Exactly How Stressed Am I?

Yes, we are in a particularly eventful stage of the physical manifestations of my stress.

The inside of both forearms covered in itchy dry hives. My chest a veritable map of the Andes with wetter yet itchy hives. The twitch in my left eye whenever some bad thought enters my head. The stunningly painful upper left shoulder where I pulled a muscle this morning washing my hair.

My jaw remains loose in my head, but only because I note every time I my teeth touch.

I am in a pathetic shape. And I don't see how this is going to ease up for another good 9 to 10 months.

And since I'm off alcohol. Geez!!!!

I must say that the scratching o' the hives is very attractive, especially the ones on my chest. I'm sure it's odd to be in a meeting with me and to see me scratching like a monkey during our entire conversation. Lovely.

I Think, Therefore I Google

Big surprise, eh!? Yes, I am chronic google. And I'm a repeat googler, too. Because when I want to put some information out there to the Internets and I didn't save the site I want to talk about, I re-google, and that takes up a lot of time. And, as a psychologist, I know it's important to do that because we tend to misremember a lot of the information and thus, we should doubt ourselves more than we do (like I just did, thinking that misremember was a Bushism, but in fact, no! it's a real word!)

ANYHOO, so a few weeks back, I may have mentioned I was googling about something interesting. And I was. And you may have suspected it had something to do with pregnancy. And it did. However, google though I did, it didn't mean anything and I'm not one of those lucky get-pg-right-after-a-m/c-chicky-poohs. But I will tell you about my googling so that someone else out there can stumble onto this blog and perhaps find use(less) information.

I thought I had implantation spotting on 6 dpo last month. I was using the progesterone supplement/icky goop Crinone (which I often google Cronine, which sounds sort of prehistoric to me) and there was a spot on the applicator. Apparently, I just poked myself. The timing and amount was right for implantation spotting, but the progesterone supplements make one "friable" which basically means easy to poke and bleed.

So, uh, yeah. Nothing. A big nada and no bun preheating in the oven.

I also found a site this week that is much more sobering, literally. I have a big distrust of research on drinking and pregnancy because it often falls along the lines of "If you drink 5 drinks a day your baby may have fetal alcohol syndrome, so don't drink anything at all ever while you're pregnant." America has its prohibitionist and puritanical past, and their alcohol fears do not explain France or Italy.

But I did find some research on Friday on mice (who apparently have a lot of pg similarities to humans) that shows that regular moderate alcohol intake by mice before implantation leads to egg muck ups and more miscarriages.

Well, crap.

Guess who's off the bottle? Not Conor, he's been off the bottle for a while, but still on the boob!!! But considering my history and my love o' the vine, I'm now loving my green tea to a pee distracting lifestyle. The bummer is that it takes about 3 months for an egg to develop, so my lifestyle now affects my egg in three months (at least). So even if I do get pg now, I'm not holding my breath. But I am feeling positive that in 3 months, the eggies will be doing the best they can do. So there. that's the google life I lead.

Now it's time to go to my 5:30 meeting for work. Yippee! I'll see Conor right before he goes to bed. That is not yippee-ish.

Just How Geeky Are We?

I need to work on an analysis, yet I procrastinate. So, I shall procrastinate more by blogging. ;-)

So Lost has started its season back up. I love it! It's such a great show. I like Ugly Betty, too. I think it's a bit fluffy and a good deal campy but I think it's fun to watch.

Those two shows don't necessarily make me geeky. This one does: Battlestar Gallactica. And it's good. Reaaaalllly good. I'd have to say Battlestar gives Lost a run for the money in as much as how good it is for a TV show. People who think of the 80's Battlestar as what is happening on this series are way off. As much as the old one was cheesy, this one is serious. And the current season starting last Friday night (with a two hour special that pretty much had Dave and me levitating in our seats) opened with a clear analogy to the Iraqi war, except "we" (the humans) are the Iraqi civilians and "they" (the Cylons) are the Occupiers. If you want a lesson in empathy, check that out.

It's a damn good show.

Dr. Who precedes Battlestar and although I'm not as big a fan of Dr. Who as I am Battlestar, I do like this one, again, much less cheesy than the 70s-80s version, but cheesy enough to be on SciFi. (And of course my dh loves, loved, and will always treasure the 70s-80s version) I like this Dr. Who. But I love Battlestar Gallactica. And just so you know, I never really got into Stargate SG1; it is good, but not great. I really liked Farscape, but I always had a hard time figuring out who was who and what their names were. Still, I really liked Farscape. Though I still question Dave's dating skills when soon into our relationship, Friday nights consisted of watching Farscape on SciFi while eating nuts out of a can and plain boiled pierogis from Trader Joes. (In all honesty, the FOOD choices only lasted one night---I cooked after that. But the SciFi was every weekend)

Dave has also geeked me on the comics I read in the morning. I still have my "cool ones" like Pearls before Swine, Pickles, Zits, Lio (my new fave), Get Fuzzy (which I'm not as thrilled with any more), and Jump Start. (I liked Boondocks when we were in LA, but the Charlotte Observer doesn't carry it) But I have also started following Rex Morgan, MD. Call me granny right now! That is such a Not Cool Strip, but I like it! It does move slowly. And it is completley predictable. Well, actually, no. It's not. Sometimes there are twists. But it is definitely uncool. However, in my defense, that's the only one I read. Dave still reads Judge Parker and was say into Gil Thorp when it was in the paper. So, HA! He's geekier than I am.

Although no one would ever be surprised at my geekiness. But sometimes it does catch me off guard.

Green Tea and Fish Oil

Despite my devotion to evening primrose oil from AF to ovulation, I'm a bit wary of "alternative" medicines, often because they haven't been examined in high quality studies that address both their effectiveness and safety.

None. The. Less. I have become a big advocate of both green tea and fish oil of late, mainly because I've been listening to the People's Pharmacy on my Saturday morning runs (to combat the weight gain from my food-and-wine self-medication from m/c #1 and m/c #2, dontcha know).

Anyhoo, in the last month, they have reported about research in JAMA (no slouch) on the benefits of Green Tea and Fish Oil. And I have fallen for these supplements hook, link, sinker and teapot. Apparently, there is a strong dose-response curve for green tea which shows that drinking at least one cup of green tea reduces death for women 2% and for drinking 5 cups or more, over 15%! (Actually, the data says over 20% but I just can't buy that). Of course, all my scientific friends say, no you can't say there's a causal relationship---drinking more than 5 cups of green tea a day may mean you spend all day in the bathroom and hence can't die from much else. Nonetheless, I find it an interesting finding and I'm drinking as much green tea as I can daily now. (It's also believed to increase fertility.) So live longer and get pg? Brew me up a cup!

The fish oil issue is also interesting. JAMA also reports a positive effect of omega 3 fish oil in reducing heart attacks, however it's important to take at least 1 gram a day and as these things are horse pill in size...that's a lot! And you can read for one more day or so this article in the NY times that says that it would be considered malpractice in Italy not to prescribe fish oil to someone with heart disease. Also, fish oil doesn't have mercury (from a study of 20 supplements), so women don't have to worry about that. But it's very important NOT to take too much of this---so if you eat fish one day, you're not supposed to take the supplement. Only 1 gram a day is what you should take. And folks on blood thinning medicine should NOT take it. (Read the links! Ask your doctor! I'm not an MD, I only play one on the internets!)

In any case, we're trying to be healthy around here. What I need to be doing in addition to these supplements is RUNNING and EXERCISING, because I am currently fat. There are not two ways about it, I'm a big girl right now. (I feel rolls of fat on my neck. YUCK!) Conor poked my belly last night when he was about to nurse and said "booby!" I replied, "No, belly!" and he said, "BOOBY!" That's a roll of fat, my friends, when your belly rolls look like boobies.

And there's yet another new study that gaining weight between first and second pg is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Even just 8 pounds, which is where I'm at this morning. Bleah.

So there. I am getting up and running at 5:30 in the mornings 3-5 days per week. I can tell already that my pre-Conor pace is finally coming back. (I'm having to run a longer distance to go the same amount of time. This is good news). Now, i've got to get ahold of what I'm eating. Or let go of what I'm currently eating and eat healthier. I'll get there. And then I'll hopefully get pregnant again and gain it all back. I hope the next pregnancy sticks so that I can gain weight out of happiness and not out of coping.

Off to work.

Miscarriage Central

Sometimes I write posts here knowing that eventually someone is going to be googling information and find what she needs from my own experiences. I even will check out the referrals to this site and see that someone has come here looking for information on HCG not doubling twins or some variation of a search on days past ovulation, heartbeat and miscarriage and arrive at my dismal news. Sometimes I know from their search they will have good news and sometimes, I know they will not.

Bleah.

But I still feel like I'm providing useful information to folks out there on the Internets.

Well, this weekend, I got to provide useful, although not always happy, information to my real life friends. One friend had a miscarriage last Monday night. Another had a chemical pregnancy this weekend. And another is experiencing spotting in the early stages of her pregnancy (twins!).

I'm really glad that I can help the Internets. But it was honestly more touching to me to be able to help my 3 friends. I am not glad at all that I have had the experiences that I've had. But I was so glad that I could share my experiences and the information I've learned to help my other friends out. If my crap could help 3 other people feel a little better about what has and is happening, then I'm proud of my freaky characteristic of sharing some of the most intimate details I can with known and unknown other people.

I don't think women have always known the other women in their life who've had miscarriages. In fact, when I told a friend at the beginning of the last pregnancy that I was pregnant she replied "Well, I guess I'm old fashioned; I didn't tell people until week 13." And I responded "Why? If I had a miscarriage, I'd tell you to!"

Am I supposed to be ashamed if I have a miscarriage? It it because we're discussing something that is vaguely associated with my nether regions that I'm not supposed to tell a soul that I'm pregnant until I'm showing? Helloo!!! WORLD!!!! Get past Queen Victoria and stop blaming the mother for everything that happens!!!

I do understand the awkwardness of having to explain to someone after the fact that you are no longer pregnant. I was thinking of inventing a button that says "I'm not pregnant anymore, but I'm OK!" But if I had kept my pie hole shut, I'd never been able to talk to my friends this weekend who needed a shoulder, some information, and a "sister's" about what they were going through.

So there. I'm not going to shut up. Not that I ever could.

Scatting Lullabies

A few weeks ago, when Conor was requesting lullabies, he mispoke and instead of asking for Hush Little Baby, he requested Hush Little Mommy.

I sang:

Hush Little Mommy
Don't you cry
Baby's going to go to sleep
By and by.
And if that baby doesn't sleep
Baby's going to give you candy really sweet.
And if that candy's sweet not tart*
Baby's going to give you a love filled heart.
And if that love filled heart does break
Baby's going to give you a chocolate cake.
And if that chocolate cake is dry
Baby's going to go to sleep by and by.

I was pretty proud of myself. (*and yes, the giving "candy sweet not tart" doesn't make sense, but it works in the larger scheme of things!)

Since then, he's been requesting lots of made up lullabies which has been quite fun. The latest hits are "Twinkle Twinkle Little Banana" followed by "Twinkle Twinkle Little Apple". The key rhyming words in these songs end up being "Hananah" and "Snapple". Most of the times I remember the same words, and he's even started singing along to a couple of them.

Speaking of singing, at the library last week, we checked out a sing-along Mary Had a Little Lamb book which recounts the story of Mary's little lamb going to school (even against the rule) and playing kick ball with the kids, eating grass, and learning to write his name. It ends up that the teacher changes the rule so that the little lamb is always welcomed.

That story is in stark contrast to the other Mary Had a Little Lamb book in which the little lamb followed Mary instead of staying Exactly. Where. It. Should. Have. and ended up getting kicked in the head by a horse and falling in cow poop. The poor lamb is abused by every other animal on the farm!

So the moral of these two vastly different stories: break the rules and have some fun vs. break the rules and get a kick in the head. Guess which one we censored? Maybe I'm setting myself up for some hellish teenage years, but I am not so anxious to have my 2 year old learn that if he explores options or challenges the system, he will be punished.

Fine. We'll deal with our choices and raise a child to Question Authority. Can't hurt, the naive activist mother of the toddler says.

And because of course I would do this, I searched on whether genetic mutations are recurrent. And some reseach does suggest that yes, indeed, women who have a child with a chromosonal abnormality (either viable or non-viable) have a slightly increased chance of having another one. But here is one time where age works (sort of) in my favor. It's much more of a problem with young women than for older women. That is, young women who have a chromosonal mutation pregnancy are more likely to have another one compared to other young women. That sounds worrisome until you realize that even the "worst" case scenario as far as their probabilty for having a chromosonal problem is still much, much, MUCH better than any woman my age.
So, uh, yeah! I'm not at a higher risk for a third m/c due to a chromosonal problem. But I'm still at risk--about 2 to 3%---that the next pg will end in m/c. Or the next pg. Or the next.

Soon I must talk about our revised Plan A and Plan B for our next child. Soon, but later than right now.

Trisomy 8

We found out the results from the genetic testing of the miscarriage: Trisomy 8, a genetic abnormality not compatible with life. Trisomy means that there are 3 chromosones instead of 2, and trisomy 8 is one of the more common ones. Downs, of course, is the most common one.

I am sad. But so relieved. There is no way this could have been passed down from us, because babies with complete trisomy 8 cannot live. There is a syndrome called mosaic trisomy 8 in which some but not all of the cells have trisomy 8. It is characterized by expressionless faces and joint problems. And although I sometimes accuse Dave of having flat affect (compared to me, Charo has flat affect), we are not carriers.

So relief. We are not the source of these miscarriages. I do not have a clotting problem. We do not have unknown genetic problems we're passing down. This was a spontaneous problem during fertilization.

Of course, there are some reasons. I'm old. My eggs are old. The risk of a normal woman my age having any genetic problems is 1/42---about 2%. That's higher than I would have had 20 years ago (1/500), but I still think it's a low number. And the fact that we can get pregnant quickly feels encouraging. I may be fooling myself. And, btw, I'm not being overly maudlin. Most trisomy problems are "of maternal origin."

But I do feel better than the next pregnancy or the next one or even the next one if we get that far will be ok.

The subchorionic bleed didn't do it. We are not passing along something weird. Well, besides our personalities and general geekiness, we are not passing along anything weird.

That feels ok.

Gritting My Teeth

The dentist told me last week that it looks like I'm gritting my teeth: I have a "real fracture" on one of my teeth---apparently the one sensitive to heat and cold. He says I have to Stop! gritting my teeth. The other option is a plastic thingy (I think) that I'll have to wear at night and perhaps the day, too.

I told him that I thought could stop based on all the yoga I've done. He scoffed. (He was foolish) I think people who do not do yoga do not realize how well it helps you to focus on particular body parts. So I have been focusing on my mouth for the last week or so.

And here is what I've discovered.

I do indeed grit my teeth! I don't think I do it at night though because I imagine it's hard to snore and grit at the same time. I do grit a lot during the day. In fact, after I say something stressful or have a stressful thought, I will just simply bite down hard. And since i"ve been pretty much stressed all the time lately, I'm a constant gritter and biter!

But I've been focused on letting my jaw hang, yoga like, during the day. I'm turning that into my habit instead of biting. It's working. I notice when I bite and I'm stopping.

The weird part in all this is how sore my face has become since I've stopped biting! Why is that? Is that part of my face been so compressed, it's finally able to relax? It's gotten easier to tell when I'm biting because now, finally, it starts to hurt when I bite.

So there. I'm a nut. I clench/grit/bite. But I'm getting better.

One thing that does NOT make me clench my teeth: DAVE and all the work he's doing around the house. I have not mentioned our new French door in the living room. So now I shall. Beautiful!!! It makes such a big difference in making that part of the house seem brighter and bigger.

And last weekend, he ripped off the rotting siding of the house, pulled out all the dead wood, went under the house (surrounded by dozens of camel crickets---or hoppy spiders as we call them) to brace the house from all the rotting wood damage, put up new siding and painted. In one weekend!!!

He's quite the bargain to have around the house. And he most certainly NEVER makes me clinch my teeth. Because how could I give him a big sloppy wet kiss if I was gritting my teeth?

Back to work.

Pee Pee in the Potty

Oh, yesterday was a big day in the Mother Thing household.

Conor went pee pee in the potty for the first time!!!!

It was just before his bubble bath (which, I must add, is always preceded with running through the house shouting BUBBLE BAAAAAATH! Who shouts? Uh, maybe Conor and me). Dave was in charge of the bathing, and he called me in. Conor had asked to sit on the potty before got in the water.

I honestly figured that pre-bath would be the appropriate time to start potty training as Conor loves to watch himself pee once he gets in the water. (That's a story he's going to love at 15!) What I didn't figure on was Patches wanting to be part of the process. A dog sniffing one's nethers can be quite overwhelming the first time one tries to go.

So the three of sat in the closed bathroom with my naked little monkey repeating "I go pee on the potty" without actually doing it. And just when we said, "it's ok. You don't have to go," he went.

He was so proud of himself. Just like we were. He glowed when we told him what a big boy hi was. He even wanted to sit on the potty again once he got out of the bath, although I don't think anything could happen! (and it didn't)

Ironically, I just told Dave this week that Conor will start wanting to go potty on the big boy potty when the other kids in the class started potty training. And guess what we learned this morning? Two other kids in his class have just started. I predict that we will soon have a potty trained boy on our hands.

Wow. That's big. That's our big boy.

The Library

I love our public library. Really. It has been years since I've really appreciated a library and I love this one. (I recently heard someone ask if it would be possible in this day and age to set up a public repository of books so that everyone would be allowed to read them and have the government pay for this service. Ummmm....No.)

Our neighborhood 'brary is a few blocks from our house. It has a great kids section where we go to sit on the sofas and pick out the books we want to take home for 3 weeks.

And it's pretty. Fluffy, I know, but it's all bricks and glass and fits into our neighborhood architecture beautifully. Conor points and shouts, "LIBRARY!" every time we pass.

I have decided to work my way through our library reading books I woudn't buy. I've started with the A's, reading Yo! by Julia Alvarez. It's good. (Better than the Devil Wear's Prada, dontcha know)

Other things are going on. Things for which I am googling endlessly, but do not wish to share. Yet.

I am also busy with a new course prep, a new research team, new paper, a grant proposal and a miscarriage under my belt in the last month. I've worked both Saturday and Sunday for the last two weekends and imagine this trend is going to continue for at least 6 more months.

Bear with me with me for a while. Hell, BARE with me for a while; I'm still breastfeeding.

All Stuffed With Fluffies

Ok, so first off, I *DO* wear underwear! I am SURE!!! However, they are not the size of Wisconsin. Therefore, pills could be "an issue". 'Nuff said.

Except I will say more.

I am very sorry for Anna Nicole Smith that her son died. It's even more tragic that he died when she had a newborn. She's not the brightest bulb on the tree. Still, it's sad.

I'm glad Ben Afflect's latest movie was critically acclaimed, particularly for his acting. This has absolutely no relevance for me, but still it's (pathetically) important.

I like Brangelina more now that they have had their child. I think they could do a lot of good in this world, and despite freaky tendancies, I still like them more than I did.

I do not like books by PD James. I've read 3 now, and I am just not moved by them.

I did NOT like the book The Devil Wears Prada, but I thought the movie was good. I read TDWP immediately after Prep and I have never noticed such a vast contrast between two books before. I thought TDWP's prose needed another edit. There was a lot of fluff in that book. (Like this blog entry)

I have also decided that I am not Vogue's target audience. I think the clothes are stupid and the articles are lame. I am not a Vogue woman. I may be a Marie Claire woman though. I am now and always will be a Star woman.

These are things that make me, well, who I am, warts and all. Or cotton candy and all. You decide.

Baby Stuff

I haven't talked about what has been going on on the baby front for a while. And considering that has been the most dramatic part of our lives right now, perhaps that hasn't been fair.

Well, things have been going on. And I have not set aside any time to talk about it. I really shouldn't be setting time aside right now, but there is a lot happening and if I don't, I'll just come out shouting odd words like "hooha" and it will be all too confusing.

So here is the scoop.

Soon after our last miscarriage, Dave and I decided that yes, we are willing to keep trying to get pregnant, but we are also going to start down the adoption path. We even sent away for adoption info which has yet to arrive. Nonetheless, that door is now fully open, at least in our hearts.

We also decided after I searched like a wild woman on the Internet that we were not going to delay at all in trying to get pregnant again. My reasoning is that if a good egg pops out, I don't want to waste it. Also, the research is not conclusive that getting pregnant immediately after a miscarriage is unhealthy. Apparently, doctors just want to be able to date the pregnancy and they need a cycle start date for that. (That is, they do if the woman getting pregnant is not me who KNOWS when everything is going on) Again, they encourage waiting to help with the emotional healing, although for me, the lack of hope---"we aren't trying and we can't be pg"---is more emotionally devastating than the risk of getting pg again.

We had our post op follow up with the doctor was week which was relatively uneventful. They did not have the chromosonal tests back so he had no news on that. And he could do little more than react when I told him that no matter what he said, we were going to start trying again right away. (I said it nicer than that!)

There are some concerns he expressed---perhaps I have a clotting problem, perhaps we have a genetic problem, perhaps there are other antibody issues that we haven't discovered yet.

Perhaps there are. But it doesn't make sense to me why Conor was so easy to conceive and was such an easy healthy baby if I had these Really Big Problems.

Instead, I think I'm just an old hag and the miscarriages have had genetic problems. Maybe I'm wrong (and we will know soon about the last one), but it just doesn't make sense to me probability wise if I "won the lottery" on the first try without much effort.

But the doctor wants to do something to help us have a baby, and I truly appreciate his sincere interest in helping us out. So he has prescribed progestrone supplements to help us out. He readily admits that the research on its helpfulness is mixed (I'll blog more on that later), but it is not likely to do harm and it is possible it might help.

The supplements are interesting. First, I have to use a gel after ovulation. And then, after a positive home pregnancy test (we're thinking POSITIVE, people!) , I have to stick pills up my hooha for a couple of months. That's right. I said Pill and I said Hooha. Now, these are not ordinary "suppositories". I even found out yesterday that yes indeedy, these are pills designed to Look Like Pills one takes orally. But you stick them up you hooha. Two pills twice a day: once at night and once in the morning before I come to work.

The word last night at the dinner table was "Clinch". Talk about your eight hour Kegel exercises!! Maybe the reason this thing works is NOT that the extra progesterone helps, but because you're squeezing so hard the baby has no choice but to stay in there and get healthy.

I just really don't want to be walking down the hall and drop a pill on the carpet. It was bad enough walking around with breast feeding paraphenalia, but this could top it quite easily.

So now you are up to date. We are talking no time off between the D&E and trying to get pg again---we don't have that luxury. And if we do get pregnant again soon, that will be very good news. But I'm not looking forward to walking around my office. I just have to be honest with you.

Kissy Kiss

Last weekend, we went the the Charlotte Greek Fest. This is a big event around Charlotte and a lot of fun---although I can't figure out why. It's a fair with some small kiddie rides and yes, there is some amaaaaaazing food, but this is a big deal in Charlotte. Everybody goes and every time I go, I have fun. I just don't understand why. (Alcohol helps, I'll be honest)

I will say it was a lot more fun this year, because of the kids. Conor rode his first carnival ride--a very simple swing that I rode with him. Then we put him and two of his best kid friends in the "helicopter ride" which sounds scary for a toddler, but was just a more stable swing with better seatbelts. The toddlers were all very safe and, as evidenced by their screams (of delight!) thrilled to ride on their own. However, we arranged them in the worst possible way with biggest toddler Conor on the inside, middle sized boy toddler in the middle and smallest girl toddler on the outside. When the ride started going around and around, guess what happened to the kids? They began to spin out on the seat until toddler girl was squished in the corner with humongo toddler Conor in the middle with lots of free space. Every time he spun past me, I shouted "Conor! Move In! Move In!!" until he finally understood my hand motions and pulled himself back to the his side of the seat....at which point he let go and squished the other children again.

It was very funny.

Apparently, toddler girl was not upset as she demonstrated later by kissing my son. Repeatedly. To much laughter from people around us. In all honesty, Conor started it and he tends to be a wee bit kissy. Nonetheless, when Toddler Girl (TG) reached up to grab a curl during their open mouth kisses, I sort of freaked out.

Conor goes to daycare with TG and the director told me last week that she heard TG's mom talking about the incident: she described how we had all gone to Greek Fest together and how they were kissing and kissing and almost making out and that the people at the other tables were laughing and how they weren't sure if they should separate them. Then she turned to the director and said "Wow! You're really red. It's really funny, isn't it. " That's when the director realized that she was talking about Conor and TG at the Greek Fest.

And not about Dave and me.

I guess Conor has to inherit it from someone!

Things are Going On Around Here

Dave has been in a home fixin' frenzy. And I, as a result, am the lucky recipient of some fancy pants things in the house. To wit: a new litter box. "Litter box?!" you say. "How fancy can that be!?" Well when the blueprint comes from This Old House, "Pretty damn fancy," would be my reply.

So check it out.

And you were thinking what? A plastic litter box!? No! This is a litter bench! And note the basket by the door. We now flip our shoes off as soon as we walk in the door and (theoretically) prevent dirt from entering. This is good because we are stunning lazy asses and never wash our floors.

And here we have a picture of the litter box in use.

As a bench! I am so sure you think I'd show a kitty doing his bidness in the box. We do love the litter bench.

And Dave has also added shelves to the cabinet in our dining room, thus turning a useless storage space into Toy Central.

(Note the pumpkin that we're still using from last Halloween). I have to say it's made the who dining/kitchen/play pen area much nicer.

And all I needed was a hot dude with a few power tools and some paint. What more could anyone ask for?!!?

The Toilet Paper Challenge: Scott or Charmin

So here's the scoop:

While our friends were living with us this spring, we were introduced to a new brand of toilet paper: Scott Tissue. Yes, I am fully aware the Scott is not a new brand of toilet paper, but it was new to us, "Must see TP", as it were. At the time, we roundly mocked our friends because Scott Toilet paper is merely one step up from sand paper. That stuff is not cushy; it is not soft; one does not mistake Scott Tissue for anything comforting and pleasant.

But it lasts.

It lasts a long, long, loooooong time. Or maybe it just feels that way.

Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating. It doesn't really scratch. And it is more pleasant than having kittens lick the bottom of one's foot. But it ain't ever gonna be mistaken for cushy.

Charmin is cushy. Charmin feels really, really nice. But I can go through a Charmin roll in about 2-3 days.

So the question around our house is: economy or cush on your tush.

Discuss.

Oh Fudge

I know I'm not supposed to find this funny, but the astronauts just dropped a bolt while they were doing repair work on the space station, and they couldn't find it. I have this image of them looking bit by by through infinite space to find some lone bolt that's low floating around.

I wonder if anyone said "Fudge."

Busting My Ass

You'd think that after not posting for a few days, that when I said I was busting my ass, you'd think I was just being very busy. However you'd be wrong.

Because if you'd been here this morning you would have seen me fall flat on my ass from the top of my deck to hit the bottom step exactly on my tail bone. My hands were full with my laptop and thus, nothing broke my fall but my Fat Ass.

Ow!

I have a big bruise on my arm and an ugly bruise on the joint of my pinky. And my booty hurts! I can sit down ok, but leaning over or standing up is not a pleasant experience.

So let's hope this is the third (as in trouble comes in threes) embarrassing event following my pjs in the hotel lobby and the dive on hotel floor. Yes, this is different because no one saw me this time. But it was still work related.

I was commuting. ;-)

Of Course, It Could be Duncan....

Not for the hairball, that is definitely Scarlett. And not for the circle of black fur on my side of the bed, that is definitely Simba, and yes, I do positively reward that behavior by giving her tons of lovin's when I see her sleeping there. No, Duncan could be the peepee culprit on Patches' bed. He has had a UTI recently, though we have already medicated it. And lately, we've thought Simba was the pee monster on our laundry until we caught Duncan red handed. (Red tailed?!) So yes, it could be Duncan. But it just seems like a lot of effort for him to come into our room and pee on Patches bed and NOT try to jump up and sleep with us. Nonetheless, how exactly can we get into the wee (!) mind of a cat?

Speaking of cats of an entirely different nature, I'm sure you haven't followed the story of the Panther's fan Catman, who Fox Sports played a mean trick. The gist is that the Fox football commentators wanted to keep viewers tuned to the end of the game and thus promised to give away a car. They picked one of our most popular fans, Catman, and essentially humiliated him on national TV by playing a joke: telling him he won a car, building up his excitement, showing his excitement live on TV, and then giving him a matchbox car.

The Charlotte Observer sports columnist, Scott Fowler, wrote a pretty scathing article about how cruel it was to play a joke on our most famous fan (who works counseling troubled kids for Pete's sake!), and the next day the president of Fox Sports announced that he personally would be giving Catman a brand new truck. Apparently, Charlotte Observer readers and Panthers fans were not amused by the joke and emailed every possible version of Fox Sports until they admitted their joke was stupid and they made a mistake.

Why bring this up here? Fox Sports is never going to un-humiliate that man. They will never mention again that they actually did give him a new car. They won't apologize on national TV for playing a stupid trick. The story that this man was embarrassed by a trick will never be corrected. So I'm doing it here. Phhhhht on you, Fox Sports. And Yay for you, Catman!!!! Drive that truck knowing the entire city of Charlotte is thrilled silly for you!!

I can't figure out how to seque from that to the other topics on my mind: Toilet Paper--softness or economy? Which do you choose. Or the Open House last night at Conor's daycare where we saw a couple from our childbirth class whose daughter is in the same room as Conors. Weird!! Or adoption/next pregnancy/emotional rawness and hope.

Stay tuned....

Simba

Let's change the topic of the blog today, shall we, from all the sadness in my body to something more interesting, say, like Simba with all her piss and fur.

Yes, darling Simba. The kitty who sleeps on our heads and wakes us up in the middle of the night with a paw gently placed on our foreheads or eyes or even in our mouths. (The latter, not so much endearing in the human world, if you know what I mean) Simba has taken over our bed at night and turned into a veritable 6 pound purring kitten of love. Very sweet.

Peeing on Patches bed every night? Not so much. Although we haven't caught her flagrante delicto, she is our prime suspect because the other free pee-er of the house (besides Conor) is Duncan and Duncan is so wracked with arthritis right now, he can't jump on the bed to sleep with us. Thus, he has given up visiting the bedroom altogether. So, Simba is the lead suspect. She pees. We wash, dry, febreeze and petzyme. She pees. Repeat indefinitely.

I have decided to take action. My thought is to get one of those bedwetting alarms and put it on Patches bed. Thus when a kitty (most likely Simba) does her thing, 1) it will scare the beegeesus out of her and 2) we'll see who is actually doing it. It will likely scare the beegeesus out of us, too, but if we can prevent the pee-wash-dry-spray-pee cycle again, it will be worth it. Now where can one buy one of those things? Do they sell them at Target?

We know that Simba is just doing that to show her love and possession of us. But it's irritating. Sort of like the 12-inch diameter of black fur she leaves on my side of the bed whenever we don't make the bed (sadly, this is a frequent problem). Simba is the smallest cat, but she is by far the biggest shedder. We finally brushed her yesterday and we were left with an additional kitten's worth of fur to put in the trash can. What's weirder is that when we brush her, she sheds black AND white fur, big clumps of white!!! She's a solid black cat!! Where is that white fur coming from!? When I look under her fur, I don't see white! It's very odd.

Oh, and speaking of fur. Did I mention that Scarlett is a long haired gray tabby? She sheds a lot less than either Simba or Duncan. But she tends to leave "gifts" of her undigested fur around the house. If we're lucky, Patches gets to it first, and we have, as my sister-in-law calls it, a self-correcting problem.

If not, we have a toddler. And my newest lesson as a mother is this: when one's child says "What's that, mommy? What's that, mommy? What's that, mommy?" for the seven zillionith time in an hour, it really is worth it to go over and look at what that is before said child steps on it. Gray furry cat yak in between a child's toes is the definition of gross.

The Hardest Thing....

about not blogging for a while is to think of a clever title to explain my absence. "Busy", "Still Healing", "Very, Very Busy", "I thought I was All Fine, But Then I Figured Out I Wasn't", "Busier Even Still", and finally, "HOORAY! Trader Joe's is coming to town!!!!"

Ok, so now you're pretty much caught up from my last entry.

First, HOOOORAY!!!! Trader Joe's *IS* coming to town. They are opening their first store in south Charlotte (boooo, too far away, yet I will still travel) and they are also looking at areas in Midtown Charlotte, which is a hop, skip and a jump from us. HOOORAY!!! It's the best news in a while!

Next, I thought I was doing fine, but I'm still having some bouts of sadness about the miscarriage. Even though I knew it was coming and I was prepared for it, I'm still quite sad that we're not pregnant again. Especially since my body continues to think I'm still pregnant as the hormones fade out of me. The boobs no longer hurt while nursing and on the Saturday after the m/c I was ravenous as I could eat for the first time in 5 weeks without indigestion. But my temperature is still up and I'm quite sure my HCG is still well above 0.

I'm ok. But I'm still quite emotional with both a short fuse and a tendancy to weep at about anything. And I'm tired. I'm soooooo tired. It's tough trying to recovery emotionally at the beginning of the school year. But them's the breaks.

In case you are wondering, (well, are you?), we're going to start trying again right away. I've have checked out as much as I can, and yes there is a slight increase in m/c if you get pg immediately after a D&E because the uterus may be irritated. But you know what? I'm irritated, too. And I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to waste a good egg, if it happens to be the next one up.

So there. That's how I know my HCG is still high enough that my body thinks I'm pg. I have gotten positive OPKs which somehow or another also measures whether your body thinks "something is going on" down there. After the last m/c, my first cycle returned really quickly, but I think it's because my HCG count was pretty low by the time we had the m/c. I think we were still high and it may be a week or more before my body finally picks up the notion that the womb is empty and it's time to move on.

I have a feeling that quite a few of you are freaking out reading this. I don't know why, but I do. Perhaps I'm still freaking out. I'm ready to move on and start trying again, and I'm a little disappointed that my body is slow to catch up with the program. BUT (!) I also completely trust that my body is moving at the right pace and when it's ready to try again, it will let me know.

My body reminds me of my husband right now: Somewhat irritating on the small stuff, but completely trustworthy.

I am SOOOOOOOOO going to get in trouble for that sentence!