After my latest blog redo, I’ve been thinking about things like personal information being used to harm my family ….

While I refuse to blog less, or to be any less honest – I do wonder about things like nicknames and all that jazz.  And, while I can mostly track who my visitors are at this point, I know that in the future, I may have more than I can keep with (heck, there could be a couple of crazies right now, if we were to be honest, right?)

So, I ask you:

Are you concerned about what you write online and how it will affect you?

How has it affected you so far?

What have you or will you do differently (in terms of security)?

Which things will you never give up?

Which things are off limits?

Do you have a horror story, or any additional tips that I/we can learn from?

I would like to hear from anyone online that blogs, regardless of the number of visitors that you receive.  So, whether you are Dooce, Amalah, Suburban Turmoil or whether you get like 5 visitors a month.  Tell me.  I want to know!  Please!  (You can leave it in an email or comment, thanks!)

Welcome back!

Painting…my face…with chili mac.

Coloring!

We colored a toilet paper roll…

Then, we cut it up….

They were supposed to go on a necklace for “introduction to beading” but munchbutt found a much more fashionable alternative…bangles.

Sticking toothpicks in foam.

We were practicing fine motor skills, but turns out – these are some of her favorite “activities.” Well, second only after eating, of course.

Eh…well…

I was convinced that this pregnancy was going along smoother (in regards to the sick thing). I had been keeping up with it in my journal from last time and comparing dates…

I spoke to soon.

The pregnancy induced vertigo has arrived, friends.

Sitting up makes me sick. Laying down makes me sick. Looking at my laptop screen makes me sick (My eyes are closed. I’m talented, no?)

So, what’s a girl with vertigo, hypoglycemia, and morning sickness to do? Not die, that’s what. I kid I kid. Sort of.

Anyhow, I’ll TRY to make rounds to your blogs as much as I can – but dang, can you slow it down some? After only TWO days, I have 245 posts in my reader!! ACK!

And, as good as I am, I find it really hard to read with my eyes shut.

Needless to say, I have no freakin’ clue about what I’m going to do about my other writing for the next one and a half months. Oy.

I began writing the Infertility Series simply as an intro to the subject of Infertility for my First Impressions blog, but then I started getting threatened (I slightly exaggerate) that I should not stop the story there, at me getting pregnant.  I have a few non-fun EXTREME morning sickness stories to tell you about my first pregnancy, but I ask you – do you really want to know?  Let me see a show of hands, please.  Otherwise, I’ll bore you with the new baby.  K?  (And, yes…I can do both.  I’m grand at multitasking, you see.)

Here’s a bit of catch up (answers to your questions):

1.  No we weren’t *trying*.  That was going to start eh…this month.  Sort of.  We weren’t not trying, either.  Truth is, I was convinced that this time would be much like last time, where there would be OPKs and Clomid involved.  Around Labor Day, I was a few days late for a 28-30 day cycle, which is NOTHING for me, as mine used to last up to 55 days.  I know, right?!  So, I grabbed a test and peed on it, expecting it to be negative, but needed to know for sure before I began my herbal supplement that would help reshape my cycle.  The test said positive.  We didn’t believe it.  A couple more tests later, we finally believed it and then let ourselves be excited (we were afraid it was a bad test…or two.)

2.  I found out on Labor Day.  This year, dummies.  And, I couldn’t keep it a secret for any more than a few days.

3.  I am not depressed or sad about it.  I want a large family (preferably Steven could deal with the morning sickness, however.  I dislike that part).  We are both excited and can’t wait to begin.  The timing is even perfect.   Better than I could’ve ever planned.

4.  The herbal supplement I was taking to fix my cycles?  Vitex.  By Gaia Herbs.  It works.

5.  No, we don’t know if the baby is a boy or girl yet.

6.  No.  Our insurance is not back up yet.  Long story slightly shorter: Insurance company hasn’t updated all of their worker bees on the changes in policies that have been in effect for the year we’ve not had insurance there (another long story) and they gave us the wrong deadline.  We WILL have insurance the beginning of October.

7.  The baby is 6 weeks along (DUE DATE: May 6).  And, we are both doing okay.  I had a bout with some confusing symptoms that were mistaken for something else, which led to a prescription for a drug that made me incredibly ill (when I took it), but it’s all fixed now!  And, so far I’m having NORMAL pregnancy morning sickness.  And yes, I’m excited about this – compare that to 3 FULL MONTHS of torture I endured last pregnancy, I figure I’m doing good so far.  So, while I may not feel like logging on a lot and may have some bad days, I’m definitely not making weekly visits to the ER, and I’m pretty stoked thankyouverymuch.

There you go.  The updates.    If I seem to be MIA a bit, it’s because I’m chasing a 17 month old around and trying to keep down the bowl of food it just took me an hour to eat.  Or, I’m sleeping.  So, tell me if you want more of the Infertility Chronicles, and I’ll be back later.  Love you all!

Days later, I was staring into the calm, clear waters. My body shook and writhed yet again, but I had nothing. Everything I had to give up, had already been given. I flushed the commode and pulled a cool, damp wash cloth off the edge of the sink, something which had become a mainstay in the downstairs bathroom. I leaned back against the cabinets and fished through a drawer for the saltine crackers I had stashed nearby. Slowly, and carefully, I began to break off tiny pieces, letting them dissolve on my tongue. I knew that if I made a false move, or moved too quickly, I would lose it all again.

Slowly, I raised myself up, making sure the blood didn’t rise to my head too quickly and then carefully walked into the kitchen for some food.

What should I eat? Or, which item would be least likely to elicit a violent response from my body? Hmmm…maybe something from the BRAT diet? Bananas? Toast? Ah, yes. We’ll go with that.

Bananas, Toast, and Orange Gatorade. Not quite the image of a balanced meal, but it was the most my body would handle.

Occasionally, a craving would set in, and we would jump on it, not knowing when the next time would come that I would eat that well again. All too often, the food would make it in front of me, only to be pushed away as I scrambled to the bathroom. Again.

I watched in horror as my weight began to drop. I had carefully increased my weight pre-pregnancy to 105lbs, and was quickly losing it. I grasped my stomach as a sharp pain ran through my stomach. Then, more. Dizziness blanketed my body, and I was forced to sit down, lest I fall. The pains greatly diminished once I lay myself down on the couch, but the nauseousness never left.

****

The brick patio felt cool and moist from the morning dew under my feet. I shuffled across the neatly lined red bricks, and into the edge of the wet, sparkling grass. Glory (the Yorkie – a breed of dog) pulled at her leash, testing the boundaries. She ran back and forth, giving only a slightly tug on the leash as her 4 pound body bounded across the yard.

“I could use that sort of energy, “ I thought.

The pinky of my right hand felt a sharp pain, and then began to tingle. I looked closely at any signs of a bite or sting, ready to squash the attacker. Nothing. Not even redness. The tingling spread throughout my hand, one finger at a time until it had reached my thumb. My palms felt cool and wet, clammy even. My head began to pound, and it was if I could keep up with my very own pulse by listening to the pounding within my very own ears. Darkness began to blanket my eyes, almost in a pixellated way – tiny black dots, always falling.

I had won the battle. After over a year of trying, *I* had finally won. We were so incredibly excited that we couldn’t contain our excitement. We knew the rule – wait until your pregnancy is well established or else the chance of having to inform everyone of a potential miscarriage. But, we’d worked so very hard for this. We called our parents, and word spread like wildfire. Within days, “Congratulations” were streaming in. Word really does spread that fast in our families – that, and we all get very excited about babies.

Steven and I hugged and danced around. This would be the first grandchild for both of our parents, and the first great grandchild for 2 sets of (our) grandparents and the 2nd great grandchild for the other. I called my OB with gusto, ready to establish an appointment. I anticipated what would happen at my first visit, but I already knew in a way – I only had a stack of somewhere around 50 a few pregnancy related books.

The first visit went well. I peed in a cup, volunteered some of my blood, and chit-chatted happily. I looked through the pregnancy magazines in the waiting room. I was finally one of them – the smiley happy-go-lucky round bellied gals that skipped through the glossy pages. In full color. It was lovely. Just lovely.

Days later, my mom was due for a heart cath, they’d found something and wanted to check it out thoroughly, so my dad and I went with her. I paced. Then, he paced. We took turns, really. Finally, I escaped upstairs. I needed a change of scenery and thought visiting my OB’s office would be a good time to see if my lab tests had come in. They hadn’t yet, but told me I could go downstairs to the lab if I wanted (to get them by hand, which would be much quicker). So, half-running down the stairs, I made my way to the lab, following the arrows on the walls and floors. I gave them my information, and they returned with an envelope. Excited, I ripped the envelope open and tried to glean what I could from the medical jargon. At the bottom of the page, set a chart with figures (hormone levels) and the ranges they should fall in per each week of pregnancy. Carefully, I used my finger to trace over to which week I had calculated I was in.

My jaw dropped and my heart sunk into the floor.

No, God. Please, no.

I ran full speed up the stairs, and into the back office. Shaking, I showed them my results. “What’s wrong with my baby? Am I miscarrying? Why are my numbers so low?”

“We’re sure it’s fine,” they said, smiles plastered tightly onto their faces.

I drew in a few deep breaths and then tried just focusing on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. There you go. That’s it.

One of the nurses motioned to me, before disappearing in a back room. She handed me something, and I asked her what my low numbers meant. She explained that it was probably nothing, that we had just caught it early. But, even the ‘barely pregnant’ marks made my score look like a lonely man at sea. “What are you so worried about?” the nurse asked me.  I looked at her, half not understanding how she could even ask.  Tears rolled down my cheeks as I choked on the words that were trying to come out, “I can’t lose this baby.  My baby.  Not now, not after all of this.  I can’t.”  My doctor gave me a prescription for Prometrium, a hormone to help make the pregnancy ‘stick.’ After lots of hugs from my doctor and nurses, I dried my eyes and scheduled an appointment early the next week to have another blood test, making sure the numbers were doubling as they should.

I slowly made my way back to the waiting room, where my dad sat with his crossword puzzle book in his hand and his head against the wall, dozing off. I sat down beside him, and he stirred. A doctor in a white coat was walking towards us. We stood to greet him, and shook his hand. “She’s out, and she’s doing fine,” he said. “Everything seemed to be clear.”

And, for the very first time that day, I truly breathed.

(continued from this post)

My doctor had a strong feeling about what was ailing me; what was holding up a potential pregnancy. I wasn’t ovulating. She sent me to Walgreens to buy a few Ovulation Predictor Kits, to confirm her suspicions.  I walked through the aisles, trying to find some hint of where I’d find an OPK – and finally, I spotted them – write next to the pregnancy tests, laughing in my face.  I tucked the OPK under my arm and walked, head down to the counter, sliding it across.  I shuffled through my purse, my face red.  I wondered if they all knew that I was “infertile” just by looking at me.

Another cycle came and went, and I was mostly drained. It felt like we were going nowhere fast – over 14 months of trying, and still no pregnancy. What was wrong with me? What kind of a wife was I? Would I ever be a mother? These questions and more zoomed through my brain. I felt defeated, damaged.

(Click here to read more)

Yes. It’s true.

And, we’re so incredibly excited. Mostly, anyways.

I’ll admit, this whole “Eat locally for a year” wasn’t an original idea of mine.  I adopted it actually.  I found this little book:

It’s basically a memoir-journal-ish book about a family who left Arizona to go live in the country.  Where they had lived previously, was of course the desert, and the officials had told them that although the water was safe for you and your kids, don’t put your fish in it.  Because they would die.  Mmhmm.  I’d trust that.  So, they moved.  They moved to a place where people wouldn’t curse the rain because it meant they wouldn’t get to wash their car, but instead to a place where although it might interrupt their plans, people knew rain was important.

Their move was the beginning, but they chose then to grow a farm and what they didn’t grow, they would get from other farmers that were local.

So, what’s that have to do with me?

Well, I don’t plan to move – at least, not across the country nor do I plan to become a farmer.  Quite frankly the thought of plucking a chicken and all that just makes me want to become a vegetarian.  I don’t want to own a ton of land that I have to plow and harvest.  It’s not my passion.  However, I do realize that most of our food today is made with CORN, one of the lease nutritious, overly abundant crops ever.  Our nation has become fat and yet malnourished all at once.  And, we wonder why.  We wonder why we get random headaches, why we feel so tired and run-down, why we can’t stop gaining weight, and the other random symptoms we have no explanations for.  We go to our doctors and they write us a prescription, which oftentimes just covers up the issue rather than fix what caused it in the first place.  And, so we go on…we keep doing what we’re doing and the pill works for a bit…until next time.  Then, that symptom or another pops up again.  We are a nation that accepts illness of many sorts as “healthy”.

In the past year, I’ve been more careful about the things I put in my body.  I eat more vegetables and fruits, less processed items, and try to stay away from high fructose corn syrup (except on occasion).  I’m not a poster child for healthy eating, but I’ve definitely traded in a few bad habits like Stouffers lasagna and hamburger helpers for more healthy conscious (but good) meals.  And, I’ve noticed some differences in my health.  Real differences.  Huge differences.

Next year, I want to buy our produce and meats and other food items as much locally as I can.  I may grow some things in the garden or trade my brother for his game during season or it may just mean changing where I buy from.  Farmers, as it is are hurt more than protected by the farm bill.  Most smaller farmers make almost nothing for doing everything a machine does, only by hand.  They use their bodies and hands to do the work, reducing the chemicals and gas needed.  Big time farming companies don’t worry about the tastiest tomatoes, they go by those that are most uniform in color and shape and easiest to package…and those that tend to preserve easier.  Many times, we eat genetically modified produce and don’t even know it.  We thought we were helping our body and eating healthy, when in reality we were stuffing our guts with more pesticides and other things than you’d ever want to imagine.

By staying as local as I can, I’m hoping to gain more appreciation for the local farmers, for their work.  I admire them as is, but I want to know their names and faces.  I want to learn, as well.  I want to bring better tasting and more healthy food to our table.  I want our health to continue to improve.

So, as I prepare for what will be a huge change, I’m researching local farms within driving distance.  So far, I’ve found 3 listed (using www.localharvest.org).  But, I know there are more.  Next spring, I’ll just have to frequent the farmers markets and ask for cards!

Approximately 2 years ago – after 14 months of trying to produce a child in my womb out of sheer will….

OH WAIT.  THAT’S NOT HOW IT WORKS?  FINE.

After 14 months of sheer will and desperation lots of newly wed “bliss” and lots and lots of charting, I took the advice of an all-knowing sage-like being – a parenting magazine – and began my trek to find an OB/GYN.

Although I was having loads of fun (rolls eyes) charting things that would shame your mother at the dinner table and having intercourse at the drop of a hat because we were “in a window,” I wasn’t getting anywhere fast on my own.

(Read more HERE!)