Saturday, April 30, 2011

How does it feel?

I have always been the type to cry during movies. In 1994, I took my then six-year-old cousin to see The Lion King. When Mufasa died, he was the one to console me and assure me that it was only a movie. Bell Canada commercial where the kid calls his war vet Grandpa to tell him he's at Dieppe? Tears. The last episode of ER, a show I hadn't watched in about five years when it ended? Bawling away. My screen-induced crying is a source of great amusement for The Husband, and that is because he is a soulless automaton.

There's a show on AMC called "The Killing". It's a gritty crime drama set in Seattle and it's a really good show with mystery and political intrigue and all that interesting stuff. It's well written and well acted with realistic portrayals of the major players in the story. And I have a terrible time watching it, even though I really want to know what happens. You see, the plot focuses on the murder of a teenage girl, the detective investigating her murder and the aftermath of her death on her family. In every scene with her mother, I feel it a little too much. Sure, it could be that Michelle Forbes' performance is evoking a heavy empathetic response... But it's more than that. It's yet another "quirk" I blame on The Parasite.

You see, as I'm watching that show, or really any show or newscast where bad things happen to children (The Lovely Bones? Sobs. Recent story about a missing deaf, mute autistic little boy in Quebec? Couldn't sleep.) my mind instantly goes to how I would feel if that was my baby. Being a mom has made me feel things more deeply. It's hard NOT to put myself in someone else's shoes, be those shoes real or fictional. It has basically ruined murder mysteries for me forever. Thanks, kid.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Dear AdSense


"Older Woman Pregnancy
Older Women Can Get Pregnant! We Have Helped Women since 1981."

Not fucking cool!

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


Remember that whole "Spa Day" thing? Yeah. The Parasite awoke with at midnight the night before, utterly inconsolable. Within a couple of hours her temperature spiked and an attempt to take her temperature using the ear thingie (that's the technical term, BTW) was met with "ow, ow, ow". A trip to the clinic the in the morning confirmed an infection. An infection that required antibiotics. Antibiotics that made her sick. Which required another trip to the clinic to rule out allergic reaction. A trip to the clinic which resulted in a lovely bout of something Gastroenteritis-like for me. Oh, did I mention her birthday party was on Sunday? Yeah. Happy Birthday, Parasite!

On top of the crippling fatigue and stomach issues, I received confirmation that this was NOT our month in the conception department. Suffice it to say my "Spa Day" did not go as planned. Yet in spite of all the trials that go with turning a parasite into a functional human being, I still desperately want to start all over again. Clearly I am broken on a deep and profound level!

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

The Spa

There was a time when I was up on the latest music and the latest fashion and the latest restaurants. Now I find out about artists I like because I see a movie trailer, hear a song I like as part of it and get my Google on to find out more. Sad. Sad. Sad. I always thought I'd stay cool when I was married with child(ren).

The Parasite's birthday is on Sunday. TWO! Holy shit, my kid is two. That makes me feel very old. I had plans to take her to the zoo tomorrow but for some reason Spring has decided to pass us by this year and it's going to be too cold in the MIDDLE OF APRIL for an outdoor outing. My in-laws are coming for the weekend and while they're lovely people it's very stressful having them around for days. Between that, work stress, the pregnancy struggles (pretty sure this wasn't our month either) I've decided that Mama is due for a trip to the spa.

Sure, I'll spend the morning cleaning the house in prep for my MIL's eagle eye but when I have an afternoon of someone touching my skin who isn't a toddler clamouring for attention or a husband clamouring for... attention to look forward to, it'll seem a little less like drudgery. I think.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Mom the Vote

There was an interesting article the other day on the influence of Mommy bloggers in the upcoming election. There's a Twitter campaign, #momthevote, aiming to spread awareness about party platforms and their stances on issues that are important to parents. Each of the major parties has decided they're going to be "family-friendly" with tons of promises being tossed around about how THIS party's platform is going to do more to help the little guys, the squirrels just trying to get a nut.

Maybe I'm a cynic. OK, there's no maybe about it, I *am* a cynic. I really don't think it matters who anyone votes for in the upcoming election. They're all full of shit and when you strip off the superficial layers, every government is so mired in bureaucracy there is little chance of real change. That sentiment sows the seeds of apathy, but I'd never suggest such a defeatist attitude. Every time I think that it's hopeless to try to affect change, I do what all rational people do - invoke Depeche Mode. Specifically the chorus of the song "Princess Di is Wearing a New Dress" (OH, how I just dated myself):

You can't change the world
But you can change the facts
And when you change the facts
You change points of view
If you change points of view
You may change a vote
And when you change a vote
You may change the world

It's not one voice or one vote that changes the world, or the country as the case may be, it's the groundswell of a million voices demanding to be heard. Once again I'll be holding my nose and voting when I head to the polls. But dammit, I'll still head to the polls! It's the only voice I've got, and I owe it to The Parasite to use it. At the end of the day it doesn't matter who you vote for as long as you vote with your conscience. Our kids count on us to do the right thing all the time, it's part of showing them how to be functioning members of society. So read the party platforms, decide what matters for your family, and haul your ass to a polling station on May 2nd!

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Repressing Memories

There is some evidence that the notion of repressed memories is false. Maybe. But the idea of "motivated forgetting" is definitely real. I'm usually out the door and at my desk at work before The Husband gets The Parasite up for the day. However, as we know I have been felled by Ebola this week and got off to a late start this morning.

I was just about gone when I heard The Husband say "Awwww, Parasite. Are you OK?" Some time during the night, she threw up and continued to sleep in it. Oh, and she rolls around in her sleep. A LOT. OMFG, the mess! Complete stripping down of the bed, the stuffed animals, the kid, the running of a bath -- because there's no way THAT was coming out of her hair without a full shampoo -- a call to the office to say I wouldn't be in, a call to the daycare to say she wouldn't be in and a couple of loads of laundry later the disaster was over.

And, joy of joys, she refused to wear a diaper for her nap so I could have to do it all over again with different bodily excretions when she wakes up. I had no idea that parenthood was a life-long episode of Dirty Jobs. I am the only adult present so the practice of drinking to oblivion will have to wait until later. In the meantime, I am doing my level best to practice some "motivated forgetting" of my own.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Top 10 Sweet Nothings from The Parasite

  1. "Good job, Mommy!" - After I successfully used the potty - all by myself!
  2. "Goin' shopping. Buy a food. Some eggs and a toast." - As she climbed in her Cozy Coupe in the backyard.
  3. "Have a nice day, other babies!" - As we left daycare.
  4. "Hab a booger nose!" - Statement or demand? - YOU DECIDE!
  5. "NO! That's MY mommy!" - After seeing The Husband give me a hug and a squeeze.
  6. "Need chok'it milk... Pleeeeeease!" - At dinner, when throwing the cup at The Husband did not have the desired effect.
  7. "Get a new shirt, Mommy. Make the machine go "woo-woose" - As she shook from side to side, mimicking the agitator of the washing machine.
  8. "That's mines!" - The plural of "That's mine!", toddler-style.
  9. Me: "What are you doing?" The Parasite: "Poopin'." - What now qualifies as dinner table conversation in our house.
  10. "Night-night, Mommy. See you later. I love you, too! - Bedtime swoon.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Oh, Murphy!

Let's get the boring stuff out of the way first before we talk about S-E-X, shall we? A woman is usually most fertile around the middle of her cycle, a few days before and on the day of ovulation. Even if you hit it perfectly, the odds are between 1 in 5 and 1 in 3 of getting pregnant, depending on the source. That's a pretty narrow window of opportunity. In fact, given the odds, it's a wonder any of us are here at all.

If you are a couple in your mid-30s you might use something like ovulation predictor kits to narrow the odds, because as the months wear on the "Sex by the Calendar" thing gets a little old. So yes, in the last year I have peed on more sticks than your average dog off the leash. On the day the kit shows you that second line, you have 12-24 hours before ovulation to get your freak on. Or, in the case of the 30-something working parents of a toddler trying for another kid, 12-24 hours to drag yourself up to the bedroom in time for some shenanigans before you collapse into your bed exhausted.

Do you know what Murphy and his funny little laws might do at that time, that critical, baby-making time? Give one of the parties a case of Ebola to contend with. Things are dripping in a most unflattering way and the idea of being amorous with The Husband tonight or any other night in the near future is more than my fever-ridden body can handle. And where are we in the calendar? Around the middle of the cycle, a few days before or on the day of ovulation. Fuck you, Murphy.

Monday, April 11, 2011

This just in...

Referencing "The Secret" in a blog post, even when you call it bullshit in said post, can add the Church of Scientology to your list of advertisers. Trufax!

The Secret

Full Disclosure: I have not read "The Secret", nor do I have any intention of doing so because I think self-help books are bullshit with a just a hint of crap. If you HAVE read The Secret and it has changed your life, there's a good chance you and I wouldn't be friends IRL. Having said that, I do have a little secret of my own to share with you...

If you want a day in your jammies, free to watch whatever you want to watch on TV, I highly recommend wicked little kid germs. You can send your parasites to daycare with no guilt as you take time to recover. What presents as a small case of the sniffles in a small child is actually a half-step below Ebola in adults. It's true, but don't try to find any scientific evidence to back it up. That might give away The Secret.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Giving Back

It's not all a one-way street. Sometimes, The Parasite gives back. For example, this morning I have awoken from my slumber to the sore throat, watery eyes and runny nose of the cold she picked up at daycare. I feel so cherished. So blessed. How lucky can a mom get?

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Pandora's Box

Once you open the door to fertility treatments, there's a big gust of wind that can make it very hard to close. That's why before you even open it a crack, you need to make sure that you and your partner are on the same page. The Husband and I have reviewed the treatments that are commonly offered and done a "yay or nay" so that when we're in the thick of it, and someone is pressuring us to consider very expensive, invasive shit, we keep our eyes on the prize.

We have a beautiful child. We would like to have another beautiful child, but if we cannot, we have a beautiful child. I feel like a little bit of an ingrate for lamenting the lack of productivity on the babymaking front, but there you have it. First, we need to determine if there is a problem. Then we need to know what would be involved in fixing the problem. A change in diet to increase sperm count? Sure. A little laparoscopy to clear up a blocked fallopian tube? No problem. Endometrial biopsy? Testicular sperm extraction? Daily blood work and hormone injections? IVF? I have a tremendous amount of admiration for the people who have the strength to endure those treatments, but The Husband and I are not among them.

Oh, and if one more person I only know casually asks me "So... are you going to have another one?", I think I'm going to unload on them. If you want to show a total lack of boundaries in asking the question, I feel no shame in giving a honest answer.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Check up

Alright, procrastination period over. I did book that ultrasound appointment and they saw me today. Oh, crazy little wand, how I DIDN'T miss you! Unlike during an obstetrical ultrasound you don't get to look for the cute little baby limbs. This was all of the discomfort with none of the Awwwwwww! Now I just have to get around to having the bloodwork drawn, getting back to the family doctor, and getting the referral to a fertility clinic. At the rate I'm going, my next kid could have a due date of 2026.

Here's hoping the problem takes care of itself in the meantime.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

The I Word

I got pregnant pretty easily the first time around. We more "stopped preventing" than "started trying" and *poof* it just happened. Naturally I assumed the next time around would be just as easy. All systems came back online after the last pregnancy in January 2010 and we "stopped preventing" last June. "They" say that after the age of 35, you should start investigating the causes of infertility after six months.

There, I said it. Infertility. But wait a minute, we already have a child. Surely that means we can't be infertile, right? A lot of people think that, but apparently 60% of couples in fertility counseling already have one or more children. I saw the doctor a couple of weeks ago to start the referral process for a specialist. I got requisition forms for a bunch of tests, included the oh-so-fun pelvic ultrasound. It took me weeks to work up the nerve to see the doctor in the first place, and it's been weeks more since but I haven't gotten to calling for the ultrasound appointment or having the blood work done.

Now, I have been very busy at work and it legitimately slipped my mind a few times. And then I was all set to make the calls on Friday but I left the paperwork at home. But part of me is starting to wonder if there's not just a teeny bit of self-sabotage going on here, like I'm afraid of hearing bad news. Hell, who isn't? But tomorrow I have to rip off the bandaid and make the call.

Friday, April 1, 2011

The Host Updates

The Parasite is mere days away from two years old. In getting her here, I faced so much anxiety. I shed so many tears and, frankly, spent a lot of time wondering what the hell I had done. Now I look at her every day and with wonder and ask The Husband what we did to deserve something so awesome.

Being a mom to her is the best job I have ever had. Life with a parasite has been so wonderful, we decided last summer that we wanted another one. So we did what came naturally and waited. And waited. And waited. We're still waiting. I'm about to start investigating what may be wrong. I've decided to chronicle the journey here because well... I just have.