Friday, May 13, 2011


I want to tell you about my Mothers' Day before I forget.  I also want my blog to be the #1 internet destination when someone searches for "Chuckles does not sleep...ever".

Mothers' Day started out at just after 6 am with a gleeful Chuckles ambling into my room and up into my bed because he was just so excited to give me the gifts he had made for me in school.  There was a bound book that he wrote and illustrated all about how awesome I am (and I am).  I had a face and in lieu of hair, flower petals.

There was a second book...a cook book.  Recipe:
1. Get some dough with eggs and chocolate chips
2. Shape cookies.
3. Bake at 900 degrees for 3 hours (the way I yell "Stay away from the oven, it's hot," he might think it's 900 degrees and when you're waiting for cookies, it seems like 3 hours.)
4. Let cool
5. Eat.

It was so adorable, I nearly died.  But it was so early and uncaffeinated and untoothbrushed.  I love that child more than Godiva liqueur, but when will he start to sleep like a normal person?  I can't complain too much.  On Saturday, both kids and husband permitted me to sleep until 8:30 am.

The last 4 Sundays I have hosted a party.  A random family get-together. Easter.  Chuckles's birthday party.  Mothers' Day.  I am done for a while, I think.  That's enough merriment and table cloth washing.  But Mothers' Day was lovely.  We cooked out.  The children and their cousins frolicked and played.  I not sure I was in a condition to the the adult-in-charge as...Many (many) bottles of champagne were consumed and at one point, my husband brought out a record album of the best patriotic hits of 1959 and my mother and mother-in-law MARCHED around arm-in-arm to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and then the Army air corps song.  It was patriotic and drunken and lots of fun.  The next morning, I had a wee bit of a headache, but some coffee, fluids, a day of work, and a good run took right good care of that.

It was so much fun to have a laid back day cooking out on the grill and hanging out with the family.  Very nice.  I even shaved my legs wore capri pants and painted my toenails sandals. 

Everything went alright on Tuesday with the mirena removal.  I had to use some lamaze breathing.  I would say that the removal was much worse than the installation (technically, I think it's "insertion" - whatever).  Apparently, insertion is no big deal immediately post-partum, which is when I had mine.  So, my removal was worse than insertion.  It is the opposite for most people (insertion being worse than removal). 

So, it's out.  My body, which even in the best of times has no idea what it is doing, is still trying to normalize after that.  I'm not "trying" as the infertiles might know it.  I'm just not preventing.  There is no forced death-march sex (man, you might think "trying" would be fun, but trust me, it is not), I'm not staying in bed after, ahem, wink wink nudge nudge, I'm not peeing on any sticks, or taking any morning temperatures.  I did ask for a script for progesterone suppositories because ... just in cast.  Progesterone and I have a long history.  And that's about it.

I should say that I feel totally selfish and stupid and greedy "trying" for a third baby.  I already hit the jackpot twice.  But then I realize that I only feel this way because of the history of infertility.  In fact, my insurance won't even cover fertility treatments this time since I already have two kids.  Like two is some kind of magical ideal and you shouldn't want any more than that, you greedy whore.  So, well, yes, moving on.  I am selfish, but it wouldn't be that way if I were regularly fertile.  Just another way infertility has screwed me over...removing the joy and spontaneity of a potential third baby.  A girl baby, perhaps.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my boys.  If I get another son, I'll be thrilled with My Three Sons.  But whenever I think about a third baby, I think about a girl baby.  I mean, I got rid of all my baby clothes already, so I'd need new stuff anyway.  Might as well be pink and lavender and lime green with dragonflies, right?

And my first baby....he only has 20 days of kindergarten left.  Boo Hoo.

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