My Truth.

May 2, 2014 at 11:31 am | Posted in And I ran (I ran so far away), Career angst, Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy), My life | 5 Comments

Man, I do not KNOW why I haven’t been able to write lately. I feel as if my thoughts and feelings are all swirled around in a murky mud puddle – the kind you get in March in New England. They freeze overnight, are full of sand and dirt and melted snow and slush and if you step on it, the thin ice will break and you’ll end up ankle-deep in cold murk.

Writing is complicated lately.

So much easier for me to close out the “New Post” screen and do something else. Like budgets, or chatting with friends, or dishes. Or nothing; anything that requires no thinking or feeling. Something where I’m skimming along on the surface.

My truth is that I’m both okay and not okay.

It’s freeing, empowering even, that I don’t have a Plan. This, right in front of me, is The Rest of My Life. Charlie and I are watching Lucky (and Happy!) grow up right in front of us, and we’re a family, and in SO many ways we have such a good life.

But I have many moments, too, where I think, This is my life? Wait!! I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!

I’m trying to decide if my expectations were unrealistic, or I’m just really unhappy with some facets of my life, or some combination of the two.

What I know: I am still full of self-loathing. I cannot put words to how much I hate my female parts. They utterly failed me. And then I struggle with this feeling. Because, I mean. I have a CHILD. You’d think that I’d have at least some measure of thankfulness that I was able to carry Lucky to term AND nurse him when he was a baby. My girl parts did just fine then, right?

But then I remember how, when I was pregnant with Lucky, I felt like we had snuck one in, came in under the radar. I never felt comfortable being pregnant; I felt like I was faking. And we really did get incredibly lucky – he managed to avoid the scarred, dead, unhealthy parts of my uterus which killed countless embryos; the part of my body which was responsible for so much loss over the years.

I’m thankful – so thankful – he’s here with us.

But I also cannot shake the unrelenting anger at my body for failing me so many other times.

And that anger is hard to manage, sometimes. For a while, I’ll be fine, and happy, and I’ll think things like, Wow, isn’t it a blessing we didn’t end up having another baby! We would have given up so much freedom! and I’ll go for a run and feel strong and happy and listen to the birds chirping and feel the sun on my face. And I’ll come home completely content with my life.

But the Beast will rear up and catch me completely off-guard, and I’ll flip the fuck out over a perceived slight from Charlie, and I’ll throw it all on him, because obviously he’s not good enough or fast enough or doing any of the right things and he doesn’t even KNOW ME. Because that’s what I do – I get pissed off at other people instead of looking into the black pit inside me. But while I’m yelling and pushing him away and trying to get him to hate me as much as I hate myself it’ll all come crashing down on me.

I’m the fucked up one, I can’t make any more babies, I’m a loser and a failure and I loathe being an accountant and I’m a crap mom to boot. And I don’t know what the fuck I want, so what’s the POINT of all of this shit anyway?

And I go to therapy, and talk through it all, and hear my therapist tell me I’m doing all the right things by talking it out and recognizing it about myself.

But nothing changes.

I still feel stuck. I feel gypped. I feel like the life I imagined when I was stuck in my room as a teenager with no social life and controlling parents isn’t at all close to what I have.

And intellectually, I can SEE that I’m doing this all to myself, that this is life, baby, and no one said it was fair, and good god Serenity, don’t you realize what you HAVE? There are people out there who are barely making their bills and cannot have ANY of their own children and are working jobs where they don’t have the luxury of disliking because it’s the only way they won’t DIE. This is a first world problem, your inability to have more children and the life you dreamed about when you were stuck in your room as a teenager with no social life and controlling parents. And anyway, teenagers know NOTHING of real life, which means that your expectations were probably too fucking high. Just let it go.

Let it go.

Why CAN’T I let it go? Why can’t I keep those moments of contentment close to my heart? Why do I keep spiralling back into pain and anger and fear and sorrow? What the fuck is WRONG WITH ME?

My truth is so complicated. I can’t hold onto the happy for long enough, and I keep trying to run after it, and it keeps eluding me.

And I KNOW, I KNOW that I need to sit down, really stop MOVING, in order to find the long lasting contentment I seek. Intellectually, I get this.

Sometimes, it’s just really hard.

It’s Complicated.

October 2, 2012 at 9:34 am | Posted in Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy), My life, Parenting | 15 Comments

My relationship with my mother is…

… well. Complicated.

There’s a closet inside me somewhere which is stuffed to the brim with the baggage of 36+ years from our relationship. I go through periods where I’m mostly okay with the injuries she knowingly AND unknowingly inflicted on me over the years.

There are periods where I wish she and my father lived close by, because they’re amazing grandparents and Lucky really seems to dig them.

There are other periods where I feel as if it would be so much easier to just sever ties.

Since my parents moved to Texas, we’ve seen them only once a year. Maybe twice, if there’s some family event.

And my mother has taken to making lame excuses as to why she can’t travel. For the past couple of years, it was her “allergies” (which, honestly, as a mother of a kid with life-threatening allergies? Her food sensitivities that she takes to the Nth degree piss the everloving shit out of me. Shut up about your alleged “allergies” already). That’s been remedied, apparently – she has been eating more foods on her 3 page list of “unallowables” and, holy cow – it doesn’t seem to be bothering her anymore! Wow!

She mentioned that she might not be able to make my cousin’s wedding this past June, because she’s not a good traveler anymore, her allergies make it awful. And when I got mad, and told her she was being ridiculous, she and my dad drove to DC (with a huge cooler AND a microwave in the back of the car, because she didn’t know what she’d eat otherwise). But she was there, and we got to spend an extra day with them, and Lucky LOVED it. I did too, actually.

This summer she actually told me that she’d LOVE to come to Massachusetts to visit, except there’s never a good time of year, because the Texas summers are so hot that 75 is “freezing” to her and she can’t possibly visit if it’s that cold.

So it’s becoming clear – if we want Lucky to have a relationship with his grandparents, it’s our responsibility to go see them.

Or meet up in Florida at Christmas, which we do every year at my grandparents’ condo.

That’s a given. We’ll all be in FL – Lucky will get to see them at Christmas.


My mother texted us kids this weekend that they’re not making it this year.

Why? She’s having surgery on her THUMB. Next week.

And apparently, she can’t possibly miss physical therapy for a week at Christmas.

Nevermind that my sister and BIL might have finalized my new nephew’s adoption come Christmas.

Nevermind that it’s his FIRST CHRISTMAS with our family, and maybe it’s, you know, IMPORTANT to establish a relationship with him.

Nevermind that Lucky hasn’t seen his grandparents since June, and every time we get together, it takes him some time to re-establish a relationship with them, because we don’t see them enough.

Nevermind that throughout my childhood and teenage years all I heard was how irresponsible I was, how I didn’t care about anyone but myself!

I’m sorry, who’s being selfish here?

When I texted back Why no Florida? my mother called me right away. I was too angry to speak with her, so I let it go to voicemail.

She wants to tell me in person why she can’t make it, of course. She wants me to call her back.

I can’t. I’m sick of her lame ass excuses for not making important family gatherings.

Right now, in this moment, I really don’t want to talk with her ever again.

I’m sick of her self-involvement – all she talks about it her ‘health issues’ anymore. I’m sick of her refusal to see the real reason for not traveling; she’s too afraid of being in a world where she has zero control. I’m sick of listening to her lame ass excuses for not being there for her grandson. I’m sick of her choosing herself over people who might actually NEED her – my new nephew being one of them.

I’m tired of all the years she made ME feel like I was the one who was wrong, who needed to change, when it’s HER issues.

She made me feel so awful for so many years. And I’m just starting to see – it was HER.

Not me. HER.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it. Even writing this out, I have the sense that I’m being irrational and overreacting. I mean, it’s just a visit to Florida. What’s the big deal, really?

But I’m so SICK of her excuses. So tired of seeing her selfishness in action. I want to scream at her, punch her, make her realize that it was HER issues that made me feel so fucking bad about myself.

Clearly I’m angry at her for something OTHER than her inability to travel right now. I’m angry at her for all the years I suffered, thinking I wasn’t good enough. I’m angry that she’s so self-focused, she’ll never SEE that.

Charlie tells me not to do anything rash, to remember that she’s my mother and even though I’m so angry I actually HATE her right now, it means I love her, too.

What I DO know is that I cannot pick up the phone and call her until the worst of this anger has passed. It won’t be good for anyone.

And in the meantime, I keep reminding myself this.

She’s human.

She’s flawed.

So. Yeah. It’s complicated.


May 21, 2012 at 8:00 am | Posted in Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy), IVF #6: Quiet Hope | 7 Comments

I sent an email to my SIL Thursday morning, asking if she would loan her doppler to my BFF J. J has been having DBTs, and I thought, well, it’s not like my SIL is using hers right now.

Except, well.

She is actually using her doppler.

I was completely blindsided when she emailed Charlie and I and told us.

And so very angry.

Besides my circle of best girlfriends and my sister, my SIL is the only other person IRL that knows we are going to do another cycle. She’s known how awful the trying has been the second time around for us. She’s taken Lucky overnight twice so we could do retrievals.

And I suppose I thought there was a tacit agreement between us that she’d warn us if she was going to try for a third child.

I sat with the anger for a day. I let myself feel it. I didn’t try talking myself out of it.

And then I realized some things.

First? I never actually told her, out loud, that it would make things easier on me if I knew she was considering another child. I just assumed she’d know that.

Not only that, but she had three losses between my nephew and niece. I remember her telling me towards the end of her pregnancy with my niece that she STILL caveated all of her discussions about a new baby with “if the baby doesn’t die.”

And my SIL is intensely private when it comes to her pain and grief – she’s not like me. For all of her three D&Es, she basically pretended it didn’t happen, and only talked about it much, much later.

So for her, being pregnant right now is an emotional minefield. And maybe she’s coping by pretending it isn’t happening, or thinking it’s not going to work out.

Either way? She’s trying to survive it. Just like I’m trying to survive.

And honestly, who am I to ask her to talk about something which is hard for her so that it’s easier on me? It’s really none of my business.

It’s so EASY to be angry at people for being lucky. I mean, really, it was my first reaction.

I think of her house, the chaos, the times where my niece stands at the door and calls her brother’s name, until he says, Hi! The pictures she posts on Facebook of when my nephew ‘reading’ books to her (her favorite thing). Seeing Lucky decide to share his Bear with her, because she really likes my lovey, Mommy.

It chokes me sometimes, the ache for another child.

And it’s so easy to blame other people. To get angry with them for not giving me a heads up that they might want to expand their family. To be angry that they get to decide, hey, let’s try for another, and they manage to fall pregnant.

That’s not how it works for us.

Or has up until this point, anyway.

Because, you know. The cycle could work, and I might actually get to be pregnant with my SIL and my best friend and a whole host of other people I know that seem to be pregnant right now.

I started seeing an acupuncturist again, one who specializes in fertility-related issues. Who has 11 year old twins from IVF. Who was excited to tell me that she’s four for four pregnancies this year!

I saw her for the first time on Friday morning. And of course, she asked about my digestion, my sleep. And then my stress levels. Before I could respond, she said, Well, of course there’s stress associated with treatments. I’ve lived that stress.

I thought about it for a minute before responding. Really thought. My SIL is pregnant. My best friend is pregnant. I put my cat to sleep a couple weeks ago. I think this might be our last cycle (though clearly I’m never good at predicting those, so take that with a grain of salt, yeah?). I’m still not convinced that I like my career enough to really work at it when the consulting engagements get hard to find.

Yet somehow, I’m OKAY.

Not talking-myself-into-okay, where I tell myself that I have it good, because really there is so much suffering out there and I really kind of have it good.

Not pretend-okay, where I play the “fake it until you make it” game so that people don’t really see how much I hurt.

Not the ‘hey look! a marathon!’ okay either, where I put all my focus into Something Else.

This okay is the kind where I acknowledge my feelings. It hurts when someone tells me about pregnancy. I’m angry at infertility. I want the cycle to work.

I want another child. Very much so.

But I have no control over outcome. It’s not my fault we aren’t pregnant yet, and it’s not anyone else’s fault that they ARE pregnant. It just IS.

And I have feelings about it.

But feelings, thankfully, come and go.

I think I’ve found that mythical place called acceptance. That place where people talk about and I always thought, must be nice to be there.

I’m finally here.

Warning. Rant Ahead.

March 29, 2012 at 2:04 pm | Posted in And I ran (I ran so far away), Battles (aka: toddlerhood), Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Heartbreak, Infertility | 13 Comments

(With swear words and stuff. Not the post you were looking for? Feel free to click away. I won’t feel bad.)

I’m having a week.

I’m tired, cranky, can’t get enough sleep.

My mom might have a kidney stone or advanced renal disease. No one seems to be worried about the latter part of that sentence, despite the abysmal readings from some test the doctor did. Everyone seems to THINK that it’s a stone because of her pain, but you know, it might be worse. We’ll find out today what the deal is.

Charlie’s uncle had a stroke after Lucky’s birthday party. Mild, but enough that it’s affected his speech and understanding. He CAN talk, but he’s got a long way to go before he’s back to where he was. And I wish we lived closer so I could go help out more.

My sister is really, really hurting from her BFN and it’s killing me to listen to her pain.

A blog friend is dealing with a divorce because her husband is in love with her best friend.

My empathy and feelings of utter powerlessness for them are choking me and I have this instinctive NEED to DO SOMETHING. I can’t, and it hurts my heart.

My hip hurts from my hard track workouts last week and I am really sick of STILL DEALING WITH TENDINITS from last fall’s marathon. I want to run and NOT hurt. Apparently that’s too much to ask.

It’s also too much to ask for my four year old to stop wetting his pants. I KNOW. I need to be patient. But I’m low on patience and sick of the same fucking routine. In the span of two and a half hours last night, we had two accidents. (Not even kidding. I wish I was.)

You want to hear what it’s like?

Me, neutrally: Your pants are wet, Lucky. Go use the potty – I’m going to get dry pants for you to change into.

Him: No!!! I DON’T HAVE TO GO!!

Me, faking a smile: Yes you do. You JUST went in your pants a little bit. Go on, go use the potty!

Him: No!!! I don’t HAVE TO GO!!

Me: [deep breath] Sweetie, you DO have to go. Your pants are wet. Go on, just try. I bet you have pee in there.

Him: No!!! I DON’T HAVE TO GO!!

Me, losing my calm: JUST USE THE [insert swearword under my breath here] POTTY ALREADY, FOR CRIPES SAKE. Otherwise there will be no [insert logical consequence here].

Him: No!!! I DON’T HAVE TO GO!!!


Him: No!!! I DON’T HAVE TO GO!!

Me: [taking my fiftieth millionth deep breath] Fine. Just go STAND IN THE BATHROOM and I’ll get you new clothes.

Or the alternate ending. Last night I actually sat him on the potty told him he wasn’t allowed to go to bed until he peed.

Mom of the year here, folks. I am full of awesome.

And SO, SO sick of the smell of pee.

I’m due for AF any moment now. And since December, I become a raging lunatic in the few days before she arrives.

I don’t know WHY every cycle I bother telling myself that it’s not a ZERO chance, why not try for it? And even though I KNOW it’s never fucking going to happen, a part of me still hopes. I don’t fucking believe in rainbows or fairies or babydust. I don’t believe that we’re ever going to get lucky again.

Oh wait. Except that little tiny part of me with its wagging tail and happy dog grin.

It could happen! No, seriously, it COULD! Wouldn’t that be so AWESOME? We’d never have to deal with REs ever again!!

So I spend the days leading up to AF all fucking bitter that I was stupid enough to let myself hope that things could ever be different. Silly Serenity. You’re an idiot. Haven’t you figured out by NOW that you’ll never be pregnant again? Seriously girl, fucking FIGURE IT OUT already.

And then there’s the fact that my husband is commuting to Rhode Island every day for a super stressful and busy engagement and it’s a HUGE drain on our family. I am essentially single parenting every night and most of the weekends. Which honestly I GET. It’s not Charlie’s fault. First engagement, taking more time than it should, needs to meet deadlines, needs to work.

But that means my family and household responsibilities have gone up like 40%. Maybe 50%. And my work hours were only reduced by 20%.

And HE’S stressed out, so I need to step it up and do the little things which he appreciates because it makes his life a little easier. Because, you know, I’m only working part time. I can make time for that stuff now!

Doesn’t take a math genius to figure out I’m overtaxed with too much shit to do and think and process through… and not NEARLY enough time in which to do it all.

Which means I’ve reached the end of Patience. I have no patience for ANYTHING. For situations where Good People are dealing with Bad Shit. For my running, which has totally progressed – I’m running faster than I ever have right now, but STILL DEALING with the stupid hip issues. For my stupid inner Optimist, who hopes with every positive sign of ovulation that maybe we’ll get lucky. For my poor son who clearly is struggling with accidents on a physical AND behavioral level. For my husband, who is working SO hard right now, and who is just as stressed and tired as I am.

Balance. Happiness. Breath. Joy. Mindfulness. Living in the moment.

It all seems so far away from my grasp right now.


February 10, 2012 at 12:30 pm | Posted in Career angst, Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Cult of Personality, Parenting, schmoop (i.e. why I love my kid) | 10 Comments

Thanks for bearing with my all introspective soul-searching crap this week. I’ve really been struggling with work but also with giving my notice.

The facts: Things have simmered down a bit. Last week’s stress was really my boss blowing off steam.

I am also giving my notice on Monday.

It’s going to be one of the hardest things I’ve done, personally. It’s HARD to say “hey, this career thing that I’ve spent years and a lot of money working towards? Yeah, not so much what I wanted after all.”

But I’m going on the idea that happiness is worth that cost, and my family will benefit from my happiness.


What I haven’t mentioned is that I set up a consultation with another RE in the area. For next Friday.

Not much to say, really. This particular doctor showed up as being in the top 1% of REs in the nation, according to a US News & World Report.

My SIL and a few friends have also some personal experience with this doctor, and have told me that this RE is a straight shooter.

We shall see what happens. I am personally at the point where my medical file is bigger than my hope. So I don’t really have any expectations of this meeting, per se.

With the insurance issue? I have enough fodder to fight the issue with Charlie Brown’s insurance, but I also forgot that I might be able to purchase insurance through COBRA, too. Will be expensive, but cheaper than paying for something out of pocket.


Lucky is pretty damn awesome right now.

He’s starting to draw things that you can tell what they ARE. Which, truthfully, is sort of huge. Yesterday when I got him from school, there was a piece of paper in his cubby with a drawing on it.

Looked like a balloon to me, but you never know.

(Because, really. Asking a 3 year old if they drew a balloon is sort of like asking someone if they’re pregnant – FULL of risk. NO, MOMMY!! That’s a TREE!)

So I asked him what it was.

I drew a balloon, Mommy! See, here’s the string and the balloon. And it’s flying up in to the sky, right THERE.

Score. I actually knew what it was. YEAH!

If I had to label Lucky right now, he’d be my Engineer Kid.

Because his million questions are about how things WORK. Which challenges me every time he asks.

So my answers usually go sort of like this.

Well, the snowblower sucks in snow and then shoots it out of there. Huh, no, I don’t know why it’s got sharp edges where it sucks in the snow. Maybe to break it apart if it’s icy. Uh, no, I don’t know what the handle is for. Yes, that DOES look like a plug. I dunno, maybe you can plug it in to charge the batter? You know what? Your Daddy knows more about snowblowers than I do. Let’s make sure we ask him tonight so he can teach me too!


It’s like he’s looking at the world and wants to break everything he learns down by figuring out how it WORKS.

It’s awesome. He’s so curious, and really smart, and I don’t really have the words to describe how much I love it.

But wow it’s exhausting too. I wasn’t one of those kids who really CARED how stuff worked. I lived really mostly in my own imagination world where everything just worked and I could do what I wanted when I wanted.

I have the sense that O is a lot like Charlie Brown in that sense. And I very much want to cultivate his curiosity. That, I believe, will determine his “school success.” Curiosity.


I am having a horrible time with insomnia this week. Pretty sure it’s a couple of things at play here. Work stress, yes.

But our change in schedule. Charlie Brown’s commute makes him get home two hours later than he did before. Which means that he’s pretty much JUST gotten home when I’m sleepy and ready for bed.

And because I love my husband and want to, you know, actually interact with him on a daily basis, I push past the sleepiness and miss my “sleeping window.”

So when I go to bed, I’m awake. For hours. Just sitting there, trying to get sleepy.

And then I get to sleep, but it’s fitful, and I wake up after bad dreams and then am awake, obsessing over them, until my alarm rings.

Rinse, repeat.

Last night I took 3mg of melatonin. I again stayed up too late, so it took me FOREVER to fall asleep.

But once I did, I slept through the night. I’m calling that progress.


That’s it for me today. D-Day is Monday morning; plan is to come in and give notice early.

I am strong. I can do this. I know it.

Back and Forth Between the Rock and the Hard Place.

February 2, 2012 at 11:48 am | Posted in Career angst, Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Infertility | 12 Comments

Wow. I love you all so stinking much, I wish I had the words to convey how much better you’ve made me feel.

Yesterday both my boss and the audit partner stopped into my office in the afternoon. And they both told me that they had a “really good” meeting with our audit committee, with differing emotions coming through.

My boss seemed to say it with a mixture of relief and probably exhaustion.

The audit partner was pretty humble, actually. He came into my office with a ducked head, asking how I was.

My first reaction was not to react. Because I am a professional, and I too am glad that the issue was resolved without a fuss in front of our audit commmittee.

But I FEEL differently. I’m angry and frustrated. I was pulled into my boss’s office and threatened with being put on a performance plan over something that ended up NOT BEING A BIG DEAL.

I feel like a monumental failure because I didn’t do my job well enough to put out a fire that should have been extinguished a long time ago.

And really, I was dragged through the dirt this week. I don’t really GIVE a shit that the outcome was okay. I don’t think it was worth it, given the personal cost to me.

So. In researching my decision to give my notice next week, I had Charlie Brown contact his HR person about insurance benefits. Because though he’s working in the local office of his new company, the company is based out of Ohio.

And the benefits are, accordingly, governed under Ohio law.

So if I were to leave, fertility treatments would no longer be covered.

At this moment, today, the Suck of the daily stress of this job, for the past year or so, outweighs my desire to spend more time and effort on getting a second opinion.

But I can’t help but feel that by walking away from my job, I am also cementing the decision that we are Done. Finished.

It helps that Lucky has never once asked for a sibling. I know that Charlie Brown is done with doctors and the TRYING part.

It’s all me.

There might be a way for me to purchase Massachusetts insurance, since I live in a state that has universal healthcare. But I’m not certain how that works – since I’m married AND I can get benefits through my husband’s employer, I’m not sure that choosing MA insurance if I’m self-employed will save us any money.

We might be better off paying out of pocket for stuff if we want to do anything IF related.

I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that it made me think.

Do I really need to have to quit now? Can’t I Suck It Up for another couple of months until we get that second opinion?

Thing is. It was THIS PAST SUMMER where, on the drive into work every morning, I started to feel a creeping blackness.

Every morning when I drive into work, I check and see if it’s there. Some days it’s not as prevalent, other days it’s huge, and ugly, and scary.

And I’ve been trying to explain it away as trouble dealing with IF. Working through emotions of years past in my therapy sessions. Hormonal, since they come and go.

But I’m starting to wonder if a good portion of that is my job. It’s really not a good fit on either end: me OR my boss.

I’m realistic enough to know that another job, even one more part time on my own terms, will have a lot of challenges. Lucky will still get sick and I’ll have to balance my client commitments with being home. I’ll STILL feel pulled in a bunch of different directions.

But right now, the low grade stress of always feeling attached to my blackberry, the fear of leaving “early” and missing something critical, the sinking pit in my stomach when I drop Lucky off at daycare and realize I haven’t checked my email since last night…

… well it’s sucking the soul from me. Slowly.

And I worked too fucking hard to even BE a mom to squander it away on email and work crap that ultimately doesn’t MATTER in the grand scheme of my life.

I was lucky to bring my son home. And he deserves parents who can be fully present in his life.

So I really think I’m going to make the leap.

Things Fall Apart.

January 31, 2012 at 8:51 am | Posted in Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Crazy Talk (aka: Therapy) | 7 Comments

Was never my intention to leave you with a cute picture of Lucky and I and then bail on you all.

Last week sort of blew up, though.

Lucky was sick most of the week. And it happened to coincide with the first week of Charlie Brown’s new consulting gig. You know, the one where he would commute to and from Rhode Island.

(For those of you keeping track, it’s 80 miles ONE WAY from our house.)

So I spent a lot more time working from home than I’d like. With a sick almost-four-year-old. Who, when he wasn’t slumped all feverish on the couch, wanted me to sit with him, play with him, generally spend time with him. Which honestly, I didn’t want to say no to him. I WANTED to spend time with him.

But, you know. Work, too.

And WHEN I was able to steal some time for my job, it took me five times longer to accomplish a work-related task than it would if I were in the office. Not sure why.

My external auditors were onsite last week too, and though they were quiet when I was actually in the office, apparently they were finding all sorts of things in my area. All minor stuff, but in their little audit room vacuum, they concluded that it was a Big Deal.

And sat down with my boss since it was more efficient, instead of allowing me to soften the blow by preparing him.

By Thursday Lucky was better, thankfully, but I probably wasn’t as productive as I should have been that day when I got some news that threw me for a tailspin.

My own stupid issues, of course, but whatever. I spent a day trying to process and work through it.

And then on Friday, Charlie Brown and I left around 11am to take a kid-free weekend trip to New Orleans. Which, by all respects, SHOULD have been a fun, relaxing time.

Except that on Friday night I got an email from my boss that the auditors had told him they have NO reliance on the work I’ve done in my area and that two of my coworkers were going to mop it up on Monday.

But, you know, have a good weekend.


So I spent an inordinate amount of energy trying desperately to figure out what to do. Though we went to dinner, and wandered around, and went to the cocktail hour, and then partied on Bourbon St with Charlie Brown’s new coworkers, in the back of my head (yes, even when drunk) I was trying to figure a way around the issue.

And of course I woke up 4 hours after going to bed and could not go back to sleep. I dreamt about work. I obsessed about work. I could NOT let it go. I needed to figure out something to DO.

Finally, around 11am, I had a brainwave, and made things a little better.

But good fucking grief.

In case you want to know?

I’m not so good with being flexible.

It’s like I’ve process-improved my life to the extent that I can make everything work smoothly. I have it all covered: running, parenting, sleeping, cooking, cleaning, etc – as long as everyone sticks to the script.

As soon as we have an illness? Or a new job, longer commute? Work issue which has to be dealt with?

BAM. Things fall apart.

I’m this way, emotionally, too. I go into a situation having prepared for a NUMBER of different outcomes.

But of course, I don’t have ESP. And inevitably, something pops up which I didn’t anticipate.

And then things fall apart.

I am hoping that this is like realizing you’re an addict: admitting it is the first step to dealing with it.

Maybe by recognizing my patterns, I can figure out a way to try and become more flexible.

To bend in a storm, instead of cracking and breaking apart.


December 27, 2011 at 11:11 am | Posted in Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Heartbreak, Infertility, Moving On. | 15 Comments

I was going to write about our cruise, and despite the BFN Suck everything is hunky dory.

Except it’s not.

I’m so angry.

I’m so pissed off at infertility in the first place. What the fuck? I’m supposed to be HAPPY that I got my one kid, I’m really fucking lucky, he’s supposed to the the salve that makes all the heartbreak of trying and failing okay?

It’s NOT fucking okay.

For a while, when O was born, I could actually pretend I was NORMAL. I had a kid, I was like the other moms. I could talk about nursing and milestones and not have to worry that I was a medical fucking freak that took 3 years, 3 IVF cycles, and 3 FETs to get pregnant with one kid. I could pretend I was just a normal woman who got pregnant when she wanted to.

Except I’m not normal. I’m infertile.

And now? It means that I will NEVER have the family I wanted. There will always be a piece of me missing, there will always be scars. There will always be times when I have to look away when I see siblings together, or take a breath through the slash of pain when someone asks me, is he your only?

I’m angry that I allowed myself hope that maybe THIS time would be different. For a woman with a number of advanced degrees you’d think that I’d learn by now that it’s fucking pointless to hope.

I’m angry that yesterday, of all days, we had to sign consent forms to have our clinic destroy our remaining embryos. I’m angry with myself for not fighting harder for them, angry with myself for even THINKING that they might turn into babies, angry with the whole fucking situation.

They’re not babies. They’re embryos. Crappy fucking embryos at that. Let it go, Serenity. Just fucking let go.

Except I can’t.

I’m pissed that I can get SO easily sucked back into hoping that maybe the NEXT cycle would be different. What if I tried another doctor? Another clinic? Maybe someone would figure out what I need to do for it to work. Someone else.

I can’t do this anymore. I need to move on. I’m so fucking tired of Fail.

But now I have no hope of ever having the family I imagined I’d have for so many years.

And it’s not fucking fair.

First World Problem: Vacation Stress.

December 13, 2011 at 1:19 pm | Posted in Cheese with that whine? (aka rants), Parenting, Stuck with You (aka: Family) | 7 Comments

First, the Santa update: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, V, for the link to the Portable North Pole.

Because O has been asking to talk to Santa on the computer.

(As an aside? My grand business idea on this is called “Skype with Santa.”)

(Another aside – as a business school student I came up with the idea of Nike + iPod. Except the pedometer went to a wristwatch which would track your pace, distance and time. The project was for a marketing class, and from what I remember, I got an A. Clearly I missed my calling as an entrepreneur.)

(But! You are free to steal the idea, internets, because I currently lack the time or energy to devote to a business idea.)

We are, in our house, in a sort of state of Vacation Stress.

We leave Friday afternoon for Florida, and then the big boat which will take us on a tour of the Caribbean.

See, we embark on Saturday, December 17. And then, we disembark on Christmas Eve.

On 12/24, we will (hopefully) catch a plane in Fort Lauderdale, land in Boston, then drive to my in-laws’ house for the night. Christmas Day will be there.

Which means that BEFORE we go all the presents need to be at my in-laws’ house.

We, of course, have not yet finished wrapping all presents, though O’s and J’s presents are done and ready, our christmas cards are in the mail, and packages for friends/family have been mailed out.

That should happen tonight.

J has THREE interviews this week with the same consulting company. Hopefully this will culminate in an offer, but you never can tell with these things.

He has a 9pm phone call/interview tonight.

(Yet another aside, NFW would I agree to a 9pm interview. That is my bedtime.)

We need to pack. Which, at this point, will be on Thursday night and/or Friday just before we need to get in the car.

Ah, First World Problems.

The good news is that I’m so stressed out about getting ready to GO on the cruise that I haven’t even thought about my plan for Dealing with my Mother.

Because, you see, she has been diagnosed with a host of food allergies in the past year, and therefore couldn’t travel to watch me run a marathon, because she can’t eat the food.

Nevermind that we stayed at my cousin’s house and would have been glad to accomodate her hysteria allergies.

The good news is that O loves his Auntie C and his Grammy and Pop. And really, all I care about is that he gets time with his grandparents, and his great grandparents.

And J and I get a day off in Turks and Caicos to snorkel, and my mother has volunteered an evening where she stays with O when he goes to bed so J and I can go do whatever people on cruise ships do after 7pm.

And, I mean, we’ll be someplace warm and sunny and I’ll get to swim and run and relax.

As long as we make it to the plane, it’ll be good.


August 29, 2011 at 9:56 am | Posted in Cheese with that whine? (aka rants) | 11 Comments

I am in one of those phases where I cannot sleep.

Well, that’s not completely true.

I DO sleep, a little, in the course of a night.

For the past week now, I’ve had it all: trouble falling asleep. Trouble staying asleep.

I am literally up in between EVERY REM cycle. When I do wake up, I’m looking at my alarm clock and am surprised I slept at all.

It’s really frustrating.

I thought perhaps that it might be a symptom of overtraining for my marathon. I’ve had a number of weeks of much higher mileage.

So this weekend, I decided to take some rest days.

Didn’t help.

Insomnia is the worst kind of mental punishment, in my opinion. There’s nothing worse than staring at the alarm clock, knowing that it’s going to ring at 4:30 because I have to run 8 miles and then go be productive for the day.


I am going to try melatonin tonight. And maybe some sleepytime tea.

But this is where I am asking for assvice. Do any of you suffer from insomnia? What have you found to help with it?

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