First Comes Love

I’ve been waiting for today’s SCOTUS rulings alongside
everyone else, but I honestly had no idea how strongly it would affect me when
the decisions were heard.

I rolled out of bed, dragged myself to the couch, and
collapsed in a heap next to Catch still wearing my nightie. It was 6:55 am Pacific Time, and I knew the
decisions were coming momentarily. I
wanted to hear, but I also really needed to get ready for work. 

Before I could get up, they made the announcement. DOMA has been overturned. I started to cry.

I continued my happy crying:

– while they announced the Prop 8 decision

-while I danced with my wife in our living room

-while I got ready for work

-and while I sat in rush hour traffic listening to Pandora,
who, incidentally, managed to fill my commute with all of the right songs for happy crying

I didn’t anticipate the tears, nor did I anticipate this
immense feeling of relief. We didn’t have to get angry this morning. We didn’t have to shrug it off. We don’t have to sit here muttering about how
we’ll get it next time. It’s a fantastic

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I got my period. For real. In a little while, I get to call Pacific Reproductive
Services, order some sperm and let them know that this cycle is on

The first person to burst my bubble today has to buy my
coffee for the rest of the year.

Pity, Party of One

I wrote this last night, and then decided not to post, but I have since changed my mind.

I am feeling ridiculously down tonight.

After a long day at the office–tacked on to a string of several weeks worth of long days at the office–I am exhausted and overly sensitive.

My CD1 proclamation has turned out to be false. Apparently, it was just a bit of spotting, which has never ever ever happened to me before and frustrates me to no end. Why now? Why is it that the minute we decide to try to get pregnant, my body starts behaving like a misfit teenager? Simple biology? Stress? A sign? What?


I want to stop thinking about it. I do. I want to put it out of my head and go with the flow (or lack thereof) and be fine with it. I want to not be the person who runs straight to Dr. Google and spends hours reading outdated posts on message boards from women as frustrated as I am.

This next part is totally ridiculous, but it’s my blog and I want to be honest here:

Years ago–in my early twenties–I started reading a blog written by a woman who struggled with infertility. It lead me to another one and another one and another one until my feed reader was overwhelmed by discussions of clomid and IVF and things most 23 year olds don’t know anything about. I don’t know why I was so fascinated by their struggles, but I took it all in–rooting them on even though I knew nothing of their situations. I was 23. What the hell did I know?

Point being that I can’t help but wonder if it was foreshadowing. Was my fascination with their stories just preparation for my own biological failures nearly a decade later?

And yes, I know that we technically haven’t even tried yet. But we are TRYING to try and I’m even failing at that.

Catch told me yesterday that I’ve got to let it go. That it will happen when the time is right–when my body is ready.

Logically, I know she’s right. I know it with every ounce of brainpower I have left. It’s just so hard not to get caught up in the unknowns and what ifs and maybes.

It’s equally hard not to go on Amazon and order fancy teas and supplements whose marketing preys on women in precisely my position.

My order better ship tomorrow.


I am having a lousy week.  It's been frustrating and challenging and busy and neverending.

Last night, I cleaned the bathroom because I had so much anxious energy that I couldn't bring myself to sit still and relax even after a glass of pinot noir.  My motto has always never been, "When all else fails, scrub a toilet."    

Anyhow, in my stress induced cleaning fog, I did manage to find something to force me to chill out.  It's hard to be stressed when you're watching this:


She's going to her forever home on Saturday, and I am going to really miss this little monkey.


Oh goodness–little Gidget is home from the vet hospital and clearly she is feeling better because she's a different dog completely.

On the one hand:  Yay!  She's feeling better!

On the other hand:  No!  Not my shoes!

Also: No humping!


All that aside, she is an adorable little munchkin with SO much personality it's hard not to be smitten with her.  When I got home last night, she was totally bouncing off the walls so we went outside.  She promptly found a tennis ball and brought it over to us to play fetch with her.

Let me tell you–it's pretty rare for a basset hound to play fetch. Particularly with such enthusiasm.  Fortunately, I had my camera handy.  Please excuse my scary crazy baby puppy voice and the condition of our yard.  The lawnmower died and we've been lazy about taking it in to be repaired, so the weed whacker has been doing our "mowing."  It's a mess! 


Still Counting…

The pups competed in the Basset Hound Rescue’s annual Spring
Games on Saturday.  What a crazy
event!  I have never seen so many basset
hounds in one place before in my life. 
Amazing.  It was a fantastic
fundraiser for our rescue group. 

Our brilliant little Twix was awarded a blue ribbon for
placing first in “Synchronized Swimming,” which is bascially just a bunch of
bassets hopping in and out of little plastic baby pools.  Pretty darn funny, and it also happens to be
one of Twix’s favorite activities. 

She was totally proud of her ribbon.


Absolutely no news on the TTC front.  CD 39 today. 
My last cycle was 40 days, so maybe this one will be, too.  These irregular cycles will be the death of
me.  Since January, we’ve has 34 days, 33
days, 20 days, 40 days and now the count continues…

Thoughts on Letting Go

I’m presently on CD 36.

Thirty. Six.

Three six. 

I thought I had ovulated around CD 17/18, which means that I
should have started my period well before now. 
Now I’m just confused.

What I thought was going to be reasonably straightforward 6
months ago is turning out to be a bit more than I anticipated.  I take comfort in knowing that I am most
definitely not the first woman to have ever said that about trying to

I am trying not to be stressed because I know how
significantly stress can affect this process. 
Even so, no matter what I do to try to take my mind off of my cycle, it keeps
creeping back there in those (albeit rare) quiet moments.  My lunch break at work.  Every time I use the facilities.  As I’m attempting to fall asleep at night.  The “what if” thoughts slink in and bring the
anxiety with them. 

It does not help that this is an exceptionally stressful
time at work and we now have not one, but two sick dogs at home and are running
on less sleep than I’ve had since my early 20s. 

All I can do is try my hardest to let go of it all.

There is very, very little in this scenario that I can control.  I know in my heart that the best thing I can
do is throw my hands up and let it be. 

When I was a little girl, my grandma used to sit me next to
her at her organ and sing “Que Sera, Sera.” 

What will be, will be. 

This path to motherhood will be rocky, but I am fortunate to
have an amazing wife to steady me.  I
have an amazing mother who researches chakras, crystals and herbs even though
we’ve never entertained such ideas before in my life.

I don’t believe that Catch and I will ever have any more or
less than we are meant to have, and I know that whereever this journey takes
us, we will end up where we belong.

Que sera, sera.

Foster Hound



This is our newest foster dog, Gidget.

I am enamored with this sweet little pup.  If we were ever to become foster failures,
little Gidget would be the one.

Unfortunately, the sweetheart is very, very sick.  She was just spayed and has 17 staples in her
belly, but she also has the worst case of kennel cough I’ve ever
experienced.  It’s awful.  She was already skin & bones when she
came into the rescue, but she hasn’t been able to eat much of anything since
Friday and she is truly wasting away.

Yesterday, she spent the entire day asleep on our bed.  We had to carry her outside to go potty, and
bring her little water dish to her.  She
had absolutely no energy to walk around. 
I knew that she needed some nutrition if she’s ever going to get better,
so I resorted to taking some cooked stew meat and coating it in the bacon
grease left in the skillet from the BLTs we had for dinner. 

What dog would turn its nose up at beef coated in bacon
grease, right?

Apparently a very, very sick little Gidget can.

Think some good thoughts for this little one.  She already has an adoptive family lined up,
but she has to get better first.

A Prairie Home Companion


For my mom's other's Day gift, I spent an astronomical amount of money on two tickets for us to see A Prairie Home Companion at the Greek Theater this past weekend. We've been trying to go for several years, but every time they're in town, we're either out of town or already booked.  Last year, the show was on my mom's birthday when we were in Alaska.  I am so happy we finally got to see the show live–it was worth every penny. 

I have to say, this is one of those shows that I think EVERYONE would enjoy no matter how much eye rolling they do at the thought of attending a live performance of a public radio show from the midwest.  (Ahem, CATCH.)

We got to see Lily Tomlin, Martin Sheen, Paula Poundstone, and Colin Hay perform while we sat under the stars with a caraffe of wine and some kettle corn propped between us.  As I sat and took it all in, I noticed the number of children in attendance.  So many daughters sitting in fathers' laps and huddled under blankets with their mothers.  This is just one of those shows that bridges generations.  I will be sad when Garrison Keillor retires–I know it will be well in advance of my being able to have a Prairie Home Companion experience with my own child.  It makes me kind of sad. 


Never in my life have I been so all-consumed by my
bladder.  It’s taking over my brain.  It’s causing me to cross and then re-cross my
legs as I sit squirming in my desk chair counting down the minutes until I am
able to a) relieve myself and b) have my first cup of coffee.

We had our meeting with the clinic on Wednesday
morning.  It was a fantastic meeting with
many outcomes, including my newfound appreciation for the potty dance.

The clinic’s paperwork includes clear instructions for
peeing on sticks:

1)      Wake
up at 5 am

2)      Empty

3)      Hold
it until 7:45 (it is currently 7:38)

4)      Pee
on a stick

5)      Call
clinic by 8:30 am if it’s positive

Another result of our meeting on Wednesday: Surprise!  We picked a new donor!

After months of research and discussion, we were pretty set
on our choices.  We had a top pick and a
backup pick.  Both of them were available
in abundance.  We’ve learned that the
sperm of redheaded men is not in high demand. 

(Pardon me while I pee
and snag myself a cup of coffee!)

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I started questioning our decision
to use an anonymous donor.  Partially, it
worked out that way because our top two picks just happened to be anonymous,
but Catch also had some strong reservations on using a willing to be known (WTBK)

In the meantime, due to a series of events that included a
chick lit book, our meeting with the clinic, and some feedback on, we have changed our plan and chosen a new WTBK donor with
a different sperm bank.  Once again, I
have sticker shock over the cost of this stuff.

I am both anxious and terrified to get started.  I am so afraid it won’t work.  We have enough in savings for a single vial
of donor sperm and a single IUI each month for 6 months.  If we decide at some point to introduce an RE
or any drugs, that will significantly cut into our 6 months. 

All I can do is sit back, cross my fingers, and think good
thoughts.  In a matter of days, our life
will be divided into 2(ish) week cycles of waiting. I have never looked forward
to my period as much as I am today, and I know that in the coming months, our
reality will be the exact opposite.