While we're away

We have a few diversions for your amusement:

A Brief History of [Kitchen Renovation] Time. Enjoy a picture tour of how and why we ended up with the fabulous, but unintended, kitchen we have today.

Our knitting gallery. Jen took up knitting in January to cope with grief, boredom, and a really, really boring grad class. A few weeks later, Cait got the flu, decided she felt too sick to read but that teaching herself to knit would be JUST the thing, and we were off to the races. We have knit our hopes and love into booties, blankets, and odds and ends for our future child and children of friends.

A Puzzle. Y'all seem like brainy types. We thought we'd give you a little brain teaser to keep you occupied. Home-baked goodies to the first one to solve the puzzle!

After (and Before)

Blogger (and our internet setup) sucks. Take three on this post...

The kitchen is finally finished and it looks fabulous. The rest of the house, however....

Thankfully, I am finally finished with my INSANE summer classes and can return to the land of the slightly more useful people and help with the house recovery. And maybe get some paint on those kitchen walls. The countertop is making everything look shabby. Shabby enough that Jen is considering buying a $60 dish drainer. And we all know how cheap Jen is.

Jen is trying to refrain from writing a whiny post about how everybody is getting pregnant and we're not. I've been in such a homework induced fog that I was startled to realize that we're 10 DPO. I'm such a lovely helpful partner these days. Part of me is convinced that we will be. After all it was this cycle a year ago to the day that worked. The other part of me is sure that just because of that, we won't be. And we'll be crushed. Not that we want that outcome again, but it would be nice to have that brief moment of hope (and excitement) before the terror sets in. Then there's a little part of my brain that is convinced that it will never happen. Not the getting pregnant, but the successful pregnancy part. Hearing the heartbeat, seeing the kid move on the ultrasound, watching that belly grow, feeling kicks, having a baby...those are just things that happen to other people. Jen's boobs are sore, which is good, but we're having trouble trusting any sign these days.

And so begins the madness and peeing of the last few days of the wait.

This is your brain on 100 degree heat.

Too hot to post anything coherent....

I have fragments of posts draped limply about my brain but can't dredge up the will to marshal them into something worth reading. I'll share a few fragments to tide you over:
-The counter replacement is done and looks fantastic (pictures tomorrow, hopefully) but the house is trashed as a result. I'm exhausted from all the prep work but LOOOOOOVE the new counter. Home improvements are like a drug!
-My thoughts about TTC ricochet from despair (this cycle must be another bust; what if my uterus is now some kind of toxic environment) to insanity (IVF has higher success rates, maybe I should try that) to foolishly hopeful (was that nausea?). Thankfully there's quite a bit going on in the rest of my life to provide some distraction.
-Why is it that I always end up mowing the lawn on the heat advisory days?! No pollution worries - push mower or electric - but man, the sweating must count as some sort of environmental hazard!
-I just read Life of Pi (Wow! amazing book! I can't wrap my head around all of it but it was superb) and am moving on to HP6. The contrast amuses me. No HP spoiler worries here - I can't STAND finding out about a book or a movie before I experience it on my own terms!
-Cait and I are going on a long overdue vacation (actually, a series of short trips with one long trip in the middle) starting Friday. HALLELUJAH!
-On Monday I was "playing mom" and took GiggleGirl to her swimming lesson and then dropped her off at daycare. Although it's not unusual for us to have kids around (hardly a day goes by without one or more children spending some time in our house) I loved the ordinariness of this - taking her to the pool, hanging out with the moms on the side, dressing her and doing her hair before school. THIS is what I want - the beauty of the mundane.

Right now my kitchen is beautiful but nothing in my life can be called mundane, so I think I'll head to bed with HP and try to forget about the TWW, the mountain of crap in the rest of my house, and the blasted heat.

Before...

Posts are coming a bit less frequently than usual, due at least in part to the fact that we are undergoing heavy-duty kitchen work.

REALLY Before
Here's why: at Thanksgiving we got various members of our families to help us do some home projects. Unfortunately, while replacing the sink, my dad cracked the laminate:

NOW Before
We ignored it for months but are finally getting it replaced. Our old counter was ripped out a week ago Friday, and we've been living like this:

Stay tuned for After. The new counter is scheduled to be installed Wednesday and CAIT'S dad (not mine) is coming to hook up the plumbing.

Do Not Pass Go

I blew it today. First of all, I forgot that Cait needed the car to go to karate at the same time that I wanted to go to the grocery store. That was easily solved: I dropped her off and went to the cushy new grocery store down the street. She agreed that she’d be ready for me to pick her up in an hour, since I needed to make tea sandwiches for a baby shower later that afternoon. However, when I went to pick her up, she was not ready, and I got pretty pissy about it. When she finally got a word in edqewise, it turned out that she was late for a very good reason, but by then the damage was done. We were both really upset (it’s an oft-repeated problem) feeling frustrated, misunderstood and hurt.

Turns out, that’s not a good combination for driving. I went to make a U-turn, and didn’t check my blind spot. A horn blared, tires screeched, and cars collided with a sickening metallic bang. We weren’t going fast enough for anyone to be hurt, but I was sure both cars were quite scarred from the crash.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, I pulled off onto a side street and lost it. I began sobbing hysterically with my head on the steering wheel. Cait tried to calm me down but after a minute or two, gave up, taking my wallet and going to meet the other driver. I tried to pull myself together and grabbed the registration, a pad and a pen and followed her a minute later. I wasn’t stunningly successful, greeting the poor man sobbing and sniffling, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He was reasonably obliging, considering that I had just pulled a lunatic move in front of him, endangering all of our lives and damaging both cars (relatively minor, but even minor damage costs at least $500 per car these days). We exchanged information and agreed that we’d try to resolve the damage without getting involved with insurance, if possible.

Eventually Cait and I got home, where I proceeded to be a blubbering, snotty mess for quite some time. Despite the colossal mountain of homework looming over her head – and the fact that I had been the asshole who created all of the problems from start to finish – Cait comforted me, calmed me down, and helped me make the sandwiches for the party.

(Warning; Sappiness Ahead)

Originally, I thought I’d call this “A Bad Day,” but I’m realizing it’s not a bad day. Yes, it fucking sucks that I had a car accident, and it’s going to cost us plenty of money that we could definitely spend on other things (gee, what could I mean?). I feel like a complete loser for endangering our lives as well as anyone else who might have been on the road, and an uptight bitch for giving Cait such a hard time over being a few minutes late.

But the damage could have been far, far worse, and my wife is the most generous and loving person I know. I can’t say enough how much I love Cait and how wonderful she is. She has not said one word to blame me, instead trying to reassure me that it’s ok and shit happens. Even though she HATES talking to strangers, and had good reason to fear that the other driver might be quite unpleasant after my idiotic stunt, she went without hesitation to meet with him, and even negotiated with him when he wanted money up front to pay for the damage. I am so lucky to have found her and I am so grateful for her love on a day that otherwise would have been bad indeed.

Thank you, my love.

This is getting ridiculous...

The car seat was one thing, but putting the boyz in the stroller...?

The RE's office agreed to lend us a tank so we wouldn't have to hassle with dry ice, but they didn't tell me it was a HUGE tank in a giant, heavy crate (way bigger and heavier than any we've gotten by FedEx, I tell you). I lugged it down from the office to the car but decided from that point on it was going in the stroller. I can't tell you how much of a dork I felt like wheeling it down M Street, though!

The things we do!

Sister of the Bride?

Or, The Trouble with Babies is They Grow Up

[Side note: I didn't ovulate while we were out of town, so we did a home IUI tonight with the help of our amazing neighbor. It's awesome to be here in my own bed having just done an IUI!!]

Sunday morning, as we were finishing packing and I was trying to touch base with all the volunteers taking over my various community obligations, my cell phone rang. It was Cait's ex-stepmom (let's call her Complicated), weirdly enough -- and what was even more odd is that she wanted to talk to me, not Cait. To my astonishment, she said she was calling because Cait's little sister (20 years old) suddenly wants to marry her boyfriend. He's from Taiwan, and Complicated was worried that LittleSis was being taken advantage of for the green card. She wanted to enlist my help -- particularly if I knew any immigration lawyers who could explain to LittleSis what the ramifications might be -- but she did not want me to tall Cait what was going on because she wanted Cait to hear it directly from LittleSis. Complicated and LittleSis were coming to the funeral, so the Complicated plan was to have a family conference following the service (though they might bring it up before the service - she wasn't sure).

This meant that for the entire five hour drive I was consumed by the secret I was keeping from Cait, as well as by my shock, confusion and concern for LittleSis. Keeping the secret on the drive wasn't that hard, as we spent most of the time discussing myriad options for future cycles should this one be a bust too -- and let me tell you, no holds were barred. We talked meds, adoption, known donors, IVF, multiple insems, baby-napping*, you name it. Just about the only thing we did not discuss was finding some random guy to sleep with. Oh wait, Cait did suggest that but I vetoed it immediately. But I digress. Anyway, if you don't know me in person, you may not know that keeping secrets (or having secrets kept from me) is not on my Top Ten List. I suck at it and it drives me crazy. Once we got to Pittsburgh, the agony progressed. Eventually LittleSis and Complicated arrived. I was on tenterhooks - when was she going to spill the beans? How hellacious would the hell that broke loose be? Would Cait kill me for keeping a secret?

In the end, LittleSis decided not to tell the rest of the family, but rode home with us and told us what was going on. Interestingly, her side of the story was VERY different from Complicated's. Though she wouldn't be thinking of marrying him at this point if the circumstances were different, they are in a serious, committed relationship. She's not particularly enamored of marriage as an institution, so she doesn't think this will ruin any romantic dreams, and she hasn't got any money to worry about, so she doesn't think she's being taken advantage of. And from her perspective, she's got more to gain from the marriage than from not getting married. If his visa expires, he has to leave, and he would have to do several years of military service. If they get married, he doesn't have to leave and their relationship can continue. She's aware that it's a big decision, and she's not sure what she wants to do. But she is outraged at her mom's heavy handed approach.

Though it's been tense and upsetting, it's also been really interesting to look at this from where we stand right now as a lesbian couple who CAN'T legally get married but who are desperately trying to have a child. On the marriage front, I found it almost schizophrenic to be trying to help LittleSis understand all the benefits that marriage would convey whether or not she wanted them, while Cait and I are trying to jump through thousands of legal hurdles to set up just SOME of the rights she can get in a half hour at the courthouse. And then on the parenting front, it was fascinating to see the drama unfold between LittleSis and her mom, as I could so excruciatingly feel BOTH of their positions: the mom scared for her child and trying so hard to help protect her (but pissing her kid off in the process) and the daughter trying to forge her way into adulthoood and relationships while re-negotiating her connection to her mom.

I don't know what the right course of action is for LittleSis and her boyfriend, and I don't envy her the decision. My gut says marriage probably isn't the best choice, but it's a miserable situation all around. Somehow, all of this makes choices about diapers and co-sleeping seem so trivial... but still I hope we get to start making them soon!

*I should not have to say this but you never know in blogland. WE ARE NOT SERIOUS ABOUT BABY-NAPPING. It just sounds nice sometimes.

Same Time, New Drama

You know it's bad when the insem logistics are the least of your worries....

Bea's funeral is scheduled for Monday in Pittsburgh. We had hoped it would be today or tomorrow, but that apparently wasn't possible. Obviously we don't mind but the timing is unfortunate:

-I'll have to miss work. It's not a big deal except it's the last week of camp and I don't know if I can get the kids to finish their projects in only 4 days, since I've been overly ambitious (as usual) in what I thought we could accomplish.
-Cait has to miss class. This IS a bit of a problem - she's in an accelerated certification program with four three-credit classes in five weeks this summer (and more to come in the fall & spring), so missing a day of classes is rough. Plus, one of her profs is an asshole and may give her a hard time about missing class even for a funeral (!) and she's got a midterm on Tuesday.
-I'm organizing a community-wide yard sale scheduled for Sunday.  There's all kinds of last minute stuff (publicity, helping some of the older residents get their stuff outside, and getting the unsold stuff to Goodwill after the sale) and no one has yet volunteered to take it over. Not to mention that our house is a huge disarray of sorting crap out -- sell, pitch or keep? Oh well, they'll deal. It's frustrating, though, because I've been working on this for months (and did hope to clear some stuff out of our small house).
-I could ovulate as early as Monday (and Cait's afraid I will, since I ovulated early this cycle one year ago).  This can be solved by having a medical courier pick up the sperm and having the neighbor/midwife do the insem in the middle of the night when we get back from Pittsburgh.  (Like I said, when THIS is the simplest thing, you know things are crazy!) Hopefully I won't ovulate on Monday and this will be moot.
-Earlier in the week we signed a contract to have our kitchen countertop replaced and they came yesterday to rip out the old counter and measure. So I had to pack up the kitchen in the middle of everything else - and now we HAVE NO KITCHEN for the next two weeks.
-We have community dinners on Monday nights and wouldn't you know, this Monday is our turn. When I signed up months ago, I knew it was a bit crazy to do it the same weekend as the yard sale - but I wasn't planning on having NO KITCHEN or a funeral). Luckily, there's a community kitchen, but I was there from 9:00-11:30 last night making food. No one has yet volunteered to cover for me in terms of setting up, even though it ONLY involves putting pans in the oven, pulling trays of veggies out of the fridge, and setting the tables.

This does provide a nice amount of distraction, so neither of us have really had the time to acknowledge Bea's death at an emotional level, but we're really starting to wonder about our karma! Please send delaying vibes in the general direction of my ovaries. And we'll hope that a bit of Bea's spirit makes its way into the egg.

Smack!

The universe never learned to fight fair. It seems that life likes to smack you more when you're already down. My record for today is TWO slaps upside the head in about an hour (and of course, all the while we're still coming to terms with Aunt Bea's death).

Smack The First: I went to the RE's office this afternoon for what seems like the billionth time. Yet another pointless beta. A beta I need to be zero, because otherwise it means the molar cells are coming back. I can't even explain how twisted it is to get a beta and WANT it to be zero when you are in the middle of trying to get pregnant.*

Smack The Second: I logged on to the school email when I got back from the doctor's and saw a message from a coworker who left in the fall because her husband got a new job a few hours away. It was a general message, not specifically to me, and I bet you can guess what it was. Yup. A birth announcement. The baby was born a couple of weeks ago. Which means she was not yet pregnant when she left -- but I was. Here we are 9 months later: she has a kid, I don't -- and I'm still not pregnant.

I know in the big scheme of things (certainly compared to losing an amazing person like Bea) these are utterly trivial. But they still suck. And if you can't complain about it on your own blog, where can you?


*I know this gets kind of confusing. Now that I have a history of molar pregnancy, a positive beta will never be 100% good again, because it could ALWAYS mean a recurrence of the mole - even if I am also pregnant. ** But if I know I am NOT pregnant (which I do now, since I got my period), a positive beta is ONLY bad, because we know at that point it means molar activity. Clear as mud? Good.

** So if/when I do get pregnant again, the beta will be helpful but not infalliable. We'll have to wait and see how things look on the ultrasound, and I'll be getting them a couple of times in the first tri to make sure things are going ok. If everything's still looking good at the end of the first trimester, then we assume I have no molar activity... but it could come back the next day, or 6 years later, or never. Chances that it will come back? Small, but existant. Fun with Moles!

Bea.com*

My Great Aunt Bea died last night. She was 89.

When I was little, we spent every New Year’s Eve together. We would take all of the cushions off her couch and make a fort. I’d spread a blue blanket on the floor for the pool and we’d go swimming. Sometimes we’d go to a movie. Always we’d go to Old Country Buffet, Eat ‘n Park, or some other fine dining establishment near her apartment. And of course we welcomed in each year with Dick Clark and a New Year’s Pretzel for good luck.

Whenever I came to Pittsburgh, she would buy me apricot nectar. I never knew how or why she decided that was what I liked, but without fail it would appear. She also brought donut holes to my grandmother’s house—a sinful delight for a child raised on natural foods.

She wore a wig for as long as I knew her. She had plenty of hair underneath—she just didn’t like it for some reason. We were always sort of puzzled and entertained by that, but it was part of who she was. When we saw her in the hospital a week and a half ago, she was not wearing the wig.** She had almost no gray hair.

She came to Detroit when I graduated from high school. Probably rode all day on a Greyhound to do so. Didn’t faze her. She enjoyed chatting with the people in the seats near her.

She came to DC when Jen and I got married. She hopped out of the back seat of my mother’s car ready to go—and helped us assemble fans, plastic champagne glasses, and anything else we would let her get her hands on, but she did insist that she and the other family “workers” were entitled to 15 minute breaks, union rules! When we ran out of tasks to assign, she harassed us for not working her hard enough. She was ready to storm the White House to give Dubya a piece of her mind about the wedding not being legal. Instead, she entertained us all by doing the Jitterbug with one of my karate instructors.

Her birthday was February 29, so we always teased her about being four times as young as she really was. And really, it made sense. She was the youngest 22-year-old I’d ever met. I said to Jen tonight, “You know, I sort of never thought she’d die. It’s so out of character for her.”

If it’s possible, I now wish even more that Coqui had been born in April as planned. I wanted her to meet our child, and wanted our child to meet her.

We love you, Bea. We miss you already.

*A few years ago Bea said, "Dot com this, dot com that. EVERYTHING's dot com now. I'm going to sign my Christmas cards this year Bea.com!"
**Jen was astonished to discover it was a wig – it looked so right, so much like her.

A bouncing baby...

...SHARPIE!

I am such a geek. I can't tell you how excited I was to discover little baby keychain Sharpies. I had to call Cait on the way home from the store to tell her about them. Yup. Geek.

It's Not the Same Guy!

We participated in a complex, cloak-and-dagger, clandestine exchange of identifying characteristics with the FUDS and were able to determine that the donor is *NOT* the same one they used. And there was much rejoicing.

So we will freely and happily be using donated sperm for our next few insems, which will give us time to pursue resolution of the missing sperm situation, and contemplate our next options, if needed. How long DO we keep trying? Meds? Do we try to switch to a known donor? Do we know any guys? What about adoption? Why is it so easy in the movies?

Sometimes a bitch is just a bitch...

Unfortunately, BQPT to the contrary, this cycle is over. To make matters worse, today is Cait's birthday. Happy birthday, sweetie, here's my period. Oh, and had we conceived, I would have been due within a week of my birthday.

At least one of us can drink at Cait's birthday party.

CVS? I think they mean PMS.

Coke, chips, and HPTs... yup, I think I'll be getting my period soon....

_____________________________________________________

On a more serious note, thanks for all your support and suggestions re: our latest sperm-troversy. We are mulling our options as the likelihood of another cycle looms larger with each BFN (4 and counting at this point), and it's good to have some different viewpoints. We'll keep you posted -- to the extent that the FUDS' gag rule permits!

Of all the sperm joints in all the world, they both had to use this one...

We’re not pioneers in this donor sperm thing. We have lots of friends, online and IRL, in the business of making babies wherein the sperm get to see a little of the outside world before they go on their merry way to meet the egg. It’s wonderful to have so many people to share their knowledge, support, and experience with us. Sometimes, they go beyond that and share valuable fertility tools with us (thanks, E&B!). And once in a great while, one of our friends makes an offer that takes your breath away. We have been offered four vials of donor sperm from a Wonderful Friend (WF) who has had a child and no longer needs these vials.

It took us at least a week to comprehend that WF’s offer was real, and a few days after that to decide if we could accept it. We wrestled with the question of “donor siblings”. Were we okay with the idea of having a child knowing that there are not only hypothetical children who share half of their genetic background with our child, but an actual child, whom we know, that is irrefutably born of the same donor? Given our own complicated families (steps and halves galore!) this was indeed a question worth debating – but also, in the end, an easy choice to make. Our families are weird and messy at times, but we love our extended network of kinfolk and are glad to have so many relatives in our lives. Having a donor sibling (or “donor cousin” as WF prefers to say) to WF’s child might present a few complications, but nothing we couldn’t anticipate coping with.

The pragmatic arguments didn’t hurt either. Our existing sperm supply (at least the portion for which the whereabouts are known) was dwindling. We were already mired in the lost sperm controversy by the time the offer was made, and reluctant to engage in further transactions with the sperm bank or the RE’s office while the possibility of litigation looms overhead. Four vials that were already safely where they needed to be would save a lot of logistical headaches. And let’s not overlook cost. Our little molar pregnancy misadventure has cost us plenty in heartache AND dollars, so free sperm is hard to pass up.

But (and you knew there had to be a ‘but’, didn’t you?) it’s never that easy for us. In our vast network of Friends Using Donor Sperm (FUDS), there is also a couple that may have used the same donor. I say may, because these particular FUDS have forbidden us to discuss WF’s child or WF’s donor with them, because the FUDS knew that they had all used the same bank and were choosing their donors based on a fairly unusual characteristic. The FUDS were uncomfortable with the idea of donor siblings to begin with, and vehemently opposed to knowing any of them, so they felt the best way of dealing with WF was to pretend the situation didn’t exist. But the possibility does exist that WF and the FUDS did indeed use the same donor – and now WF was giving us the possibility to do the same.

I knew that I would not be comfortable using the sperm without knowing whether it was indeed the same donor. The FUDS are near and dear to us, and I would not want to lose their friendship. If we used it without finding out, I would feel that we were living a lie, and be in fear that the FUDS would find out and that it would indeed turn out to be the same donor. But if we asked them, I feared that we might still lose their friendship or be told that they did not want us to use WF’s sperm.

However, I took my cue from the FUDS and put my head in the sand. WF’s sperm was an option, but I put all my hope in the sperm we already had. Unfortunately, we shot our last wad 12 days ago and it’s not looking good right now, so we bit the bullet and sent the FUDS a very agonizingly thought out e-mail, asking if they would be comfortable with us using the sperm.

Any rational person would not be surprised to learn that they called this afternoon and are NOT comfortable with the option, though they feel that they can’t tell us not to use it. Stupid, crazy, Queen of Denial me was surprised, devastated, and angry. (Fate was on our side in one key aspect, though: I was, ahem, indisposed, when the phone rang so it was Cait who answered. Ordinarily she hates answering the phone. I would not have been able to keep my cool in the conversation). I stewed, raged, cried, and felt hideously sorry for myself for the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening. Why does this all have to be so fucking complicated? Why, at every opportunity when it comes to money, do we have to be the ones to lose out? What’s the big deal about donor siblings anyway? Why am I so damned ethical? How can they not have compassion for what we’ve been through? How come every time I do the “right thing” it comes back and kicks me in the butt?

I’m also worried that our friendship is screwed no matter what the outcome. If we decide to drop the issue right now, I’m afraid the awkwardness of the subject even having been broached will force a hairline crack into the foundation of our relationship. If it takes us a long time to have a child from this point forward, I fear that I may resent them (and the extra expense) or that they may feel guilty. On the other hand, if we pursue this possibility (they are willing to share the donor number with us but don’t want to know whether it’s the same or not) I’m afraid they’ll forever wonder if our future child is related to theirs.

Part of me wishes I’d never even brought this up. Part of me is still hurt and angry. I know they have valid reasons for their concerns. I know they’re entitled to their desires, and that we opened this can of worms, so we have to be prepared for the results. I know they spent a lot of time and energy choosing this particular donor whereas it’s a matter of convenience and cost for us. I know life isn’t fair. I know this is probably the longest and whiniest post I’ve ever written. But it helps to get it out. Thanks for reading.

As Promised, A Photorant

Ok, I admit it, I am a FIEND for correct grammar, punctuation, and spelling. I don't think less of my friends who make mistakes (hell, I make plenty, particularly when I am in a hurry/tired/too lazy to proofread) but I can be downright nasty when strangers, particularly those who are being PAID to use the English language, commit atrocities. So here for your entertainment, are a few of the things that have been bugging me lately:

Is that like a jumbo shrimp?

(Sorry this picture is so crappy!)

This is an oldie but goodie.

Are these oranges specially prepared for seafaring?

Or did the USN grow them?

And last but not least, my personal favorite:

So how much loitering IS allowed?

(I mean, if Joey can learn to use quote marks, everybody should be able to!)

Testing...testing...

Using the BQPT * I have determined that Jen is clearly carrying twins.

*Bitch Quotient Pregnancy Test
(no, she’s not raging at me, but trust me, you don’t want to tell her you’re OUT of coffee oreo ice cream or dare to TURN LEFT in front of her.)

Important disclaimer: No pregnancy tests were used in the writing of the post. All talk of testing and test results is purely speculative. By no means should anything in this post be taken seriously or assumed to mean anything. Actual test results will be reported only after an official, well-timed pregnancy test on a day yet to be determined by the authors.