yeah, we'll need those options, thanks). I'm not positive what all happens in this 4-hour time period, but I know one thing: I'm bringing a book!
Anywho, several friends have been asking about these grandiose plans of mine to get all knocked up and such. Apparently, my blog (and subsequent posting of a note directing said friends to this blog) piqued the curiosity of a few. Cool.
So here goes another.
This is less of an update, however, for there isn't really MUCH to update. I've been occupied by the beginning of second semester and the routine of everyday living to do a whole lot. I did finish the paperwork. I even got the hubby to help with his medical history forms and sign (his life away) on three forms for the fertility clinic. He still says I'm crazy, and Oprah even verified that the spouse of someone crazy is just as crazy to allow craziness, so he's certifiable as well. (I typed that in one breath.)
I have an appointment with my regular GP on Wednesday, although I may call tomorrow to see if I can't get in a day early since we have another SNOW DAY Tuesday. (Let's hear it for the superintendent who recognizes the lack of driving ability of the personage in his district!)
Here's where I'm a little baffled. My doc has to verify that I have had a screen and vaccination for the Rubella virus in order for me to begin fertility treatments. Now, if I've had said vaccination in the last few years (say, the last 3-5), will I have to get it again? I suppose I'll find this out in a day or two, but ugh! I will have to wait an entire month before I can begin treatments if I have to get the vaccine again.
In case my reader(s) do not know this about me, I must reveal a little-known fact: I am IMPATIENT.
It's true. I am. Waiting at stoplights just about gives me an aneurysm. I read a book or magazine or the mail or my Kindle in the drive-thru. I check my email while brushing my teeth and drying my hair. My hubby says I've got ADD because I have to be doing something all the time, most often while watching TV. (Sorry, it just isn't interactive enough for me!) I record EVERYTHING so I don't have to wait for commercials. If I get stuck watching something that hasn't been delayed, I'll pause it so that I can have "buffer" enough to fast forward later. (Hey, it's the perfect time to go fix a snack, start some laundry, or tuck the kids in. Don't hate.) So, waiting for a month once I get the ball rolling on this fertility stuff is likely to kill me.
I really should take up knitting.
But it's OK. I have plans to fax the forms to the clinic tomorrow. (I love Kinko's! They don't close due to inclement weather or bad drivers.) Then, oh, then, can I call and set up the appointment. The BIG appointment.
The first one will be BIG. Like 4 hours big. I think there's some tests - probably an ultrasound, maybe a peek at the respective reproductive (ahem) organs - both of us have to be there. There will likely even be some discussion of procedures, time lines, fees and payment options (yeah, we'll need those options, thanks). I'm not positive what all happens in this 4-hour time period, but I know one thing: I'm bringing a book!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Mine-R-Craft
My hubby and kiddos have been playing a new game this week, one that has kept them busy (especially my dear spouse) for hours on end. Since they love to share their time with me and like to include me despite my general disdain for all video games that require a vantage point other than one steady, unmoving view, they have been begging me all week to join them; they KNOW I will love this game.
MineCraft. This in the new game. As its title suggests, it is a game which requires one to mine for resources. It is a game of strategy and survival. The enemy is not another player, but night (and all the creatures who go bump in it, including spiders, skeletons, and ghouls - my youngest calls them "creepers"). To humor them, I have watched them play a few minutes at a time.Unlike many of their other games, this one IS somewhat interesting to me. I was, and am, a little intrigued.
In fact, I played it today. For 4 hours.
It is a vortex in which all time and space disappears, and where one is left feeling slightly (or in my case, greatly) nauseated and in need of a vision break after a while.
It is not a game which those who play most of today's slick games for their amazing graphics would necessarily like. However, it is definitely for someone who appreciates the skills required for survival. The expanse is incredible, too. There is enough "space" in this game to cover 8 earths.
OK, now I'm starting to sound like a gamer nerd. I'm not. I can barely play video golf without needing a Dramamine. Therefore, I don't often play too many games, unless they're those horribly repetitive and frustrating Facebook games that make me wonder why I waste my time.
I have to say, though, this game is a little addictive. OK, quite possibly VERY addictive. It's a darn good thing it makes me nauseous to play it. Thank goodness for my inner ear issues!
MineCraft. This in the new game. As its title suggests, it is a game which requires one to mine for resources. It is a game of strategy and survival. The enemy is not another player, but night (and all the creatures who go bump in it, including spiders, skeletons, and ghouls - my youngest calls them "creepers"). To humor them, I have watched them play a few minutes at a time.Unlike many of their other games, this one IS somewhat interesting to me. I was, and am, a little intrigued.
In fact, I played it today. For 4 hours.
It is a vortex in which all time and space disappears, and where one is left feeling slightly (or in my case, greatly) nauseated and in need of a vision break after a while.
It is not a game which those who play most of today's slick games for their amazing graphics would necessarily like. However, it is definitely for someone who appreciates the skills required for survival. The expanse is incredible, too. There is enough "space" in this game to cover 8 earths.
OK, now I'm starting to sound like a gamer nerd. I'm not. I can barely play video golf without needing a Dramamine. Therefore, I don't often play too many games, unless they're those horribly repetitive and frustrating Facebook games that make me wonder why I waste my time.
I have to say, though, this game is a little addictive. OK, quite possibly VERY addictive. It's a darn good thing it makes me nauseous to play it. Thank goodness for my inner ear issues!
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