But I Don't Feel Tardy

So, I suppose it had been a while since I posted. Sorry about that.

I'm cool. Hubby's cool. The seedlings are, for all I know, chillin'. We are 14 weeks today. My next appointment is Tuesday. And I am really, really looking forward to it.

Will I get an ultrasound? Will we get to see some heart beats? What guarantee will they give me to ensure that something's still going down down there? What's the protocol for these "normal" OB appointments?

Because maybe I haven't posted because I have yet to feel it. You know, feeeeel it.

The other weekend, I was indulging in an evening of total control over the remote control while hubby was working late (and I now understand why I rarely get that privilege when there is more than one person on the couch) and I found myself watching Velvet Goldmine, one of the worst movies ever made, but one of my favorite. Jonathan Rhys Myers, Ewan McGregor and Christian Bale? All tarting it up at 70s glam boys? Come on. What's not to love? Anyway, at one point, Ewan is writhing on stage in what is obviously his best Iggy Pop impersonation and is screaming, imploring,

can you feel it . . .
I got a feeling
I got a feeling
I wanna feeeeeeel it
oh, I wanna feeeeeel it . . . . . . .

And I knew exactly what he was talking about.

I'm feeling great. Energized, non-pukey. Looking fatter, but was I really all that svelte 14 weeks ago? Happy. Functional. Hubby mentioned the other morning, "Oh my god, somebody's got their funny back."

So, can someone please verify that I am indeed pregnant?

You Must Le-ea-rn

Do these little guys have ears yet?

I hope so. Because last night, me and the seedlings saw the best hip hop emcee ever. Ever.

A message on my phone yesterday afternoon asked me if I wanted to cover an event for the local alt newspaper that I write for. I knew the caller was connected with a local hip hop posse. (yes, I just said posse. In this particular situation, it fits and I couldn't really think of a better term to describe a tightly knit yet independent group of emcees, dj's, promoters, you know, a bunch of kids trying to make something cool happen in their hometown. So there you have it. Posse)

So, hubby and I pondered. hmm. What's going on tonight? What did we forget about? What show could he mean? And then it hit us both. Holy shit!

KRS-ONE.

At this point, I had to tamper down my excitement knowing that hubby would be leaving for work in just an hour or so and would most likely miss the entire show of his favorite hip hop artist. The person he claims changed his world view at first listen. The person he will, without hesitation, say is among the best and the brightest of the entire genre. Oh sweetie. He'd have to live vicariously through me and the twins, who would be getting their second dose of a live hip hop show in utero.

D*mn. These kids are spoiled.

So, I called my pal S., pulled out my press pass, had hubby set his camera to the most idiot-proof setting possible and switch out the new lens to an older one and off I went.

Here's a sampling of the conversations me and hubby's camera had:

"Hey, take a picture of me!"

"Sure."

"Ok. Now let me take a picture of you! It's cool. I'm in a photography class...."

"Hmm. I don't know about that."

"C'mon. It's only fair."

"Ok. But if you harm this camera, my life is in your hands. Know that."

"Cool. cool. [posing and ridiculous camera banter ensues] See! I told you I was good. Look. Here you are.....Damn! Your titties is huge!"

"Um, yeah, and believe me, it surprises me more than you. P.S. I'm pregnant so I think they're supposed to be like that."

"Right on, girl! you gotta feed those little ones!!"

And he gave me a hug, laughed and walked away. S. shook her head and asked, "did that guy really just say something about your "titties"? He did. He did. And somehow it was quite sweet.

S. perched herself on a stool towards the back of the club. I went to the stage to try to get some crowd shots and to get ready for the show. And oh my goodness, what a show. What a great frigging show. Maybe I doubted my hubby's claims. Maybe I thought to myself, ok, how good could this guy be?

He was amazing. And the vibe in the club was among the most positive I have ever experienced. Nearly ever person knew every word of his songs. Everyone laughed at the punchlines in his freestyles. The show went on and on.

And ended just as hubby came rushing through the doors as his shift ended. Damn. He caught a glimpse of his hero, but not in action. He was a great sport, promised that my excitement was enough for the both of us, then took me for some late night pizza. We hung out. I tried to relay the songs KRS did and didn't do - at one point, hubby ended up pulling out his mp3 player and just rolling down the album tracks with me going yes, yes, I think so, nope, not that one. Satisfied, we all went to bed.

What a great night.

What? No Shot?

Are you sure?

Do you mean it?

Do you really mean I don't have to contort myself into unnatural positions propped on pillows to poke my own butt tonight since hubby is at work?

That is frigging awesome.

Calliope said that the first night sans shot is divine. She's right.

So what am I doing with all this free time? Well, first I stuck my saran wrap back in the kitchen where it belongs. how nice to use it for wrapping cheese and other leftovers instead of the numbing cream on my *ss.

Now, I'm having my own private, pregnancy-craving dictated tailgate by myself on my living room floor. Honeycrisp apples (have you had these yet? They are the bomb!), cheddar cheese, and a huge bowl of cold sauerkraut. Oh hells yes. Fight on State!

At halftime, I'll sift through my free goodies bag I got from Motherhood.

You bet. I went there. Technically, I can still fit into most of my clothes. Most of the time, it's less than flattering. But the main impetus for the mall trip was my annual conference that's coming up in the end of October. I know that by then, me being able to wear all of my suits and business attire will be but a memory. I also know that this is probably the last work-free weekend I can count on between now and then. Things get intense. In other words, it was now or never.

The last time I waited until the last minute to pick up a few new things for conference, I ended up dashing to Ann Taylor Loft and pretty much purchasing anything I laid eyes on, threw it in the car and figured I'd figure it out when I got there. Of course, I ended up wearing and keeping 2 items and returning all the rest. I'm not willing to gamble like that with a figure that I am assuming will be less than easy to grab-n-go for.

So, my MIL graciously agreed to meet me at the mall and help me suss out some duds that would be suitable for work. Can I say we both started giggling uncontrollably at the sight of me and the "fake belly" they have in the dressing rooms to make sure the clothes will fit into the next few months? Wow. What a visual.

A Post I Wish I Had Written

From This Blog to God's Ears?

As I wait for my ride...

Ridiculously quick update as I wait for my brother to come get me and dump me in the river (with my kayak, of course) cuz I got the doc's permission and it is glorious, last glimpse of summer kind of day:

• 10 wks and 6 days and all is well.
• Went to our first "real" ob appointment and was delighted that I forgot how much I loved my doctor. Before our foray into the world of REs, I had been seeing his wife (also an ace doc) simply because her schedule had coincided better with mine, but now I'm back with the man who always seems to be smiling and laughing. And I love that.
  
• Like Calliope, was completely underwhelmed (but still thankful, very thankful) with the grainy quality of the non-vah-jay-jay scan. Was enough to see two little hearts pump-pumping away. There were rumours of hand waving but d*mn if I could decipher it. I guess the HD version of the seedlings at the RE has us spoiled.
• Got all kinds of binders and booklets and pamphlets on pre-natal classes and free stuff (and hells yes, I signed up for it all. Bring on the free).

My thoughts on this: I know that many of us hold off on signing up for freebies, planning showers, thinking about the nursery even, because of previous disappointments and losses. Understanding that all, I have made the conscious decision to embrace my pregnancy and see it as completely normal and healthy until proven otherwise. My mantra: "If you can't imagine it, you can't create it." So I am busy imaging the little spitfire hellion revolutionaries that I cannot wait to bring into the world.

And I bought a hottie mommie t-shirt this week.

What!?!? It was on sale.

hubby is not so cavalier, but he is humoring me. I think once we finally hit 12 weeks and dispose of the needles and the gauze and the suppositories and pills it will feel a little safer to him to shout it to the world.

My entire office now knows and that's nice. Nice to not have to speak about things behind closed doors with one other co-worker. Nice to have a little (not a lot, mind you) of understanding if I work from home for an entire morning or need to sneak out of a meeting for food. (don't make me hungry. You won't. like. me. when I'm hungry.....)

That being said, work is still kicking my ass. One of my co-workers decided to "retire" just a few weeks before our largest event of the year (thanks, buddy). And even if I have found him to be for the most part not very helpful and perhaps wished for his departure more than once, I find the timing of this callous and selfish and it guarantees there will be even more work piled on those of us that remain and are already swamped. Sh*t.

But it means we are back to an all female office and right now, that feels right. I think in the midst of this economic craziness going on in the States and, in particular, our sector, our little non-profit office has embraced a kind of "what?? whaddya got? what makes you think we can't take it?" kind of attitude.

Oh wait, maybe that's just me.

Not Quite a Post, More Like a Twitter

How absolutely F*cked up is it that watching Trainspotting just reminded me that it's time for my PIO shot?

In other news, more non-sequiters on the way. Including fun with boric acid and my journey into the 'hood in search of ranch dressing.

Can It Be?

Holy writers' block.

How ironic. I once joked about the perceived notion that pregnant women's brains must turn to mush - and now it's happening to me.

It's not that I don't have anything to say. Believe me. The list of bloggable topics is piling as high as plates of leftovers in my fridge. But where to begin? How to start? After a bit of an absence, what would be the most appropriate post?

What if I've forgotten how to write? What if I am so caught up in the lingo of marketing a conference (which is what has had me going nuts all week at work) that I'm no longer funny, relevant, interesting even?

Adding to my hesitation is the fact that some of you have pumped out some simply stunning posts lately. I mean, gorgeous. Perfect combinations of words that have had me laughing and crying and going, "holy sh*t, that [your name here] is a great writer."

And now I see that I have several paragraphs down about how I haven't been able to push out a paragraph. Writing about not writing. A post about not being able to write a post. How Post Modern. How very meta...

Let me start by saying all is well.

We had our second ultrasound on Thursday and saw two pulsing kidney beans up in me. Measuring in at 8 weeks 4 days, at exactly eight weeks and four days. We could see the beginnings of placentas and little umbilical cords the size of dental floss.

It was stunning. And I don't think I've been the same since.

We had a teary goodbye at the clinic with our Nurse who has been with us since the day we started, through the canceled donor cycle, on to the new donor (who she helped pick out) past the first BFN, then the next BFN, on to the new doctor, the hysteroscopy and now here. Where we are now. Which is a pretty new place.

We have officially "graduated" from the university hospital where our donor egg adventure began (which is kind of funny, since I almost did go there for college.) All week I've been exclaiming, "I graduated from ____!" Really? I thought you went to ____? I did. I'm making a funny.

Hubby's level of excitement has reached an unprecedented level. Seeing the heartbeats has made it real. He's giddy, hopeful, still kind of shocked.

Me? I'm caught between these desires to clean (which room will be theirs?), to nest, to plan (how many sick days do I have left? what are our benefits?), to prepare (where do we start?) and the need to just sit down and stare into space, trying to take this all in. Add to that the occasional, "Hey, wait a minute. What the F*CK have I done?" moment. Which I have been told by my trusted co-worker and confidant L. is totally normal.

I feel as if I've been plaguing L. with my need to be reassured that things are "totally normal." We've discovered the wonderfulness of skype and now her days are filled with these lovely lines from me:

"Hey L, I feel like I'm gonna puke but I never puke."

-totally normal.

"L. is it normal to be hungry and nauseous at the same time?"

-yep.

"L., my pee smells."

-dude. TMI, but don't sweat it. Totally normal.

It's funny. L and I have about the same level of patience - which is none. And that is why I love her. but she has been unwaveringly patient with me. I feel doubly blessed with a BFF who has just had a beautiful baby boy and does not mind talking me through the ups and downs of their first weeks together. Add to that a SIL who has helped her little one transition from a preemie who cried and cried and cried to a funny and fun-loving, curious and thoughtful one year old. And I don't think I could ask for a stronger circle of support or set of women to help me through this strange new world.

And I know that circle will grow as we continue to share the news. Which we will. In waves. As it feels appropriate and my belly starts to show.

Nine weeks, as of tomorrow.