A dreaded sunny day

I'm still here.
I'm still waiting for direction.
We still have no plan.
He still is sans test.

Amazement of amazement we actually had sex - and more than once before my projected ovulation day (today). I thought marriage equalled easy access to sex. I guess M. just isn't into it as much as me - so we, uh - don't as often as I would like. Of course, the likelihood that sex will equal a baby for us is about zilch - so it's more an amusement than anything.

His mother is at our house as I type this - a day early - and of course I wasn't done cleaning the house because I wasn't expecting her until TOMORROW night.

We leave in a week for New Orleans. Then we have a big trip in early April to Paris/Amsterdam. I thought by now I'd be heavy with pregnancy. I thought by now we'd be decorating a nursery. I wanted to pick out baby clothes in Paris.

My heart is still breaking.

Still.

Peace

Sometimes, when feeling down and awful (go read my post at www.texasonmymind.blogspot.com if you want a glimpse into the issues in my life which don't revolve (amazingly enough) around my fertility, or lack thereof) I find God revealed in small ways that bring me such peace that I am moved nearly to tears.

While typing a few minutes ago (quite a feat today considering I had yet another surgery on my hand today) I looked out the window and saw a manatee and her calf slowly - methodically swimming under the bridge and across the channel.

It is considered (by some) to be an omen of good luck to witness their presence. I haven't seen one in a long time. It was such a welcome gift today.

Moonphases

New
Lonely darkness enveloping
The hopeful anticipation –
Mixed heavily with fear
Betwixt it all…
Blessings and Stigma
We wait

Tides surging
Waves breaking
As the painful expulsion begins
Dependably on time

Waxing
Fingernail of illumination
Glowing eerily in the dark light of
Midnight
Preparation for destiny
Beatification
We wait

Desolately Dry
Praying
For rain to nourish the ground
To be ready in time

Full
Our intermittent minuet
Again remembered
Fluid steps
Collapsing, into satisfied
Slumber
We wait

Warm and inviting
Future captured in
Diminutive glimpses - perhaps
Now is the time

Waning
The hands revolving
[Desperately slow]
Unbearable the weight
Not knowing
Suffocating
We wait

Anne’s candle
Softly lit
Appreciative
Of her time

Woo-ee-oo I look just like Buddy Holly

Oh-oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore.

I spent most of this weekend "spring cleaning" in preparation for my mother-in-law's upcoming arrival. Her house is METICULOUSLY clean. Literally you could serve dinner off her floor, like not with plates. As in put the food directly on the floor. This woman with a bad back literally cleans (after her maid has been there) the entire floor with a toothbrush. Me, uh - well, not so much. Look, my house is 'clean' but it is decidedly messy. It drives me insane because I'm anal retentive and very very "type A." I like order and for everything to have a place. Unfortunately, we have way too much stuff to fit in our tiny little house. As a testament to this - my husband and I had SIX coffee makers when we moved in together. SIX. (We've since narrowed it down to three - a to go cuisinart that I believe has never been used, an espresso machine, and a regular Cuisinart coffee grinder/maker which is used daily). We bought eight place settings of Fiestaware this past week, and my MIL is bringing my eleven new place settings of china (Lenox Serpentine Platinum - if you're interested) with her (one place setting is already at my house) so I spent a great deal of time this weekend cleaning out the china cabinet, polishing the silver, and digging deep into the back recesses of the cabinets. {Which, considering that M. is a home brewer, and the malt hidden in the cabinets above the 'frig somehow melted into a big gooey mess is a good thing I guess.}

Why - do you think - that two people should own 34+ wineglasses? Never mind the irish coffee glasses, D.O.F.s, iced beverage glasses, water glasses, dessert glasses, flutes, etc.? Well, they don't - end of story. I started collecting a new Waterford line (Aurora) and I'm trying to make room for it because the glasses are GINORMOUS. Let's just say that my best friend and the local charity shop are inheriting a CRAP load of new crystal/glassware and kitchen implements.

But I hate cleaning in silence, and spent a lot of time listening to good 'cleaning' music - (John Lee Hooker, Hole, random punk stuff, Bob Marley, the Beatles, and Green Day). However, I grew tired of singing along for a while - and had the t.v. on in the background and I must have heard that damn Mary Tyler Moore juvenile diabetes commercial about twenty times in the space of two hours. Look, I love children. I do, really. And I would love to someday have a few of my own. But everytime I hear the kid describe their "childhood hero" and they say "It could be a mommy" I cringe.

Finally I just turned the t.v. off, cranked up the Joss Stone and went back to work. Yeah kid, it could be a mommy, but if that's the case I am sure as shit not going to be your hero.

BAH!

Rawwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

I love my husband more than any other human being on this planet, but that is not to say that I understand him. We cannot move forward with any sort of treatment plan until he goes for a repeat semen analysis. Yet, you would think that I am asking him to singlehandedly find the cure for cancer using a play at home lab set or swim the english channel with his arms and legs bound. Sweet jumping jesus, I'm just asking him to do something that a lot of men would PAY to do. Okay, granted they don't usually do it into a plastic receptacle and race it to a lab of waiting doctors to peer at it under the microscope - but I'm sure there's a fetish for that somewhere. I'll even dress up in a sexy nurse uniform if it would help...

The R.E.'s office is close to my work, but that means it's about 45 min. to an hour from home. The "sample" must reach there within 30 -45 min. Of course, that means that he actually has to AGREE to produce a sample - on a pretty tight schedule. It also means that he can't ejaculate for three days before - so this has to be scheduled. Um, I'm not a man, and I realize it's a little unfair to be asked to perform on a timeline, but I don't really have a lot of options here. And of course, he refuses to do it in their cozy little "porn room" - not that I blame him much on this, but let's face it - for the two of us, sex (even copious amounts of it) is not going to equal a baby. And since we've come to this realization - the opportunities aren't exactly presenting themselves. Nothing is quite as sexy to either of us as feeling broken is it? (EXTREME sarcasm here).

So now he's not sure that he wants to do this. Not just the IUI/IVF option - but parenthood in general. He doesn't understand this void in my heart. He's happy with his life. He doesn't understand the "rush." Rush?!?!?! We've been having unprotected sex for basically the last THREE YEARS. What are we waiting on? It was HIS idea to start trying when we did (in Nov. 2003).

So is he the only one that's going through this wishy washy situation? Do you find your s.o./spouses doing the same? What did you do to get past this? Whenever I just mention sex (even for recreational purposes - bwahahaha - like that happens often) he gets defensive.

I don't want it to be like this.

I'd like to have that one back

Do you ever have times where you do something, and immediately start to wonder if it was the right thing to do? Where you are filled with a complete juxtaposed mess of confusion, guilt, embarassment, and relief?

No? O.k. well, maybe it's just me.

There was someone who knew me once upon a time, who I care(d) about very deeply. Through a series of fortunate events, we've renewed a friendship that meant a great deal to me. Today, I referenced some things about my blog that I know would make it very easy to find "me" here.

Now, I sit biting my nails, wondering if I need to start going through my archives. Wondering what skeletons are in my closet. I know this person would never hurt me with anything I have said here, but I wonder if it will (perhaps subconsciously) cause me to start self-editing.

Do you regret telling someone in real life about your blog? Do you keep your writing a secret? Or, do you find it cathartic to be open?

Biting my nails has always been a bad habit. Pretty soon I won't have any left.

Big beauty queen wave....

Since I don't have the cool way of tracking how people end up on my site (or if I do - I just have no idea how to use it, I can't find a rational explanation for this - but... in the last 20 hours or so the number of people looking at my profile has doubled. I'm not sure who you guys are, or if you're even reading, but if you are - that's me - the redhead - waving that big cheesy beauty queen parade wave hello.

Howdy. Feel free to delurk yourselves. I'd love to hear what brought you here, what made you read - and what made you keep reading if you do.

Y'all come back now, ya hear? (ok. I still have a deep texas accent when I'm tired or drinking).

Now blow the candles out my dear...

and make your wish come true.

A very happy birthday to you.

O.k. I'm not as cute as my dear little cousin Breanne when I sing it, but damn it - I'm not three years old, and not a blonde.

M. turns 41 today (as our dear friend Jo-Jo would say, he's quite the "genius" what with nabbing a wife almost 16 years younger than him who brings in a six figure salary on her own). But I have to say that in dealing with what life's thrown our way in the last three years together*, I'm the genius. I found someone to share my life with that's hilariously funny, that "gets me", who is tall (6'4") and handsome (hey - I think grey hairs are very sexy), well-read and cultured, and he understands the vital importance of good photograhs, beer, and coffee.

I'm looking forward to spending many many more birthdays celebrating you.

M., I am aware you "know" about this site - and *gasp* even it's address, but I seriously doubt you'll read this. But nonetheless, in the off chance that you do, I want you to know, that I hope this birthday and the coming year brings you much happiness, health and wealth. I hope tonight, when you blow out your candles (what - you really thought you weren't getting a cake?? o.k. you're right - you're not. You're getting a pie) that your every wish is granted.

You amaze me. I love you.


*Please understand that in no way whatsoever, am I saying that our paltry little problems measure up in any way to the current devastation in Thailand/Indonesia, etc. Please, I know a million people must have told you this already - but please... donate to a reputable charity. No amount is too small, and each penny/half-pence/farthing/etc. can be put to use. Please, give from your hearts.

Treading water

Some days, it seems like it takes more effort than it's worth to keep my legs going, to keep the blood circulating. Sometimes it just seems easier to stop treading and let the current take me out - to lie on my back with the water swirling around me - absolving me of my worries, eliminating the mundane with the sweet finality of darkness.

But then, some days - looking out and seeing that there is no end in sight, I feel that I can't give up. I must keep going. I am alive, and that - well that's something.

I've been very cavish - as Tertia would say. We ended up driving to my parents house (yes, that's a 22 hour drive - one way) as M. wasn't sure he would be able to get off work, and flights by that time were costing close to $3K. It was actually o.k. - aside from the Deliverance backwoods of Mississippi. We stayed a night in New Orleans, and waking up and having begniets, I felt a lightness that I haven't felt in a long time.

My year at work ended dismally short of my billable hour requirement, but that's o.k. I'm starting off today - with 9+ billed hours. I'm shooting for a 45-50 hour week. We'll see if the work keeps up with me.

I may kill my mother in law. She actually had the audacity to tell M. she "felt lied to" and that she had "serious reservations that I even sent their holiday package." She called M. on Christmas morning to cry/guilt trip M. about us spending OUR FIRST CHRISTMAS IN THREE YEARS with my parents. I spent much more money on her than I did my parents. I made sure the gift was meticulous, and yes - it was shipped late - but you know what? My parents wouldn't have cared if we had brought presents at all. They just wanted to spend time with us. She, however, is not so easily pleased.

With each passing day, I doubt more and more that parenthood will ever happen for us. M. turns 41 on Wed. For once, it's not my clock ticking. Adoption is becoming less and less of a feasible option. I need guidance, but I'm too afraid to ask myself what I really want.

Sometimes, silence is deafening.