Rolling 6's

Today was about as postive as postive can get! I usually work myself into knots before going into a potentially stressful situation, yet this time, I didn't really get nervous until about 15 minutes before my appointment. If I honestly thought I was going to get bad news today, I knew I would have gotten signs or would've had bad vibes. Fortunately, the only worrying I had was right before we went into the hospital and it went something like, "Oh my God. I forgot to paint my toenails last night and my feet are going to be stuck up in the air with everybody looking at them and turning green from disgust." You know what I'm talking about. Winter toenails and legs are gross. I paint my toes in the winter sparingly and my poor legs only get shaven like once a week. Don't judge me. You know you are checking your peach-fuzz calves right now.

I made Mike stop at a Dollar Tree down the street from the hospital so I could buy socks. I had on flats today and needed a back-up plan. Miraculously, we were on time and could spare a quick side trip. Crisis averted.

In a nutshell, I am perfectly healthy. There is nothing wrong with me (that we know right now) that is preventing me from getting pregnant and most importantly, carrying full-term. I asked all the questions I was supposed to. There is no cyst on my ovaries--I just have a real 'mother' of a period so I have to deal with that once a month. The Rh factor has nothing to do with me keeping a pregnancy. Mike & I are both O-neg, so we are universally meant for each other ;) When I had surgery in 2005 to remove an ovarian cyst, there were no complications that would have caused anything to go wrong with future pregnancies. My ultrasound was perfect. My 'parts' are in perfect condition. My hips aren't lying; they are ready for "child-bearing".

I've heard much "flack" in recent months from my readers in regards to switching to another doctor. I'll admit, I had a bad seed planted in my brain after hearing that he could be more compassionate towards me. Yet, every time I have visited him since my first MC, he has been honest, open, and very understanding about my issues. I am a very proud wife that Mike goes in with me for these appointments. I don't make him, which is odd, considering it's like an act of Congress just to get him to take the empty roll of toilet paper off the dang holder when I need him to. When the good Dr. and I were reviewing my stats, Mike breaks in with "well, both times it has happened during the implantation period and we are just concerned about the formation of chromosomes being the problem". Cue my jaw-dropping look of "who. the. hell. are. you. and. where. is. my. husband?" My poor jaw surgeon would have keeled over and died during that very moment. And I would have joined him with my surprising 'Mr. OB-GYN Expert' spouse spitting out medical-hooplah like that.

We were reassured that this is still only the 2nd MC. Quite frankly, Dr. G says that most women would kill to have gotten pregnant as quickly as I did (each time!) Let's face it, twice in less than a year is awesome (not awesome that I lost them, but you get the point), considering many women try for months and months and years and years and have no success. He said that honestly, 2 is not uncommon. Even 3. He used the analogy: you can roll a dice and get two 6's in a row...it can certainly happen. Rolling 3, yeah, a little more uncommon. Rolling 4-5, that's a little excessive and definitely cause for concern. Until we get to that, there is absolutely nothing to be concerned about. He said if, and only if, we get past 3 or 4, that's when he'll refer me to a specialist to start testing sperm and yada yada yada.

I left the office with a Basal thermometer (something I've been against doing because I don't want to add anymore stress on this situation than there already is) and a Rx for sex. Lots of it. No more than once in a 24-hour time period but more than once in a 48-time period. (I think I got that right, basically, every other day during my ovulation time). I also have to lay with my legs thrown up in the air for 20 minutes after. (And yes, it was KILLING me to keep a straight face while I had that conversation with my 50-some year old doctor who has salt & pepper hair and a mustache very much like Frankie Tanner. It's true: I often have the metality & immaturity of my 5th graders). My next appointment is set for the first of April but he is positive I will see him before then. As soon as I see a steady spike in my temperature and I am 5 days late, I should take a test. If it's positive, I am to call him immediately and I will go in. If he sees what he needs to see, I will be visiting him every 7-10 days during the first trimester to make sure things are going like they should. Gah! So much work to do! 

I have a poster in my classroom that I bought before my first year of teaching. It says, "Great things are worth the work". It's very meaningful to me and obvi it applies to so many other aspects in (my) life than just "hey kid, do your work so you can pass". We've got our game-faces on now and I don't know about Mike, but I'm surely ready for the work! Until next time...

Seeing Red

Okay, the title's not what you think! (but yeah, it kinda is). I know you have a love/hate relationship with me right now. It's okay. I have that same feeling about myself. I'm sure you were hanging on the edge of your seat at the end of my last post. I left you dangling in the breeze wondering if, in fact, I was knocked up. I have good news and gooder news. The good news is, yes, I went and took a second test since I had a non-existant period in October. It was negative. BUT! I've had two successfully carried-out periods for November AND December! Which leads me to the gooder news...I am going in for "testing" this Friday to find out WTF is wrong with me! YES!! (And I know gooder isn't a word. I'm a writer and taught it fabulously for a whole year, I just think gooder is funny to say. You OCD grammar people are just going to have to take a chill pill.)

 

If you know me or know me through my writing, you know that I have Googled myself to death over what types of "testing" I'm getting ready to subject myself to. We all know that I can get pregnant, so Mike isn't the problem. We just can't follow through after 5-6 weeks (or to you medicy people, "implantation"). I have NOT been able to find any sorts of what "tests" are out there, blogs related to my problem, or similar experiences to people I've spoken to about what's going on. I've read about reoccuring miscarriages and statistics show that after one miscarriage, women have an 80-85% percent chance of the next pregnancy following through. Y'all know I suck at all things "numbers" and I failed that category. I'm in the "women who have had 2 or more miscarriages have a 70-75% of the next pregnancy following through to nine months". I do know enough about math to know I need to be in the category with INCREASING numbers, not decreasing.

 

Since I fall in the less desirable category, even though 70-75% is considered passing (at least in my classroom it is!), I have read that I may be referred to a "specialist". My response to Dr. G if this is suggested to me is this: Man, you've seen my vagina so many times this year you'd think I'd get a frequent flyer card to your office or SOMETHING. Even a "lunch punch" card will do...after so many visits, I get a free lunch. I mean, if we weren't actively training for the Making Babies category in the Olympics, I'd say he has seen it more than Mike this year! DR. GOSPODNECTIC IS MORE THAN QUALIFIED TO BE A 'SPECIALIST' OF KRISTIN'S COOKAH! Geez.

 

Anyway, I just wrapped up my second month of period-normalcy and yes, I actually prayed and THANKED God for that. I hate Aunt Flo and her over-dramatic bitchiness the first day, but Aunt Flo and her irritating personality being normal means I'm normal. For now. I can't wait to share my findings with you after Friday. It's like anticipating the "results" show at the end of a dramatic realty series. I originally had my appointment set for January but they called me back with an opening for this week. Which usually means there's a reason...just slip a little prayer in for me and hope let's hope it's a good one!  

Crazy Pants

I don't know if they have thermostats in hell but if they do, someone needs to check it. Immediately. I'm sure it's below freezing because yes, I'm posting two nights in row. I seem to be having a dilemma. (Story of my life.) The best way I can explain it is like this. Remember when you were going on your first REAL date? (This is more from a girl's perspective, obvi. Unless I have now expanded my blogger-followers into the gay demographics. Which is awesome. Can we be friends, please? I think I need the dramatic slaps-in-the-face that only super gay men can deliver) Moving on. 

Remember waiting at your parents house for your first REAL date to come and pick you up? Think back to the 5 minutes before his actual arrival and remember the jitters. My parents live in the Grand Central Station of houses in my hometown so every car, every headlight reflection that hit the window, and every gravel chunk I heard I would tense up and my hands would shake. I would sneak into the darkest room on the front side of my house and squat down in the floor to open the blinds and peek out onto the highway so people (namely my date) wouldn't be able to see me stalking him out. This worked wonders because I had the upper hand and could put on my 'nonchalant face' like I wasn't about to go into cardiac arrest waiting on him five minutes before. Once he arrived though, my tension usually left me immediately. It was always just the anticipation of the arrival that made me spaz out.

Which brings me to my current situation. If you follow my blog religiously, you know that my Aunt Flo has turned out to be a real bitch in her old age of 15. Especially since I've gone off the pill. And even more especially since the miscarriage last November. Her arrival times have been anywhere from 25-33 days but her stay is always 5 days. Not so much this time. For 2 days (within the range that I expected her) I had these weird cramps. Not my normal excruciating pain cramps, just a weird crampy, not quite a stomach ache. But no blood. The third day, I had bright red (really light) but also had normal excruciating pain cramps. Thank Jesus every month so far has had me starting at home because it is almost unbearable. This time, I laid on the bed and had Mike lay across my stomach and roll side to side. This was the only thing to help ease the pain. Don't tell him I told you. The next morning, fourth day, I had no cramps and no blood. Fifth and sixth days, same thing. Nothing. Then on the seventh day, I woke up and had spotting for about half a day. 

Talk about spazzing out. I went straight to Dollar General after school (because I'm not spending a bajillion dollars on the fancy preggers test until I have a full blown missed period again). Of course I went to the bathroom as soon as I walked in the door but forgot to pee on the damn stick. (I'm so horrible at this--see my first blog for the reference.) I drank a bottle of water and waited for the urge then took the test. Negative. I didn't get upset, but I was kind of surprised. My periods, while they have a mind of their own lately, have NEVER been like that before. So I started BLOWING the internet UP for blogs from similar girls in my situation. I read that I could be pregnant but it's so early the hormones can't be detected. I read that I could be pregnant but since I drank so much water before I did the test, I could have diluted the hormone. I read so many responses to stories just like mine but the comments left by people were split right down the middle. "YES--this means pregnant." NO--you idiot. You've had 2 miscarriages in a year and your body is jacked up still. Get over yourself." <------My personal favorite. I started having a war in my head that lasted a day this week. I even convinced myself to call and try to schedule an appointment with a new doctor. (Insert new, gay, male BFF over-dramatic slap.) I'd had it. 

I finally broke down and called my doctor. I spilled my life story and medical history to some poor, unsuspecting nurse who instead of talking me down said, "Miss, let me get Dr. Gospodnetic to call you back". He did. We chatted for 15 minutes. I about got hysterical because I'm long over dealing with this insanity that is my period. He was so sweet and comforting, but he could offer me no answer. I'm 'inconclusive'. HA. I could have told him that long before I showed him my cukah. Basically, my ovulation is off. Which is causing my brain and logical thinking to be "off" too. He pulled all my stuff from my last exam in June and I'm still young and healthy and 2 miscarriages are still not uncommon. If I can make it through 2 more normal periods, then I can go back to him the 3rd month for testing. If I go another month with a bull#$% period, I have to go back in immediately following. 

I am my own worst enemy when it comes to this every single month. I don't even have on the "baby goggles". I just want my cycle back to normal for the love of Jehovah. It feels so nice to blog this out because I know my hubs is getting so tired of hearing me moan every 30 days, "OH MY GOD, GET ME PREGNANT OR PUT ME ON THE PILL, DAMN IT! I HATE PERIODS!"

It's been 2 days since I took a test. I have no symptoms of being pregnant other than 2 new zits on my face--which could be because I'm out of my 3-step and am too lazy to go buy a new stash. And, I'm tired. But let's face it people, I'm tired 24/7, 365. It has nothing to do with a bun in the oven. All fellow teachers can attest to this.

I'm definitely at the point where I'm squatting down in the living room, jumping at every sound, waiting. Do I take another test? If it's positive, that starts a whole new bout of 'crazy' nerves for me--like, "will I lose this one too?" If it's negative, that means I have another month to build myself up for "will I have a period? will it be normal?" I just want my "date" to get here so I can take off the crazy pants I seem to be wearing lately.

I can't promise you I won't leave for the store as soon as I log out of here. But I can promise you this...if it's a 'positive', you won't know about it until I pop that kid out at 9 months. If it's negative, you get a whole new round of bitchin' from me next month ;) Until then...

Graduated to Winks

Do you want the good news or the bad news first? Wise people choose bad first so they can end on a good note, so I'll be wise. I cheated. HORRIBLY. The first round of bootcamp was highly successful. You'd think I'd be in a size 4 now with the way I was eating and exercising like I was training for Rio 16. (Let's be honest, the only training I'll be doing for the Olympics is practicing typing "US SWIM TEAM" into the Google browser. Obsessively.) Anyway, I ended the first session down 10 pounds and a jeans size. Not too much of a change on the appearance but on the inside I felt soooo much better. Then we went on our annual "Lay Around On the Beach and Make Fun of People While Eating Any and Everything Known to Man Weekend Extravaganza". And it was awesome. Until I got home. Then I felt like utter cri-zap for a week because my body couldn't handle the binge I went on. I didn't work out for a week! This week I headed back to bootcamp and basically I'm back to jelly-legs and grandma lotion to soothe my totally out-of-shape muscles. 

Now for the good news: I did get on the scale last week and it only showed a .8 gain. (Only after I threatened to take its batteries out if it didn't show the number in the tens position I needed it to show. In this case, yes, bargaining was successful.) Darlene even winked at me during a workout this week when usually she has that concerned look like she's thinking "um, is she going to pass out?" You should be proud. I've been promoted from Grade: Pukey-Needs-A-Respirator to Grade: Winking. I can deal with winks. 

I feel like I'm back to decent number. My "paper weight" looks good. Paper weight, you ask? Oh yes. I have an actual weight and I have a paper weight. Actual weight is what the scale actually says. Paper weight is what I put down on paper when my weight is required on a questionnaire (i.e. driver's license, insurance forms, new doctor papers, i.d.'s etc.) Paper weight is usually 10-15 pounds below the actual weight. Don't even act like you've never lied on those things. I actually took my 'paper weight' a step further just a few months ago. I promise it was nothing illegal. The form was for some organization that wanted me to join and they asked me to fill out a survey. I had no intentions of joining so I expressed my creativity out on paper. It looked something like this (what I wrote is bolded, my comments as to why are italicized:

1. Name? Kristin Nicole Tanner Peeblays If Michael Buble can pronounce his 'b-l-e' like "blay" then I should be able to as well. And even better, my BLAY has an S. 
2. Sex? Um, I'd really rather get to know you first.
3. Weight? Somewhere between "not too heavy for a strong, male firefighter to carry me down the steps of a burning building--but probably only a flight" and "heavy enough for a PowerWheels to break down when I sit on it". 
4. Height? Just above the required height to be able to ride all the rides at any Disney-affiliated theme park. 
5. Eye color? Dark almond with tiny flecks of gold around the center if you use the lighted mirror at any Clinique counter in the US. (I formerly taught writing so I'm a fan of adjectives.)

And so on and so on. I've written quite a bit tonight and I haven't even shared the biography I'm working on entitled "Aunt Flo: Now You See Me, Now You Don't". I'll save that story for another day soon. Until then, I'll keep working out, eating (somewhat) better, and starting my new non-fiction piece "Stupid Periods and Other Crap People Trying to Have a Kid Go Through: for Dummies". Good night. 

Kale yes!

Alright, it's my mission in life to name the title of each of my postings with a play-on-words about KALE. I have either had broccoli or kale with every meal ev-er-y-day for the past two weeks. Stick a fork in my dead, limpy, foul smelling kale. I'm done with it! It's week 3 and I'm so anxious to weigh in tomorrow morning. I weighed in today for our school's weight-loss challenge and I had lost about 3 pounds. I came home and SMOKED a 4.88 mile walk so I am crossing my fingers I can officially weigh in tomorrow with a 4 pound loss. Hence, the "Kale yes!" of today's post.

I'm also super giddy because it's BE--Birthday Eve. I'm still a total kid and get excited about my birthday almost as much as Christmas. I'm particularly excited about leaving 26 behind. It has been a craptastic year! I shouldn't say that, because it has had some pretty hugely GOOD highlights...but for those of you who are my regular blogger-followers, you know I don't mind telling 26 to go to kale. (Shucks, should've saved that one for next week's blog title!)

I got an early gift today about 2:15! Aunt Flo decided to make an appearance on Day 26 this time. Last month was about Day 34. So apparently we are still playing this game of "GUESS WHEN". And like all the Aunt Flo's that showed her face in between the 1st and 2nd miscarriages, it still feels like salt in the wound every time. The sting doesn't last long, but I definitely get angry for a second or two when I realize I've started.

This past weekend I had a momentary crazy-lady melt down. I have been surrounded by baby birthdays, pregnancy, baby gender, and baby name announcements for about 2 weeks now. Don't get me wrong, please, I'm not a Debbie Downer and hate all things baby and all people related to baby anything. I'm just human and my natural instinct when I hear certain things or see parents my age doing things they have no business doing, I have thoughts I shouldn't have. Sue me. Believe me, I know the feeling of seeing a positive test and I know the feeling of announcing a pregnancy. I am so excited for all the moms who have that feeling. I promise! I think I just let myself get angry because I want to relate to those people. I want my kid to grow up with all these new (and soon to be) babies because so many of these future parents are my friends--and I want our kids to be friends too! Dang it. I also want to have a kid before all the cool names are taken! Everytime Sandy Feet posts a new product, I'm jealous of the cool kid names I see lately. I ended up going walking when I realized I was getting emotional Sunday (blame it on premensies) so I got up an sweated it out with the iPod blasting out the negative thoughts and inserted positive ones in place. I'm good now! I swear!

Anyway, Negative Nancy hour is over. I have so many positives to look forward to for 27! See below!

1. I'm starting 27 six pounds lighter! In yo face, Doctor G. (see earlier post, "Chubby Girls Can't Have Babies")

2. One of my confidants shared with me today that after her 2 miscarriages, she had her son when she was 27.

3. So many of the stories I read about girls like me uncannily get pregnant a year to date from the first miscarriage...cue October 23rd!

4. Our "go" time officially started September 1. We have until March 1 to get me knocked up before all the poking and prodding begins. Obvi from the last report cards, we usually get an A+ in conception!!!!

Hopefully, with things in "a place of YES" as they are now, 27 will be the wimpy kiddy ride compared to 26. I'm so ready to get it the kale started and put this one behind me! (Lame, I know, but I had too many to bust out tonight ;) I'll post briefly tomorrow night if I made it official with 4 pounds. I know you'll be right there waiting for me to post...

What. The. Kale.

As promised, it's Tuesday and it has been one week since the beginning of bootcamp. I have news!!!!!! I weighed in this morning and have only lost 2.5 pounds. I was quite ticked at my frenemy, the scale. I thought that with all the kale and broccoli and chicken and water and LACK of Hershey bars I'd have lost at least 15 this week. But it isn't so. Blahh. On the blinding bright side, 2 weeks ago I found a pair of jeans at Loft that made me look like an 8, (the number, not the size) You know, an 8 is just a zero with a tight belt on. Anyway, I went back this past weekend and tried on the same jeans...they were actually very loose! Mike said they made me look like I had a 90's mom-butt. Not sure what that meant but I didn't think it was a good thing. We did my measurements after I weighed in and you wouldn't believe the difference that I'd lost in just a week. I'd share the info with you if I hadn't left it in the car, and frankly, I'm not moving an inch from the bed until I absolutely have to in the morning!

In a nut-shell, while I wasn't thrilled with the scale number this morning, I am super excited about loose jeans! I'll leave you with this jewel from my inner 13 year-old-Taylor-Swift-lovin' self...

(Addressed to size 14:) 'WE-eeee Are Never Ever Ever, Getting Back Together!!!'

Diet Birthday Cake

Monday afternoon I was supposed to meet with the "bootcamp" lady about her program. I honestly was exhausted and sitting in my chair at school procrastinating what I needed to do for the rest of the week when my phone dinged an incoming email. In my procrastination/whiny mental conversation with myself, I had already put starting bootcamp on the back burner. Then I checked my email. Bootcamp literally forced itself into my brain when I was so ready to make another excuse for not getting my rear in gear about losing these added accessories attached to my hips. It was my lady and she was basically like, "I am here. You need to be too." So I left work and headed to meet her. Basically, bootcamp is 1 hour workouts lots of times during the week at ungodly hours of the day for 4 weeks. And also, a crazy meal plan that even Tweety Bird would starve on.

I immediately left the lady and went straight to the store to stock up on what little food I was supposed to eat this week. This pretty much consisted of: eggs, kale, grapefruit, water, fat free tuna, tilapia, and chicken breasts. I probably could've picked leaves off the bush in the front yard too and they'd be okay, according to this diet. If you are turning your face up in agony for me as you read this, bless your heart. You should be. You will understand my torture a little more when I tell you that that little bit of food cost me $50.00. Do you KNOW how many cans of Beefaroni, bread, cheese, bologna, containers of BOGO Breyer's ice cream and Lay's Tangy Carolina BBQ chips, and $1 cheeseburgers from McDonald's $50 will buy? Enough for me to live off of for 2 weeks. Of course, having eaten all that while being broke this past year got me the extra bit of Kristin in the first place.

So I got up on Tuesday and Thursday mornings at  4:30 AM. A-M. In the morning. (Last time I was up that early was for my 4th grade class field trip to Jamestown, btw.) to go to the workouts. Then I walked/jogged/speed-walked (while trying not to vomit) 3.5 miles yesterday and just a little while ago. The exercise and diet are honestly not too bad. I was making the food issue out to be a big deal in my head, but then I reminded myself that I went 6 weeks with nothing more than Ensure 3 meals a day and could DO THIS. With that in mind, I've been sticking to it. And it's only been a WEEK. Kick me!

Today has been the worst so far. I scrolled through Facebook earlier and all I saw within the first 3 posts were pics of some kid's birthday cake. Which reminded me of my upcoming 27th birthday on the 25th. Which had me thinking of places where I wanted to go to dinner and what kind of cake I wanted this year. Which has gotten me to bring myself upstairs to blog...in the furthest room in the house away from the kitchen. Ugh.

On a brighter note, I went to a forreal SPA yesterday and had a forreal massage. Thankfully I could barely move from all the exercising I'd been doing and the hour long rub-down cured my soreness. I'd like to think I was the type of wealthy that could say "Oh Dahling, I'm just so sore today, why don't we schedule massages" but I'm not. Mike and I had been saving from our last beach trip to be able to go Mitchell's and it just so happened our scheduled date was the weekend after I'd been playing the fat kid at football camp all week having asthma attacks and faking cramps to keep from doing the reeeeally hard moves. While my rub-down was fantastic, I'm the type of person that can never fully RELAX. My brain is always working and I'm never able to clear my mind completely. So as I'm laying (naked) facedown into the little face-pillow thing that leaves your face squished up and staring into the floor, my brain WANTED to clear itself but it just wouldn't happen.

My massage thought process went something like this: "What if there is a camera in the floor right where I'm looking at and they take these hideous pictures of people's faces to make fun of us when we leave. I wonder if this girl is making a puke face while she's rubbing my back. I know my fat rolls are visible because the blanket is about to drop down to a borderline lesbian encounter. HA. I wonder if lesbians would rather have a man or a woman masseuse? I wonder how you spell 'masseuse'? If I think I'm fat with just my back (which is probably stretched out enough that there aren't any rolls, per se) I wonder how many gross hairy fat men this girl has to massage? When does "The Client List" come back on TV? I'll have to look it up. I know J. Love Hewitt had fat hairy men to rub down in that show. Yes. That show also has Colin Eggleston in it. Who is also on Rizzoli & Isles. I wonder how many products I can think of that could be called "Rizzoli & Isles"? Perfume? Yes. Law firms? Yes. Salad dressing? YES! (in my most snotty, white girl voice) "Could you pass the Rizzoli & Isles, dahling?"

See. Totally incapable of letting my mind rest. I know I've been rambling but honestly, it's keeping me away from the kitchen. And also away from my car keys, because I am NOT above going to Sonic, in the rain, to get a vanilla cone. Is it bedtime yet?? I'll leave you with what I've been eating this week. I'll promise to share my weightloss (yes, I'm being cocky about that) on Tuesday if you promise not to feel sympathy towards me after you read this sorry excuse for a diet I'm on. I don't need sympathy...I need encouragement to keep me away from allll the things I've been craving today. I'll also take suggestions on recipes for Diet Birthday Cake. Until Tuesday...

Tuesday:

1/2 grapefruit & oatmeal

1/2 grapefruit & tuna salad (with NOTHING good in it, I promise)

Ground turkey burger (just the patty, with A1 sauce)

Wednesday:

2 scrambled eggs w/cheddar

1/2 grapefruit & turkey burger

1/2 grapefruit & chicken breast (plain)

Thursday:

2 scrambled eggs w/cheddar

2 cups broccoli (w/FF cheese)

2 cups kale

Friday:

oatmeal

ground turkey burger (just the patty, with A1 sauce)

ANOTHER ground turkey burger

2 cups kale

Saturday:

oatmeal

honey mustard chicken (chicken breast cut up w/FF honey must.)

a few spoonfuls of brown rice

broccoli (plain)

ground turkey burger (just the patty, with A1 sauce)

Today:

oatmeal

1/2 sweet potato (w/less than a teaspoon of light butter and a sprinkle of brown sugar)

2 cups chilli

**Orbit Sugarfree Sweetmint gum has been working overtime to cure my sugar-fix this week. And I was supposed to have 2 more grapefruits worked in there somewhere but have you tasted a freaking grapefruit, ever? Blehhhhh.**

Is this real life??

I was just sitting downstairs in the recliner reading when I got an inbox alert from a fellow blogger. She was basically wondering why my slack-@$$ hadn't blogged since July 30. That prompted me to come upstairs and fill you in on the past 5 weeks, the Readers-Digest version.

When I started this particular blog at the beginning of summer, I had intended to share every so often the misadventures of me losing weight before I went back to school. It's obvi (especially if you witnessed my mini-meltdown last weekend in a dressing room at the mall because I couldn't get a pair of pants zipped up) that I haven't lost that much weight. 6 pounds to be exact! Here are the reasons why things haven't gone according to plan this past summer:

1. I had about 2 good weeks of really "working out". The 3rd week, I found out I was pregnant. Hence, I had to cut out all the "strenuous" workouts that my body wasn't used to handling.

2. 4th week: found out I was miscarriaging...is that a word? So I was on strict bedrest for a week.

3. 5th week: Last beach trip of the summer. And let's be honest, if you work out or diet during vaca, you're an idiot. Probably a skinny idiot, but still an idiot.

4. 6th week: **The week I had originally planned on going back into gym/bird-eating/gym mode**
Start of my new job (well, technically same job, new place) and I fell off a chair I was standing on in my classroom and fractured my elbow, busted my shin on...something, hit the bone above my eye when I head-butted the floor, and briefly died of embarrassment. This particular jewel of a story prompted the title of this post. If you haven't, you must You-Tube 'David After Dentist'. After my post-olympic high dive from. a. chair., I was in the ER, highly drugged, and remember thinking, "Really, Kristin? Is this real life? Are you really that desperate to get out of gymming it up that you subconsciously fall off things to hinder your workout?" When I was once again off pain meds, I realized and accepted that I wasn't purposely trying to keep myself out of exercising, but that God just doesn't want me to be thin! This is the only logical explanation I can come up with!

However, (against God's obvious wishes), I have a meeting on Monday with a lady that I've heard some pretty fabulous things about. She runs a weight-loss "bootcamp" in town and is super motivated about helping chubby people like me scrape off these extra 20 (or 30 or 40) pounds that seems to have attached themselves to my body from out of nowhere...

Basically, you get up at 5:00 in the morning, meet the other chubby people like you, and workout insanely for an hour. Then go to work. Then meet at night and workout insanely for an hour. Then do it all over again the next day. Or something like that. I've learned that I can't do the gym by myself. I can go to my Gym BFF's classes because she motivates me, but I find that if it's up to me, I'd rather veg out instead of physically getting in my car and driving the 1.5 minute drive to the gym everyday. Unless it's to drive somewhere to go out to eat, because that seems to be working out well for me the past few weeks. Besides, my fellow teacher-friends out there know this, when you walk in the door at night, you are DONE. With a capital D. I need somebody to get in my face and make me responsible for busting my tail. Hold me accountable for getting the weight off, not making up every excuse not to.

So! I promise to get back to you one night this week to fill you in on the deets with bootcamp. Just pray that I can make it til Monday without a random pregnancy, random miscarriage, or falling off any random object and hindering any and all exercise.

0 for 2

Is it sad that I am now officially qualified to apply for a job as an NBC Olympic Commentator's job? I have literally watched every sport competition aired on DirecTV since about 8 this morning. OBSESSED. With my luck, instead of getting the prime positions like Men's Swimming, or Men's Syncronized Diving, which would allow me to use humorous jaunts like "Kristin Peebles here at the Aquatic Center in London's Olympic Park preparing for the men's 100M. We are on air, Lochte and Loaded"...Please argue with me that that is not the best line you've ever heard.

I've watched men's and women's weight lifting, archery, handball (yes. HANDBALL!), and jujitsu, just to name a few. Not only have I thought to myself "what the hell is this" a thousand times today, I am now an expert in qualifying and scoring, and know way too much about snatches with clean and jerks. Yes. I have no life. On to the reason I have the said 'no life' is I am on bedrest. YES! Unfortunately, bedrest is nowhere near as awesome as I thought it would be. Mainly because it's summer vacation and I was already on "bed rest". Now that it's official, I'm enjoying it not so much. I am on bedrest for no, not an injury, but for yes, another miscarriage. I know, I know. You probably just said "oh that's bullshit" out loud. If you didn't, well, let me assure you those were my exact words when I went to the bathroom Saturday evening and got a nice view of bright red blood after finding out a week earlier that I was about 5 weeks pregnant.

If you haven't been keeping up with this blog, see my first post! I had my first miscarriage in October. As it was considered a fluke, we have been busting balls to conceive since then. This time around, I had many of the crazy pregnant lady symptoms unlike the first go round. Intense boob pain, peeing like every 10 minutes, exhaustion, and a missed period. Mike and I were tight-lipped as we didn't want to jinx ourselves like we felt we did the first time. I even pulled the "pregnancy card" and made Mike go grocery shopping last week. Anyway, we were much more aware of what could happen instead of being blindsided like last time. So when I wiped and saw blood, I just had a moment of pure anger rather than despair. Of course I allowed myself to get really upset for about 10 minutes but it passed. Mike took me to the Johnston Willis ER where I stayed for a few hours on Saturday night not because we were unsure of what was happening, but because I wanted somebody to tell me WHY this was happening during the process. With positive pregnancy blood and urine tests but blank ultrasounds, they told me nothing. I was labeled a "threatened miscarriage". They did give me 2 Tylenols and let me watch the Olympics while we waited. At this point, we were past the grieving, past the anger, and onto the accepting stages of what was happening. Accepting for us is the "can't-be-serious, highly inappropriate, giggly stage". It basically distracts us from the sadness of the situation as it occurs.  I asked my doctor what type of pain reliever I could have and she said, "Tylenol: Extra Strength". Mike said I could be the new spokesperson for "Tylenol: Miscarriage". Bust. We have been playing out fake commercials randomly since Saturday.

So after a full day of abosolutely nothing (blood-wise) I started bleeding again today and took one of my many pregnacy tests. It was a weak negative, which means my Hcg's were dropping, hence, no babies. I should totally invent pregnancy tests that predict miscarriages. The first test I took last week said "YES", which I thought was hilarious, instead of changing colors or pink lines. My invented tests would say, "MAAAYYYYBE", "KINDA, BUT DON'T GET YOUR HOPES UP", or "EPIC FAIL". Sadly, I don't think people would find humor in these situations like we weirdos do.

This post has been short and sweet (like my most recent pregnancy...BAZINGA!) but I wanted to share the reason why I haven't posted about exercising and losing weight like my last post implied I would. We are doing really well, just a little disappointed. I'm on light rest til Friday and then hopefully I'll get back to some sort of normalcy. We do, however, intend to kick miscarriage's ass in the coming months. August-October is prime baby-making time in the Peebles' household. So don't feel sad or sympathetic for us, just pray we can COOK ONE LONGER THAN 6 WEEKS next time. Eventually we'll get one to stay for 9 months :)

I'll leave you with this thought from my last post, "Chubby Girls Can't Have Babies"...
My last visit at the GYN was June 23. Pretty sure I concieved the week after. Chubby Girls Can DEFINITELY make babies, we just have an oven default that needs to be repaired before the next one settles in. In yo face, Dr. Gospenedtic!!!!! On to the next one...

Chubby Girls Can't Have Babies

You'd think someone who likes to write as much as I do would keep up with her blog and not skip months at a time. I come from a long line of procrastinators. It's only natural. Hopefully you haven't keeled over and died anxiously awaiting my next blurb and are still willing to catch up on my latest happenings. Let's begin with the obvious: it's July now and it's suffocating to go outside. I despise sweating, period. I can deal with the sheen that develops from just walking onto my front porch. I call this "glistening". If I have sweat between my fat rolls when I sit down and I can feel it dripping down my back from just walking up the stairs to the pool, I immediately tap out and head for the nearest A/C asap. I call this "unattractive". I can't imagine being pregnant during the summer. Perhaps God knows how annoying I would be to him if I were pregnant now with all the "OH MY GOD IT'S HOT" rants so he hasn't let it happen yet...

We are leaving in the morning for our annual Myrtle Beach (partial) family vacation. I can't count on my hands how many summers I've spent at the beach. I can't remember what happened each year and who went with us, where we stayed, etc. but I can usually remember bits and pieces from every trip. Time has certainly changed things though and it's uncanny to me how it changes in just short periods of time. I remember being at the beach different summers and thinking "I start my senior year in high school in a few months" or "where will I be working when school starts in a few months" or "maybe next year I'll have my future husband here with me". Just last year, Ryann and I were walking in from the surf and this little girl, maybe 1 or 2, was playing in a small puddle with her mom. Ryann was like, "Maybe that'll be you next year". I remember, specifically, bursting out with laughter saying "BAHAHA YEAH RIGHT!" Here it is almost a year later and the thought of taking a baby to the beach isn't so foreign to me. Funny how perspectives change so quickly.

I think I started writing about my miscarriage because it is therapeutic, or at least that's what my mom thinks. It does help me sort my feelings and gives me an outlet. It also helps in the sense that I've had so many people respond to my posts and email me personally with their own stories of pregnancies, miscarriages, and other encouraging words. Mike and I are doing so well and honestly don't have that many "issues" over our mishap. One of the reasons we are so made for each other is that we find humor in EVERY situation, regardless of how morbid or depressing it can be. My school send me a dish garden when I miscarried and while it was so incredibly thoughtful, both of us busted out laughing and said, "what makes them think we'll be able to keep this plant alive?" See. So immature. Sidenote: the plant is still thriving today and I make it a point to keep it alive, even almost 9 months later!

I visited Dr. G (not because I call him a cool name but because I honestly can't remember how to spell it right now) (oh, and he's my OB-GYN) in late June. This was my 6 month post mishap appointment. Everything checked out perfectly and there is nothing physically wrong with me that would cause me not to get pregnant again. Obviously Mike isn't the problem; the swimmers can get there, but my oven just burnt out before they were cooked. Probably not the best analogy, but you get the point. I had like an hour talk with the doc before he examined me and I told him about all my period issues. Keep in mind, I love this man and trust him whole-heartedly. However, he thinks the reason my cycles are insane and possible issues with conceiving are because I have gained weight. Yes. His medical advice for me NOT getting pregnant is because I'm fat. At least, this is all my brain was processing while I was listening to him explain how the body reacts due to weight gain. He's showing me diagrams and doing a wonderful presentation about what foods and exercise I should be doing...and I have a glazed-over look on my face because I am mentally listing EVERY SINGLE FAT PERSON I KNOW THAT HAS EVER HAD A KID! What the hell, doc.

When I weighed in at his office in November, I weighed 150. When I weighed in last month, I was 170. That's 20 pounds in 8 months. For those of you who know me very personally, you know I had a hellacious school year. So, between my personal and professional life this past year, it's apparent that Number One: I survived. Number Two: I ate enough food to feed the entire population of Turkmenistan. This brings me to the newest topic I shall be blogging about...losing. freaking. 20. pounds. (at least...but shooting for 35!)

Obviously, this endeavor will not begin until AFTER I return from the beach. At said beach, I will try not to eat my current weight in steak, seafood, and ice cream. However, it is very possible that I will eat that amount but burn it off by walking to the ice cream stand every night at 11. Let's face it, I can't walk up and down the beach for exercise because I will get chub-rub between my thighs and just be Debby Downer for the rest of the trip. Now do you see what I'm up against?

Please join me in my newest adventure. I've set aside the baby crazy thoughts and now have my sights on Skinny Kristin. Because let's be honest people, it's a known fact that 5'3 chubby girls can't have babies until they lose 20 pounds. Eek!

That Female Mess

Today is the first day of another period since “the mishap”. It has been six months and
each time I start, it’s a pill that gets harder and harder to swallow. I think
a little background information is needed for you to get the full effect of My
Unbearable, Agonizing, I-Hate-Being-A-Woman-During-This-Time-Of-The-Month
Cycle. Periods for me have always been a pain in the…sides. I mentioned before
that my periods were like clockwork. 28 days, religiously, same start time,
middle of the day. I remember at 15 the first day of my periods were so painful
that during my lunch, I would crawl into a ball in the floor of an empty
classroom with my two BFF’s (that happened to be guys, Brandon & Chad, for
those who know them) and listen to them rant back and forth because it was the
only way to keep my mind off of the pain. If somebody walked in and saw me,
Brandon would say, “leave her alone, she got that female mess”. A true BFF, if
there ever was one. It always took about an hour for three Tylenols to kick in,
so I would squirm around in my desk during Algebra and focus on not falling out
in the floor, withering in pain. Hmm, maybe this is why I have such a hard time
with math…I’ve associated it with pain and repressed the memory of ever
learning it.

The only solution the doctor could give me then was to start the pill. It was a
God-send. No pain, no acne, and I could plan for it each month, same time, 28
days. That is until I went off the pill last August. Since then, I’ve had sharp
pains in my back; cramps like my insides were being crushed for recycled metal,
sixteen year old boy acne, and “the shakes”. I went to Dr. Godspenetic after
the first month of this nonsense and he basically told me, “You are a woman. It’s
your period. Take a Tylenol.” He knew my baby plan and said that until I got
pregnant or went back on the pill, the pain is just something I would have to
deal with. And so, I’ve been dealing with it.

The first two months after the mishap were really emotional for me. After going back to
the Doc for a thorough exam, he assured me that nothing is wrong with me and
that I am perfectly healthy and able to make babies. Mike and I were like, “Challenge.
Accepted.” Apparently our problem was that we could get it in the air, we just
couldn’t land it. Since I knew nothing about pregnancy, ideal conception times,
etc., I started reading. Everything. I Googled, downloaded books, apps, read
about dangerous foods and drinks that lower sperm counts (GOODBYE, MOUNTAIN DEW!),
and read about studies until I became a fricking expert on the magic of making
babies. I know about ovulation calendars, basal thermometers, positions, and
times of the day. I have an app on my phone that I can enter my “flow days” and
it will notify me with little daisies on the days I ovulate. The more petals
the daisy has, the better the chances are at conception. I’d look at my phone
and yell at Mike downstairs, “HEY! Tomorrow I’m at full flower” and he knew I
was a “sure thing” for the next day. I was obsessed!

Being this anal with such high expectations only caused greater let-downs each month
when my period started. I keep mentioning how regular my period was because it
represents something on a much bigger scale. Basically, you can’t plan
anything! It will happen the way it wants to. Ever since November, my period
has NOT been regular. It. Is. Driving. Me. Crazy. I used to be every 28 days.
Now it’s 31 days this month, 26 the next. I never know if I’m late, I never
know how to plan, and it has caused havoc. In February, I thought I was four
days late. I had no acne, no headaches, and I was convinced, CONVINCED, that I
was pregnant. Mike was more realistic that I was and told me that I was just
late and not to count on it. On the fifth day, I woke up and I had started. I
was so angry! The same day I went shopping with my mom, aunt, and cousin and
they were talking about somebody they knew that had just found out they were
pregnant. The girl wasn’t married, had no job, and was younger than me. I burst
into tears. I mean like, uncontrollable, sobbing. I was angry and hated that
girl for having something that I wanted and just couldn’t seem to get. The next
few days that girl stayed on my mind. I thought about every girl/woman I knew
of that had a baby without a husband, or had no insurance, or had six kids she
couldn’t afford. Then the guilt started. I felt so guilty for being angry at
God for allowing people who I thought were less fortunate than me have
something that I thought I was better off having than they were. This was certainly
a wakeup call for me and my self-wallowing.

Who am I to judge people who get pregnant in less than ideal situations? Those
pregnancies and children were probably the greatest things that ever happened
to some of those women. I never judged girls like that before and I surely
shouldn’t have judged them then. I got over myself and apologized to God for
being so outrageous. I think he forgave me, as we have carried on the banter
since my period in February. I told him in my prayers to forgive me, that *somebody*
almighty created women and their bodies which resulted in brief, crazy ass acts
of insanity each month and he returns the joke each month with, “oh let’s go 30
days this time, and throw in a 28er next time just for kicks”.

Well, today starts a brand new cycle for my household. I am much less intense about
getting pregnant and am *trying* to not stress about “that female mess” that I
woke up with this morning. Besides, I have a good 14 days until “full-flower” ;)

(PS-I apologize that my blog looks so "choppy". I write it in Word and copy & paste into the blogger word processor. Haven't yet mastered the formatting...)

Welcome to Adulthood

I’m not exactly sure of the day or even if there was a particular moment in time when I realized, holy smoking balls, I’m an adult. The topic of ‘adultness’ has been weighing on my mind since the fall of this year and I feel compelled to share my thoughts. As a belated apology for my first sentence, forgive me for my foul mouth and sometimes offensive tone. Recognizing you have reached adulthood comes with few exciting realizations, so I try to get my kicks out of being able to say what I please; hence the new blog.

Since I am a teacher, my internal calendar begins in September rather than January. Please note this now because when I speak (and write) I will reference “the beginning of the year” and do
not mean January. Let’s see if you have been paying attention…

At the beginning of the year, I was very excited and hopeful. I made it through my first year of teaching and didn’t end up in jail for assault and would be starting my second year in 5th grade. Things were running very smoothly, as Mike and I had bought our first house just a few months before. Having to pay a mortgage is very liberating, but also scares the snot out of me. This was the first sign of my pending introduction to adulthood.

The second sign follows: since my husband is no spring chicken, we decided in August that I would get off my birth control pill. We had been married two years at the time and felt like it was a good time to “see what happens”. Dr. Godspodnetic, my ob-gyn, told me in June that I could stop taking the pills but that it would take months, even a year before I would probably get pregnant. With this in mind, we (I mean more Mike than me) decided we would just go with the flow and see what happens. I (not we) secretly mapped out conception theories and strategically planned to. the. day. of when we could have sex and what the due date for our baby would be. I had a
specific time period between the last few weeks in September and first week in October to “make it happen” because I wanted my kid to be born at the end of June when I could be home. In the back of my mind, I knew that I was reaching for the stars because the professional told me it would take months. Stay with me…I stopped the pill August 1st. We had sex October 4th.
I conceived. The last week in October, 3 pregnancy tests and one trip to the doctor confirmed that yes, Mike’s sperm and my ovaries were freaking awesome. I was pregnant.

I’m one of the weird people who is very in tuned with their body. I knew the day after my period was supposed to start that I was pregnant. Since I was 15, I have been like clockwork, almost to the exact hour. I waited two days before I took the pregnancy tests even though I knew very strongly what the result would already be. Even though we were scared out of our panties with the news, we could not have been any happier. Let me be very clear, I can write a book about the characteristics of 8-10 year olds. I couldn’t write one sentence about babies. Apparently, the protocol for telling baby news is after you are 3 months along. I waited 3 days because I’m also one of the weird people who can NOT keep a secret. After my family doctor’s office confirmed the
pregnancy, we blabbed. We were on cloud eight hundred and nine. I think my parents and grandparents were more excited about hearing they were going to be grandparents (and great-grandparents) than they would be about winning the Mega Millions. I hounded my ob-gyn’s office and they squeezed me in to do an ultrasound. We were deaf, blind, and dumb to anything outside of the happy bubble we had created.

Lastly, the third sign that I was entering adulthood…

Mike and I go in to meet with Dr. Godspodnetic before he conducts the ultrasound. I have a list of twenty three questions, ranging from ‘what kind of diet should I be on’ to ‘is it safe to use my acne medicine’. Let’s just say, the meeting wasn’t brief. I explained to him that a few days before I had cramping and brown spotting. He assured me that it was very common. We go into the ultrasound room and the nurse asks me to pee in a cup. I was so dang excited, I peed. But forgot the cup on the back of the toilet. Since everything had been sunshine and rainbows, we laughed it
off and she assured me I could try again later. I get awkwardly on the table and we wait. Let’s be honest ladies, there is nothing more awkward than not being able to figure out the robe they make you wear so your kukah is hanging out for all God’s children to see. I mean really, where the hell is it supposed to tie and close? The side? The back? Geez. Put an instructional poster up in the bathroom, medical people. Anyway, Dr. Godspodnetic comes in and begins the ultrasound. Mike and I have already studied the “What Your Baby Looks Like At…” poster like our lives depended on it so we knew what we were looking for on the overhead screen. As soon as the stick went in and my glorious uterus pops up on the screen for the world to see, we knew. There was nothing but static and grayness. Dr. Godspodnetic says “I’m sorry” and our bubble burst in that same room that I thought 3 minutes before couldn’t get any more awkward. I was wrong.

Of course we listened to him drone on and on about it being a fluke and that I probably started miscarrying a few days before and was still in the process. He wanted me to pee in a cup again to see what it said so I go in the bathroom and try. Not a drop. I’m sitting on the toilet, sobbing like my perfect ice cream cone had fallen into the dirt and couldn’t freaking pee. I got another STERILE cup and drank like 10 cups of water. Still nothing. At this point, I was hysterical. I was crying and laughing like a crazy person because even in that one horrific moment, all I could do was laugh at myself for not being able to squeeze a drop out. The past few weeks, I had been going like 10 times a day. I bet I stayed in that bathroom 30 minutes until finally I got a little. It was tested and came back a “weak positive” which meant I was still “emptying”. We left, I barely made it through a 5 second phone call to my mama, and we came home to bed.

I thought having a mortgage and a “real” job and car payments made me an adult. I thought that taking the steps to plan a family and have them turn out so successfully, so quickly, made me a
responsible adult. I can promise you that the greatest sign I’ve had that let me know I’ve entered adulthood is going through something like what Mike and I went through the few weeks following that appointment, what we are still going through now, months later. If I thought I was an adult before that, God slapped me in the forehead with that situation and it has changed me drastically, into an adult.

I swear this isn’t a depressing blog and I’m not going to go on and on about me miscarrying each time I write. I know there are thousands and thousands of women who have had this happen and
were probably much further along than I was. But it still happened to us and I feel like it is a situation that has inspired me enough to share our little adventures that have happened since November. Stick with me. It gets lighter. Welcome to my new world of adulthood.