I'm a Professional

I just got out of the shower from a post-walk. As much as it pains me to admit, I have accepted that I am not going to be able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want without doing something to balance out the horrendous calories. I tried the kale diet. That went to kale. I did bootcamp--which WORKS, but I'm restricted to only "light" exercises from my doctors. We don't want to shake up anything that could be potentially growing down under. Basically, that leaves walking or doing nothing but watching my belly grow; not from a baby, but from Pepsi, sweet tea, and anything that has the last name 'Lay', first name 'Frito'.

 

I've been walking quite a bit since I got back from the beach the last week in June. Considering I always gain like 5 pounds while on vaca, I military dieted and walked like a crazy person the first week we got back. I felt like I had lost 15 pounds. Then I started my period. The scale only showed a 2 pound loss. Bitch. Since then, I've moderated what I've been eating and I've been walking everyday for an hour. I finally got courageous yesterday and looked. I'm down another 5 pounds. Too bad I leave for the beach again in 2 more weeks. It's a vicious cycle, I know.

 

Although I'm the biggest whiner and complainer when it comes to exercising, I'm a professional walker. I grew up in Victoria on Main Street that has a sidewalk parallel to it from one end to the other. All during high school and even for a few years after, Ryann and I would walk every night, weather permitting. If you left my house on Third Street, went to Central, turned back around and headed to Wright's, it would be like 4 miles. No wonder I was a size 10 and looked fabulous from the years 2001-2005. (Sidenote: I didn't realize this until I look at pictures from the years 2001-2005. I'm sure I thought I was 'fat' then too. Hey, I'm a girl. It's what we do.)

 

Since I've been walking lately by myself, I've had plenty of trips down memory lane. I also can't help but compare "going walking" now to "going walking" then.

 

This is the Evolution of a Professional Walker.

 

THEN: Ryann and I could carry on a conversation the entire walk, thus enabling us to talk crap about every person that passed us. Which was pretty much the entire population, considering we walked Main Street in VICTORIA.

 

NOW: I can barely listen to myself inside my head because the deafening noise from my heavy breathing echoes against the speakers in my ears.

 

THEN: We'd walk in short booty shorts and tanks.

 

NOW: I walk in too-big-for-me tshirts that cover me up and yoga pants/capris that prevent Chub Rub. Chub Rub is a serious medical condition that causes severe soreness, itching, and lack of important baby-making efforts.

 

THEN: It never failed. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME we walked, we'd get hollered at suggestively from sketchy black guys at Little Bee. Sketchy white guys riding by in sketchy Honda Civics with hubcaps missing. And let's not forgot sketchy rednecks that passed us at least 5 times a night and always hollered something mildly inappropriate.

 

NOW: All sketchy black guys, sketchy white guys, and rednecks look at me with concern, probably thinking, "Is that girl gonna pass out?" or "Why is she so red?"

 

THEN: We knew basically every person that passed us. We waved at practically every car that passed.

 

NOW: I live in a fairly middle class area but walk where the rich people live. Every car that passes me is a BMW, Mercedes, or is owned by a doctor. Plus, I'm pretty sure if you combined my age with Mike's age, we'd still be under the average age demographic for our area. These people are either too snobby to wave at me or are too old to even see me.

 

THEN: One of us would say, "Do you wanna keep going?" Then the other would say, "Sure, I'm good."

 

NOW: (to myself) "OMFG. Let me make it to the next mailbox. I'm good. Huff. Huff. OMG. What time is it? This is crazy. Huff. I can't breathe. I can't breathe! Is that a car behind me? Gasp. Huff. Huff. Let me suck in so I don't look that terrible in these spandex. (*sucks in*) Huff. Huff. DON'T SUCK IN! DON'T. SUCK. IN! Can barely breathe anyway, much less holding my breathe til the car passes. Huff. Huff. Huff. Okay. Next mailbox. What time is it now? Is that a rain cloud? I need to head back. I don't need frizzy hair on top of this already hot-mess. Huff. Huff. I can't breathe. Huff. Doc...tors say...you real..ly on..ly need..... 30 minutes...of...ex..er...cise a day...anyway. It's...been like...40. Can stop...at...any..time..now. Huff. Huff. Just make it to the next mailbox!

 

As you can see, many things have changed from walking when I was 17 to walking when I'm 27. At least I'm doing it, I guess. In addition to being a Professional Walker, I've also accredited myself with other Professional titles this summer.

 

Professional Paler: When at the beach, I'm a full on Professional Tanner. (I mean Christ on a cracker, that's even my middle name!) However, these cloudy days have been BS. I can literally see the color absorbing into my skin on a daily basis. IT'S JULY! Where is the SUN!?

 

Professional Hair Grower: I've always had pretty fast-growing hair. Not just on my head, but on legs and underarms as well. Since taking additional folic acid, I've discovered the hair on said places grows like freaking weeds. I shaved last night at 5:30pm. When I got in bed at 11:30pm, I already had stubble. Coming from a girl who only shaves her legs like twice a month in the winter, shaving twice a day is becoming a real drag. I'm often concerned that while walking, sketchy black guys, sketchy white guys, and sketchy rednecks are staring at me with concern because they think I'm wearing boots with the fur...yet it's just my crazy hairy legs sprouting over my Nike's.

 

Professional Reader: Okay, I'm ashamed. I started working on a book several months ago. I'm up to 20,000 words (YAY!) but I need like 90,000 to publish. In the past 3 days, I've read 4 books. Yes, yes. Admitting the problem is always the first step. While my book is good...and I mean GOOD! I keep comparing it to what my favorite books are and I'm psyching myself out. I've also found myself editing my favorite author's books which is a cool learning process for me and it helps me work out the snags I've found in my own story. When I reach 50,000, I have a small group of test-readers that I'm sending it to  to make sure its something people would actually buy. Hopefully, that'll be before the first of August. Which leads me to...

 

UNprofessional Writer: I have so many things in my head that I want to blog about but it literally takes me over an hour to bust out a post. I'm very critical of myself (HA! Bet you didn't know that, loyal blogger-followers!) so I'm constantly reading and rereading what I write before I click "publish". I get asked all the time about posting on a regular basis, like daily or weekly. I'd love to be able to do that, but let's be honest. I'm a total lazy ass. "99 chores but I ain't did one" kinda lazy. Also, I feel guilty for not writing where I SHOULD be writing. AND I feel guilty for not giving my other jobs as Professional Reader and Professional Tanner/Paler my undivided attention on these long summer days.

 

But like all true professionals I know, we eventually get the job done. It may kill me, but at least I'll be a richer, skinnier, and hairier Kristin who will probably be pushing a honkin' stroller on my walking route with a kid I can't talk to because I'll be out of breath. Also, because I know you still have your lips turned up in disgust--I shave *maybe* twice a week in the winter. I exaggerate for dramatic purposes if you didn't already know that.

 

 

 

Fifty Shades of Cray!

I should've titled this post basically the one word that personifies the morning I had today: EW. I just re-read my last post and I saw where I called the uterus-dye-test "uber awesome". Obviously, I had not done my homework.

 

We left home this morning at 5:50 in order to make it to Johnston-Willis by 7:30. It should be against the dang law for a TEACHER on SUMMER BREAK to have to wake up BEFORE 10:00. The person who scheduled my appointment should be buried under the jail for waking me up at 5:15 for no reason other than to shove my cookie into a man's face for the first time, for medical purposes, of course.

 

If I wasn't postive before, I was reassured today that I am emtionally invested with Dr. Edelstein.

 

**Side note: My new phrase of the week is "emotionally invested". Definition: to develop feelings (not necessarily romantic ones) for a person, place, thing, or idea. Used in a sentence: "As a teenager, I was emotionally invested in Justin Timeberlake. I cried when I heard he dated Britney Spears. CRIED." Used in another sentence: "Before I see Florida-Georgia Line in concert, I feel like I should be emtionally invested in the group". Used one more time in a sentence: "Now that I've seen pictures of Florida-Georgia Line, I am emotionally invested".**

 

Back to Dr. Edelstein. I love him. More than I love Dr. Gospodnetic. He also has insanely white teeth that are perfectly symmetrical. Those who know me know that teeth are a deal-breaker. He may have studied my file five minutes before I walked in, but he made me feel like he remembered everything about me. He walked me through E-VER-Y step of the procedure and now I feel like I should do the same for you. And don't even act like you aren't curious--you were emotionally invested when you opened this post and saw I mentioned "fifty shades" and "crazy" in the same sentence. You just didn't know I was referring to the procedure.

 

So, here I am in 2 hospital gowns. One on like a night gown, the other on like a robe so nothing "popped" out at an inappropriate time. I go in this large, open room that has what looks like a mammouth-sized baking mixer sitting in the middle of the floor. Instead of where the bowl would go, there is a table. With NO stirrups. I'm laying flat on the table and he tells me to sit my legs up like I'm about to do a sit-up. In my mind I'm all like, "what's that?" Then I have to scoot myself to the very end of the table and scrunch my torso until my bent legs have no option but to open the doors to the show--if ya know what I'm sayin'. Then he says, "Okay, I'm going to stretch you a little bit and then I'll sterilze the area. Once I do that, I'm going to give you a numbing shot and you'll feel a little pinch. Once I squirt the dye in, you'll start cramping but remember to breathe and it'll be over in less than 20 seconds."

 

All I heard from those few sentences was "stretch", "shot", and "cramping". Um, what? Who. The. Hell. signed me up for that? 

 

Ladies, I won't get into graphics but I will give you some tidbits that come from direct experience from yours truly.

 

1. Never EVER let a man get a needle that close to THAT area, no matter how wonderful his teeth are.

 

2. Never trust when a MAN tells you "okay, you'll feel a little pressure". Bu!!$3!*t. He can't be the judge of what constitutes as "a little" anything. Pressure is pressure and NO measure of it is good. Or little.

 

3. 20 seconds is actually measureable to 3 hours and 45 minutes and 56 seconds.

 

4. When looking at an ultrasound screen, it's OKAY to ask them what you are looking at. While I'm looking at the screen and analyzing what I'm seeing, turns out, what I thought was my uterus was the instrument the doc was using to move stuff around.

 

5. If you've never been pregnant and had your water break, I imagine after having THIS procedure, you'll know what to expect when that time comes. The dye is RED. The table I was on looked like somebody had been shot. And now I'm officially done with grossing you out.

 

After all was said and done, everything was normal! This was my last test. All my bloodwork came back fine with the exception of a blood mutation that showed up. It's called the MTHFR gene mutation. I can't make this stuff up. You know what those letters looked like to Mike...Anyway, basically the cause of this mutation is a folic acid deficiency or something like that (when I googled it, I couldn't even begin to understand it so I say it like this and hope that I sound like I know what I'm talking about). I now take my prenatal vitamin, an additional folic acid supplement, a baby aspirin, and an antibiotic daily. I even have one of those old-lady pill caddies that all pills go in. We call it the "Baby Cocktail".

 

We have a deadline. If I'm not pregnant by September, then we go back to look into what's next. With the rest of the summer, two beach trips, and several strawberritas in my future, I'm thinking we'll get lucky. At least, I know Mike will ;)

Here's a little uterus humor for you. 

The reason we get cramps every month...
 

 

 

Feeding the Cullens

Okay y'all. I've had 3 boys tell me they made it into 2 paragraphs of my blog and had to stop reading. I politely tried to warn you in my last post that while I'm an equal opportunity blogger, some of the population isn't going to stomach reading my posts. 'Some of the population' meaning: all males in general. This is my official disclaimer: Please don't read any further if reading the words "period" or "uterus" makes you giggle or queasy.

 

Yesterday was our first visit to a fertility specialist. One of the coolest things I learned was they are going to do a test the next time I get my period in which they dye my uterus neon-blue to see if it's working properly. Sorry I threw that out there...but I wanted to make sure my stubborn readers who disregarded my disclaimer were paying attention. With that being said, I'll give you a second to close out the screen.

 

For you braver souls who can handle my female parts lingo, I'll continue. Mike & I had no idea what to expect from this visit. When you hear "fertility", we think of people who are having issues becoming pregnant. Since that isn't our case, we weren't sure what the deal would be. Let me just say this: if you love to people watch, ditch the malls and Wal-Mart and hit up your local fertility clinic. Those who know us KNOW that Team Peebles can't do anything seriously. We are sitting in the waiting room and the only other couple there is an older black couple. And by older I mean like early 50s. Obviously, I'm no genius. However, it doesn't take one to realize that hey, if you're approaching menopause, it may be the reason you can't get pregnant. If you can't get off the sofa in the waiting room without the help of a cane, you may be too old to get pregnant. What do I know, though. Abraham and Sarah had a kid when she was like 90. There may still be hope. (Um, was her name Sarah? Probably shouldn't be spitting out Jesus references until I verify.) Every person who walked through the door while we were waiting we...snickered like little kids. (Which could be the reason why we don't have one yet.) Not because we were making fun of them, because we totally weren't. We were just making up funny, fake scenarios for why they were visiting a fertility office. We especially had a field day for a sort of bum- looking guy who brought in a mini-cooler...like the ones the fat kids take on field trips...I mean, there's only so many things one could bring in a COOLER. To a FERTILITY specialist.

 

Anyway, I really like our doctor, who is very mild-mannered and sympathetic, extremely knowledgeable and accomplished, and also Jewish, which is super cool because I've never met an official one before. (Other than Seth Meyers from SNL Weekend Update and the most famous Jew of all, Jerry Seinfeld.) He basically got a sheet of white paper and listed all the possible medically known causes for miscarriages. There are 10. I won't bore you with them all. Bless his heart, he was trying to "dumb it down" for us, yet he didn't know he was dealing with the Google Master of "recurrent miscarriage" searches. I was totally impressed with myself because I had read about all the things he listed! Not to toot my own horn or anything. Toot toot.

 

All of the reasons could be tested by blood with the exception of one. That's the uber awesome procedure where he's going to light up my uterus with glow-in-the-dark dye to check for working parts. He showed me pictures of this. When I first sat down at his desk, I thought to myself, "why does he have children's books in that basket?" Then half-way through his chat he whipped out the 'children's books' and opened them up to the diagram section--of vaginas and glow-in-the-dark uteruses. (or is it 'uterii'??) Side note: Really?! Girl parts look like bulls. What sick joker was in charge of choosing the University of Texas' mascot? The Longhorn was all I could see while trying to keep a straight face during this sweet, Jewish man's presenation of glow-stick cookahs. See the image below for reference.

 

In a nut shell, this is an analogy of my situation...

 

Think of high school. There is always that nerdy, crazy smart person who is almost on another level of intelligence. He's a big fish in a little pond. Then he goes to a highly acclaimed college where there are hundreds of crazy smart people just like him. Now he's the small fish in a big pond. This is how I am now...at my ob-gyn's office (high school), I was "special" because of my MCs. Now, I'm at a "college" where everybody is pretty much like me. My new doctor thinks that even with 3, there's probably not anything wrong with me and that they happened by chance. He even classified my first 2 as "chemical pregnancies" because they ended so quickly into the pregnancy. My third is actually a "miscarriage" because we easily identified the pregnancy on an ultrasound. He said 1 out of every 3 women experience miscarriages at some point and they just don't realize it. Think about every late period you've had. It could've been stress causing the delay or it could've been a pregnancy. I'm just a lucky person because I'm able to tell when my body is late and can therefore take a test to detect the pregnancy.

 

They sent me to Labcorp for bloodwork with an order of 9 tests! They took 7 (yes, SE-VEN) tubes of blood. I convinced myself the lady taking it was feeding a family of nice vampires so I felt like I was doing my good deed for the day. The tests should either detect or rule out lupus, diabetes, chromosome issues, abnormal thyroid, infection, etc. Mike did bloodwork as well to check for chromosome problems, yet that is a ridiculously slim chance of being the problem, according to Adam Sandler's jewish uncle, my doctor. We have the all-clear to keep trying as much as we want, unprotected. We're shooting for pregnancy by the end of summer, so cross your fingers, toes, arms, elbows, legs, ankles, and eyes for us. Team Peebles is staying positive, encouraged, and most definitely, staying BUSY ;)

We're taking a test...

I'd like to start tonight's post by reminding my readers that I'm a girl...therefore, most things I post are girly and may not be suitable for boys' eyes. You've been warned.

 

As a follow-up, I'd like to report the the Jergen's Express lotion did NOT in fact turn me tangerine. I put it on consecutively for 3 days, then skipped a day and resumed. My arms and legs are actually a decent color considering I don't think I've seen the sun in fifty-leven days. I wish I'd have taken before/after pictures so I could share, but you'll just have to take my word for it. I'd show you my midsection in comparison to my limbs but I'll spare you the nauseum.

 

Speaking of nauseum, I'm trying very hard not to be 'hyper-aware Kristin' this week. For the past 5 months, I've been able to track my period and temperatures like clockwork. Since the latest miscarriage last month and considering I bled for like 2 weeks (which is a total exaggeration but hey, who's counting?) I have no idea when I'm supposed to start. If I count days since the first day of my last period, it should be anytime now. Usually, I dread my period like the plague because I know that in addition to the physical pain, it's also just a representation of another month gone by that I'm not pregnant. This time, yes, I admit, I'm actually looking forward to it. I know I spoke major crap about it and call me a giant hypocrit...but I totally miss my reliable relationship with my basal thermometer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

I stopped taking my temps when I found out I was pregnant last month so I have to wait until the first day of my period to start again for it to be accurate. Even though I'm a total expert at reading mucus (now THAT is just sad, seeing that in print) and knew when I was ovulating each month, I like the dependability of checking my temperature and logging it into my trusty app on a daily basis. Call me psycho, but it made me feel like I was accomplishing something or working towards a goal. I mean, let's face facts. I started the thermometer in January and was pregnant at the end of March. Don't forget that we get the "BADASS" award for GETTING pregnant. As I posted last week, I am doing a stellar job at NOT thinking about pregnancy/miscarriages/babies/etc. I'm even handling the fact that I've gotten invited to not one, not two, but FOUR. FOUR! baby showers in the month of May. The baby-making water around here is as rare as peach-cobbler moonshine for me, apparently. Our appointment is still for Monday after next and people have been asking me "what will they do?" Here is my answer: I have no idea. It's the first time I've been to a fertility doc so I'm assuming it'll be questions and questions and more questions. If anything, they'll take my blood. It's all just a "hurry up and wait" sitch. Story of my life!

 

This morning during class, one of my students came to me and whispered in my ear, "Mrs. Peebles-I gotta go. I started my period". I gave her a hug and sent her on her merry way to the nurse. I wanted to cry for her. I checked on her a little while later and the nurse told me that she was the 5th child to come to her this morning with the same issue! All 5 started their periods for the first time today. Please take a moment of silence at this moment to pray for them. Dear God, bless their hearts, ovaries, and uteruses. May they not have the shit-show my girly bits have turned out to be in their menstrual futures!

 

Keep in mind that I teach 10 year-olds. The other 4 students were in 4th grade!!!!!!! Holy hormones. I started my glorious womanhood at the end of the 6th grade, so I was twelvish. As did most of my girlfriends, I think. I remember it was a Friday and I had a friend come home with me for a sleepover. We were at my Mammaw's house (she had a daycare there) so we were playing/watching the kids in her backyard. I had to go to the little girls' room so I slipped into the kids' bathroom. I wiped...and I went, "Ew. Ahh?? EWAUHHHHHHHHHHHHHH". I had basically the same reaction to sex for the first time. Lisa (my friend) already had hers so she was basically like, "MAN UP! DEAL WITH IT". Then the cramps started and it was a total raging bitch every month until the precious words "ortho-tri-cyclen" came into my vocabulary four years later...

 

I was 16. April 22, 2002 was when I turned in my V-card. I recently had that anniversary and I shared that fact with Mike who at this point, just accepts the crazy that I am. I had the same partner until I was 20. (If only he had kept the same partner during that time!!!!!! Bust.) I had picked out my wedding colors and I also had my children's names picked out. Don't judge me for my loss-of-virginity-age. I feel very strongly that it all depends on the situation, the people involved, and who you have to talk to about it. Luckily for me, I have a mama that I can talk to and who will tell me straight-up how something is. I am a responsible person and I knew that hey, boys don't get pregnant: girls do. If something like that happened, it was totally on me. I knew and understood the consequences. Unfortunately, nowadays so many young girls don't realize that and end up getting pregnant (and inadvertently making me miserable by doing so).

 

I was a religious pill-popper back then and would freak the flip out if I was even a day late. I prayed til my knees hurt that I wasn't pregnant. One time, I even confused my PMS symptoms with pregnancy and took a test in the faculty bathroom at SVCC in Keysville. When only one pink line showed up, I cried tears of joy. CRI-ED. Especially since I had found out the week before that my long-time boyfriend of 4 years had only been dating me for 1. It has been eleven years since then and it is insanely amazing how much of a U-turn my thoughts have taken towards that subject. My knees are hurting now from praying for the complete opposite of my prayer that day in the SVCC bathroom. If it worked for me then, I'm pretty positive it will work for me now.

 

I've shared with you before that since I've been blogging, I've had so many people (strangers, old friends, new friends, etc.) share with me their similar stories or stories of people they know that have gone through the same thing I'm going through (and they ended with success!). These stories and experiences keep me going! I'd like to think we are in a cool new club or sisterhood or something. I'm on Pinterest and my favorite thing to do on it is pin quotes. The following are for all the women who have shared their stories with me! Thank you for reading. Thank you for praying. Thank you for supporting!

 

 

 

 

Willy Wonka and the Express Tanning Factory

We are coming up on one month now since we found out we were pregnant for the third time! It is utterly amazing to me that four weeks ago tonight, every single thought that was in my brain was about pregnancy, being pregnant, possibly losing it, having the perfect excuse for being fat, etc. For three and a half weeks, I could literally NOT go five minutes without having the P word in my mind (and by "P" I mean the letter, not "pee", even though I was doing that every five minutes, too). I'm assuming that all pregnant women must feel that way the entire nine months. Technically, counting all three pregnancies, I've been pregnant for almost 4 months...HOLLA. Anyway, yes, this time was particually devasting, moreso than the other two, yet I have a totally different approach to it this time around: I'm doing everything in my power to NOT think about it. I find that when I do, I get a little teary and that's just not acceptable because God knows girls are super ugly with streaky, mascara tracks on their faces. I, for one, am a completely hideous crier. Big, red splotches on my cheeks. Puffy marshmallow
eyes that make my already-Chinese eyes even squintier. Ugh. So I find it best to avoid the situation entirely. I'm even dreading our fertility appointment because I'm still in the mindset that I'm in the "other fifty" percent of women who will never find out what the problem is. Okay, I must apologize. Apparently, I'm guessing--because I'm not really sure--because I'm avoiding any and all things involving "pregnancy" or "periods"--that I'm pre-menstrual which means 3 things:

 

1. I'm super whiny/bitchy.

2. I'm feeling like I weigh 458 pounds because nothing looks right on me except a 10-year-old white v-neck t-shirt that I stole from Daddy and my fat yoga pants that wouldn't know what yoga or excercise was if it hit them in the face.

3. I'm eating what.ever.I.freaking.want.

 

Moving on! I'm feeling particularly reminiscent tonight, hence the reason for this post! I have to go to a wedding Saturday night. The groom could be named as my true male BFF from literally pre-K. You all know from my previous post, Big Ben, Parliament, that my childhood, high school, and mostly college career consisted of a clique that included me and five guys that I had been tight with since the beginning of time--plus a permanent girlfriend of one of the guys. Said clique has since somewhat drifted apart, yet when we all get together, it seems like only a few days have separated us instead of years. Like I said, the groom is getting hitched which means the clique will be reunited!! I'm strangely nervous about this reunion, for several reasons. One of them is how I don't look much like my smoking hot seventeen year old self anymore. Not that I was smoking hot, because even then I thought I was chubby, but still. Ten years changes girls much moreso than it changes guys. Those bastards. All of us were platonic (most of the time) yet I felt like I was attractive enough to hang with them and know they if a random person asked them if they thought I was attractive, they said "yes". Or at least an "uh huh".  If you watched "That 70's Show", that is a prime example of our relationships. I was Donna--the relatively attractive girl who hung out with guys in a strictly-friendly manner--yet we could all openly joke about each of us being "hot".

In preparation for Saturday, several things had to be taken care of. While completing these errands, I went back in time and compared what I would have done ten years ago in preparation for an even such as this--which was basically our prom. Here are my thoughts:

*TAN.
-THEN: I would've been laying in a tanning bed everyday since February and been super, ridiculously dark by now. Think...Kim Kardashian.
-NOW: I just got back from Wal-mart from purchasing $3.00 Jergens Express "Natural Glow" lotion that's supposed to make me look tan in 2 days. I have no extra money to spend on a tanning package and even if I did, who the hell would want to undress after work, lather up lotion all over this gross, pasty white body, and lay in my own sweat for 20, long, hot minutes. So basically when you see me in the next two days, contain the "OOMPA LOOMPA" jokes. Think...Snooki. But don't say it to my face.
*OUTFIT.
-THEN: Short, tight, revealing. Underwear: optional (not cuz I was a slut, but cuz of underwear lines)
-NOW: Anything that covers up the cottage cheese. Underwear: one of those old lady Spanx one-pieces that sucks it all in for me so I don't have to.
*ALCOHOL.
-THEN: Made sure I was friends with somebody (older) there who would slip me drinks unbeknownst to nosey adults.
-NOW: Make sure I'm friends with somebody there who will slip me 3-5 Ibruprofens with every drink because the thought of a hangover makes me want to vomit, much less the alcohol itself.

Clearly, I'm stressing about this. I know once I get there, all will be okay and it'll be super fun and I won't even think these ridiculous thoughts. Chalk it up to the crazy roller coaster ride my hormones recently vacated! To give you some visuals, I've shared some pictures below. Hope you enjoy this quick walk down Memory Lane as much as I have tonight!

Prom 2003

Most of us...wedding in 2007

 

The Clique...wedding 2006

The upcoming groom and I...2006

Cookout 2008

 

What I'm praying I DON'T look like in 2 days...

Octomom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As expected, we had a blank ultrasound again today. Mike and I are seasoned at this so we went in with our armor on and held it together like champs! Poor Doctor Gospodnetic, I swear he was more upset than we were. Even if he was faking it, I actually felt like he was a little let-down just as much as we were over this one. Anyway, we jumped right into the "what now" questioning and I was referred to the Fertility Institute of Virginia. Fancy, huh?? As soon as the name slipped from his mouth, all I could think about was "multiple babies". I guess this is a common thought, considering that most media portrays "fertility centers" with either a guy in a small room and a cup or InVitro. And to me, IVF equals twins or more. Well, we definitely are ahead of the game because Michael A. Peebles most certainly does not need a little room with a little cup because he has nailed his part (no pun intended!) all three times! It's me that obviously needs some repairing.

 

Sooo...much like any modern, young lady who is about to allow a new man to view her girl bits, I blew up Google this afternoon in search of my new doctor. I am very pleased with everything I've read. I read many posts in forums that discussed both the doctors at this place and didn't see the first negative review; this is promising. The only so-so thing I've read is that in recurrent miscarriage cases at this center, 60% of cases found the problem. That leaves 40% of cases that didn't find out what the issue was. GAH. I need more reassuring numbers!!!! At this point, I learned a LONG time ago this entire situation is out.of.my.hands. Completely. I'm going to the specialist to see if he can identify an easily fixable problem, but I have to remain true to myself and recognize that he may not find a thing and accept that we are on our own. After the first MC, I will openly admit that I was mad at God. I was shocked initially, but the shock wore away and anger remained. I'm not proud of my anger, by any means, but I was. The second MC was even harder, but I started changing my prayer from "please let me keep this kid" to "let me follow the plan you have set for me". And that's exactly what I prayed before, during, and after this recent one. From the beginning, all I've asked was "this is all on you...help me get to where I'm supposed to be in this plan". I can honestly say I didn't have the slightest bit of anger towards God this time around because I know this is part of a bigger scheme. It's an effed up scheme, but it's all I've got to hold on to. After all, when you are struggling and find yourself asking where God is, remember that the teacher is always quiet during a test.

 

I totally stole that from Pinterest.
 

Moving on to a much more pressing matter, I have a situation. Let me give you some background information. I have a neighbor directly across the street from me. Our houses basically mirror each other (they were built from the same floor plan) but differ in colors, etc. We have wrap around front porches with white columns. The first Christmas at our house, we draped garland around our railing and column and had lighted wreaths and deer in the yard. It was very tasteful and classy, and about caused a divorce while putting it up, but that's beside the point. Anyway, this past Christmas, like not even December yet, we got home one afternoon and this bitch stole our decorations! Like totally replicated what we had done the year before. We were beyond pissed. Of course we couldn't put up ours then because we'd look like the copy-cats. It was then that we initiated: YARD WARS.

 

This brings me to now. One of the the deciding factors in our house hunting was the porch because I am a true southerner and demanded proper fern-hanging capability. Every summer, I find the biggest, bushiest ferns and they are proudly displayed from May-November. Our porch has four columns across the front, thus creating the need for three ferns for it to be symmetrically correct. It is still too early in the year to buy them, so our porch is bare. HOWEVER! We wake up Saturday and I open the front door and (GASP!) WHO has put up hanging ferns on her porch?! YES! The no-good, tacky, Christmas-decoration-stealer!!! I was livid. Never in all the summers we've been here (only two, but that's not the point) has she hung ANYTHING up except those big ole honkin' country star things. And I don't mean one, I'm talking like 3 all over the front of her house. Ugh. I immediately shut the door back and tell Mike to get up and look across the road. Because he is my husband and we are totally in sync, he said, "WHAT. She finally cut her grass?" Which was followed by, "NOOOOO BIG DUMMY! SHE JACKED OUR FERNS!!!!!!!" Which was followed by "God you are weird".

Because of all I've been dealing with lately, I've been a total home-body. This has been a good thing, however, it forces me to look across the street with every move I make. By Saturday night, I realized, wait a minute. She only has two ferns on the front and one on the side. She isn't going to put another one on the front. This makes it uneven. Oh my. My OCD can't handle this. I can handle the idea-stealing, but I don't think I can go all summer looking at this house with the missing fern. It'll drive me crazy. I mean, I made Mike take my car back to the dealership several years ago because they put my inspection sticker on my windshield crooked and I coudn't stand it. Yes, I'm a total macadamia. For three days now, I've been staring like a crazy lady at this woman's house. I can't look away. I'm trying to figure out how I can buy another fern and sneak it to her porch during the night without her hearing me. We aren't buddy-buddy, so I surely can't call her or bust up over there and casually mention how retarded it looks with the huge gaping hole. I'm at a loss.

I reckon this situation is much like my fertility issue. Nothing I can do about it, just suffer a little everyday until I'm rewarded (either with a child...or an additional fern...) God sure is quiet during this test. I just pray his OCD is as nutso as mine and he'll stop us during the test to say, "FOR MY SAKE, PLEASE ADD ANOTHER FAH-REAKING FERN TO THAT DAMN PORCH!". Either that, or I'll start praying for her green thumb to turn black.

"3rd time's a charm..."

...is total bullshit. Two weeks ago, I was having a total meltdown because I thought, finally, luck just happened to be on my side. What I knew at the time was this: I conceived on the 13th of the 3rd month of the year and it was my 3rd pregnancy. What I didn't know at the time was that was the beginning of my 3rd miscarriage.

 

On Easter Sunday, I had a saving moment during church. If you know me, or even if you know me through this blog, you know that I'm not an overly religious person. I'm not a perfect Christian and I sure as heck don't try to sell myself as one. However, two weeks ago during chruch I was a crying, weepy lunatic because God was speaking directly to me through my hunky, Korean-model preacher. I had taken a pregnancy test the Thursday night before that Sunday and I was feeling totally beside myself with worry. The sermon was called, "I Die Everyday". I have memorized part of this sermon because when I heard it for the first time, a calmness I can't explain took me over. Rev. Cho said "in life we die everyday, just a little, however, the immense joy from the gift we will find after the suffering will be totally worth the sacrifice of dying". Having had two miscarriages before, these words could not have come at a better time for me. The past two weeks have been an utter emotional rollercoaster. It has not been fun. It has not been pleasant. I have surely died a little every day since seeing that positive test. The best way to explain this insane situation is to break it down in a timeline.

 

December- Was told by Dr. G that if I wasn't pregnant by March, come back in.

March 1-21- Doubtful that I'd conceived. Didn't do the deed on the right days.

March 21 (thu)-Boobs were crazy, achingly sore. Took a test=negative.

March 28 (thu)-Period 2 days late, took a test=postive. I may be a procrastinator, but I get the job done on the required due date ;)

April 1 (mon)-Retest=positive

April 4 (thu)-First ultrasound. Too early to see anything. Postive urine. Positive blood. HCG 750.

April 6 (sat)-Woke up and peed. Wiped bright red blood, no cramps or pain. Had an almost hysterical meltdown.

April 7 (sun)-No blood all day. Called doc. Said to come in Monday for another blood test.

April 8 (mon)- Started bleeding bright red all day. On the way to the doc, started having intense cramping. Knew I was miscarrying; I'm a professional, I would know.

Got to the doc, they took blood. Sitting on table buck naked, bending over in major pain waiting for the doc, I passed a huge amount of gross blood. So embarrassing. Doc comes in. I apologize for making a total mess, explain that I know its happening. He sticks the thing in, and says, "well, you're still pregnant!" I had my head turned away from the screen because frankly, at this point, this was my 5th ultrasound ever and I didn't want to see a blank screen again...but when I looked, there it was. A 50 cent piece sized blob on the screen that had tripled in size since my visit 4 days before. Talk about a miracle! Doc said what I passed was probably a blood clot. All looked good.

April 9 (tue)- Doc called to tell me my bloodwork came back. Said my levels had only increased to 950, which wasn't as high as they should have been. He predicted I'd miscarry in the next few days.

April 9-11-Read every article ever written on threatened miscarriage, bleeding during early pregnancy, vanishing twins, etc. Convinced myself there was still hope because even though I had cramps and bled heavily that one day, I still saw the baby on the screen which means it's still in there. Only spotted off and on these 2 days.

Today, 7:00am-4:00pm-Woke up with period-like cramps (which for me is equals PAIN and no relief, considering I'm only taking regular strength Tylenol for pain, just in case...) Bleeding ALL day (pretty heavily). Gave up any hope that what I saw on the screen on Monday is still there.

4:00pm-Took 5 Ibuprofens (sp?)  and had a tall sweet tea. Probably killed whatever was left inside, if there was anything.

Right now-Lingering cramps, still bleeding. And just plain ANGRY.

 

I have to go back Monday for an ultrasound to make sure all is out and everything looks normal. I have cried and bled everyday since taking that first test. I'm done. I'm SICK of feeling this way. And I'm pale. Like, vampire-ishly pale. It's not healthy. The worst part is, I've read a thousand and two real-life stories from other blogs and community chats and with a newly identified diagnosis of "recurrent miscarriage", there isn't a good chance of them finding out what is wrong with me. Every time I haven't made it past 6 six weeks. There has GOT to be some way for them to test and find out what the deal is. I couldn't be more of a perfect model of a pregnant person when I'm pregnant so I know it has nothing to do with what I'm doing on the outside. Something on the inside has to be fixed and it has to be done before I try again because neither Mike nor I can take this again, I promise you. We die everyday; in the sense that we have suffered everyday with this situation since the first test. We've suffered with worry. (And to the people who told me, "don't worry about it, don't think about miscarrying" obviously have never had two in a row before because that's like being on a diet and watching the molten lava cake sundae from Sonic commercial in slow motion. You are GOING to think about it every second. It's inevitable.) We've suffered every time I've gone to the bathroom. We've suffered with every blank ultrasound screen. We've suffered with every kid I teach whose parents could give a shit less about them yet are unmarried, dirt poor, on drugs, or just generally bad people who had perfectly normal pregnancies and popped out a kid with no issues whatsover. We've suffered with every kid Mike has had to watch being taken away from their crack-head, on-welfare parents who were able to have multiple children while we go through this pain time after time after time. It's not right! We die everyday.

 

Yet while we die a little every day, there will be joy that is ultimately worth all this suffering we've both endured. That is the only thing we both have to hang onto. We may not be the best people in the world. We sure as hell aren't rich. But we have a bond between us that is bigger than any of this. If we don't have a child, the world won't come to an end. We are perfectly content the way we are. It's a huge pill to swallow, because the world would be a little less awesome without the fruit of my loins walking the planet, but it'll be okay. This has been just another battle lost on our part. After I get past the blank screen I'm sure we will see on Monday, we are going balls-to-the-wall with questioning, testing, researching, and studying. There will be a way. I know it. I FEEL it! I knew there was no chance of a pregnancy in March, yet by the grace of God and the postive vibes from people who have had our backs since the first pregnancy test I took on October 23, 2011, it happened. I can't get on Facebook right now because if I see a pregnancy announcement I may actually spontaneously combust on site, yet I wanted to share the latest with my readers. You all have gone above and beyond with your emails, comments, and shared experiences. I have told more than one person that I would NOT be able to go through each and every one of these times without each and every one of you. We may die everyday, but we're still here. And we aren't going down without a fight.