Boo, hiss!

I really need to address something that has been grinding my gears for the past few weeks. It's gonna sound like I'm being bitchy and on my soap-box, but y'all should know me by now that I don't mean to offend anyone, I just have strong opinions. And they are just that; MY opinions. My opinion also goes into overdrive if that particular opinion is something close to me. Which this just happens to be. So, forgive me for stepping up on my bitchy soap-box for a minute.

 

Starting the IVF process is something that I never, in a million years, thought I would be going through. We may think we are choosing our own directions in life, but I'm a walking, talking advertisement for the case that never goes according to plan. No woman ever wants to go through any sort of infertility journey, whether it's a result of recurrent miscarriages, physical defects, or just can't conceive. It's not something we expected nor it is something that all women can understand unless you've been a victim of it. 

 

I have heard just about all I want to hear from naysayers about couples who go through IVF to have a baby. Speaking as one half of one of those couples, I want to be very specific about something: we do not CHOOSE to have IVF. It is the only option that is available in order to have a child.

 

I don't think people realize that for most couples, it's not a decision. It's the only way. I'm not sure where the misconception has come from that IVF is a "bad" or "unnatural" thing. Are you kidding me? IVF is the saving grace for people like me. There are some that stubbornly declare that "IVF is never going to be an option" or "I'd rather have no children than a test-tube baby"...um, they work in Petri dishes, people. Get your facts straight. Then the people who like to say "that's a lot of money to pay for a baby". Well, you pay about that much for a brand new car, so, let's not get carried away. I'm not "paying for my baby". I'm paying specifically to have my husband's sperm put with my ovaries outside of my body then reinserted with a needle through my vagina and cervix and into my uterus.

 

I must say that none of these comments were made to me and that most people have been positive and supportive of us since day one. But I do hear and read these comments from people (who don't know I'm going through it) and it just rubs me the wrong way. Like if it were your first day on the job and you walked into a water cooler conversation about the horror of wearing brown socks and black shoes...and inwardly cringe at the fact that if you lifted your trousers, said water-cooler socialites would see your brown-on-black monstrosity.

 

It hurts your feelings to know people are talking junk about your decision. Your instinct is to defend it, right? Like, 'all your other socks were in the laundry'. Or, 'your dog took one black sock and hid it UNDER (in the middle of) your king-sized bed and you didn't have time to get the broom from God-knows where the broom is because really, who sweeps their house? (Other than Cinderella. And let's face it, she was a freaking over-achiever'.) There. Defended. 

 

IVF is 100% allllll Kristin and 100% alllll Mike. We're just a little unconventional about the way we get the product 'home'. Who wouldn't try it? God wouldn't have made doctors who are smart enough to come up with this stuff if he didn't want people to have kids this way. I could understand it more if couples already had a child and didn't want to try for another one through IVF. But this is our attempt to get ONE child. Just one. The way we get a baby shouldn't be a secret. I'm not proud that I had faulty pipes, but I'm proud of the way we didn't let that set-back get in the way from us to continue to try.

 

There are tons of girls out there who are going through the same things that I went through and will continue to go through to get what they ultimately want. It's human nature to keep fighting for something that's been just out of your reach. No matter what route you take to get there, eventually, you'll grab it. IVF just happens to be my route and I wish there weren't so many party-poopers about it. There. I'm done.

 

I have one more cycle to go through before Round 1 begins. The past two months have flown by and I can't believe this will all be really happening, really soon. Many people have asked and believe me, if I hadn't had to go through it first-hand, I wouldn't have had the first clue about it. I'll try to give you the Reader's Digest version of what is going to happen with the first round.

 

1. When I get my period, I'll begin taking birth control pills. Insane, right? The pill will stop egg production.

 

2. After approximately two weeks on the pill, I'll stop it. Insane, right? I'll start injections (Yes. With needles. Into my stomach. OHEMGHEE.) The injections are basically medicines to make my ovaries stimulated--which causes lots of eggs to be produced.

 

3. I'll be monitored by blood tests and ultrasounds to determine egg maturity.

 

4. After my eggs have matured, I'll go in and have them taken out. (The eggs.) They take as many as they can get. They'll mix them with Mike's specimen and wait for fertilization.

 

5. I'll be monitored and when the time is right, the fertilized embryos will be directly inserted into my uterus.

 

6. We wait two weeks and hope for implantation. I'll take a pregnancy test to see if we were successful.

 

6 1/2. Since I've taken and gotten a positive pregnancy test four times before, I'll be on pins and needles to make it past the six week mark. This will be the true indicator that my problem was fixed and I can stay pregnant.

 

7. If it doesn't take, we'll wait a few months and restart.

 

This sounds really simple when I put it like this, but in fact, it's a seriously crazy process that is dependent on time and closely monitored hormone levels, blood work, faith, and a little bit of science. It will truly be an experience and take much effort from a number of people.

 

(And I mean the people who are up to bat for making this work. Not the people who say mean things about it whose eye lashes I'd like to pluck off and burn inside a test tube. I mean, a petri dish.)

You've Got To Be IVF'n Kiddin' Me

This is my first official week of summer where I have absolutely noth-ing to do. No doctor appointments, no summer school, no jury duty, nothing. It's Monday afternoon and I'm officially going a little bonkers. You just can't give a girl who has a brain that is constantly doing something a whole week off with nothing to even think about. It's torture.

 

I've been cleared from my regular ob-gyn (aka his rap name, "Dr. Tube Tay-Kah") and am officially on my very first period without two vital parts of the female reproductive system! Yay for a working uterus! I go back in August to the fertility doctor so they can start the first round of meds with my cycle (kinda like a test-run before the real deal). I'll have my first (and hopefully, prayerfully, only one!) round of IVF in September.

 

For those of you who are wondering, IVF stands for In Vitro Fertilization. In a nutshell, although the entire procedure would be better related to, "in a watermelon", very smart, geeky science guys will take out as many fertilized eggs that I can produce in a month and combine them with a sampling of Mike's finest sperm. Once fertilized, they'll take 1 or 2 and insert them directly into my uterus to hopefully implant and make a baby. Holla. This could work the first round, or it might not work at all. It's a crazy intense process that is only beginning, but it is one that is almost guaranteed. So why not?! Not like I haven't been through a crazy intense process the last few years. Might as well keep going.

 

Never in a million years when I started writing this blog would I have thought this was a route I'd be taking. I feel like it's taken three years to figure out my system, have the problem solved, and find a solution. I've watched other people who are and have gone through fertility issues along with me get pregnant and have babies, some even on second and third children. I've written for three years about recurrent miscarriage and I've often talked about how I get strength from the stories of others. While I feel like we are definitely on the road to a solution, I can't help but think of those women like me who will never find a problem and who will more than likely have even more miscarriages. It might make me weird, but I thank God every single morning for letting me have a problem that could be worked around, for I know there are women who will always wonder.

 

Many of my followers are going through situations like mine and I can't help but give y'all a shout out. There is always a little bit something good to come out of a little bit something bad. I refuse to tell you "it will all be alright" or "just hang in there" because that's advice I never wanted to hear myself. Even if you aren't religious, you have to keep a positive outlook or you'll be miserable. You have to believe "this WILL happen" even if there are days when you truly feel like it won't.

 

And who the heck am I kidding? I may go through 100 rounds of IVF and never get anything either. But I never thought I'd even have another option and look where I am now. It's most frustrating to me when others around me who've gone through their own issues gain success. That sounded REALLY mean. I didn't mean it that way--I swear! It's just like, they get their happy ending, when's mine? I feel like I'm already celebrating over the fact that IVF is a good possibility for us. I feel like I've gotten one step closer to "baby" while there are so many others out there who are sort of stuck in the same place. I ask those who are still going through tough situation to hang in there with me...you never know what possibilities are out there!

 

Okay, no more baby-talk for now. I love, love, love, going to conferences and meetings that I get paid extra for. Like, y'all will feed me, pay me, and all I have to do is just sit there an listen? YES, PLEASE. Even better, most of the time they will send you to these things with your co-workers that are your BFFs.

 

But sometimes, they won't. And you're the only one you know going. Which means you'll have to awkwardly look around and try to judge the person you're gonna sit beside for the next six hours and pray, just pray, that they are 1. Not annoying and 2. Not a vegetarian who will judge every morsel of the probably-high-caloric catered food that is surely for lunch.

 

You walk into the over-priced banquet room. In the front of the room, you look and see a large screen. Yes! This means a PowerPoint, which means they'll have it printed out, which means I can mark each slide off and know how much longer we have, and also, doodle paper. Always avoid the front, because 9 times outta 10, the speakers will try to interact with you at some point. They also like to pick on the people in the very back because they think "Oh they've avoided the front so they wouldn't have to do much! Hahaha, I'll show them". That means, it's best to sit in the middle, preferably close to a side wall.

 

Most of the people in the room are probably teachers. But there could be administrators. You can point them out because they are usually dressed the nicest and like they are going to a funeral. Avoid sitting with them. (Let me add, I'm not speaking of my admin. They know ((OH THEY KNOW!)) if I walk in a room and they are in there, I'm sitting with them.) Anyway, you never know when you might have to switch counties for some reason or another and you don't want to walk into an interview with said admin only to have them remember, "Oh shit, this is that really inappropriate girl from that conference that one time".

 

After identifying the higher-ups, you should be able to easily break down the other groups and decide where you will best fit for the day. There's always a group of men, probably history  or PE teachers, who will talk your ears off about stuff you'll never understand. Avoid. There's probably a younger group of teachers who are fresh outta college and will drive you crazy because they've set up their areas with Mac notebooks, pens, highlighters, etc. like we're getting ready to find out the answers to the SATs. They'll also be the annoying "ask questions" group which only draws attention to your table and further makes the speakers think, "Oh they're really interested, let's eat with them at lunch". Avoid.

 

This usually leaves two groups that you have to be extremely careful over picking. Group 1 will be your "mature" group. Group 2 will be your "I've got 1 year left before retirement" group. They may look the same, but my friends, they are not. Group 1 is the "I know it all and I will try my hardest to convince you of that, all while saying things that don't make sense". Group 2 is the "I've been here the longest, I've done it all, this stuff you're presenting won't work, but I'm glad you think so, what's for lunch?" <--- This group, y'all, is the group you want to be with. You'll learn the most from listening to them, they are probably hilarious, and they share similar interests (that being, lunch and snacks). Also, they'll think you're super cool because you have all the answers to the "group work" that's been assigned. (Only because you're smart enough to look ahead in the PowerPoint packet for the answers that are surely already done for you).

 

I hope these tips have been most helpful to you if you find yourself in a summer meeting/conference. I have several more coming up so if you see me walk in the room, I hope there are no hard feelings if I don't sit at your table. It's not you, it's probably your "group".

Exit Ramp CLOSED

It would appear I've left you in limbo since my last post. Usually when I leave you hanging, it's for a good reason. I can't think of a better reason than what I'm getting ready to share with you!

 

First, a quick recap: our last miscarriage was October 2013. I decided to get away from all my doctors, charts, temperatures, etc. As ignorant as it might have seemed, I wanted to do it all on my own.

 

On June 5th, I had no choice but to call my fertility doctor because my folic acid supplement was about to run out. I figured by talking to his nurse, I could avoid him and she could just call in the prescription for me. Of course by now I should have known that nothing works the way I plan it. Dr. Edelstein ended up calling me the next day and talked me into coming to see him to chat about "options".

 

On June 10th, Mike and I went in and learned that my "Dream Team" of gynecologists had discussed my case and very much agreed that I had something going on with my fallopian tubes. We knew my last pregnancy was in my right tube and the three others never made it to where it was supposed to go.

 

We stayed at his office for about two hours and came up with our game plan. Step One in Mission: "Might Be Possible" was to visit with my original Ob-gyn, Dr. Gospodnetic to see about going in (literally) to check out my potentially faulty plumbing.

 

On June 16th (this past Monday), Mike and I went in and I had an ultrasound on my lady bits. The outcome was less than stellar. I definitely needed surgery and my tubes definitely needed to come out. After another two hour appointment, my salpingectomy was scheduled for Wednesday.

 

Today is Friday. I'm at home in bed (and I may or may not be on a high from my new best friend, Percocet. I'm actually considering naming my first born "Percocet" since she's been such a good friend to me). I'm also lacking two very damaged fallopian tubes that pretty much caused us to have all our miscarriages in the first place. Three years of going through...whatever you want to call it, only to have the cause for it all solved in less than two weeks. Keep in mind that I had all my parts checked out after my first MC. My tubes were in okay condition then, but each miscarriage caused serious wear and tear.

 

If you're like me and spent all your classroom hours of Family Life passing notes back and forth to your friends and NOT paying attention, you missed some pretty solid, simple facts about the female reproductive system. Let me help you out. The only things you need to have a baby are: eggs, sperm, and a healthy uterus. Check, check, and CHECK!

 

Most women have 2 ovaries that contain the eggs that are produced during a girl's cycle. When a boy and a girl have unprotected sex, his sperm heads straight to the ovaries so an egg can be fertilized. Said fertilized egg then exits off the ramp and travels through the tubes until it reaches the uterus and grows.

 

My left tube was almost completely deteriorated. My right tube was severely damaged and right ovary had many lesions (probably from scar tissue from my old ovarian cyst). With that type of damaged piping, it was apparent that I could get pregnant easily, it was just impossible for the fertilized egg to get where it needed to go.

Having my tubes removed was a no-brainer for us. Why risk another pregnancy when obviously we knew the outcome wouldn't be a good one? I teach alllll types of children, yet it is my job to get them to pass the SAME test at the end of the year. Some children learn different ways, but what they come to know at the end of the year is the same. I can still have a child; I just have to take a different route than what most normal women take! At this point in my life, this shouldn't surprise me. "Different" should be monogrammed on all my clothes.

 

I'm still in shock over learning that my miscarriages actually could be solved. Months of having no answers from anyone and here I sit typing, recovering from having my body corrected. Ironically, this week would've marked our first child's second birthday had my first miscarriage never happened. To have my body "fixed" this same week, well, if that ain't something, I don't know what is!! So here's to all the construction workers  and support people who've repaved our roads to having a kid. This road has been ridiculously bumpy and we still have many miles to go, but one thing is for sure: I can rock a neon orange DOT vest until all the bumps have been smoothed out. After all, the exit ramp might be permanently closed 'round here, but there's always a detour to getting where you want to go.

Girl Scout

I was briefly a Girl Scout at some point of my adolescence. I'm sure it was because they probably offered snacks after school or something. All organizations know, "if you feed her, Kristin will come".

I don't think I've ever really had to implement anything I learned from Girl Scouts into everyday life before. Unless you count learning that Samoas are best if you heat them 10 seconds in the microwave before eating. Because this 28 year-old sure as heck knows that. Just ask my garbage man who sees the empty purple boxes piled up every February.

THE best place to exercise is the Tobacco Heritage Trail. I've been burning it up for months now and it's just the best. It's flat, it's quiet. It's peaceful. It's also far away from any sort of modernized toilet...

FYI: Be prepared. I'm getting ready to go "there".

Just some quick background information= I'm so irregular, it's not even funny. They should fire Jamie Lee Curtis and hire me as the spokesperson for Activia yogurt. I can go a week without going. And it's. just. the. worst. There isn't a food you could recommend that I haven't already tried to prompt me to "go". I've done water, I've done powders. It's just how I am. When it gets to a certain point, I'll just take a softener. Then a few days after, I'll go and everything is back to normal.  Surprisingly, even though I've been eating much cleaner, I still haven't gotten on a decent routine. Last weekend, it had been about 6 days with no results. We went to a ballgame and I decided to fill up on super fatty foods to try and...get something started. But, nothing.

Saturday morning, I'm about to head to the trail and I take 3 fiber pills. I figure I'd have something to work with by Monday. I get to the trail and walk about a half a mile. I start running for another half mile until I start to get what one can only describe as an "unpleasant" feeling in my lower abdomen.

 

I'm still running, but I've slowed significantly. Is this a period cramp? Why do I feel "bubbly"? And I meant the "bubbly" in the physical way, not the personality way. All of a sudden, I stop mid-stride. I double over in pain as a sharp stab goes through my stomach. Well. That's too high to be my period. Am I gassy? Do I need to..?? I turn and look both ways on the trail but I don't see anybody or any wildlife. And yes, apparently, I'm that girl who thinks that if I let out some "air" that I'll attract some sort of wildlife. I start walking and figure I'll be dainty about my gas until I try to squeeze and suddenly realize...oh honey, that's NOT gas.

 

I'm FAH-reaking out. I start to pace but my knees are pressed together like I'm holding a golf ball in between them and if I let them go, who knows what will...trickle out. Holy mother of cows, this is going to happen. I start to strategize. I'm a mile and a half away from the truck. I'll never make it that far back. Even if I do, it'll take 10 minutes back to town. Shit! Oh shit. Don't say "shit". Get yourself together! If I go in my pants, Mike won't let me in the truck. I'm going to go in the woods. Oh my GAWD. I can't squat. What if I get it all over my shoes? What if I sit on a snake? And what about the ticks? POISON IVY! OMG. Poison ivy...down THERE!

 

All of this seems to happen in about a 3 minute time span. At about 2 minutes, 45 seconds, it becomes apparent that I have to go in the woods. IMMEDIATELY. Deep breaths. Deeeeep breaths. I check up and down the trail again but no sign of people which is fantastic because I really don't want to go too far off the path. But I also don't want anyone to walk by and see all this glory that's about to happen. And it's NOT going to be pretty. The entire time I'm scanning the area for said snakes, ticks, and poison ivy. I'm also looking for tracks of bears, mountain lions, and sasquatches. Because really, I'm sure these creatures only appear when prissy white girls have their jogging britches around their ankles while they poop unceremoniously for all God's children to see.

 

I find a clear spot and thank the running Gods that I don't have any underwear on because I was sweating so badly that I could barely peel my leggings down. Yeah, I thought I was grateful about that...until I realized I. DIDN'T. HAVE. TOILET. PAPER.

 

I do what I had to do and start scrounging around for something to wipe with. If I take a sock off, I'll have to walk back a mile and a half barefoot and I'll get blisters. I have no sleeves to yank off. I'm screwed. About this time, my imagination takes over and I'm stuck in an episode of The Walking Dead. I'm in the middle of the woods, in this position, and I have no way to boldly fight off Walkers. I also sadly realize that I'm also lacking one Daryl Dixon, therefore, the zombies are going to attack and eat me while I'm squatting on the forest floor with my sweat-soaked pants rolled down to my ankles which are now surrounded with all of last night's junk food. Which means MY zombie will not only be a sweaty, unappealing version of me, but one with no pants. This takes "I'm up shit creek without a paddle" to a whole new level, ladies and gentlemen.

 

I start doing Lamaze breathing treatments even though I feel like I just gave birth. I calm myself down enough to start looking closely at my surroundings. I see that I'm beside an oak tree which has a pretty wide leaf. I know I'm not allergic to that type so I yank a few off and clean myself up. I will NEVER be picky about my toilet paper again, mind you. I work my pants back up and re-check the trail for pedestrians. Once clear, I head back in the direction I came from. I'm walking like a duck, waddling side-to-side, because while I appreciated the lack of panties 10 minutes before, I am now cursing myself. I finally make it back to where I need to be. I get myself home and check all nooks and crevices for ticks.

 

There were so many life lessons learned on this day. And all I kept thinking of afterwards was how I survived (almost) a traumatic experience all by myself. I surely didn't pay attention in Girl Scouts so I can't contribute the resources I used in the woods to them. However, if there was a badge to be earned for what I went through last weekend, I'm sure it'd say "I'm a Shitty Survivor".

Eat your fiber, boys and girls.

Options

I realize this post has been MIA for the last month. So I'm sorry for the un-connected feeling you've been having from the Kristin Connection.

I've been putting all my eggs into one basket lately, and that basket is called "I'm Obsessed With My Fitness Pal". Like, seriously. I've been counting calories and walking/jogging/running my a$$ off for the past 2 months. Naturally, I'm exhausted by the time I make it home in the evenings and I can't process what I want for dinner, much less what I want to write about.

I started this blog to have an outlet for my stress of all things miscarriagey. It's been eight months since the last one so obviously there really hasn't been much to talk about...until yesterday.

I've basically been avoiding my fertility doctor like the plague. After Number Four, I resigned from all things pregnancy. No more temperatures, no more counting days, just no more of any of it. I learned to block it all out and pretty much have taken on the mantra, "it'll either happen or it won't".

Friday I ran out of my folic acid supplement so I had to call his office for a refill. Since he was out of the office, I had to wait until Monday. Monday afternoon I had 2 voicemails. One was from a nurse letting me know she had sent the prescription in. The other was from Dr. Edelstein telling me to call him...he wants to talk. Aw lawd.

It's like seeing somebody you don't like in public...you avoid eye contact at all costs, then somehow the universe works it until you're standing in line with them and have no choice but to grin and bare it. (Side note: I could dedicate an entire post on the proper usage of "bear" and "bare". I don't know which one is correct in my usage of the phrase. I'm confidently going with "bare", as in, the person I don't like bares their ugly soul I'll just stand there and grin.)

I waited until yesterday to call him back. He was quite annoyed that I had let 8 months pass me by with nothing to show for it. He's like, "Kristin, it's been 3 years. It's time to make something happen". And I'm all like, "not to be rude, but what is there to make happen? You've tested me and there's no definite reason for my miscarriages, what's left that any of us can do?" <----because really, in my mind, there is nothing that anybody can do in my situation. Then he throws out the big guns. "Ohhh, there are several options".

Options? And my interest was piqued. He went on to explain that the more he studied my history, he feels like I may have a tubular issue. (Pregnancy happens, just in the wrong place. An explanation for why I've never seen a decent blob on the ultrasound). I asked him if he meant IVF (In vitro fertilization) and he said, "that, among other things". Among other things?! My mind was blown. I've never allowed myself to think that there could be alternate ways around my issue because I've never understood my issue.

I've pretty much gone 8 months blocking all this stuff from my mind to 2 days of thinking of nothing else. Planting a pregnancy in my uterus would bypass my tubes altogether. Which could work. If that's the problem. I could also spend THOUSANDS. I said, THOUSANNNNDDSSSS of dollars on this procedure, get pregnant, and lose it all over again. Gah! It would mean medicines and poking and probing and trips up and down the road BUT it could get me something that I've been denied since my very first pregnancy.

I hadn't fully thrown away the towel but the towel had started unraveling. Now, I'm all about buying a sewing machine and fixin' it right on up because we have an appointment Tuesday! We might not have anything to show for our hard work the past few years but apparently, we got OPTIONS, baby.

**Stay tuned and I'll repost next week after my visit.

Naaaasowenyaaaamamabeseebabah

Have you ever had a moment when you see yourself on video/in pictures and you go, "Who. is. THAT?" while turning your nose up?  I mean, there are occasions where the question "Who. is. THAT?" is meant in a very good way, such as when you are at the doctor's office and you see a particularly attractive member of the opposite sex...and you adjust your phone like you're playing a game or looking at something awkwardly on the screen when really you're taking a Snap of said person and sending it to your girlfriends. Yeah, I don't mean that kind. 

Earlier today, I tried showing my class a video of them performing at a program we had last week. So I pull up the clip and hit "start" on my gigantic Promethean screen that even Stevie Wonder could see from the back of the classroom and low and behold, the first person I see is myself...from the back. LAWWWWWWdamurcy. There I sat, on the front row of the audience, in front of God and errrrbody. I'm cringing at myself then all of sudden, the digital version of me hops up on the stage to adjust a mic and awww nawww...I jumped up from the desk I was watching it from and hit "X" on the computer screen. I couldn't take it!

I've been regularly exercising since mid-January. I've been balls-to-the-wall dieting and exercising since April 1. I mean, after the first day, I was like "Okay, why can't I fit into single digits jeans yet?" It's been all downhill since then.

The ONLY way I've been able to stick to my guns through this devastating period of my life is that all my close friends and co-workers are drop-dead-Fred serious about it with me. It's like my own personal chubster-Kristin therapy called, "Over-Eaters-Anonymous". It's working. I'm not happy about it. But it's working. When my walking PIC (partner in crime) and I are straight ballin' through our neighborhoods, it's like the real-life version of The Lion King's Timon and Pumba. She's like 5'10 and I'm like 5'3, so she's basically the tall skinny one and I'm basically, you guessed it, a freakin' wart hog with stubby legs. And if you don't believe me, then you obviously weren't sitting behind me at the program last week!!!!!!! Ba-da-bum.

Seriously, our nightly walking/jogging/dying jaunts are basically the script of the entire Lion King movie. (Check out the title of this post! Now do you get it?!) New life is born (we are the beginner runners). Scar is a villain (the  skinny bitch that passes us every night completely smokin' us is pure evil, I'm sure). Rafiki is KA-razy (We ran into a recently escaped Schizophrenic patient while walking behind the hospital a few weeks ago and I had to call 911 to save us.) The stampede. (is what we sound like 30 seconds into our jog). The Elephant Graveyard (is what I feel like I should be buried in 2 minutes, 30 seconds into our jog.) The Watering Hole (should I have this much spit in my mouth when I run? It's disgusting, really.) The song, "Be Prepared" (is what somebody should've told me about wearing cheeky underwear while working out. I've got a crick in my neck from turning around behind me while running to check and be sure nobody is there so I can pull out the chronic wedgie I can't shake. Is it socially acceptable to go commando while exercising? If it's not, can somebody help a sistah out and let me know what type I should be wearing?)

I moan and groan about it but I'm still doing it. After all, it's what I do in between pregnancies it seems. I work out til I get pregnant. I stop for a few weeks because I'm scared to move. I miscarry. Wait a few weeks to get my body back to normal. Then start all over again. And THAT, Sir Elton John, is the Circle of Life. At least my life, that is.

The whole baby thing has been pushed to the back of my mind for the most part until there's a wave of new babies or new pregnancy announcements (which happens every few months) I try REEEALLY hard not to allow myself to get upset about it when I hear a bunch of news. I'm stronger than that, I tell myself. Sometimes, just because I'm human, I let myself become overwhelmed with emotions about it (in the privacy of my own home) because I feel like I'm getting left behind. Does that make sense? It's like, people older than me are having babies. People younger than me are having babies. All the people I used to connect with over NOT being able to have babies have all had babies...it's just sad for me sometimes because I'm the one NOT having them.

I have to separate myself from society though. It's often hard to make myself realize that I shouldn't be upset over not having a child because it's what everybody else is doing. You shouldn't get married because "it's what everybody else is doing". You shouldn't get a salad at a restaurant because "it's what everybody else is doing". I want a child because I want to be able to leave a legacy behind. I want to see my quirkiness in a mini-human that the person I love the most and I made. I hope that's why people have babies in the first place. I'm just adjusting to swallowing the pill that is the fact that maybe I'll have to leave a different kind of legacy behind other than a child. And that's okay. Perhaps writing professionally is the road I'm taking to leaving a legacy rather than making another person. That's a basket I should be putting all my eggs into instead of letting tears fall over nonsense that I can't control.

My legs are throbbing and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to get out of the chair I'm sitting in. I'm heading to bed 'cos in keeping with my theme, this lion needs to sleep tonight. Until next time, Hakuna Matata, my friends.

 

(Pumba's face below is what mine looked like this morning when I saw myself on tape. Classic.)

 

Touche (imagine that word with the accent mark)

Okay, so a million things are happening in my brain right now. I have the perfect post for tonight, and I've known all afternoon what I wanted to title tonight's story, but then I logged in and saw that I've now reached over 10,000 views and I'm flipping OUT, and I'm also having to Google in another tab how to put the accent mark over the word touché. Which totally makes me a 'douche'. (<----- Keyboard totally autocorrected the touché for me, but all other words that have accent marks are apparently not good enough. How dare they!)

 

The title for this post is just one word: touché. However, in the section where I have to type the title, it won't autocorrect the accent mark, hence the title I had to use. Moving on. I'm over my snit.

 

This past Saturday, Mike and I were going out of town for dinner. Per usual, I started getting ready an hour and a half before we were supposed to leave. Needless to say, An hour and forty-five minutes after the time I started getting ready, I was walking out the door. Only to find Mike sitting in the car, with it ON, waiting for me.

 

He didn't say anything, but like everything in life, actions speak louder than words. I immediately knew at that moment what I would be writing about this week...

 

As a pre-teen, I can honestly say I had a less than stellar hygiene routine. I mean, I took showers people, but there were many a time when I would forget to put on deodorant, forgot to wash my face using the expensive stuff my Mama bought me for acne, etc. etc.

 

In college, there were plen-ty of times when I went to bed at God knows what hour, WITH a full-face of make-up on. Then woke up four hours later and went to class with the same face on from the day before, using Mentos to brush my teeth, and didn't. even. CARE.

 

So what on God's green earth has changed within me, at age 28, that it now takes an HOUR AND FORTY-FIVE MINUTES to achieve a mediocre, presentable Kristin?  Let me walk you through my process and maybe, I'll discover for myself why this abomination is occurring in my full-grown adult life.

 

SHOWER: I'd say this is the longest part of the operation. At a full 20 minutes, many things that happen behind the clothes take place. If it's a shaving day, I have to use my Ultra Sensitive Shaving cream, along with the winner of last summer's "Kristin's Search For the Perfect Razor By Purchasing Every Razor Ever Made" marathon. Because the hair on my legs grows in circles, (literal...CIRCLES) this is long and drawn out process. If I'm awake enough, I'll have been smart enough to shampoo and condition BEFORE this happens so I can leave the conditioner in while shaving. Then I use my fancy face soap. Then I use my fancy body wash. Then I rinse. Then I'm done. Not even gonna lie, back in the day, I could've been caught using shampoo to wash my hair, body, and as shaving cream lather in a pinch. 

 

POST-SHOWER, BEFORE HAIR: With a towel wrapped around my head I brush AND floss--EURday, because I don't like my teeth with fur. Now it's time for some jams. I grew up on country music so by the time I got my own car, I started expanding (widely!) my music collection. Basically, I can still bust out in song when I turn on a country station because they're still playing the same songs that came out when I was FIVE, but I've really grown past that music scene. I'm into all kinds of music, but lately, I've been ALLLLL about the tunes that were huge when I was a teenager. Soooo, probably anything from 1998-2004ish is on my hit list now. I was also born into the wrong generation--I should've been an 80s kid, because I know like, every single 80s song, ever. And I'm confident with my awkward white girl status enough to say that I am quite ghetto fabulous when it comes to knowing hip-hop.

 

While I'm putting on my face, I like to hear something up-beat and pumping, so I begin with a little Jay-Z "Dirt off Ya Shoulder". I start my in-closet search then head back to the vanity. I put on fancy cleanser and fancy moisturizer. Then fancy acne-curing concealer and SPF 45 primer. I'm all about the preventing skin cancer movement, even though I've been known to lay out on a beach for eight hours a day with NADA on my body. By this time, something Whitney has come on and I'm completely preoccupied. "So Emotional" is blasting, and I'm in the mirror like I'm auditioning for her music video back-up singer. I bust a move across the bedroom to my jewelry armoire to pick out matching accessories for the day. Rudy is hiding under the bed at this point because there's air kicking and air punching and head-swinging involved and there's also a pretty good chance that this is all happening sans pants.

 

MAKE-UP: By now I'm back to the vanity and I'm putting on eye liner if I'm in the mood. I have squinty Asian eyes so when I wear liner, I'm pretty much screamin' goth. Some days I just feel 'goth', so I go with it. I put on foundation, then powder, then blush, then eye shadow, then mascara. Nine times outta ten, I stab my eye with the mascara wand and I have to take five to stop the tears. Then I laugh at myself because all the stuff I just put on my face is now a sodden mess. And it looks funny, so I usually stop and take a pic to send to somebody via Snapchat. It takes ten more minutes to fix what all I just messed up.

 

HAIR: This is my favorite part. It's no secret that while God blessed me with faulty baby-making parts, a faulty gall-bladder, whacked jaws, and apparently circular growing hair patterns on my shins, he also blessed me with some fabulous hair. No matter the length, the color, or the style, I've always liked my hair, thus I spend some time loving on it to get it looking the way I like. Most days, I blow it straight, then flat iron which takes maybe 20 minutes. If I'm running WAY late, I use product and scrunch it up, Wavy Lays style.

 

DRESSING: This is the part where I put on what I picked out, stare at myself in the mirror and become disgusted, and take it all off. Which calls for a re-evaluation of the jewelry and eye make-up. The stereo usually flicks to something 90s-ish by now and En Vogue's "Neva Gonna Get It" inspires me to bust out a solo using hair brushes. At the "whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa" part, I usually hear Mike's exasperation from somewhere in the other room so I know I'm pushing the time limit. If my jeans don't require the lay-flat-on-the-bed-and-suck-in fresh out the dryer routine, I can usually be dressed and ready in 10. Sometimes my feet sweat in flats (okay I lied, they sweat all the time) so I put baby powder in my shoes. Not to block out the smell, but apparently to cause a dust to fly up all over my clothes when I slide my feet into them. That causes a minor set-back, so I have to sit and brush off the white that has attacked me...everywhere. I check myself in the mirror and if it's a really good Kristin day, my vain self will bust out the cell phone, cos before it, I have no idea how I looked, apparently.

 

It is a known fact to friends, family, and coworkers that if something should happen to me while in their presence, before 911 is called, #1, check to make sure I have on underwear (if not, I'll let you know where I've stashed a pair I can slip on real quick. And wipe that judge-y look off your face--certain leggings and white pants sometime require commando. Don't even act like you've never done it) Then, #2, get my phone and erase the 405 pictures of myself with 20 different face poses. I'm hugely into pop culture and I'm a victim of this fad. Deal with it. Accept it. You've heard intimate details about my uterus on multiple occasions. Knowing I'm a selfie queen shouldn't sway you away at this point in our relationship!

 

There you have it. What it takes to make...allll this *stands and gestures from head to toe* I guess growing up has made me hyperaware of myself and what I smell and look like to the world. I am certainly not the skinniest or most in shape person, but I know how to tweak it to make myself presentable and most importantly, happy with myself. All girls should be proud of what they have to work with and know how to work it to the best of their ability. Even if it means we girls are deserving of huffy sighs from our spouses who crank up the car and sit in it to make a statement EVERY time you have plans.

 

I just realized my routine took so long to explain that I left out my "touché" story. It takes too long to get ready in real life and it takes too long to explain the story of how I get ready. Perhaps this post was the cure for me shortening my process? Touché. (<---- BOOM!)