Insert Metaphor

Well, my dear readers, I will be out of the country until April and so I won’t be updating.  We’ll hopefully be relaxing and seeing lots of fun, new things.  I’m already terribly behind on my blog reading and I think I’m going to give myself permission to not read all the back entries when I return.  That’s hard for me to do - I like to be thorough.  I hope you all have a wonderful week!

I’ve had a very busy weekend and week before it. I turn my back for 2 days on the internet and I’m as behind as behind could be on blog reading and email. I got my email inbox down to 2 from 101 yesterday. That felt pretty good. My google reader is another story…alas.

We’re gearing up for our trip to London. Last weekend we made a master list of everything we want to do before we leave and when we ought to do it - we’ve been running a lot of errands since then. My main triumph of the weekend was finding jeans that seem to be awesome since I don’t have any proper jeans anymore.   They were the 20,498,484,931st pair I tried on and they were the last ones I was going to try for the day.  I was beginning to doubt that I was a size at all.  But these wonderful jeans fit and were less than I was willing to spend - hooray!

2 years ago Chicka and I got married at a non-legal wedding. 3 months before that I went on my first diet ever and lost about 20 pounds.  I generally ignored how cliche it was to lose weight for the event, all swept up in weddingness, I was. Since then I’ve stayed pretty much at the lower weight until a few months ago. Then, all of a sudden round about New Year’s, it was there again.  I’ve gained almost all of the weight back, hence, the new jeans.

I’m frustrated mostly because I’m a whole size bigger and I need new clothes. But I’m also at a loss for what to do. I believe that people come in all sizes and I believe that is fine. I know that most “overweight” people eat the same amount thin people eat. I know that “overweight” people are just as likely to exercise as thin people. I know that diets are a sham and that they fail. Not some of them but almost every single one of them. Ever. They don’t fail because fat people are weak. They fail because we’ve got the wrong definition of healthy. Fat doesn’t equal unhealthy.  I am not unhealthy because I gained some weight.

In the 2 years since the diet I’ve read and thought a lot more about weight and feminism - things I used to spend a lot of time thinking about as a Women’s Studies major in college but lost track of over the years.  I resolved to love myself and the body I have.  I vowed never to put myself through another diet because they make me feel so bad about myself and I don’t need to walk around hungry.  Eating isn’t a weakness and I like to eat!  But that was before I gained the weight back.  Now I feel all those crazy, self-hating thoughts returning.  When I can’t button my pants anymore I feel like I’ve failed - all it took to crush my great, new attitude was a few pounds.  No amount of Shapley Prose reading seems to hold back these thoughts for very long.  I feel weak for letting this get to me so much.  And I also don’t know how to address it.

One thing that has struck me over the last couple years is how many people complimented me on losing weight.  I used to proudly reject all diet culture and think it was horrible to compliment someone on something so patriarchal as dieting.  But I had worked hard on the diet and I took in the compliments.  I chatted about exercise and eating plans.  I complimented others on their weight loss.  It was a weird place to be in.

I was a completely closeted, queer teenager in high school, and I spent age 11-18 not getting what everyone was talking about.  I was never a normal girl able to talk about boys, periods or clothes.  It got a little better later in HS, but I was still the odd one out.  Chatting about diet stuff with other women recently, I was finally able to access this culture I felt like I had been faking membership to for my whole life.  I didn’t totally like it, but it was so easy and comfortable to be in the club.

My mother has spent her whole adult life on a diet or hating herself for not being on one. I’ve got a terribly long history wrapped up in her hating and its inevitable influence on me.  I’m really, really sick of thinking about weight but it seems to be the one constant I can’t get more than a few hours away from.  I have no conclusion here and I fear I’ve rambled…if you made it through, thanks for reading!

I should be in bed but I thought I’d post a quick something.  We’re taking this cycle off so it feels like there are a million days before anything exciting might happen.  It’s hard to be taking time off but I really can’t complain.  We’re going to England for 10 days!  We could technically inseminate before we leave but we don’t want to worry the whole trip.  Chickadee wants to enjoy some alcohol, rigorous jumping and litter box scooping while we’re among the Brits.   It will be nice not to worry and just relax.  We hope this month will allow us to chill a little and regroup so that we’re energized when we start again in April.  We are also hoping Parakeet will regroup and nudge his sperm output up just a little.

In other news, I don’t really like the fake names I gave us (Chickadee and Pigeon).  They’re kind of cute but they just don’t feel like a fit.  Writing Chickadee sounds possibly too cutesy and definitely too foreign.  I’m toying with some other names but nothing is shining.  There’s a remote possibility that I’m over-thinking things.  Do any of you, my gentle, few readers, have suggestions?

Well we’re out again and it sucks.

Since we started this process I’ve struggled with how much hope I’ll allow myself and Chicka and I will allow ourselves collectively. This cycle was all about trying to balance hope and reality. I started out feeling down on the cycle - the sperm didn’t look so hot, our donor was sick, Chicka was sick, our timing was eh. I initially felt like it was just a waste of buffer fluid and we had no chance. I felt less down as time passed but not outright hopeful.

But I actually think something started to happen this cycle. Chickadee had a 16 day luteal phase which is unheard of for her. She’s usually around 11 or 12 days and pretty regular. Her cycle overall was about 4 days longer than usual and that length was all tacked onto the second half. It’s the longest in 10 cycles of tracking and the longest she can remember. I’m pretty pleased that something seems to have happened. I’ve been really afraid that our sperm, though tested, was no good after making it’s 1,000s mile journey. This gives me more confidence that we could get an actual pregnancy out of this expensive relationship with Parakeet (pen pal? sperm pal?).

So towards the end, despite many negative pregnancy tests, I was getting hopeful. Too hopeful, I’d say. I wouldn’t say that I was confident that Chickadee was pregnant but I was tipping the scales in my head.  I was letting my mind drift just a little to the two lines, the celebration, calling our families, happily scooping the litter box for 9 more months, due dates and more.  I do this every cycle but this one seemed less hypothetical and more like it could happen.  Consequently, I’ve fallen harder with this cycle end.

I even had a totally emo moment driving to work this morning when this song (Vienna Teng’s Atheist’s Christmas Carol) came on.  Chickadee put it on a xmas present mix for me and I love it.  But the line about hope being currency…I lost it for a minute.  You don’t know me but I’ll tell you what is true about me: it is extremely uncommon for me to lose it.  It is particularly uncommon when I’m driving 65 on the highway.  It’s also uncommon that I miss my exit, accidentally get on another highway instead of a proper exit where I can turn around and go about 10 miles out of my way.  But that happened too.  It’s a sad, distracted kind of day.

Six negative pregnancy tests, that is. Chickadee has tested every day since Wednesday. They’re all negative. Her period is officially late today but we’re lacking any signs to go on. I’m not too hopeful that she’s pregnant when I use my practical head. But when I use my wacky head all the bells are sounding.

I’ll be sitting here, waiting patiently.

I’ve had to make a conscious effort over the last year to play down my intense, constant tendencies to be superstitious. I read into everything. Chickadee and I decided a few months ago that we would stop knocking on wood. It was HARD to break this habit. We had chopsticks in our cars in case we needed to knock on wood while driving, so severe was the habit. Chicka even once stopped the chopstickless car to run to a tree to knock on wood.

It got to the point where we couldn’t say anything remotely hopeful without having to knock on wood or feeling panicked if we didn’t. It owned us. We decided to tune down some of our habits so that we could allow ourselves to feel hopeful during the TTC process without feeling like we were jinxing ourselves and, ultimately, during pregnancy and parenting. But I haven’t been able to quit cold-turkey.

My superstitious habits:

1. For the first 3 TWWs I felt I had to wear a pair of earrings that Chickadee had given me every day (different earrings as long she had given them to me). It started to feel burdensome so I broke the habit this last time. I still wear the earrings on insemination days.
2. A few months before we started trying we went to a psychic. I’d never been before but we thought it would be fun and we were on vacation. She told us we’d have a baby girl somewhat soon. She let me pick a stone from her collection to take with me. I picked a small smoky quartz rock and I carry it around or make Chicka carry it around during the TWW. It’s nice to hold and I’m a fidgety person so it seemed like a healthy habit. However, when we thought we’d lost it I was nearly panicked. So maybe my attachment to the stone is a little unhealthy.
3. The title of this post is the fortune cookie Chicka got on Friday. I read into these and all other such signs. Doesn’t this one seem pretty good?  A HUGE personal gain?! Come on, people!
4. I wish on every eyelash I find.
5. I cross toes and fingers and arms when I decide they should be crossed for optimal positive outcome.

I’m sure there’s more. Do I sound crazy? I swear if you met me I’d seem so normal…I think.

I’ve fallen off track in my plan to comment on blogs that I read. I was away for work and so I’m really behind on my reading. My google reader is around 150 and I usually have it down under 10. But I will get back to it!