Friday, October 26, 2007
My computer has inherited my waking hours. My computer and my chair.
I can literally feel my ass flattening.
Tonight, the hours at work are stretching before me like a desert. Again. Friday night in my office, 40 floors up, under florescent lights. I have a Very Important Deadline.
I feel like throwing this fucking Aeron chair through the window and following it out.
Monday, October 22, 2007
For those curious, it takes 29 point something years for Saturn to rotate around the sun. So right around our 29th birthday, Saturn is returning to its position at our birth. This signals Big Changes and Grownup Feelings, which may or may not induce one to toss oneself under a hurtling bus. Depending on one's maturity level.
Thus my feelings of hysteria and impending doom are completely normal, and I'd like to take this opportunity to point my finger in blame at the second largest planet for any bad behavior I may exhibit until I turn 30.
And during this time of growth and transition, Saturn urges us to do an "internal spring cleaning."
So to dust off the old cerebellum, we visited the gorgeous Pioneer Valley on Saturday. Hiked with our doberson, and lord was it spectacular. For all the love in my heart for NYC, fall in New England stands alone.
This made me want to quit my job, buy 10 acres and start a goat farm:
Well that, and this:
On the real, though, I worship this city. And it helps that I live in the last legit neighborhood on the island of Manhattan. But, be it the trees or the trails or E's pooching belly, holy moses did I feel like moving this weekend.
And I'm not one to think that raising a kid in the city is a bad idea - au contraire. City kids rock. I'm jealous that I didn't get to grow up in this metaphysical racket.
But the idea of being swept up in the NYC parental attitude skeers me. We have friends who have yet to BEGIN to TRY to get pregnant, whose future child's name is already on the application list at 5 preschools.
Cause that's how long the wait lists are.
And we so aren't about that. We're more of the our-kid-rides-his-bike-the-6-blocks-to-public-school type of people. And let's face it, regardless of the strength of one's bike-lock, one's bike is not one's own in this great city.
(If you've lived in New York whilst owning a bike, your bike has been stolen. Unless you have magic powers.)
So all that is to say, it was a good weekend for internal tidying in response to Saturn's counsel. The sun shone and then it rained. The trees were crimson and gold, like my new bike. I thought about the city. I thought about the not-city. I thought about our peanut-sized embryo. E vomited for the first time.
Life was good.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Lo, the heartbreak. For he is good-hearted and gay, if slightly mysterious and perhaps a wee bit of a druggie.
Anyways, after S1 did some prodding about the status of E's womb, E revealed that she was indeed just under 2 months pregnant, and there was much whooping and squeezing and excitement, which was sweet.
Then we started talking about how it happened...you know, how it came to pass that I managed to impregnate E.
Since, like, I'm a girl.
So we kind of had to educate S1 and S2 on IVF. And fuck if that wasn't a weird experience.
For all us who are intimately acquainted with IVF -- or have real life or virtual friends who are -- it's just IVF. One of the many tortuous ways one attempts to get pregnant when nature, for one reason or another, isn't helping.
Yes, yes, nightly shots, yes, daily wanding, yes, foot long needles. BFD.
I was sort of dismissively explaining the process, but the more I talked, the further their jaws dropped. They were fascinated, and couldn't seem to wrap their heads around what in the holy hell IVF is.
"Are you serious??"
And so on.
It was bizarre to revisit IVF through the eyes of a person who had never been there. I felt myself becoming re-acquainted with that feeling of utter disbelief and shock when first faced with an IVF protocol. The visceral rejection of such invasive medicine, a reaction stemming from belief and trust in our own bodies.
But the amazing part is how distant that feeling is now. How quickly we adapt to the fucked up stuff we face, and never really give ourselves credit by looking back and saying: holy christ, we did that, and it's over.
Because we're not really sure it's over. How long do we leave those drugs in the fridge? How long do we hang on to all those needles and alcohol wipes? When can we ship them off to someone else who needs them?
From cocky ignorance to miserable uncertainty in a year flat.
So all that shock and awe felt pretty validating.
"You really did all that?"
Fuck yeah, we did all that.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
So, the dreaded birthday came and went and I didn't have any major breakdowns. I claimed to boycott it until I woke up on Friday, October 12 and ran out to the living room to rip open my presents like a 13 year old boy (ah, only one of the numerous ways in which I am like a 13 year old boy, truly).
I could not have asked for a sweeter Craptastic birthday. The night before the big day, E picked me up from work in a white stretch limousine. There were hits of the 80s. And twinkly lights. And champagne. It was prom all over again, which rocked, since I never went to to the prom. And never rode in a limo.
On Friday, my work friends took me to my favorite Turkish restaurant for lunch. My co-workers (my co-workers!!) threw me a surprise party with a gigantic cookie-cake emblazoned with red and yellow frosting. I cannot overemphasize the bizarre wonderfulness of this - I work with corporate lawyers, people. I was completely surprised and kind of embarrassed for the stuffy old partners eating their frosting covered chocolate chip cookies with plastic forks.
But damn it was cute.
Then E and I went to the Berkshires with my brother and his lovely girlfriend. Our arrival was met with a "balloon-kitchen surprise party," which was as merry as its name implies. The lovely girlfriend had created a poster that will go down in history as the best poster ever created. I'll post a picture of it. And you will gasp for the cuteness of it.
As birthdays tend to do, mine extended into Saturday. The weather could not have been more Northeasternly Fall gorgeous. And. Saturday morning, I walked outside to get some firewood and was met with the glorious sight in the above picture.
An original. 1981. Schwinn Stingray.
A gift from my awesome family. (The only thing that made this present more perfect was the image of my 6'2" brother riding it over the Williamsburg bridge - his only means of getting it home).
Thursday, October 11, 2007
We saw you today, you little lentil with the flickering heart.
This is not, technically, the first time we've seen you, since we have a gorgeous picture of you at merely 8 cells. That's just a head-shot, if you will, not much action happening in it, but it captures your round perfection quite nicely.
But today...well, today we saw you in real-time. And you are nothing if not a rockstar.
You are .47 cm long, and your heart is storming away. We scoffed at the need to measure it, for it beats at the speed of light.
There's just one of you in there, no sign at all of any comrades. This news was received by your mom with a teary gasp.
Knowing her like I do, I assumed this was a teary gasp of relief; but to my great dismay her chin started to quiver and her eyes began welling up.
"I really thought there'd be two and now I'm sort of disappointed..."
And she clutched at her midsection, looking down at her belly and crying out:
"No matter, I'll just love you twice as much!"
Thank you for staying, our thunderous little Rockstar.
With preposterous amounts of love from me, E, and your many other swooning fans,
During this last week we've spent waiting for it, lots of Fucked Up Things have gone down. I won't detail most of them here. Some were just annoying, some were heartbreaking.
But shit is starting to get weird, and I'm trying not to feel like this series of Bad Events are leading towards bad news today.
1. We lost our sweet cat. She's gone. I can't even begin to go into it, for the guilt is nearly suffocating me.
2. My son, my beating heart, my doberman, had a hideous experience this morning. He's a huge, healthy, strapping dog, but we've started to suspect that he has a mild form of Wobbler's Disease, a degenerative neurological condition that disrupts their balance and ability to walk. He's completely unaffected 99% of the time, but there have been a couple of occasions where he seems to lose control of his hind end for a few minutes. Those instances have been scary, but he usually regains control quickly, so we've never been downright panicked.
We took him to the Animal Medical Center in NYC last year and they diagnosed him with mild Wobbler's. They told us to use a harness and keep an eye on him. Nothing else to do.
This morning, after throwing a tennis ball for him a couple of times, I watched as he went from standing still to suddenly staggering sideways at nearly a full run, his head cocked grotesquely. He was clearly unable to control his big lopey body, and he slammed into a fence, and then collapsed, all his muscles seized up, his eyes glazed, and he drooled uncontrollably.
All I could to was hold his head in my lap and soothe him until his muscles relaxed and he came back to himself. It was horrible.
And tomorrow, I turn 29. I looked in the mirror this morning and thought, "damn, I look a year older. At least." Trying to get E pregnant this last year took a toll on me. I look older. I feel older. For the first time in my life I made E cancel our birthday party plans.
I reject turning 29.
Ultrasound at 2PM today. Any life in E should be the size of a lentil.
I hope they are living lentils.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
In all seriousness, though, thanks for your thoughts. Bleu is right, I would be antsy if I didn't go. But it's early, so things might be vague and that will introduce its own kind of drama. But I have my legions of readers to think of, no? I will stand firm and attend the ultrasound on the eve of my birthday, if only to put your minds at ease.
Tomorrow is the big day. Infertile Pediatrician, you give E great hope, and I thank you for that because she was becoming a bit of a Debbie Downer with her twin-griping.
Although I must tell you that irony ruled the day yesterday. E had to attend a Fancy Fundraising Event last night for...of all things...the Multiple Birth Center of a major metropolitan hospital. Thus she spent the evening interrogating parents of twins and triplets, all of whom glowed with delirious joy about the wonders of parenting multiples.
She came home a wiser woman. And I'd wager - particularly after yesterday's post - we are all glad for that.
Monday, October 8, 2007
The ultrasound will be at 6 weeks, 3 days. Rescheduled to Thursday, the day before my birthday. That way, if it shows an empty sac we can spend my birthday drinking heavily. Or we may see three occupied sacs, in which case
I'm kind of thinking it might be multiples. Not just because of her freakish HCG numbers. Mostly because I think God is going to punish E by giving her multiples.
See, E has a...um...let's call it a "weird thing" about multiples. Twins creep her out. Identical twins, fraternal twins that are dressed alike, and don't get me started on trips or more.
She used to be rather vocal about her "weird thing." Whenever she was witness to a set of multiples, she would...protest. This would lead to whatever companion she was with at the time of such multiple-sighting questioning her about what she would do if she herself became pregnant with twins.
Innocent companion party: My goodness, you are quite averse to multiples! What would you do if you had twins one day?
E: (deadpan) I'd throw one in the garbage.
Innocent party: (aghast) You wouldn't! Why, how could you choose which to dispose of?
E: The ugly one goes.
Invariably, her companion would laugh, until companion looked into her eyes and discerned that she was quite serious. The laughter would turn to a nervous chuckle, then to a concerned frown.
So I've debated moving the ultrasound to next week. That way, if there is dead baby inside her, we won't know until after my birthday. Additionally, if there are 2 or more sacs in there, I don't have to manage any panic attacks until after my birthday.
I'm more of the opinion that twins are kind of cool. I mean, I'm all for baby having another soul around so E and I aren't the only available sources of entertainment. (Anyone read The Golden Compass? They'll be each other's daemons!) And besides, two for the price of one, people.
So I can't decide. I want to know now. And I don't want to know. I don't need any drama fucking up my birthday. But then again this birthday feels weird already. I'm almost 29 and my wife is pregnant. It's the end of an era.
A magnificent era.
Monday, October 1, 2007
How the hell many are in there? One? Two? In the name of all that is holy, three?
Given the choice of anytime in the next two weeks, E chose a week from Friday for the ultrasound. 10/12. AKA, the greatest day of the year. AKA, my birthday.
E scheduled her first pregnancy ultrasound for the day I turn 29. That foxy girl. Happy Birthday, honey, I'm carrying ___ of your seed! Let's go to Penthouse Executive Club!
Hahaha. The seed joke (yes, yes, my own joke) gets me every time. I will full-on elbow people in the ribs and wink if she is pregnant with multiples.
I so knocked her up.