A big loss and a little lost

I love it when Monday mornings are good to me. 

-24 lbs as of today.  I’m only 4 lbs shy of my 28 lb baby-making goal, and depending on how we proceed, I likely still have several weeks left to get there. 

I remember sitting in that appointment with our RE last month.  She looked at my weight on paper, clucked, and said, “Here’s where I’d like you to be.”  She said it skeptically—like she had no faith that I would take her seriously and make it happen.  To that, I say IN YOUR FACE, doctor lady.

I’ve been expecting my period to start any minute since last Saturday, but it still hasn’t. Today is CD 41.  Kind of a bummer because it really throws our plans off.  We had planned to start again with my March cycle, but were anticipating that it would be around the 20th of March based on my last 3 or 4 cycles.  At this point, chances are good that I won’t start this period until March, which means we’re likely looking at bumping things back to April. 

I’m torn because on the one hand, I feel like we said that we’re going to start in March, and if this cycle starts in March, then this is the cycle we start with.  I have a thing about the number 3, and since this will be my 3rd period of the year in the 3rd month of the year, there’s part of me that says YES, let’s do it. 

The flip side is that I likely won’t have reached the 28 lb mark by then (unless I start jogging now and don’t stop until next week), and I’m a bit superstitious about that, too.  Also, I am really enjoying my diet/exercise routine, and there’s no way I’m going to be jogging 16 miles a week during the 2ww (side note—I ran 16 miles last week!!!).  I really want to give myself a chance to hit that goal number—it feels like a big deal, and I am SO CLOSE. 

I had lunch with a good friend last week and she remarked that it’s been over a year since we hopped on this TTC train and she doesn’t know how we’re staying sane.  Honestly, I’ve been channeling every ounce of frustration into the treadmill.  Every step I take.  Every increase in speed.  Every extra mile.  I crank up music on my iPod that reminds me of the goals we’re working toward. When I get tired, I make eye contact with that ridiculous stuffed sperm that’s perched in front of me and tell him GAME ON.  Sometimes I even grab him by the tail and jog with him for a few minutes.

I feel more ready than ever to start trying again, but I don’t feel as ready as I want to feel.  Part of me wonders, though—will I EVER feel as ready as I want to feel?  BFNs are certainly never going to be easier to look at, and 40+ day cycles are not going to stop stressing me out until we’re done trying.  Whether I lose 2 more pounds or 4 more pounds or 10 more pounds, it’s not likely to make THAT big of a difference considering I’ve already lost 10% of my body weight and then some. 

I’m not sure what the right answer is.  All I can do is let this (neverending) cycle be my guide and hope that when the time comes to make a decision, we’ll know what to do.

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It’s Not a Sprint

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One Step Forward:

Last week, I ate more wonderful food than should be legal within the span of 7 days. 

There was the chile relleno on a loaded plate bigger than my head at Sadie’s in Albuquerque

Then there was pollo adovada (and a margarita) at El Pinto in Albuquerque. (My assistant had the carne adovada and it was AMAZING.)

I ate every last bite of the incredible stuffed Portobello mushroom I had for lunch (with a perfect glass of pinot grigio) at Season’s in Albuquerque.

For Valentine’s Day, Catch and I celebrated at home with our favorite cheese fondue recipe and cupcakes from our favorite local cupcake place, Yummy Cupcakes.

We spent Saturday & Sunday at my in-laws place in the San Diego area, and on Saturday night, I enjoyed the carnitas at a little place called Añejo

All of that is a long way of saying, “Weight Watchers, what?”  You can imagine how terrified I was to step on the scale for our regular weigh-in yesterday.

BUT, courtesy of my newfound love of running (still can’t get used to that) I managed to maintain.  Actually, I lost one tenth of a pound—a whopping 1.6 ounces.  Fist pump!

In between plates, airports, time zones, obligatory romance, and traffic, I managed to jog 12 miles last week.  That may not seem like a lot if you’re a “real” runner, but for me it’s HUGE. 

Mind you, I’m SLOW.  Yesterday, I challenged myself to jog a 5k on the treadmill and I managed to do the whole thing (with no walking) in 44 minutes.  That’s a pace of 14:11 per mile.  SLOW.  But I’m doing it, and I am ridiculously, insanely proud of myself. 

One Step Back:

I was floating on a cloud of weight loss and exercise, feeling pretty invincible.  My past few cycles have been NORMAL.  Normal for me, anyway.  I’ve been ovulating.  Cycles have been about 31 days.  It’s all been pretty textbook. 

Granted, I did two rounds of clomid in Ocober/November, so in the back of my mind I knew that my cycle success could just be the clomid working its way through my system.  I chose to credit weight loss instead.

Unfortunately, today is CD 35.  I’ve had EWCM since Friday.  There was a bit of random spotting on Saturday that got my hopes up, but only EWCM since then.  It’s totally bizarre because I never have EWCM before my period.  Looks like Clomid wins this bet.

All along, I’ve been planning for our insemination cycle to start around March 20th.  That’s what it would have been if my cycles had stayed on track.   Now I have no idea where we’re going to end up.  I could start my period tomorrow, or I could start in two weeks.   

I’m trying not to make this speed bump into an obstacle.  Considering the journey we’ve been on, it’s par for the course.  No matter how much control I attempt to take over my body, I am ultimately at the mercy of my biology.  There are plenty more things I could be doing—accupuncture, gluten-free, etc.—but I’m trying to take one step at a time.  One slow step.  Eventually, we’ll win the marathon.

1-800-Flowers is the Devil

My wonderful wife broke our Valentine's Day agreement and sent me flowers to work today.  Here's a side by side of what they were supposed to look like, versus what my poor crushed calla lilies actually lok like.  The roses don't look much better.

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But that's not the worst part!

The worst part is that they gave me someone else's card.  Karina Byrd, if you're out there, your boyfriend (husband? girlfriend? wife?) wrote you an incredibly sweet note.  Too bad you didn't get it. 

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It's a good thing I trust my wife, because at a glance, getting flowers with another woman's name on them really looks bad.

My poor wife–I feel like she got totally ripped off.  $80 for crappy, crushed, half-dead flowers to be sent with a card for someone else.  Never again, 1-800-Flowers.

Elevated

Hello from my hotel room in Albuquerque, where I sit desperately wanting to sleep, but unable to not hear my assistant in the room next door talking on the phone with her boyfriend. How she has the energy to be so perky and giddy at 11 pm after a day of travel and meetings, I wish I knew. Oh, to be 24 again.

The good news is that I’ve lost 19.5 pounds as of Monday. The bad news is that I am in New Mexico–land so sopapillas and green chile–and I am contemplating eating my way through the state. It’s a good thing we leave tomorrow.

Before dinner tonight, I dragged my tired ass to the hotel fitness center and did 30 minutes on the treadmill. Let me just say that 30 minutes at 5,000 feet is not the same as 30 minutes at my usual elevation of somewhere within 100 feet of sea level. I was DYING. 15 minutes of jogging left me feeling 5 times worse than 30 minutes at home. I had to throw in the towel at the 15 minute mark and power walk the rest.

Tomorrow, we’re in for a full day of meetings and an evening flight home. I can’t wait to get back. As appealing as having this whole bed all to myself seems on paper, now that I’m here it’s pretty darn lonely. I will be happy to leave this mile high city behind.

Let it Go

Here’s where I confess that I listed to that song from the Frozen soundtrack about a half dozen times on my way to work this morning. (What can I say? Idina Menzel? I have a weakness for women of Broadway with lungs like hers.)

There is so much about this week that I need to let go of. 

  1. Work crap.  I hate having to put on my mean boss hat, but I wore it on Tuesday and it sucked.  The suckage has stayed with me all week.  I think this is what it must feel like to parent a teenager.  You see so much potential in them and they are so smart and capable, but you give them an inch and they take a mile and the next thing you know their internet history for a 3-day period is 63 pages long and filled with cat memes and hipster t-shirts and they have not spoken to you directly in 4 days.
  2. Baby baby baby SHUT UP ABOUT BABIES ALREADY, PLEASE. While attending a baby shower for a coworker complete with the word epidural used as a word scramble, another colleague announced that she’s pregnant.  There are a handful of pregnant friends in my facebook feed, and the pictures of my cousin’s 1-month old have started free flowing.  Most days, I can deal.  Most days, all I need is a friend to touch my shoulder knowingly and tell me that we’ll be next.  But sometimes—like this week—it’s just not enough.  
  3. The scale. I’ll admit that I’ve become a bit obsessed with it.  On top of Weight Watchers, I’ve been working out harder than I ever have before in my life for the past few weeks.  Monday’s loss of only .6 lbs felt like a slap in the face.  Ever since that, I’ve been finding opportunities to step on the scale at least once a day if not twice.  It’s gotta stop.  I have to get it in my head that as long as I’m staying on program, working out, and feeling good, the scale will catch up eventually. It’s just hard not to focus on the deadline. March is looming and I so desperately want to show our RE that I mean business. I know that PCOS can make it hard to lose weight—I’ve heard it loud and clear from two doctors and from the internet. I just so wanted to fall into the “exceptions” category. I should know by now that I am rarely the exception and mostly the rule.

I know for certain that holding on to all of this serves no purpose. It’s time to take a deep breath, a long sip of coffee, and let it all go.

Well Wishing

In another lifetime, I had a best friend.  We met as freshman in high school.  She changed schools, and when I met my first girlfriend I was terrified to tell her about it. Being gay wasn’t something I had ever even considered prior to that first girlfriend.  Everything about it was new and scary, and I could barely talk to MYSELF about it, let alone my best friend.

Eventually, she found out and confronted me about it on a marathon after school phone call. It went better than I could have hoped.  She was so supportive.  Annoyed at me for keeping secrets that she had to hear about through the grapevine, but totally supportive.

A lot of life happened between then and our early 20s.  It’s a long story, but I ended up hurting her badly and we didn’t talk for a long time afterward.  At some point, I realized that I really missed her.  I reached out—groveled.  Apologized more times in the span of a month than I think I have in my entire life.  We started working on trying to be friends again.

I took up scrapbooking so we’d have a common hobby.  We marched in the Doo Dah Parade with the basset hound rescue.  It wasn’t the same as it used to be, but we were friends.  It was nice.

One day, she told me that she had made the decision to be baptized in her new church.  Knowing my stance on religion, she was as scared to tell me about church as I had been to tell her that I’m gay.  The conversation was similar, but reversed.  It was me shrugging off the major life changes and telling her that I love her regardless.  I even went to a church picnic with her.

When the 2008 election brought California Proposition 8, I sent a heartfelt email to my friends and family explaining the direct effect Prop 8 would have on me and Catch. 

I don’t remember exactly what her response was to my email.  I know I responded back, but I can’t recall exactly what was said then, either.  What I do remember is that in our final exchange she said, “Can’t we just agree to disagree on this?”

The short answer?  No.  We can’t. 

Marriage is hard and beautiful and I have no room in my life for “friends” who can’t stand behind this commitment Catch and I have made to each other.  For better or for worse, this is our life.  It is the center of our lives.  Our marriage is the thing that most of our decisions revolve around.  It is the thing that decides our present and our future.  There are few things I do in my life that do not cause me to pause for a moment and think of my wife.  How will she feel?  What will she think?  How will she react?  What effect does this have on her?

Should I go see the Book of Mormon with a friend tomorrow night? I better make sure Catch is home to take care of the dogs.

Can we spend a week in Mexico this summer at my mom’s timeshare? Let’s check the calendar to see when Catch is teaching summer school.

Can I plant my ass firmly on the couch all night and watch a Law & Order SVU marathon? My wife is going to kill me if I don’t at least wash the dishes first.

So, I’m sorry—you don’t get to vote against my marriage one day and pop over for movie night the next.  There’s a lot of room for grey in my life, but not when it comes to my family.

So, the ties were cut.  About a year later, we announced our real (secret) marriage at our big fake wedding, and my best friend from high school never made it onto the guest list. 

Non, je ne regrette rien.

All of this is a long way of getting around to telling you that she got married this past weekend.  We have some mutual Facebook friends, and word travels. 

The thing about best friends is that no matter how much you change over time—and you do—some things never change.  Just as I know that there are probably toothpaste splatters on her bathroom mirror right now, I also know how important marriage and children are to her.  I know how badly she has wanted both—and for so many years.  I know how sensitive and thoughtful she is, and I know what a wonderful wife and mother she will be.

For years, her words have echoed in my head.  Can’t we just agree to disagree?

Five years ago, I might have hoped that she tripped on her way down the aisle.  Today, I simply wish her all the happiness that Catch and I have in our marriage—because really, that’s what this marriage equality thing is all about.  I hope her life is filled with an abundance of “for better” and very little “for worse.”  Even more, I hope their life together is surrounded by people who have faith in their marriage.