I Don't *Think* She's Trying to Be Awful But...

[UPDATE: ok, before you get all mad and up in arms about my boss, just know that after a few hours of feeling really bad at my desk, I confronted her with these conversations and she was profusely, PROFUSELY apologetic. She felt awful. And promised to be more aware of things coming out of her mouth in the future. And yes, I do think it was very sincere.]

Honestly, most days, I wish my boss wouldn't talk. At least not talk to me.

I need to back up for a sec. I have a kick ass job. And with very little (ok, one) exception, a stellar set of co-workers. The flexibility and freedom I have here I will not find anyplace else. So, whenever I mumble/grumble about being under appreciated, etc. etc, I just need to keep all of that in mind.

That being said, sometimes my boss says the worst things. Without even knowing it. This is not a function of "oh you're grieving and you're oversensitized" nor is it a new trend. It's not new; It is not specific to me. Survey any member of our office team and each of them could probably give you a good set of jaw-dropping, she-did-not-just-say-that anecdotes. Makes for great lunch conversation. Day to day mental health, not so much.

For instance...

Yesterday we were reviewing some new employees and trying to figure out how best to use their skill sets in the upcoming year. When discussing a newbie who my boss had planned to place up front and center in some legislative things (my area), I balked and said that the support I needed was behind the scenes, you know, the hard, calling members, not fun stuff. Boss says, "Well, we are lucky to have you now that you aren't taking 4-5 months off, but this had been the plan...."

Lucky. She said lucky. And then intimated that me coming back to work (because I'd far rather be here than on maternity leave with healthy children, right?) somehow screwed up how she thought things were going to be this year.

Really sorry I fucked up your plans. Truly, I am.

Today, we were chatting in my office about future gubernatorial elections in our state, the need for transition docs, speculations on who might be the new members of the administration that we'd have to work with and she gives her guesses on who they might be. She intimates it would be far better if we had people in mind to recommend for leadership positions. Intimates that "if I weren't off trying to make babies" she could think of a real recommendation that she would make...

Yes, because I always planned to put my life/career on hold for several years as we struggled to build a family.

Once again, so sorry I fucked up your plans.

And here is where I must remind myself that I have never been someone to define myself with my job. My career and what I do during the day does not define who I am or add/detract to my self worth. These things that she is talking about - they DON'T MATTER.

But it still adds more sting to the "what am I doing with my life?" that accompanies the realization of the time spent trying to get to one, simple (for some) goal. Builds on the "can't have your cake and eat it too - well, you can, but it won't taste very good" understanding of trying to juggle a career and baby-making and hopefully baby-having.

Sigh.

At a Conference for Women a few years ago, the keynote speaker said something that struck me as so (sadly) true:

"The trouble is that your biological clock and your career clock are ticking together at the same pace."

As in, oh you're in your 30s and want to have a baby? Guess what? This is probably the one and only phase in your career where you have enough experience to move forward and enough youth and ambition to get it done. Which do you want? You want both? Oh, good luck...

Sucker....

Trying Out the "P" Word

Alright, y'all. I did it. It came out of my mouth. To strangers no less. It went kind of like this:

"Can you please help me with my bag? I usually wouldn't ask, but I'm p........"

And then I giggled and snickered a little and hoped no one heard me. And then I did it again,

"I'm sorry. Can I please have the aisle seat? I'm p......... and need to walk a bit on the flight. Oh thank you so much. I really appreciate it."

And then, and this one was kind of tough, yet again,

"Oh gosh, I'd love a free margarita, but I can't. I'm expecting." (because, above all, I have a deep and intense need to explain why anyone in their right mind would turn down a free drink.)

Wow. Wowy. Wow.

Where to begin. I guess with this little image.

And I thought when I saw something on screen, it would make things feel more, you know, real. Actual. Realized. But I still sauntered through the rest of the day in a state of shock. Even after my RE told me the next time she saw me (Sept 4) we'd be listening for heartbeats, warned me not to eat big fish and recommended I call my local ob/gyn now to start setting up appointments.

Um, ok. But first I should probably let her know that it seems that I have reason.

So, hubby has been giddy. Giddy as a schoolgirl. I have been, well, pretty tired and very crampy and beginning today, just a little nauseated in the morning.

Am I a sick f*ck if I tell you I am loving every minute? Every crampy minute.

This week has been a bit of an adventure. I'm actually clear over on the other coast attending a conference for work. An event I've been looking forward to for months, until hubby got uncharacteristically worried and cautious-sounding the evening before the plane: Just remember to walk around. Does L. know how to give you your shots? Will she be ok? Will you be ok? Are you going to have enough time to rest? Are you going to be ok on the plane? In the airports? Are you going to be OK?

And I laughed and hugged and reassured but damn it if I wasn't filled with a little bit of anxiety that wasn't there just a minute prior.

Is this what being a parent feels like? No really, I'm serious. Just a little tinge of nervous for all those things out of your control not because you give a shit about yourself but for how said uncontrollable factors may impact your loved ones?

I can honestly say, I have never in my life had these feelings before. Ever. And I have placed myself amidst far too many uncontrollable factors and in situations beyond my control.

But fear not. All went well. Very well. The flight was smooth and included the following highlights:

• a phone call from a wrong number that turned into a lovely and uplifting conversation ending with a heartfelt wish for me a safe flight;
• a phone call from my boss assuring me I could stay an extra night or try to grab a non-redeye flight home if I wasn't feeling up to it;
  
• an early arrival in California due to scoring the last empty seat on an flight that left DC 3 hours earlier than mine;
• a free upgrade to Economy Plus since it was the seat I scored - that's new airplanese for "a seat that doesn't suck;"
• a free meal on flight since I volunteered to switch seats with a little one that was too little to be in the emergency exit row (but didn't need to switch after all).
  

So, hey, it wasn't bad.

Now, I'm resting in the commuter terminal getting ready to begin the first leg of my long and (alas, redeye) series of flights home. An earlier trip to the airport didn't produce the previous luck I had with standbys and upgrades. But it did give me the following conversation with my Somalian cab driver:

"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"Do you have children?"
"No. not yet."
"Oh. Well, when you do I hope you have twins. You should have twins. I really, really hope you do. they are the best. I have twin girls and they are a joy. But for you, I hope you have a boy and a girl because then you will be happy and your husband can be happy."

Well how about that.

It's been a lovely trip.

(footnote: as of today, I have been knocked up for six weeks and 2 days)

Four Days Post Transfer - Feeling Groovy

Thanks so much for your comments and good vibes. I swear I can feel them and they feel great.

Tuesday's transfer went smoothly. We were snarled up in traffic and made it to the clinic a few minutes late, only to find that they were running about 1/2 hour late. Plenty of time for my bladder to fill.

We shared the tiny, tiny waiting room with another couple who were much more somber than our giddy selves. When the nurse came out to let us know they were running late and then went to the woman, sat next to her and softly put her hand on her shoulder to say, "I am really sorry we are seeing you today," my suspicions were confirmed.

I found myself in such a strange place. Trying to stay positive and focused on the potential future for us, but at the same time feeling my heart get heavier and heavier for this woman, who was obviously going to have to terminate her pregnancy. Of course, it's not a long distance from that to thinking about how I would feel in such a situation, how I would act. Then I would start to inwardly mourn, thus pushing out all positivity and light that I had been trying to collect within me all morning.

But how could I sit there and not recognize a fellow sister in distress?

I decided that what I would do is close my eyes and practice some deep breathing and some compassionate meditation. It was the only thing I could think to do that might balance the emotions I was feeling.

Soon enough, we were retrieved and taken back to the room we've been in twice before. I was feeling apprehensive since the day before, when the nurse phoned with our embryo report (5 thawed, 4 survived), he casually mentioned they might decide to put in more than 2. This only came out after I asked why they had thawed so many. That in itself had bothered me knowing we have so few left and should we need more...

Sure enough, our doctor arrived and showed us the 3 embryos she wanted to use for the transfer. Two gorgeous 12- and 14-celled beauties and one little 7-celled guy. I think we caught her off guard when hubby and I both said, "um, sorry. we don't want that."

What?

Hubby and I have discussed this time and time again and, for us, we never felt comfortable transferring more than two embryos at a time. I never want to be put into a position hoping that one or two make it and....More important, I don't ever want to hear the words "selective reduction" uttered around me, let alone given to me as a decision to make. Not if I can help it.

Understood three embryos do not necessarily equal one baby let alone three. Yeah, I got that. But our choice, since we had one here, was to put all of our thoughts and love towards two little ones growing inside me. Little #7 is hopefully still growing towards blastocyst stage where he will be frozen and hopefully ready for the future. It just didn't feel right to us having that large a crowd in my uterus.

So, I spent a little bit of the first day feeling bad about leaving one behind. Like I had abandoned him. I'm still not sure we made the right decision, but it felt like the right decision for us.

Once she understood where we were coming from, our doc was completely supportive of us and continued on with an incident-free, stitch-free, polyp-free transfer, supported this time by double doses of progesterone just for good measure.

It's day four post-transfer. My feet are up as often as they can be. Stairs are being avoided. Nothing more than 10 lbs. is being lifted.

Day four post transfer and we are feeling groovy.

Hottie Mommies and Such

This holiday weekend will officially be remembered as the weekend of deep and indulgent sleep.

After a pretty intense work week bookended by trips to the clinic for stripe checks (7.2 on Monday; 7.8 on Friday. Not bad, but not great. We can talk about that later), each and every morning was spent under the covers, dozing until well past 9 am. Because I could.

Most mornings, I would wake and contemplate all the things I could be doing with the early part of my day before coming to the conclusion that lounging in bed was exactly what I wanted to be doing. S0 that's what I did.

When I wasn't sleeping, I was repotting, cleaning, browsing the ArtsFest that graces our riverfront every Memorial Day weekend and generally enjoying a computer-free long weekend. Remember what that feels like? I didn't.

While at the ArtsFest, we made sure to check out one of our favorite local bands - a band which I've already decided should sing the soundtrack of that movie that should be made based on our lives. (I'm not the only person that does this, right? we all have soundtracks in mind, right?) So, I was already feeling a little melancholy halfway through their set - it's not like their songs address infertility at all. But they do, like most good country-rock balladiers, sing a lot about love, longing, wanting, journeys to better places, and the process (and the sometimes pain) of the trip.

I might have been projecting.

The group also has what seems to be a disproportionate amount of hottie mommies amongst their fans. And they were all out. With their adorable young 'uns. Dancing. Frolicking. Loving the music and the day. One of our single friends (a hottie himself) was near the stage and he kept getting bombarded with kids running off the dance floor and into his arms where he would toss them around and nudge them back out onto the concrete to dance some more. Of course, once one kiddie saw the treatment, they all wanted some roughhousing and love. So he had his hands full for at least 3 songs.

This guy, hot as h*ll already, was even hotter in the context of his affection to the kids, who may have been offspring of other friends, a sister, a relative. Who knows. All I know is, I was thinking, d*mn, I don't think I remember ____ being that hot.

And then I started thinking about my own hottie sitting right next to me and wondering what it would be like to see hubby in that same context, only with kids that were ours.

And I was suddenly regretting forgetting my sunglasses at home. Because I really needed them.

I don't usually get caught up in the longing so this caught me a little off guard. I wondered if hubby was feeling the same. But I didn't ask. Because I didn't want to know. Because I think I do.

And d*mmit. I want to be a hottie mommy, too.