Thursday, June 26, 2008
the squirt
Well... low and behold, "the squirt" came early this cycle. I was originally scheduled for a Day 13 Ultrasound and the usual LH shot routine on Wed. but we executed a last minute switch of plans when I got a pretty little glowing blue line on my OPK sticks Tuesday morning. Day 14 ovulation? "But... sir... but but... it can't be! That's just so... TEXT BOOK!" That's right. With the introduction of my freaky little pills, I am now cultivating a text book perfect cycle. HOT DAMN! We happened to fall on a day when good ole' Dr. Evil was on the Sperm-Injecting Call of Duty and so we once again were threatened with a potentially very awkward moment, but you know... she was absolutely pleasant. She's been at her very best ever since we fired her sorry ass. I like it. I like it a lot. Anyway... that bastard donor whom we lovingly christened "Gabe" had a crazy low sperm count this time and I appeared to inhale it like a Dirt Devil because it was a very different and (hmmmm... less sloppy?) and less crampy experience than usual but I'm not complaining. In fact, I'm not complaining about anything. If it works this time, GREAT. If it doesn't... so what. Just gives me more opportunity to get back into shape hopefully in time to take on a mission to destroy my body. I'm okay with it no matter which way it goes. This little break has had a very positive affect, I believe. and for the first time since that EMPTY bullshit, I'm feeling pretty damn healthy and good about all of this.
Monday, June 23, 2008
I'm BAAAACCK
It's probably unnecessary to state the obvious that I have been on another non-voluntary hiatus from TTC which has rendered me rather mute in the blogging world for the past many weeks. I had initially thought that I could amuse you all with “day in the life” anecdotes of Erin Rae, but even that proved to be a fruitless endeavor… not unlike my TTC actually, now that I think about it. So at least I'm consistent here. Ha! I very much appreciate those that commented on my being MIA because well… it just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and crap inside and so I’m now newly inspired (at least in this hour) to drool some overly detailed and hopefully entertaining dribblings about… well… nothing, I suppose.
But first - an update. I'm fixin' to jump back on that TTC wagon. I took my teeny weeny little egg-bloating pills this month and have commenced peeing on those damn little sticks again. Speaking of sticks - Really, could somebody please please come up with a better method for this? Like maybe make the fucking stick bigger than my fucking hand??? Or provide a little miniature funnel with the packaging? Seriously. Maybe it’s just me, but peeing on my own hand on a daily basis for a week is really not my idea of a libido polishing pre-func to the big stirrup day. I’m just sayin’. Anyway, where was I? Oh yah; so I’m scheduled for an ovarian photo shoot on Wed. of this week. I’m picking out my outfit and shoes for the occasion tonight! It’s been so long since I’ve visited my posse at the clinic I’m wondering if I secretly miss them, deep deep, WAY deep down inside. My groin, that is. Because that’s the part of me that gets the bulk of their attention after all. I think my posse at the clinic, once I’m finally rid of them, will end up being more like that friend you once had that you just never really liked all that much but you hung around with them anyway because they weren't doing anybody any harm and because you felt it was necessary for one reason or another and when you finally parted ways you didn’t really miss them until you like heard a specific song on the radio or got a whiff of something familiar causing a brief moment of “aw…”. I'm pretty sure that that is precisely how I’ll feel about the clinic and the people there anytime I hear the song “Copa Cabana.” Because they are so very similar, you know.
So, whilst on this TTC break, I’ve been relaxing. Well, in between partying like an 80's Butt Rock Hair Band Legend, at least. Work has been threatening to stress me out, but I’ve adopted and have been fiercely practicing my new “ID GAFF" AKA... "I Don’t Give a Flying Fuck” program and that has been helping to keep stress levels tolerable. Quite tolerable, in fact. I’m not making much commission these days and some might be leery of my new found attitude, but I’m so pleased with the program thus far that I'm considering bottling and patenting my attitude problem, in fact. Maybe selling it on EBay. It suits me. and it complements my perma-smirk.
As evidence of my relaxing, we went camping this weekend. Our first kick-off camping trip of the Summer. I adore camping. Every minute little aspect of it appeals to me in every sense of my being. The smell of campfire smoke lures me into an almost bliss-like trance. I'm not even bothered by the stinging burning sensation in my eyeballs when smoke gets in them because I merely remind myself that smoke follows beauty and I'm instantly flattered and feeling good about myself; not unlike spending a day at the gay Hair Stylists. I love the comforting, soft warm dirt between my toes. I would walk around barefoot in the dirt the entire time if I could. Camping, however, has taken a slight twist from the camping of my childhood days ever since I started toting Drakey along with me. She is mortified at how dirty my feet get; even WITH shoes (although open toed/open everything'd Merrill sandals) on. She quite literally cleans my feet off with Ponds wet wipes before going to bed and always makes me take my shoes off before going into the tent. I like to sit at the door of the tent and sneak one last quick dip back into the dirt before tucking in for the night just to spite her. This past weekend she caught me up to my tricks and declared loudly and angrily that she was going to have to label our god damn sleeping bags from now on and that I'm a filthy barbarian of a human being. This made me smile. Gosh, I love camping.
Okay... well, I can't make any huge promises but I'm thinking about getting back onto the blogging wagon as well. I'm feeling (as always) optimistic about this month. It's up the Universe now. We shall see...
But first - an update. I'm fixin' to jump back on that TTC wagon. I took my teeny weeny little egg-bloating pills this month and have commenced peeing on those damn little sticks again. Speaking of sticks - Really, could somebody please please come up with a better method for this? Like maybe make the fucking stick bigger than my fucking hand??? Or provide a little miniature funnel with the packaging? Seriously. Maybe it’s just me, but peeing on my own hand on a daily basis for a week is really not my idea of a libido polishing pre-func to the big stirrup day. I’m just sayin’. Anyway, where was I? Oh yah; so I’m scheduled for an ovarian photo shoot on Wed. of this week. I’m picking out my outfit and shoes for the occasion tonight! It’s been so long since I’ve visited my posse at the clinic I’m wondering if I secretly miss them, deep deep, WAY deep down inside. My groin, that is. Because that’s the part of me that gets the bulk of their attention after all. I think my posse at the clinic, once I’m finally rid of them, will end up being more like that friend you once had that you just never really liked all that much but you hung around with them anyway because they weren't doing anybody any harm and because you felt it was necessary for one reason or another and when you finally parted ways you didn’t really miss them until you like heard a specific song on the radio or got a whiff of something familiar causing a brief moment of “aw…”. I'm pretty sure that that is precisely how I’ll feel about the clinic and the people there anytime I hear the song “Copa Cabana.” Because they are so very similar, you know.
So, whilst on this TTC break, I’ve been relaxing. Well, in between partying like an 80's Butt Rock Hair Band Legend, at least. Work has been threatening to stress me out, but I’ve adopted and have been fiercely practicing my new “ID GAFF" AKA... "I Don’t Give a Flying Fuck” program and that has been helping to keep stress levels tolerable. Quite tolerable, in fact. I’m not making much commission these days and some might be leery of my new found attitude, but I’m so pleased with the program thus far that I'm considering bottling and patenting my attitude problem, in fact. Maybe selling it on EBay. It suits me. and it complements my perma-smirk.
As evidence of my relaxing, we went camping this weekend. Our first kick-off camping trip of the Summer. I adore camping. Every minute little aspect of it appeals to me in every sense of my being. The smell of campfire smoke lures me into an almost bliss-like trance. I'm not even bothered by the stinging burning sensation in my eyeballs when smoke gets in them because I merely remind myself that smoke follows beauty and I'm instantly flattered and feeling good about myself; not unlike spending a day at the gay Hair Stylists. I love the comforting, soft warm dirt between my toes. I would walk around barefoot in the dirt the entire time if I could. Camping, however, has taken a slight twist from the camping of my childhood days ever since I started toting Drakey along with me. She is mortified at how dirty my feet get; even WITH shoes (although open toed/open everything'd Merrill sandals) on. She quite literally cleans my feet off with Ponds wet wipes before going to bed and always makes me take my shoes off before going into the tent. I like to sit at the door of the tent and sneak one last quick dip back into the dirt before tucking in for the night just to spite her. This past weekend she caught me up to my tricks and declared loudly and angrily that she was going to have to label our god damn sleeping bags from now on and that I'm a filthy barbarian of a human being. This made me smile. Gosh, I love camping.
Okay... well, I can't make any huge promises but I'm thinking about getting back onto the blogging wagon as well. I'm feeling (as always) optimistic about this month. It's up the Universe now. We shall see...
Friday, June 6, 2008
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