Details

So, as I was going through the digital photo archive to find the 5 photos that capture the last 10 years, I stumbled upon a photo that pretty much summarizes how photos can tell the whole story of my life. 

This photo here pretty much sums up 2003-2004 (this is 2/9/2004).  There is my beloved cat, Abigail (now deceased).  She was on top of me while I slept, but I didn't mind because she is awesome. 

If you look at the nightstand, you can see my basal temperature thermometer, some Pro-seed, a symptothermal chart, the tissues that I used with the progesterone suppositories, an alarm clock (haven't used one since Chuckles was born because he's awesome for getting me up every single morning of my life, no matter what), a book of erotica, and a book I read for pleasure.  I assure you the erotica was not for pleasure. 

I tried to zoom in on the clock to see how decadently late I was sleeping but the resolution just wasn't there.  If you can give it the full CSI treatment, let me know.

Five

Nov. 11, 2001 I was 25. We're newlyweds.  We'd married just 2 months earlier, right before 9/11.   Check out my husband's giant glasses.

12/29/2002 (26 now. It was windy this day.  And I had a giant pimple on my forehead that lasted from 12/2002 to 2/2003. It was horrible.)

Nov. 30, 2003, same hat, same coats (As a matter of note, I am still using that same hat and we're both still wearing those same winter coats.  We're a thrifty people.)

12/12/2004 I was pregnant with Chuckles and we took a babymoon to Las Vegas, so NO COATS in December.  Woo Woo.

Last weekend.  5/24/2011  There is a lighthouse just over my hand.  New camera.  Once kids arrived on the scene, the photos of the husband and wife (alone, together take by the husband's outstretched arm) decreased in frequency.  I convinced my husband to shave his beard a few weeks ago.  I hadn't seen his face since 1999.  The beard had gone mostly grey and I thought I might like this clean-shaven look.  I was wrong.  I'm ready for him to grow it back.  It's too hard to kiss a man without a beard.  Also, the pimple on my forehead is back.  With a vengeance.

Mom

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.

Maureen

For Easter, my mother (Mimi) sent us cookies from Williams Sonoma.  She sent us several items, in fact.  The first several arrived about a week before Easter.  She advised that cookies were on their way.

As the Wednesday before Easter arrived, and the cookies still hadn't been delivered, I got a little nervous, but they came on Thursday.  I didn't want the kids to see them because they were a surprise.  So, rather than open the box, I opened the shipping label, receipt, and packing slip. 

The cookies were going to be personalized with "Mom & Dad", "Bobo", and "Chuckles".  I realized then that not only had I ceased being "Carrie" and my entire identity had been subsumed within "Mom" but also that I now had to share my cookie (in addition to sharing my bedroom, bed, and Easter basket).

As it turns out, Mimi was not making a statement about my relative worth as an independent person.  The cookies just come in packs of 3. 

On Easter Eve, the "Easter Bunny" began assembling the baskets in the hallway outside the bedroom doors.  The cookies were removed from their packages, labeled Love Mimi & Papa, and set atop their other Easterly treasures (jump ropes, whizzer whistles, pajamas, a Starburst, some coins).  First came Mom & Dad, then Bobo, and finally Maureen.  Guess I should have opened the box when it came.  The Love:  Mimi and Papa sticker was moved to cover up the personalization (after I took a photo for posterity). 

All day Sunday, I just kept thinking about how Maureen must have felt crying on Easter because her grandmother thought she was a "Chuckles".

Fever

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging.  I've had this fever.  It's been very distracting.  I keep thinking about it.  I think it will go away and it does for a couple of days, then BAM it's back in full force.  I'll go a few days without any symptoms, then BAM fever.

I'll be driving in the car, and then BAM fever hits and I get all woozy and disoriented.
I'll be sitting watching M*A*S*H (which is not really all that funny) and then BAM fever hits and I get all weepy and sweaty.
I'll be preparing to go out running (and somehow only making it out 1 in 5 times, thanks winter that never ends), and then BAM fever hits and I wind up crying in the shower.
I'll be sleeping soundly (thanks, kids - love you), have a bad dream, and wake up panting with my fever.
I'll be hosting Easter (or a 6th birthday party...by the way, how did that happen), loading the dishwasher, someone will ask me a question and I'll absentmindedly answer truthfully that her outfit doesn't match and then BAM fever.

As I said, it's been distracting. 

So, I took my temperature, and it said 97.3F.  Then I took it the next day:  96.8F.  The next 98.1. Then, I figured it out and made a doctor's appointment.  So, next week I am going on Tuesday to have my mirena removed.  I'm going to kick this baby fever even if it means I have to have another baby.  So, if I had a status update to give you, I would tell you that I am, uhhh, stupid and lucky and hopeful.  That is all.  Moving on.  Nothing to see here.