Post 100

BFN


And the feminine products down there to prove it.


It doesn't quite seem fair that my boobs still aren't fitting in my bra.

We'll be moving on and forward. Soon. Not yet. Not quite there. Give me a few hours or days.

It started with a sore throat

and turned into the post-nasal drip from hell. Now it's dripping out the outside, too. Can't breathe, can't breathe! Slept for crap last night. Because that's what I need, on top of everything else, right?

At least I can blame my temp drop on that. Maybe. Blah.

(sick, I can handle. pain, I can handle. sick & pain together? I'm a big baby. sorry.)

Back from Doctor

Hey! At least now I've got PAIN to take my mind off the TWW! Why did I think that maybe I'd exaggerated the pain of having warts frozen off? AHAHAHAHAHA. No. Hurts just as much as I remember. At least two more treatments to go. Waaaaaaaaugh.


I also have a Giant Bandage on the side of my face, prohibiting me from turning my head left. I have a prescription for the psoriasis, and they took a biopsy to send off to a lab to have the diagnosis confirmed by people who confirm such things. The biopsy was fine, I'm not bothered in the least, except in that I can't turn my head left.

I think it's nap time.

We caved

I was too curious, and J couldn't take being the only one who knew the numbers, and not knowing what they meant.

Which means that my chart is updated.

I've had a great time all morning overlaying it with j.k-c.'s pregnancy chart, and seeing how different the pattern is from my other charts, but in all honesty, I know that most of this likely has to do with the fact that I'm temping vaginally for the first time this cycle. That's why I wanted the numbers anyway, instead of just not temping, so that if it's a negative, I'd have a baseline in the future to run against instead of the oral temps. Not quite apples and oranges -- maybe more like granny smith and red delicious?

Which all boils down to: it looks awfully pretty, but I can't really bring myself to trust that.

I've had all the requisite "symptoms," some of which have stayed and some of which have gone (the exhaustion has stayed. As well as the not-quite-cramps. They can go. No, really.) and only time will tell.

Current plan, unless J overrides it (which, as non-carrying wife, she has ultimate pee stick power) is just... not to test. If my LP is 12 days (the norm), I'd get my period on Thursday. If it's 14 days (as the last 2 cycles have been), Saturday. At which point we'll already be up in New England. So... it's wait and see, I guess.

I DO feel awfully nauseated, but I think that has more to do with my dermatologist appointment later this morning. BLECH.

Baby Madness

I have begun to succumb to baby madness.

Last night at the bookstore, I bought a heteronormative baby-havin' magazine (the only kind there is). Me. I picked it up, I read snippets, I decided to carry it home. The sticker price kinda kills me, but what can you do? It's because no one buys a subscription to these magazines, because buying twelve months of something called Conceive is sort of like guaranteeing a dry spell.

I have memorized, and could recite ex tempore, my wife's temperatures for the last seven days. I am the Keeper of the Temperatures.

When I look at her FertillofriendTM chart, I start to spasm, because it's inaccurate, because it's incomplete. I know the point is to keep us from jumping to conclusions, but I'd like to have those conclusions. If she triphasicized or whatever, I want to know. I want to know now.

I have said the words 'co-lactate' in a public space (not in mixed company, but you know, not to myself in my head, either, and not in the car on The Commute). I have lamented the seeming trend of 'Mommy Boob' and 'Mama EverythingElseButSomehowLess' and decided to do something about it at the expense of my time, my health, and my extant bra collection.

I have finished The Other Mother [print version]. Three times.

Now what do I do? What else is there for me to do? I can ask her to test/take random illusive but pointless temperatures/describe her mucus in detail. But this isn't happening inside my body... just my brain.

We're so cool

Man, what a Sunday. Brunch with the girls from Baby Steps and 1invermillion (delicious and enjoyable, but of course). Book store, cupcakes.

Plans to take the puppy to a class on potty training, getting the oil changed, being home in time for the Last Restaurant Standing finale that we missed earlier in the week, and then out to the movies.


Uh, emphasis on plans. Actuality: coming home and passing out for, oh, 2.5 hours...

I guess maybe I should think about dinner?

One last post for today.

Maybe. (Er, maybe the last. not maybe a post. Because obviously, if you're reading this, there's a post.)

ANYWAY.


I have entered "bloated" in my chart so much now that I'm considering making a custom button for "fat." Because it's not bloated anymore, I just feel FAT. I feel huge. Huge and gross. It started last cycle and it hasn't gone away. And I suspect it has more to do with my stress eating than any hormonal changes. But I DISLIKE IT.


Meanwhile, hopefully the rain will let up a bit this weekend so I can grill that chicken I put in sauce yesterday to marinate (before I napped through the time I had planned on cooking dinner) because we won't know when/if anything's going to happen to the oven until Monday. Because the estimates for repair and for replacement are both above what the management company's allowed to spend without permission. Whooo! It may be time to break down and get a microwave.

So many posts!

So little time! I wanted to post last night, but my computer and blogger were not playing nice, so this is going to be a little hodge podge.

FIRST -- A HUGE congrats to J and S at The Incredible True Adventures... !!! Here's hoping for a happy and healthy 9 months. YAYAYAYAYAY!

SECOND -- On my way home yesterday from work I ended up behind a horrid gold van. Which had four little bumper stickers, obviously homemade. And from left to right, they read (from memory, I could be wrong): Santa Clause, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Global Warming.

I was so mad. I wanted to smash into the rear end of that stupid smoke-spewing gold minivan.

THIRD -- I was headed home mid-day to meet the stupid repairmen. (The technicians are always fine, it's the office people I have issues with.) Verdict: Screwed. It needs a new igniter, and there's a short between the thermostat and the oven proper, so no electricity is getting to the oven to tell it to turn on. The tech doesn't think the parts needed are available anymore, as the oven is 26 years old, and the company hasn't been in business for a long time. But if last year's fridge fiasco is any indication, the property manager will fight tooth and nail against replacing it, so... we'll see. If I recall correctly, he's got 10 days, according to our lease. Tick tock...

FOURTH -- 7DPO. I'm frustrated still not to know what my temp is. But it's a normal kind of frustration, the frustration of simple not knowing. I know this frustration well, and it doesn't have quite the same amount of emotional baggage attached to it.

FIFTH -- I'm so ashamed. Ashamed at our supper last night. It was going on 9 when we neared home, and we had no functioning oven (and we have no microwave) and we were starving. And J has OD'd on W*ndy's lately. So we went to that other place. that M place. Where we've only been twice since we moved over a year ago, and both of those times because we were in a rest stop where all the options were equally bad. (we still regretted it.) uuuuuuuuuurgh.

SIXTH -- It was so late because we were coming back from picking up the puppy! He's home! Yay!

SEVENTH -- I've uploaded some pictures of me with short hair for review. Opinions are welcome. If you're on Flickr, I uploaded other pictures, too. They're locked, but if you friend me, I'll friend you blah blah yackity. Don't you want to see adorable baby me?

ANYWAY. Pictures!

In high school, and this is what it would look most like. Shorter than the ears, and a wedge in the back, where it's shaved.



In college, it was a bit longer in the back, but about the same around the ears. My hair naturally does that weird wavy thing when it's not heavy enough to be pulled down. I have no control over it, not with curling irons or hair dryers or sprays or gels. It will not be controlled.



A few years ago, just after having hiked the Grand Canyon. This is the shortest it's been in recent years, and it was still long in the back. Since this haircut 4 years ago, it hasn't been shorter than the bottom of my ears.

On doctors and hair cuts

I remembered what it was I was going to say yesterday -- that the anger (progesterone-induced or otherwise) came to a boiling high early this month. Monday was a whopping 3DPO, and found me alternatively rolling down the car window to yell obscenities at my fellow drivers, and nearly bursting out into tears. I just can't WAIT to see what the next week and a half brings!


In more important news -- tell me, should I chop off my hair?

Seriously, it's driving me crazy.

But I love it. It looks cute where it is now, and I've only recently started caring what my hair looks like. I feel like I should take advantage of it or something. Plus, chopped short, I look butch. I mean, so butch. Like uber-dyke butch. Granted, I haven't had the haircut since high school, and so I don't even know how it would look now, but in my mind's eye, I don't like it.

But here's the thing. I have a lot of really stupid and tame disorders, the kind that make people roll their eyes, the kind where your body decides to screw with its immune system, but not in fun, hospitalization requiring ways. Just in gross things. (um. this part might be gross. I don't think it is, but I've lived with this stuff all my life. consider yourself warned.)

I have psoriasis. I think I do, anyway -- it's possible it's eczema (dr. google says it looks like it could be!) but as a child, it was diagnosed as psoriasis. I have it on my scalp, I have a small patch on my eye, and when I get really stressed out, or really over-heated, my hand gets bright red and itches.

My hand's been itching.

When my hand itches, you don't even want to think about what my head's doing. Needless to say, it is painful and unpleasant -- for me and for you. (No, really. that's not dandruff. No, really, dandruff shampoo would only make it worse. I promise.) The last few weeks it's been getting worse (always does as summer approaches -- psoriasis or eczema, heat bothers both), but the last few days it's been just about unbearable. I've been able to keep the blood to a minimum, but I'm pretty sure I frightened poor J this morning when I asked her to look at my scalp.

Sun does help, and having long(er) hair does aggravate things, hence the contemplating chopping it off.

Should I become butchy mcbutcherson for the sake of my poor irritated scalp?


I did make a doctor's appointment. Next Tuesday. (Doctors, for something other than TTC? Say it ain't so!) And I will continue to panic until then, convinced that the doctor will mock me for my head, be grossed out by the warts on my feet, and tell me I actually have some horrible congenital disease that can only be cured by medicines that one absolutely cannot take while TTC.

Hey, I never said I was rational.

(and, in all fairness, I am worried about the fact that the most successful treatment for psoriczema or whatever the hell is on my head is steroid cream. needless to say, I don't feel very comfortable around that during the tww.)

ADD Blogging

• I hope you all have taken note of the new header above, made by the wonderful Calliope. If you want one, sidle on over and let her know, and maybe the two of you can come to some kind of agreement. It's for a great cause. :D Don't blame her for the non-change in layout, though; that's all on my head.
• Two hours and fifteen minutes until I go home. Got in early and worked through lunch so that I can get in some quality time with el poopy before bringing him to the vet to have his manhood removed.
• But after I drop him off, I get to go to the best grocery store ever, just for fun.
  
• I am killing so many trees for work lately it makes me feel very ashamed. The "funny" part is that they're the same documents for different people, all printed off of an online archive, because we're supposed to be working towards a paperless society. har.
  
• I'm so. freaking. tired. I napped Sunday, and then passed out at 7:15. I fell asleep last night at 9something, and aside from half an hour or so around 11, was out for the night. So why do I feel like somebody hit me with the tired stick? It's too early for it to mean anything fun.
• I don't know if I'll make it the next week and a half without looking at my thermometer, or threatening S with bodily harm if she doesn't show me my temps.
  
• I had this for lunch today, and it was quite possibly the tastiest frozen pizza I've ever eaten. Ever. I finished it and wanted another.
• We've decided to go with Rhode Island for our trip. And we even get to bring the dog. If he ever forgives us for what happens tomorrow, that is.
• I had something else to go in this bullet point, but I've forgotten what it was.
• Odds that I'll manage to clean up around the house tonight, with the puppy and the wife gone? (Wife I'm picking up tonight, as opposed to puppy who is gone until tomorrow night.)
• I still want to write my post about adoption.
• I also have posts about my brother, and support groups, and grieving, and time.
• Odds ANY of those posts will get written?
• Oh! And the post about how my aunt didn't invite S and I to my cousin's graduation party.

Okay. That was enough of a smoke break. Back to killing trees.