A Teacher Story

Let me tell you the story about the 5th grade teaching position I almost didn’t have.

Right around a year ago, knowing that my elementary school was being closed down, and my town was switching from a K-6 to a K-2, 3-5 model, I was impatiently waiting to find out my new position. I knew all the 6th grade teachers would be heading up to the middle school, but unfortunately, they only had room for 16 of them – and I, on the hierarchy of 6th grade teachers, was the youngest, at #18.

One Thursday afternoon, word spread like wildfire in my building that the placements had arrived. The whole staff gathered in the main office (it was the end of the school day), shut the door, and mourned the loss of our building. In particular, a 4th grade teacher (who, after 17 years, was being moved to 5th grade) and I were balling our eyes out. Now – I’m not a crier in front of anyone – if I cry in front of you, it must be really bad. And I was balling/hyperventilating.

They were putting me in a kindergarten support position – not even classroom teacher. Now, I had spent the past four years as a 6th grade teacher, including my final year at my old school, where I was the only 6th grade teacher in the building and started the year out with 29 kids. Those students were awesome – such leaders – and I took such pride in having them be role models for the rest of the building. This new job, this support position, would involve me sharing a room with a few other support people, and pulling kindergarteners who were struggling with math or reading to work in a small group with me for a half hour. That’s it. There’s nothing wrong with having this as a job, mind you, but it’s not for me. I had just finished my 2nd Master’s degree, and I wanted to put what I learned to good use. With 6th graders. Not struggling kindergarteners. Worst of all, what I loved most about teaching – connecting with the students – would be virtually impossible, not only with that age of student, but for the amount of time I’d see them a day. I would not have my own room, I wouldn’t be able to put smiley faces on papers, I wouldn’t be able to talk about college and life plans with the kids…etc. Gosh, a year ago I was one hot mess. I was freaking out.

In those last few months of school, one year ago, I was sad. My school was closing, my staff was going to be spread out all over town, I would miss my students whom I grew close to, and I was heading into, for me, what would have been the worst job of all time.

I don’t really know what happened after that, besides my principal speaking, multiple times, with the HR director. She put in a good word for me, and I think he contacted other people about me as well. I left him messages…trying to put a bug in his ear without flat-out harassing him. Rumors were swirling that another 6th grade position had opened up at the middle school, and either I might get it, or #17 on the list. If she took that job, her newly-appointed 5th grade position would open up. I’d happily take either one, hence the phone calls. In my head, I was begging – please, please, I cannot have this as my job – I just can’t. I’ll be stuck in this position forever and I’ll never get out.

You know what people said, in an effort to try and get me to feel better? “Oh, don’t worry. You won’t have to correct papers or deal with parents; you’ll be so free that you can put all your effort into getting pregnant.” Ha!

Anyway, on the second to last day of school last year, with my room full of packed boxes, and in the middle of our “graduation” awards ceremony, I got a phone call from the HR director. “We found you a position,” he said, “in the office building. You don’t have any windows or anything but it’s not that bad.” I sort of choked on the phone, and he said, “I’m kidding! You got the 5th grade position. Over 15 people asked me to switch into that position, but I gave it to you.”

One year later, and I am wrapping up  my 5th year of teaching, but my first year teaching 5th grade. Had I been stuck in that support job, not pregnant, not connecting with the kids, I would’ve been a horrible wreck all year. Instead, I was handed the funniest, happiest class I’ve ever had. Well-rounded, helpful, and outgoing, these are students I enjoy being around every day. Friday afternoon kickball games are the best part of the week. And as this school year winds down, with 20 days left, I am reminded just how lucky I am to have been given this 5th grade spot, with wonderful teaching partners (including the 4th grade teacher from my previous school who was moved to 5th ) and wonderful kids.I will be sad to see this year end, as I am every year.

This is why I was especially delighted to read this paragraph from Lindsay over at Tiny Bits of Hope:

Only 20 days left of school.  This is always a tough time of year for me.  I grow too attached to my students, I think that is why they respond so well to me, because they know how much I truly care for them.  I almost always cry on the last day of school, every year has gotten a little easier, but no ending to a year is easy. 

This is exactly how I feel! Everyone is happy for the end of school year except me, and I don’t think I handle the change well. I also grow too attached to my students, knowing how well they respond to me, and I learn this lesson the hard way every year – with this year being one of the hardest.I have no doubt tears will be shed after my students file out the door for the last time.

I guess the easiest way to describe what a good class is like for a teacher, especially in this black cloud of infertility, is to say that they make you feel like a superhero; a rock star. Like you can do no wrong, as they shriek and jump for joy when you walk into the room as if you are a celebrity; like showing up to work every day makes them happy and excited. I only hope in a given school year to inspire and guide them into becoming successful, kind, and happy pre-teens. But I can never count on what they do for me – build me up and carry me through whatever I am going through.

I’m sure that when I have kids, someday, I will lose a little bit of this closeness I build with my students every year, because instead of giving all 150% of me that I currently give, it will probably be more like 70%. Until then, these are my kids from 8:30-3:00, and I don’t take that responsibility lightly.

Every September you are given a group of children of whom you try to mold, shape, and guide all year long. Every June, you say goodbye, feeling as if your own actual children have just left you for good.

Teaching is the hardest, yet most rewarding job around, I think, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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In fertility news, I spoke with my nurse yesterday after having my second blood test done this week. “Wow,” she exclaimed, “I cannot believe you didn’t respond to 150 mg of Clomid! I was sure you would!” After describing my serious depression last weekend to her, and wondering aloud if I lost my mind, she said, no, I didn’t – and that what I was describing was extremely common. That did make me feel a bit better, and I told her I don’t want to go up to 200 mg of Clomid, or even stay at 150. She said I’d be probably moving on to injectables (thank you for the information, everyone, about that in my last post), but I would need to make an appointment with the doctor before changing up the plan.

I called today to make the appointment – and they have nothing until a month from now. Seriously. A month. So, the month of June, in blog-land, won’t have much news in it. I’ll be in limbo until I call to get Provera and induce a period, right before I meet with the doctor. I haven’t had to wait around like this since before Christmas – it will be a bit weird.

However, it’s my last month with my students. Hopefully, putting Clomid hormones aside, I will be able to enjoy every minute I have left with them before they are off to middle school and I’ll be left with an empty classroom until September.

By the way, we won the fundraiser for the first week of Penny Wars ($216 raised in a week) – and will be rewarded with a fancy doughnut and juice breakfast

 

What’s an injectable?

Well, my husband and I have made a decision. I’m done with Clomid.

I say that, though if the option of stair-stepping with a lower dose is available, I’d try that. But if that isn’t on the table, I am done with Clomid.

I had my CD 12 ultrasound and bloodwork done this morning, as I requested. Originally, I wouldn’t have had this until at least CD 24. Remember the last time I spoke with my nurse and she said “I just know you won’t have to stair-step this time,” and I said, “How do you know” and she said, “I just know”? Yeah – she was wrong. As of this moment, I have zero follicles developing.

It wasn’t as upsetting as it was frustrating. I know my body – on Clomid, I only ovulate when there are two doses in one cycle. That’s it – it doesn’t matter the dosage, it only works the second time. So on 150 mg, as the first round of Clomid this cycle, it didn’t work.

And, also as I predicted, the nurse who called me this afternoon said that my doctor would like to have me stair-step, again, now up to 200 mg. And that’s where I drew the line.

#1 – I can’t ever be sure, but I believe that the serious depression and lack of rational thinking that occurred this past weekend had everything to do with this high dosage of Clomid. I was not myself at all, and since then I’ve completely snapped out of it and felt so much better.

#2 – I am sick and tired of 60 day cycles. I understand I should be grateful to have cycles, and I am, but really – I don’t have cycles, unless I’m on Clomid. Even with Clomid, it’s 60 days. So perhaps there are other options out there?

The nurse who called (a nice one, not my usual) confirmed that she has heard people say Clomid causes severe mood swings, and that yes, there are other options.

So here’s the plan as of right now: Even though I had no follies developing, apparently my estrogen was really high. I have no idea what this means, or if this is a bad thing, but the doctor would like me to do another blood test in 2 days. So it’s back there I go on Thursday, before work, mind you, a 40 minute drive. And of course, I can’t be late for work with 23 kids waiting for me, so I have to make sure to get my blood done right away. You know what time I was there this morning for a 7:00 opening? 6:30 – and there was still one person in front of me. Crazy.

After the blood test Thursday, I will get another phone call, and in this call I will request an appointment with my doctor. I’m done with Clomid – what’s next?

The nurse did mention injectables. She said some people don’t like to take them (not sure why?) but they don’t cause the mood swings like Clomid does. Sign me up.

She did not mention Fermara. I will bring that up at our appointment we have to make, as I am willing to try it. However, I’m also willing to try injectables.

Only thing is – what, exactly, are injectables?

Are they the shots, like, in the butt cheek? Or are they the suppositories some of you talk about? And how is an injectable different from a trigger shot? What do you guys know about this?

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And in other news, as you know, I love my class this year. I will definitely miss them, as they make me laugh, and are so good-natured and spirited. This week, they are also proving to be very giving.

There is a student in my classroom whose mother has recently been diagnosed with a pretty severe, rare autoimmune disease. My school is putting on a fundraiser, a competition called “Penny Wars”. Basically, it’s every class against each other. Each week, we collect pennies, or any money, and there are weekly prizes for the class with the most money. First week’s prize is breakfast with donuts and juice. Then, there is a grand prize for the class with the most money raised overall – a pizza party.

Last Friday, I sat down with my class, and with the student’s help whose mother is sick, we explained the fundraiser. I stressed two important things: #1 – no one has to give money, especially when money is tight. If they happen to have any spare change, great, but no worries otherwise. #2 – on the other hand, I said, it would be pretty awesome to win the school competition – since the student is in our classroom. We have to represent her! After my speech, telling them we would start officially yesterday, students went rushing to their backpacks, giving whatever change they had right away. It was darn cute.

However, I am most touched by yesterday and today’s actions. In 2 days, my class has raised $170. 2 days. The kids, and their parents, are being so generous and kind. We all had a blast today counting the money, and the kids got very excited. They are owning this competition, and the cause it surrounds.  We are hoping to win this week, for sure, but the big goal would be to win the whole thing, and be able to present my student’s mother with a bucket-load of money. It’s just one of those nice, touching moments with kids, reminding me how much I do love children – they can be so very kind, with no reservations.

It’s definitely one of the highlights of this school year, and it takes my mind off of IF, for which I am grateful.

 

This is your brain on drugs…

First of all, thanks for all the nice comments over my last few posts. They were much appreciated and helpful!

I am convinced that Clomid, this round, acted like a crazy drug (well, I guess it kind of is) and completely changed me. I have never felt – like I felt. It feels hard to describe but I’m going to attempt anyway.

The only side effect of Clomid I had ever felt, up until this point, was hot flashes, and that occurred at 50, 100, and 150 mg, with the hot flashes increasing as the dosage went up. That was really about it.

For whatever reason, when I took 150 mg the first time, as a Round 2 dose in the same cycle as my 100 mg pills, still, I only had hot flashes, whereas now…well, now it’s totally different.

Thankfully, it’s over. I feel like I just woke up from the 7th circle of hell. You know my whiny, ranting, rather depressed previous posting(s)? That night all the way through to last night, I felt – off. I wasn’t crying (well, only once), but I was walking around in a zombie-like state, feeling sorry for myself. But not like…normal, “Oh, whoa is me, I have infertility issues” – no, it was way past that. It was…dark. I guess I really can’t explain it, except to say that I felt and acted seriously depressed. Like, if that kept up I’d need to go see someone soon, kind of depressed. It wasn’t even about not being pregnant anymore – I didn’t even know what I was depressed about. Babies weren’t even on my mind – which was a sign to me that something was very much off. I didn’t want to do anything, I was overly emotional, and I felt awful about myself. I didn’t sleep well, I had limited social interactions with my friends – it was really, freaking weird.

A lot of you have said many times that Clomid messed with your emotions, too, except you frequently mentioned yelling and screaming and crying a lot. None of that happened for me. Instead, I think it took my normal emotions, even including my OCD and anxiety-filled tendencies (which are minor when I’m not hooked on Clomid), and made them 100x stronger.

I guess what I’m saying is, I have never felt more depressed in my entire life. And then, last night, while at a bonfire with N’s relatives (more on that in a minute), one of my students who lives next door to N’s aunt came over with her parents, and I sat and chatted with them for a few hours around the fire. I enjoyed seeing my student and talking with her parents, and as we said good-bye, I suddenly started to feel – lighter. More chippy. Like, functional. N noticed the change, too. As I went to bed, I wondered if my new back-to-normal mood would resume in the morning, or if I’d wake up today back in the funk.

This morning, I woke up at 6:15, jumped out of bed, and was ready to start the day. I’ve been in a normal, good mood all day long, being productive with 5,000 chores and loads of laundry. I applied for a summer job, I cut up a watermelon, I watered the plants – life is good today. Just like that, I feel like a completely different person – but the person I’m supposed to be. This weekend (and, really, a few days before that) – that was not me. So whoever I saw and spoke to during that time, disregard our conversations. I felt like I was looking down from above at myself, talking. I couldn’t even think rational thoughts on Friday night – my brain was spinning.

I have to assume it was the Clomid. It started around my second pill and heightened the next night even more. Up until this point, I thought Clomid side effects hung out all month long – as my hot flashes do. Hopefully not. I am going to speak with my nurse about it on Tuesday, when I am going in for a CD 12 u/s and b/w. If I have a next cycle – I’m not sure I want to do that ever again. Like, even getting pregnant wouldn’t be worth feeling that low. It was really horrible. And to think, my Dr. prescribes 200 and 250 mg of Clomid if needed. I can tell you right now that 150 is too high for me. I’d be willing to try 100 again, I guess – but I’m worried that I can no longer ovulate on lower dosages. Which means I may need a new drug altogether.

The only little glitch in my mind has to do with my controlling personality. I feel the need to have complete control over myself at all times. If I’m upset, I talk myself out of it. I’m constantly, even subconsciously, reflecting on my interactions with other people. So, when this happened in the last few days, I had a hard time convincing myself a drug was causing this. Instead, I assumed I was going off the deep end, and was fighting to keep in control. After losing that battle, I started to blame Clomind – but what if it wasn’t the Clomid? What if that was really me, and it’s going to come back? So, it’s a little scary.

Luckily, I have you all here to confirm the best, or worst news. What are your Clomid horror stories?

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Now, as a little sequel to the story of N’s family’s friend, who made those comments last week on Mother’s Day, my mind may have been changed.

Long story short, N told me that his mother told him that his aunt spoke to this man, told him more about my situation, and he felt terrible. Okay, I thought. I’m not mad at him – like, I don’t hate the guy. It just wasn’t his brightest move. Then, at the bonfire last night, I’m in the house alone with N’s aunt and she says, almost angrily, “I just want you to know that I would never tell anyone about your situation. ____ didn’t know. He had no idea.” Now, I said in that post that he knew. I thought he did. I wrongly assumed he did know, because N’s family talks about things, in front of a lot of people, and N’s mom had told N’s aunt before I could, so I just..I just assumed. I wasn’t pointing my finger at any one person, though. I just figured he found out somehow – and I wasn’t even upset if he did know. So anyway, N’s aunt was kind of upset that I actually believed she might have spilled my little secret to this man, and I think she was hurt. I felt bad because…I shouldn’t have assumed. My bad.

Then, she went on to say that this man still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the situation. In my head, I’m wondering why my husband told me that the man had been told the situation and felt horrible about it. Something is amiss. So I have no idea if this man 1) knows about our infertility, knows he hurt me, and feels bad, 2) knows he hurt me, but doesn’t know why, or 3) doesn’t know anything and hasn’t given it another thought.

Interestingly enough, he showed up to the bonfire last night, there was a quick hug, and that was it. Nothing was said. And now I don’t want to bring it up because I don’t know..what he already knows.

What a stupid situation. It left me feeling badly for him and N’s aunt, and then I remembered I didn’t do anything wrong.

I’ll keep you updated after we get a little look at my follies on Tuesday, and hopefully I’ll continue to be a normal, sane, happy person.

 

I’m having a quarter-life crisis.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s 9:00 at night (which, as a teacher, is basically my bedtime), or the fact that I got up this morning at 4:45 to go to spinning class – maybe I’m just tired.

But really, honestly, I’m miserable.

Driving home from watching one of N’s men’s league softball games (we took two cars) I formed this post in my mind, and I decided I wasn’t sure that I wanted to even share it with you. Mostly because I don’t – know what I want from it. I don’t want pity (I have enough of my own), I don’t want to become the whispers of gossip that spread like wildfire (not that I’m saying you all would…but it just seems to happen sometimes), and I don’t even know what the hell is wrong with me.

But then I decided that if anyone out there can sort of pull me through all this, it’s you. And at the very least, writing it down does seem to help. This is kind of long, I’m warning you.

Here’s the problem: Besides the obvious, I just don’t feel like myself. I’m not happy with my life, let’s face it. I’m of course happy with my husband, my dogs….but not content, not fulfilled. I’m just living and breathing every day, but I’m not experiencing anything. Something is missing. In addition, I feel like I can’t – connect to people like I once could. I have this dark cloud hanging above me, and I can usually fake it, but those who know me know it’s there – and I hate that they know it, that I’m not myself. I feel like I’m letting myself down, because others who once knew me as happy-go-lucky (if not slightly high-strung), now might see me as this negative ball of dust.

So not only am I not happy with my home life, in that it’s all work and no play, the connections I have with people I care about IRL, but also, I don’t want school to end.

It’s pathetic to even say that – what teacher doesn’t want summer?

This isn’t the first time this has happened to me. And I’m starting to notice a trend. My first class ever, 5 years ago, was beyond amazing. They were just – wonderful, supportive, helpful kids. And we all formed a tight bond – there was crying and hugging on the last day and nice notes shared. That summer, which was when I was in limbo – not married, living in a tiny apartment, hoping to keep  my job and get engaged soon, going through the motions – I had a hard time getting over that class. I couldn’t wait to get to school, to see these kids, who made me so happy because they were full of life and energy, jokes and laughter, and I wasn’t, and it helped. But then, when summer came, it sucked.

The following year, my second year, I was engaged and planning a wedding. That class was fine enough, but they did nothing for me. I was excited for summer. They all cried on the last day and I was grinning. I wasn’t in limbo anymore. I had a solid plan (getting married that July) in a house of our own with two dogs. The plan was in place and everything felt perfect. Interestingly enough, I also had no hives or autoimmune issues this wedding planning year. I was stress-free.

So, after that second year, I told myself, the way I emotionally handled the leaving of my first class was just because they were my first, and every year after that, I’ve never gone back to that weird place.

Until now. This is my first year all over again, in a way. I’m in a new school, new teachers, new grade level, new curriculum. My kids are awesome. They make me laugh, a lot, every day, and they are kind and helpful. They are also hyper and messy, but that’s another story. I can already feel the emotions of this school year ending deep inside, just like that first year, except maybe worse this time. I dread summer. I don’t want to be home, cleaning or doing random house projects. I want to be with kids, with my kids, kids who make me forget about this lack of a pregnancy and make me feel important, needed, and in control.

This class is seriously doing more for me, I fear, than I am for them. They are filling a void. And it has hit me all of a sudden. I suppose it’s not just my class – it’s children in general. Not too young, because then I’m reminded that I don’t have a baby. But a little older, when they are funny and amazing, and have baseball games and piano lessons. I want to attend those games, and those lessons.I want to BE their mom. And I’m not – not even close.

I feel odd saying this, but I have never dreaded summer more than I do right now. And there are 5 weeks until that day comes. It also doesn’t help that my students always go to the junior high the following year, so the majority of them, I never see again. It’s very sad. I’m already sad about losing them and we still have 5 weeks.

Again – I don’t even know if I want to post this rambling nonsense. I feel foolish, idiotic, and slightly insane. I’m attached to my students because they fill a void in my life, and that’s just weird. My only hope is that my life follows some type of a pattern (highly unlikely), and this year, the limbo year, is followed by a year of stress-free, pregnancy life. No need to be attached to other people’s children if I’ve got my own.

I think I’m having a quarter-life crisis. Seriously.  Call it an identity crisis, if you will. I’ve said this before, and this is a big issue as well, but I either want to be my age or a little older, with children I’m driving around town, or I want to be young – really young. Like, high school. Or even elementary school. Those years were the best – carefree, mom’s got dinner covered, all you have to do is your homework and clean your room. The innocence of those years is what I think I really miss most of all, and I try to remember my days as a 5th grader. It’s hard to do, and that’s sad, too. I only remember quick little moments, but not the fun and excitement that I see in my own students.

So, either 30 with kids, or 10. There is no in-between, but unfortunately, that’s where I find myself. Hence being in limbo. Hence why I find myself, on Friday afternoons, playing kickball, basketball, or running races with my students. And loving every minute of it.

I feel like a total nut. Completely out of character, definitely not my old self. N used to call me naive, but I preferred optimistic and innocent. I am so not that person anymore, and I really, truly wish I was.

As usual, I do feel better after writing this down. And a new thought – perhaps it’s the Clomid that’s causing my emotions to totally whack out.

I’m on 150 mg, though it’s only the third day of taking the pills this round. Anyone else experience weird emotions while on Clomid?

Hey, thanks for reading. I post this to the internet because I know somewhere, someone can relate, and that makes me feel better.

 

 

If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

Welp, Mother’s Day kicked my ass.

See, the ironic thing about it is – I was prepared to have a perfectly nice day! I wasn’t upset – I feel too far away from a mom to be upset, plus, I’ve already been upset all weekend because of this failed cycle and getting my period…so there probably wasn’t too much farther down I could go. So I was good – we planned a dinner for my mother (which N cooked, of course), and we had a lunch out with N’s family as well. Really, it could have been a happy-go-lucky day.

Unfortunately, someone’s insensitivity kind of ruined the go-with-the-flow mood I woke up with. The title of this post is a phrase I have heard over and over again since elementary school. Apparently this person was absent on those school days.

This man I’m about to talk about is a family friend of N’s aunt. We see him on holidays; up until the last two times I’ve seen him, he’s been really quite nice. He’s a nice guy, is what I’m saying. I’ve got nothing against him.

Now, this is the man who, on Easter, as I was snuggling one of my dogs, said out loud in front of N’s family, “See? You don’t need kids – you have dogs!” That was irritating enough, especially because he knows my situation. I didn’t tell him, but I know that he knows.

Yesterday, as he and his gf arrive at the restaurant, he gives me a hug and says loudly, “Do I need to be wishing you a Happy Mother’s Day, too?” I couldn’t believe it. He laughed, really loudly, as I said, “No! And if you do, I might cry, so please don’t.” You’d think me saying that would give the hint not to ask me about it. Not only that, but what if I was pregnant? Did he think I’d choose that moment, in a “hello” embrace to announce to my in-laws that I was pregnant? Just because he asked?

So I was kind of miffed throughout the lunch, even making a comment to my MIL about how that was a tad bit insensitive, of which she agreed. But I moved on and enjoyed the meal. At the end, as he was leaving, he said goodbye to our whole big table. He offered up a, and I quote, “Happy Mother’s Day – and you Megan, well, Happy Mother’s Day…soon? Hopefully in the future? Sometime? Not for a while? Hopefully soon…” And as he’s going on this rant, in front of everyone, I just kind of looked up at the ceiling and I recall saying something like, “I have no words….” And I didn’t. I was almost speechless, kind of in shock. I just did not know how to respond. After the comment he made when he walked in, and the one on Easter…I’m not sure I want to be around this guy anymore until I actually have a good announcement to make. Yuck. It did kind of dampen my spirits, I have to admit. I just wanted to forget about my own problems and focus on my mother and MIL. But he, so kindly, had to bring my lack of a pregnancy back to life.

Okay, this isn’t the only reason I posted. I also have news, for what very little news it is, but hey, something to talk about.

My nurse called today. I’m supposed to start Clomid tomorrow. It went something like this:

“Megan? I spoke with the doctor. He says you didn’t ovulate on 100 mg (yes I did, just in a stair-step, not on its own), so he would like you to start up with the 150 mg, like you just ovulated with.”

“Okay, well…what happens when I have to stair-step? I was hoping not to have to go up to 200 mg.”

“You won’t have to stair-step.”

“I’m sure I will, I always have to. The first round isn’t going to work.”

“It IS going to work. It’s going to work, okay?”

“Oh…okay then. Thanks.”

I was at a Starbucks and couldn’t think of exactly what to say to her at that moment, but my question is: did she say I wouldn’t have to stair-step, and that I’d have a normal length cycle this time because…..science told her so? Or because she’s being optimistic and therefore wouldn’t address my question? Because I’m all about science…but I’m supposed to have the hope. Not my nurse..she needs to have the meds.

So, with that said, I’m starting Clomid, Round 8,071 – I mean 4 (6 counting the times I didn’t ovulate) tomorrow, as CD 5, heading towards IUI #2. Yippee. Looking forward to hot flashes and mood swings, usually swinging more down than up. We’ll see, 55 days from now, how long this cycle turns out to be.

 

Wait, how old are you?

I’m double posting today! But I really want to share with you this ridiculous game people I don’t know play with me, that I like to call, “Wait, how old are you?”

It is a running joke in my circle of family and friends, that I am asked my age, or carded, or am doubted, all the time. I’m talking – once a week, at least. This has been going on for a good 5 to 10 years, and I’m used to it now. It’s also how I have determined I look young. And I know I do – I was showing my students a picture of me with my sister, who is now 20. In the picture, she was about 13 – shorter, different hair color, glasses and braces. Now, at 20, she looks completely different. But if you took her out of the picture, you would’ve thought it was taken of me yesterday. There is literally no physical difference in how I look now (other than some added weight) and how I looked at age 18. No difference.

So here are a random assortment of some of the times I have been questioned regarding my age:

(In no particular order):

- Being asked at Costco if my parents were nearby in order for me to try that hot wing, as you have to be 16 to eat something spicy there. For the record, I was 26, and I was picking it up for my husband.

- At Costco yesterday, buying wine, “How old are you?” as a quiz, testing me after he looked at my ID. Yup, you got me. It’s a fake, and I chose to try it out at a warehouse liquor store.

- On an airplane, age 24, sitting in the emergency aisle. The stewardess came back and double checked my age, because you needed to be 16 to sit there.

- MULTIPLE times, in my classrooms over the years, parents who don’t know me, or an adult not from the building, walks in and, after a minute, says, “Where’s your teacher?” I’ll be standing in the middle of the room, or sitting down with the kids. But apparently they can’t tell the difference between myself and a 5th or 6th grader. After they figure me out, they will have to say out loud, of course, “Oh, you look like one of the kids.” That’s happened this school year at least 3 times – twice by the same exact parent. Thank you so much.

- Out somewhere with my sister (where were we?) when we asked a perfect stranger ( a waiter, maybe?) to guess which one of us is older. He guessed her, and she’s 7 years younger than I am!

- At a casino, with N’s family, including his 19 year old brother at the time, who is incredibly tall. They carded me, age 23, and not him.

- Sitting at a restaurant with all of my friends – and I’m the only one who gets carded.

- Meeting someone new (while in college) and being asked what grade I was in. As in, too young to be in college.

I know there are so many more I am missing! I just can’t think of them right now. I do know it’s probably a good thing I’m not a high school teacher. Also, I’m not exactly short. I’m 5 ‘ 6”, but I’ve had students my height, which doesn’t help.Finally, especially when I dress down – I do dress young. I like jeans and sneakers, and I wear my hair in a ponytail, or at least up, a lot of the time. I have a small forehead! So I haven’t exactly aged with my taste in fashion.

If you know me in real life – you’ve heard these stories or witnessed them yourself. What funny ones have I missed?

Being a mother – through nature or nurture.

Well, I’ve reached the final stage of grief after that last 60-day cycle: acceptance. And on Mother’s Day, no less, which I will call an accomplishment.

I’m good, I’m over it. It sucks, for sure, to know I won’t know if I’m pregnant next cycle for another 2 months, but I try not to think about that. The fact of the matter is, I got my period three days ago, and now I’m moving on. On to the next cycle.

I am a little concerned about the plan. I called the nurse on CD 1, and she was out, and a substitute nurse tried to answer my questions. She didn’t know my story, but to make a long one short, she basically told me that people with anovulation as their diagnosis (still not hearing PCOS, but I know it’s there) have to have an extra dose of patience (ha!) because everything just takes a long time. I said, I understand that, but I only ovulate if I stair-step Clomid (take a second dose in the same cycle) – do a lot of other people do the same thing? Yes, she said, they do. She was kind enough to say a few kind words, such as, “I know how hard this must be for you,” which is something my regular nurse never does. But she checked my chart, said the doctor wants me to continue as I have been, and that’s it.

I guess I can continue with the double cycle thing. I hate most of all that they are 2 months long, but that’s only because I don’t ovulate the first time! What I am concerned about is the dosage of Clomid. I feel like the doctor hasn’t been paying attention. When I started Clomid, I did ovulate on 50 mg. Then, after my period, I required my first stair-step, from 50 to 100 mg. Then, on the next cycle, I needed to stair-step again, from 100 to 150 mg. Now, here I am, no doubt I’ll be starting on 150…and it won’t work, and they’ll put me on 200 mg. But I don’t want to go to 200 mg. The hot flashes and emotional ups and downs get worse with each increase in dosage. Doesn’t he see that I did ovulate on 50, 100, and 150? I just needed a double dose to do so. So I proposed (in a voicemail to my nurse) that if I have to stair-step again, which I’m sure I will, I start at 150, fine, sure, but then the second round, I do 150 again. Or even 100. Why go to 200? Anyway, I expect to hear about that tomorrow, as I need to start Clomid on Tuesday.

So that’s enough about that. As I did last cycle, I’m taking a Fertility Friend break – no temping, no any of that. I know the current situation well enough on my own. And now I feel like I’m getting pretty good at being able to tell when ovulation is coming, so I don’t really intend to temp until the week of ovulation. If that. I may just say, screw it this cycle. Let’s try a round without charting. I’m sick of being obsessive – that dies out pretty quick when you only ovulate every 2 months and that fails, again and again.

I’m also at a place, mentally, that I get to every cycle around this time. Shoot, if I can’t be pregnant, I might as well look good. Which means lose weight. I’m not overweight, really. BMI is still in the normal range. However, for my clothes, for my normal, I’m a good 15 pounds heavier than I should be. My jeans that used to require a good strong belt, now requires nothing and is frankly tight. But it’s not just the looks. I swear, I wonder if being 15 pounds overweight has anything to do with not getting pregnant. A lot of people say, once they do lose the weight it happens. Also, with PCOS symptoms…I feel like losing weight right now would be the #1 smartest thing I could do for myself.

Unfortunately, I SUCK at willpower. Really, really bad. I have cut out gluten and sugar from my diet, but only like…98% of the time. Eating gluten is just plain stupid – I end up with horrible stomach pains the next day. Eating sugar is equally stupid, I come out with massive lip hives that take 24 hours to go away, as I found out two nights ago from eating 1, just 1, delicious meringue at a wedding shower at my school. Between the hives and the IBS problems, you’d think I could keep away from those two things.

But it’s not just that. If I put my foods into a list of things I shouldn’t eat, gluten and sugar would be #s 1 and 2. However, #3 would be corn products – and I’m SUCKING OUT at that. Chips and salsa = comfort food. And corn tortillas are a nice substitute from the flour ones. #4 on the list would be processed ANYTHING. Tell that to the rice cereal with almond milk I just ate. Yum. The paleo diet got old – it just…I can only eat so many veggies, fruits, nuts, and meats. I start to lose my mind. But I need to try it again – maybe keeping dairy around this time, but it’s got to happen. Unfortunately, breakfast is already in my system so it’s going to have to wait until lunch.

But seriously, how nice would it be if I could lose this little stomach that calls attention as if I were pregnant, and people could comment not on wondering if I am expecting or not, but on how awesome I look. That would make me feel better.

I also am starting to feel like I’m getting old (tell that to the guy at Costco yesterday, when, after checking my ID while I was buying wine, proceeded to still ask me my age and stare me up and down – YES, I’m 27, I’m married, see my ring? I’m a teacher. I’m not under 21. Good god. This happens all the time, and I think I’ll post about it in the future because there have been some funny stories.) On Friday, as I do every Friday, I play with my kids at recess. Usually either basketball, racing, or, for the first time, kickball. Sprinting around those bases did a number on me, as did racing them back up to our building. I nearly had to sit down and felt dizzy. Yuck – I just watched an episode of Modern Family last night where the father can no longer stomach roller coasters because he’s getting older and that sucks. That’s how I felt – except dammit, if I’m not going to have any of my own children right now, then I want to feel like a kid myself. At least physically. I look the part, I just have some extra poundage and I can’t sprint the bases without sore legs and dizziness. So I really want to work on that. I mean, how many more years of teaching will I be able to play with my students at recess? I’d like to extend them as long as possible.

So, I’ve decided that I need to start doing things that are just for me. Every single minute of my life, I feel like, I’m doing something for someone else. Certainly, in my job, whatever I do is for 23 10 and 11 year old’s. But when I get home, before I get to change out of my clothes or go to the bathroom, I’m doing things for my dogs. Later on, I’m cleaning, straightening, organizing, making lunches, walking the dogs….and it’s the same on weekends, just add 7 loads of laundry and grocery shopping. Sure, I do watch a show once in a while, and I blog here, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

N joined a men’s softball league and I went for a few minutes the other night to check out his first game – and that, I realized, is what I need. I need to join an organization that happens after school or at night, that makes me feel as young as I look, and takes my mind off of what I can’t have. Specifically, the two organizations I want to join are a women’s softball league and a chorus. A good chorus.

Problem is, I waited too long on the softball…because I thought I might be pregnant. And the chorus – I just can’t seem to find a good one in my area. But I’ll keep looking, because right now, I feel that could really help me out.

It is Mother’s Day after all, and because I’ve never even gotten close to pregnant, I’m not upset. We got an email from our principal the other day wishing all of us, those who are moms through nature or nurture, a Happy Mother’s Day. I like that – a mother through nurture. Nurturing, guiding, and teaching 23 kids every day – yeah I guess that counts, too.

And most of all, for my own mother, as a great role model, fellow teacher, and future grandmother.

 

Going through the motions

Wow, posting two days in a row. Must be something on my mind!

Actually, I’ll keep this short. I’m already over this last stupid cycle. Well, not over it, but I’ve accepted it. I just want my period to start  officially and be over already to get started on the next round. But in no way, shape, or form am I telling myself that this time might be “the one”. No, thinking like that cycle after cycle is nothing but a disappointment. I’m just going to go through the motions and see what happens.

Jenn over at The Future Fords made a really good point in her latest post; something that has been on my mind myself. It seems like everyone is getting pregnant, and since my blog is less than a year old, I just figured this kind of thing comes in waves. Apparently not. Jenn also noticed, and while both she and I are nothing but happy for all of you, especially considering the trouble you have gone through to get to this point, I am definitely a bit jealous. Not only that, but I do wonder what I’m going to do when all my blogging friends get pregnant and I still don’t. Do I need to expand my blogging horizons? I will continue to read about you all, of course, because I am interested in your stories. But once you enter your second trimester, you just start to be in a different place, and I totally understand.  I guess what I’m saying is – it’s lonely out there in blogger world. It’s lonely in real life, too. It’s very hard to talk about the most frustrating thing in my life with people who are experiencing the greatest joy. And I’m starting to get sick of talking about my hardships, because they have been carrying on a damn long time.

I have a real life frustration of the day to share with you, as well. I shouldn’t be venting about other pregnant people because I feel bad, but at the same time, I simply have to let it out.

My coworker is pregnant, about 20 weeks. She’s very nice and sweet and really doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. I am happy for her. That said, I am watching her grow every day. I am watching her discuss every aspect of this child with every person who asks about it (which is basically everyone BUT me…I’m awful and she probably hates me). I am watching her consider ever so carefully what she eats, and what she does, and she wonders aloud whether doing or eating any such thing might be bad for the baby.

Worst of all, she recently announced to her class that she is pregnant, as she is starting to show and these 11 year old’s are mighty observant. Apparently, when she told her class, they all clapped. Now, the word has spread and my students, my awesome students of whom I wish were my personal children, are super excited about it. They can’t stop talking about it, including to me. “Did you hear ____ is having a baby?” “Oh my gosh, did you know….” etc, etc. Yes, children, I did know. And yes, I go ahead and fake this happy smile. Yuck. I’m also of child-bearing age. I want so badly for this wonderful class to celebrate with me, my pregnancy. How wonderful that would be. Of course, that’s not going to happen with this group of children. Does this all sound immature and childish? Yes, it does. But I can’t even deny it – I’m just pissed off and bitter. So very bitter.

I do want a baby. Obviously, I want that more than literally anything else in this world. But what I really, deep-down truly want, is to be knee-deep in being a mom. I want to skip all the worry and stress of this journey, and have a couple of elementary-age children in my house, now. I want to be a soccer mom (hence the name), braving the rain on a Saturday morning with my coffee and my husband as we watch my kids play, I want to go to baseball games and band concerts. I want to have tears in my eyes because our children might demonstrate talents that make their parents proud. I want to volunteer for the PTO, become friends with my kids’ teachers. I want to ring the damn dinner bell when it’s time to call in the kids for dinner; they need to help set the table. For whatever reason, these things, of all things, make me the most upset right now. Not even the failed cycle. It’s this incredible deep-down, painfully strong desire to be a mom, and to exercise my mommy-ing abilities. I think I’ll be a damn good one. I try it out on my students, and they fit the bill perfectly.

Of course, thinking about how very far from now those moments will be is daunting. I’m looking at – a good 7 or 8 years, at least. At least. When those days come, though, and I’m rushing through the house trying to prepare dinner, shuttling my kids off to piano lessons and dance class, I feel like I will be able to put this whole ordeal behind me and really, truly enjoy life. Until then, I think I’m just going through the motions.

Pissed.

I’m spotting. And not in the good, implantation kind of way.

And yes, I’m also pissed off. I’m going through the stages of grief, rapid-fire.

Up until about 20 minutes ago, I was still in denial. The spotting that started last night was super light, so hey, maybe, just maybe, right? It’s still possible. Then, after taking a pregnancy test, because today, I just really need an answer, I moved straight into the anger stage. Of course it’s negative, and then, not more than 5 minutes after that, the spotting turned red. I expect a full period by tomorrow.

Anger is currently where my mind resides, or at least most of the time. But literally, within seconds of each other, I’m thinking thoughts that could easily fit into the other grief categories of bargaining, depression, and yes, even acceptance. That last one only held one stray thought, but I guess it’s better than none.

But mostly, what I’m currently thinking and feeling is that I HATE this. I hate the process, I hate the disappointment, I hate how behind everyone else I feel, I hate how hurt I feel in situations that I really shouldn’t, I hate the multiple doctors, the appointments, peeing on a stick obsessively, taking my temperature every morning. I hate dreaming about babies, knowing what absolutely wonderful parents N and I would make, not knowing how long this is going to take, not knowing how many more of these cycles I can tolerate without totally losing my shit. I hate how optimism is slowly fading away – not that I don’t think I’ll ever have a child, I still do have hope there, but just the hope that “this cycle might be the one”. No – it’s not the one, so don’t even tell me that. And most likely, neither will the next one be. I’m sick of being bitter, but I can’t turn back time and be naive and innocent – “Oh YAY! We’re officially TTC!!!” Screw it! It’s been almost a year, and I know many of you have been through longer, but even still. I’m just – done. Can we file adoption papers yet?

N had an outstanding sperm count, the IUI timing was perfect. We continued to try in the appropriate window even after that. Why, why, why do these things not work? Why??? I need a scientific reason!

My nurse will be hearing from me very soon, as I have many questions I need answered. Pronto. One of the hardest things is that my cycles are 60 days long. Being that I only ovulate if I stair-step Clomid, one cycle is 2 months long, not one. So when I get my period, I realize that I have to wait another 60 days to find out if that cycle was a success. 28-30 days – now that sounds like a dream. I can wait one month, but I can’t wait two. That and, maybe Clomid isn’t the answer if I always need to double-dose it. I don’t know.

As rant-y as this post is, I am actually way better than last time. Just as I promised, I kept my mind off it during the 1.5 week wait. I didn’t obsess, I didn’t Google, and I told myself it’s not going to happen. So, I’m angry, but not devastated. I’m not in shock, like I was last time. Now I’ve got a bad case of bitterness instead. I’m not sure which one I prefer!

So, I’m going to retreat into the couch tonight and try to stay away from the chips and salsa I stuffed myself with after taking the pregnancy test. Comfort food is called just that for a reason, you know. And it totally works.

The only brightness in my day was this:

These were given to me by my students, 10 and 11 year old’s. It’s Teacher Appreciation Week, and while I would never expect anything, and don’t need anything, to have my kids shower me with these flowers, a stuffed animal, a basket full of supplies, caring notes and dressing up in my favorite color (purple)…I do feel loved. I have an awesome class. I really will miss them next year.

7 DPO, and 7 random facts

After a week-long hiatus, I’m back. I wonder if you guys go through the same type of cycles (no, not those cycles) that I go through – a few months ago, in obsession mode, I would blog multiple times a week. I just wanted to keep talking about getting pregnant, again and again. Now, after some disappointment, I find myself having little desire to post, not because of all of you, but because, honestly, what is there to say? However, I do enjoy blogging, and I enjoy keeping up with all of you as well, so an update once a week is the least I could do.

My update is rather boring. I am 7 DPO, “enjoying” life in the TWW. Everything’s going along as planned, as of now, but it’s so early. Here’s my chart:

Looking at the date at the top of that chart makes me laugh with frustration. I cannot stand how long my cycles are, because of the stair-stepping. I understand that in order for me to ovulate, I have to take Clomid twice in one cycle. But those first 30 days are just unfair. If this cycle is a bust, I am absolutely calling my RE and asking if there’s anything else that can be done with Clomid so my cycles aren’t this long.

But I try not to focus on that part right now, because I am in the TWW, and grateful to be so. I am temping again, everyday, because I am curious to see what my temp does. I’d love a huge drop in temp, like, tomorrow, only to have it rise again the next day. That would be pretty telling, I think.

This cycle has been the first time ever that I have gone all of these 49 days rarely thinking about all of this. I successfully have put my thoughts elsewhere, and only really consider TTC or ovulation a few times a day, rather than a few times an hour. It’s a big improvement. I’m not sure why this happened, exactly, but I think it has something to do with me not feeling like blogging. When I blog, it’s on my mind.

The interesting thing is, this TWW has been very mentally relaxing for me, like I said. I’m really not thinking about it. True to my word, there has been no Googling, and I’m just ignoring the few “symptoms” that I have, knowing they are simply from the progesterone. I’m really fine.

But then it dawned on me this morning – secretly, in the back of my mind, I have been telling myself that maybe, if I don’t think about the TWW and I chill out, maybe I’ll be rewarded with a BFP. Because that would play out like a fairytale. Don’t think about it, and then your wishes come true. We all know that no matter how you handle the TWW in your brain (and now I’ve been on both sides of that coin), it has absolutely no effect on what the turnout will be! My body already knows if I’m pregnant or not, and I just have to wait it out. So..really, not thinking about it isn’t putting me any closer to a BFP, but it might be saving my sanity just a little bit.

And so there are other things on my mind. This past week at school was very busy. We had two field trips, with yesterday’s being one of those good, long ones on the coach buses, and we left school very early and arrived back very late. It was a good time. I dragged N along (not really dragged; he enjoys it) as a chaperone and he took a little group of 4 of my boys. He’s great with them, which I already knew.

On the way home (a 2.5 hour bus ride), I sat with various students up and down the bus, just to check on things and talk about their day. In the back of the bus, my girls were hyped up on sugar (parents give them gift shop money…and they buy candy) and happy and bouncy. I stayed with them for a few minutes. The two chaperones back there each commented on my “way” with the kids, with a father asking me if I had my own and that the kids love me, and a mother commenting that I’m a natural with kids. Then, one of the girls spilled soda all over the bus floor – haha. Never a dull moment.

Making my way up the bus, I sat with a few more girls, and a few boys. Gimping (remember gimp?) is all the rage in my class right now for some reason, and I have to admit, it does help pass the time. So I was taught to gimp yesterday, and did so while talking with the kids. I commented to a few kids how I do tend to be sad at the end of a good school year, but proud all at the same time. It’s not every year I get students that I might wish to call my own children, that I wouldn’t mind watching grow up to be productive members of society. But this year, I do have those students. I hope to go to their high school graduation, someday. A boy asked me if I thought my students were my children, since I didn’t have any of my own. I realized he was exactly right. The whole reason I get attached to my students sometimes is because they are filling this huge void. A huge void. And it takes a couple of awesome kids, leaving my room and going on to another school next year, to remind me just how big the hole is. I want children. I want children who turn out to be like these children; kind, respectful, giving, funny – and all while going through the perils of being eleven years old. I bring N on field trips, and he enjoys himself too, because he also has this void. We love kids. We are good with them. We like to be around them. It’s frankly a bit sad, and in the pathetic way, that I do use my students like this, emotionally, to help me through my days without kids. They are my children, right now, and I treat them as such. Makes the end of June a lot harder for me, but it saves me from September up until then. It doesn’t mean they don’t drive me crazy, often, and we are still barreling through our lessons. But overall, it’s been a very good year with this class, and I will definitely miss them.

Moving on – the Paleo diet is waning. I realized that when I was doing full Paleo, and my snacks were consisting of full bell peppers and endless amounts of nuts, my stomach wasn’t happy with me, at all. Then, after being frustrated at the end of the week about how little I could eat, I’d splurge on something – say, Mexican food, and eat until I thought I might die. (Sidebar – both last time in the TWW and this time, I have noticed my appetite increase about a thousand-fold. Just me?) That’s not good either. So, a few days ago I went out and bought a couple of things, just to make my diet tolerable. I bought cheese, gluten-free pasta, rice cereal..that sort of thing. As long as my health is in order, I really don’t need to be on any particular diet. I just need to not eat what bothers me, and what bothers me is too much dairy, sugar, too much fruit, gluten, and corn (ish…this one is hard to let go because it replaces so many floury things). I still will eat a lot of veggies and meat, but the nuts are hurting my stomach and I simply need other options. I’m good with that. Now, I haven’t lost any weight because of all this garbage I’ve been eating the last few days…and I’m not exercising. For no good reason besides pure laziness.

Finally, thefamilyvan was kind enough to send me The Lovely Blog Award a week ago, which I’ve been very behind on answering. I appreciate the gesture! Here’s how it works:

1. Share who gave you this award to you with a link back to their blog
2. Write down 7 random facts about yourself.
3. Give this award to 15 other bloggers. It’s going to take me a little bit of time to find out which blogs I follow haven’t already done this, so when I find you, I will comment on your blog!
4. Let them know they’ve won
5. Pop the award on your blog (Did I miss this? Where is it?)

Hmm…7 random facts about myself:

1) I LOVE marshmallow (back when I was allowed to eat it). I could eat a whole jar of fluff with a spoon, and when I got ice cream sundaes, instead of hot fudge which would keep me up all night, I’d have marshmallow topping. Yum.

2) Whale-watching is my favorite thing to do on the Cape. I’ve been on 3 or 4 whale watches in my life,with the best one occurring when I was probably about 13 or so. This humpback whale stopped to play right under the boat, so the boat sat there for a good half hour, not moving, while this whale swam back and forth underneath us. At one point, I ran to the back of the boat, where no one else was, and looked over the edge, staring at the whale’s back. I was so close I could’ve reached out and touched it, and it was covered with scratches and bumps from a life in the ocean. After that experience I was hooked on whales. They are very cool, prehistoric animals.

3) I’ve known I wanted to be an elementary school teacher as far back as I can remember. I do recall having my own little chalkboard and playing teacher, and then relished every time my mother (a high school teacher) allowed me to help correct her papers with the red pen, or even better, put stickers on something. At the time, I thought the best part of being a teacher would be correcting papers, getting to use any color marker you wanted, putting on stickers every single time, and passing them back. Ha.

4) I was born a Yankees fan, because my father is a huge Yankees fan, and both of my parents grew up in Yankee territory. Our state is unique – it’s split about half and half, Red Sox and Yankees. One time, in junior high, there was a play-off Yankee game on, but I couldn’t stay up that late to watch it. My dad promised that if the Yankees won that night, he would leave me his good Yankee hat for me to wear to school, which he had never done before. The next morning, I came down the stairs and the hat was sitting there, with a sign taped to the door that said, “Theeeeee Yankees win! Wear the hat with pride!” And I did. Now, I’ve married a die-hard Red Sox fan, with his entire family behind him, and these days, the passion of liking the Yankees isn’t there like it used to be. I have a feeling our children will be Red Sox children. That said, I did wear my Yankees hat yesterday on the field trip, and N wore his Red Sox hat. It brought up a lot of baseball conversations with the kids.

5) (Back to sugar again – can you tell I miss it?) Prior to no longer eating sugar, I was known, quite famously in my family, as a sugar-aholic. My aunts still remind me (not like I’ve forgotten) how our gatherings would go when I was in elementary school: “Mom, is it dessert time yet? Mom? Mommy? Can I have this – and this and this? Mom, how much can I have? Mom, can I have more?” Seriously, this was what I did. I’d sneak to the dessert table and consume some before dessert even started and no one noticed. We had ice cream every night in my house after dinner – and not a while after dinner, as my husband would prefer. No, as soon as the last bite of the meal was down our throats (see, it wasn’t just me), we’d be up spooning ice cream into bowls. My mother had to inflict an “every other night” rule when I was little. Also, a “two-cookies-is-enough” Oreo rule after school.

6) I had my first boyfriend in the sixth grade. I had known him ever since first grade, and he was one of the smartest in my class. (I always said – I picked all the smartest kids to be my friends. Unfortunately, I was the dumbest one amongst us). We “dated” that year, quite publicly – I believe even the teachers knew, and no one tried to stop us. “Dating”, of course, consisted of us calling each other on the phone every other night (thanks, Mom), from 7:00-7:30. During those calls, we talked about the Yankees (also a big fan) and Jurassic Park. I broke up with him in 7th grade, as soon as I laid my eyes on N, but luckily, he and I, and N, continued to stay friends, and he was one of the groomsmen in our wedding. He is now a doctor and we see him whenever he’s in town.

7) I played the part of Maria in West Side Story (only in the final song, though) in our massive 180-strong chorus production my junior year of high school. It was my shining moment, along with, as a senior, singing the national anthem at my graduation with a few others. Chorus was my life in high school, and I got my 15 minutes of fame back then. Now, I desperately miss big productions like that, and really wish to find a chorus for 27-year olds who wish to be 20 again.

Phew! Long post. That’s what happens when I wait a whole week. Thanks for all of your supporting comments regarding my IUI, much appreciated! Next time I post – I’ll probably have news. Let’s hope it’s something good.