Kittykat and DaddyO

Just a quick note to document the events of the morning.

Got up early, walked the dog to the local lab for blood work, home just as DaddyO is getting out of bed.  They call two hours later to give me the FABULOUS results and I call DaddyO who had JUST left for work.  Crying of course.  He freaks and things something is wrong, I assure him that it definitely NOT and he decides to come home and spend the morning with me anyway.

I'm thinking it might be because of the aforementioned post's title.  Perhaps.

So I just in the shower to get all freshened up for our long awaited early afternoon tryst and celebration.

Just as I'm getting out of the shower (once again all freshly shaved with the vibrating razor and feeling VERY ready to play) I hear the door bell.

And strange voices.  Foreign accents.

DaddyO is talking to our landlord.  Who, lives in another country, but is now sitting in my living room.  Turns out, he is in town and thought he would stop by and tell us that he is moving back to the states and into our house and we need to move.

Out of the house we have lived in for 20 years.  I'm assuming he wants us to take the 20 years worth of crap we have accumulated as well.

Yes.  DaddyO has rented for 20 years.  I've lived here for the last 10.  It's an amazing house and our landlord has been completely absent and the rent has never gone up.

The home business I was starting to make some money while I was preggers, has been started, things built, business license paid for. 

Morning sickness? full swing.

Down payment for new house, almost saved.  And with the market the last two weeks... we have just taken a step backwards on that one.

Rental market?  Sucks cause all the people who are being foreclosed on and moving into rentals.

Sex I was planning on having?  Postponed.

Wow.

I'm speechless.

Completely.

OK, obviously not completely.

Anyway.  Off to the airport for vacation.

First beta!  386!

BRB.

Shaving your little lady with a vibrating razor at the tail end of a two week no sex/orgasm zone.  Now I'm just cranky.

In other, possibly related news, DaddyO has been strangely attentive.

Makes me think I need to pull my head out of the IVF blogs and get back to writing that post about tease and denial, chastity and orgasm control.

Holy Mother OF Not Now!

So, as the morning sickness sets in and and I look forward to 9 months of not being able to work as much and not wanting to hang out with friends in bars as much then a year or so of sitting home with babies and start looking forward to sitting home and finally taking fun advantage of my netflix account, they get rid of the separate queues.

Netflix has been my savior every time I've been sick or down for one of my fun dental surgeries or just need a date night or an afternoon to myself.  DaddyO has his queue of boy movies and I have my queue of girl movies and I've rated my girl movies and I get mighty fine girl recommendations from them.  DaddyO has rated all this movies and gets more of the lame ol, sorry, same ol boy movies.

I get a movie and watch it in a couple days or weeks and send it back. DaddyO gets a movie and holds onto it like a  newfound treasure, never cracking the package.

Now?  Netflix will be getting rid of those queues.  Mine, being the secondary, will simply be deleted. All the movies I've added to it, the 150 or so movies waiting to be enjoyed.  All my ratings.  Gone.

This feels like a ill timed personal attack.

Stoopid Netlix.

Does anyone else use Netflix?  What do you think of the separate queue thing?  Here's a link to a petition to get them to stop the madness.  I doubt they will, but it makes me feel better to let them know how  unsavory I find the idea.

Yesterday I went to Target and bought a fancy-pants digital pregnancy test.  Rather then rely on the traditional, pee on it and art will happen and you can interprete it test, I chose the pee on it and it will do some calculations and give you a definitive answer test.  Pregnant.  Not Pregnant.

BTW, do you know that in the fine print, you are warned about radio interference from your digital pregnancy test. 

Our whole life revolves around electronics, we understand them.  We trust them.  We're used to the temperamental ways in which they sometimes do their jobs and sometimes, the need to be rebooted and then they do their job.  And really, we get 90% of our news from the internets and the other 10% from our cell phones. 

So I pee on it (and NOT my fingers this time.  I'm getting good at this!) and snap the cap on and wait.

An hour glass starts spinning on it's little screen.

It keeps spinning.

I start wondering if maybe I have crashed my pregnancy test and need to somehow reboot it. 

Then it stops.

Pregnant.

I'm starting to think that all these little tests are trying to tell me something.

This two week wait is killing me. 

So, I had a post I had started about how I was how terrified I was that this biology experiment wouldn't work and would we be able to afford to try again?  And should we go with the same clinic.  And when should we start again.  And holy mother of gawd what if it does work?  What will happen to my business that I've worked so hard to create?  Will I want to continue it?  How will I support my $hoe habit??  Will I ever get my waist back?  I've been WAY too lucky in that regard.  And what about my social life? 

But then I was too busy not working to post it.  DaddyO has demanded that I take it easy during the 2ww.  Unfortunately, my name is (actually it's not, but you get my drift) KittyKat and I have a problem saying no to clients who want to pay me money. So I worked all day on Wednesday.  And a bit on Thursday.  Then on Sat.  Then again on Sun. And I'm booked all day today.  But I took Friday off!!  And I have Tomorrow off.  And I almost had Wednesday off but I just got an email... from a client.. with ... money...

He has threatened to spank me, but since the Dr won't allow sex, horse back riding, jogging, ORGASMS, stairs (oops), walking up steep hills (double oops), I'm pretty sure spanking is out as well.

But still, too busy to write, not too busy to obsess.  It's like Jello.  There's always room.

"Get down on your knees and kiss my boots you worthless little worm!" (So, I had my trigger shot on  June 10th)

"That's right.  Get your ass up so I can smack it." ( and since we only did a half dose)

"Count the out for me.  Loud and Proud." (that means it should be out of my system by June 20th)

"Don't you look up at me!  You don't deserve to cast your eyes on my beauty!" (so if I test on June 20th)

"And look at that little dangling piece of man meat!  (I should get a negative)

How humiliating for you to have it  make all the important decisions for in your life." (then I could test every morning)

"Stick it out here so I can smack it!"  (and see when it turned positive)

"What a tiny little thing!" (that way I would know it wasn't a false positive from my trigger shot)((and actually, it is indeed rather small.  I sorta feel bad making fun of him for that one))

"Do you really think you could truly make a woman happy with it?"  (It would only take two three packs to get me to my beta)((but I'll do it anyway))

"Now get your sorry ass out of my dungeon." (40 bucks for 6 pregnancy test is totally worth my sanity)

And obviously, whether or not I'm still in possession of my sanity is open to debate, but we'll save that debate for another day.

DaddyO an I took the dog for a walk and happened across a drug store (read:  I walked DaddyO and the dog to the drug store) and I wandered in and stumbled across the pregnancy tests (read: ditched them in the street leaving only one of those small cyclones of leaves and trash in my wake) and picked up a three pack. 

That was Saturday morning.  The day of the negative test.  Except, after peeing on the stick, and a bit on the toilet seat, and some on my fingers... it was not.  There was a very faint line.  You had to hold the stick in a certain light, at a certain angle.  But there was definitely a delicate pink line.

Ok.  That could be a bit of the trigger shot left over.

So I tried again on Sunday morning.  This time there was a bit more of a line.  You didn't have to hold it at a certain angle, but you did need to hold it in a a certain light.  Bright light to be exact.  DaddyO was not convinced.

Turns out DaddyO had never seen a pregnancy test (not that I'm much experienced in that regard - I hadn't seen one since the 80's).  After a  quick demonstration with the left over stick, which  did not include peeing on it, the toilet seat or my hands, because I had to save it for Monday morning, I had DaddyO convinced.

That it was sorta pink.  Sorta positive.  And that it could definitely be the left over Trigger Shot or I could possibly be pregnant.  Yup.  Convinced. That it was one or the other. 

Today?  Still a pink line.  A little darker.  That's 13 days (12 and a half really) past trigger.

Now I have a real problem because beta isn't until Friday morning and I'm out of sticks. 

Last week, on his 21st birthday, over breakfast with my son and he just flat out asked.  "So, mom, are you pregnant?"

Speechless.  Um... hadn't planned on talking to him or his brothers about this till we had something to tell them. No reason for them to go through the ups and downs and emotional hell that is IVF.   So, I told him everything, including the story about why I got the tubal.  OK, not the part about the abortion.

That bit of speechlessness was nothing compared to this morning.  My boys are 19, 21, and 23.   The 21 year old, once again, over breakfast, starts telling me that his 19 year old brother is "tapping" some 18 year old "total slut" and he hopes that he is "wrapping".

Suddenly I'm sorta regretting that open door policy in regards to sexuality with the boys.  And for some reason, the one thing that stuck in my head was... he's seeing someone who is 18?  My baby is seeing someone who is 18 years old? He's not old enough, oh.  Wait.  He's... a year older.. then her....  Crap. 

I think the only reason I grasped on to her age, was that the whole "tapping",  "total slut" and "wrapping" issues where just too much to deal with over my bacon and eggs.

This led to a conversation about safer sex and having children when you are ready.  He said he doesn't want kids, but he's pretty sure his brothers do.

Oh dear mother of god.  I'm too shocked to even capitalize in a way to show that I'm shocked.

Please, do not let it be with "total slut."
Please, do not let it be before I get pregnant.
Please, do not let it be before I'm 50.
Please, do not let it be, actually, before I'm 60.
Please, do not let me be one of those people who's child and gr*ndch*ld are in the same age bracket.

I really need to quit cooking breakfast with him until I can handle the straight from the hip conversation style I have worked so hard to distill in him.

In other news, today marks 17 years since I walked out, head held high from my abusive marriage.  Kidding.  I snuck out after he left for work taking nothing but my kids.

Today is the first day I have actual work and social obligations to attend to since the transfer and today is the day all the progesterone and the estrogen I'm taking has decided to kick in and make me feel like maybe I shouldn't be near anything that has any scent at all.  Or I will, I promise you.  Hurl.  Actually, not really hurl, but maybe spit up all down the front of myself. 

That should be impressive at my Lady's in Business meeting this afternoon.  Or better yet, as I'm helping some cross dresser into his panties.  Seriously dudette, if your lil ass is not fresh and clean, I WILL be hosing you down in the shower. 

Partly because I will have just spit up on you.

The smell thing started yesterday.  DaddyO and I went to the movies and I seemed to have become The Nose, a secret super hero who's uncanny ability to sniff out BO leads to the arrest of several European tourists.  I was also amazed that the carpets in the the theater had never once, in it's 15 year run, been cleaned.  Ever. Or so it seemed.  Actually, I'm pretty sure that before they were in the theater, they were in the locker room of the local high school boys gym. And the hot dogs rolling rolling rolling on that greasy rack seemed to have been molded from uncleaned pig rectum and covered in some un-holy "meat" scent that you just know is not really meant for human consumption (OK, I've always felt that way, but was nearly unable to get past the smell to get my popcorn this time).

Today that super scent sense has resulted in me getting nauseous any time I think of those things (writing this little missive is not helping).  Or food - just the kind with smells though.  Or get near my kitchen trash can (good lord women!  Clean that thing!) or, and this is the worst, my sons bedroom.  Ok, that one also always made me a little sick.  

It's way to early to feel pregnant, so I know this is just another of those silly practical jokes the IVF gods play on us .. Look Pregnant!  Feel Pregnant! Ha!  Just kidding.  Check under another soda cap to try again! 

In answer to twinge, I transfered yesterday.  The weekend seemed like one big waiting game where no matter what I was doing, the transfer was first and foremost on my mind.  It was like a noise that just drown everything else out.

We saw a baseball game:  runners on second and third, two outs, bottom of the 9th, this could  be the winning pitch TRANSFER TOMORROW TRANSFER TRANSFER TRANSFER.... and that ends the game.

We visited with friends:  "Yeah, and I'm really unsure how to proceed here, I mean, she's a friend, but when she  TRANSFERRING, YOU COULD BE PREGNANT TOMORROW TRANSFERRING TRANSFERRING so what would you do in this situation?  I could really use some advice."

We watched a movie: Music swells, opening credits.... zzzzzz wha? TRANSFERRING TOMORROW! zzzzzz.... closing credits.

I'm surprised any of my friends still talk to me.  Will I soon refer to them as my old friends?

Oh.  And we started the progesterone shots.  Holy mother of god.  I was very used to my 27 gage 1/2 inch tummy needles.  I was not at all prepared for the 25 gage 1/2 inch needles.  What?  Are you kidding? It's not 1/2 inch?  It's 1 AND a half inch??!  But, I don't have that much meat on my ass.  *insert 20 minutes of hysterical "no, you do it" and "is it too late to just try untying the tubes?"  * before finally we were able to carry it off. 

I now have my first body mod in about 7 years. I have a golf ball in my right hind muffin top. 

In other news, I have finally pooped (thank you all for your concern).  A big glass of half prune and half pineapple juice every morning seems to do the trick.  Pretty much.  I've also experimented with adding a big splash of apple juice and a lime to make it fancy.  MMmm... prune mocktails!  Soon, they will be all the rage.  You heard it hear first.

So, transfer.  Love all the Drs and nurses at my clinic. They have been very good about calming and reassuring me.  I've been pregnant before they say.  They know it's just the blocked tubes they say.  Probably could only transfer one good embryo, maybe two they say.  Then we go in for the transfer and the embryologist comes out to show us our graded embryos.  In the long column where we want to see 8's for 8 cells a growing we see mostly 4s.   In the long column where we want to see 1's for perfect condition, no fragmentation, we see all 2s and 3s.  In the end, they transfered three embryos, an 8/2, a 7/2 and a 5/1.  The rest were disposed of.  Nothing even good enough to try freezing. 

This took the wind completely outta the sails of Good Ship Hopeful.

With the 7 not growing at all, I'm worried that the three they transfered will also fail to thrive.  It is going to be a long two weeks.  I know it only takes one... *it only takes one, it only takes one, rinse and repeat for two weeks*  but the whole cycle has gone so well that I just was not expecting such poor quality embryos.  We had fully expected to get a couple to implant now, and a couple to implant  later if this round didn't work.  Now, if this round doesn't work, it's back to square lupron. 

Thankfully, my client for tomorrow canceled so I have one extra day to hide my post retrieval buddha belly.   Thankfully I have something that will help conceal not only that, but the lovely bright blue targets the nurse drew on my muffin tops.

Mmm... muffin tops.... I think I'm more food motivated then my dog right now, and I'm not usually a stress eater.

Woot!!  I'm starting to get my hopes up...

Now if only I didn't feel like Buddha.  Silly me.  I had thought that on the two days between retrieval and starting the progesterone, that I would feel sorta "normal."  Just a little bit "normal". 

It was to be my last two days of "normal" before embarking on a new adventure. 

But no.  I'm buddha belly. I can't tell if it's because of my cranky ovaries or the fact that I haven't been able to poop in ages.  Probably the later and I will warn you right now, that if you are of the mind that poop is never something to be blogged about, and generally, I am of that mind, then feel free to check in on me tomorrow.  Or never.  Which ever.  Sorry.  I'm backed up and it's making me cranky.

I have tried the pitted fruits.  I have tried the hot tea and the whole grain bread.  I have tried the sitting and letting things work their way out.  I have tried the long walk. I have even tried the hot buttered popcorn with LOTS of butter which almost ALWAYS works. But no, I'm still dropping marbles.  Did I just lose my last reader?  Sorry.

Then, as I'm doing my walk through with the nurse about my upcoming transfer, she mentions that one of the side effects of the progesterone is constipation.  Um.  What?  Hello?  There is no way I can get any more backed up.  It just is not.  physically.  possible.  I'm surprised they could find my ovaries through all the poop.

I've always had issues with with poop.  On vacation?  New bathroom?  Can't poop.  Change my diet?  Nope.  Can't be at home in my own bathroom at 8:34 am? (And bloodwork at 9am every morning for the last week has NOT helped as that meant I had to leave the house at 8:40 with my husband who might know what I was doing in the bathroom as we are getting ready to leave ohgodno, so ...) Company staying over?  THEN THERE WILL BE NO POOPING.

Clients have asked me if I could poop on them and I have replied, that not only is poop not (NOT) sexy, there is just no way I could do it on command. I can barely (as the entire of the internets now knows,) do it by necessity. 

I think I will end this post now.