UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015
Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.
So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.
The hope is over Aug 18, 2006
Now we need to just cross fingers/pray/beg/hope for a natural miscarriage. Numbers after 46 hours: 65. I’m now so low in my level, there’s no chance I can carry the baby to term. Instead, they’re talking ectopic vs. natural miscarriage. The best I can hope for is to start bleeding soon and have everything pass (how I hate that term). I need to convince my body it’s over. Because it is.
I appreciate all the well wishes and hopeful thoughts. I appreciate people who said, “so and so had low levels and everything is ok!” I think now, though, I need to deal with reality. I can’t believe there is going to be a full term baby when my chances are now less than 1%. It’s time to help my body face what is happening and let go of my April due date. Right now I’d like my own body to heal so I can have another chance.
But I’ll ask you. From someone who never had this, who always says the wrong things, who is hopeless when it comes to the right words, what do you want to hear if you’re in this position? What is the best kind of words you can receive? What would make your tears a little less or your face break into a small smile? ‘Cause until this point, I never really knew what anyone would feel like. And y’all. It sucks.
Because this is what I’d say if I just met you on the street Aug 17, 2006
Here is the kind of information you would get from me if you saw me on the street today.
“Yea. I’m almost five weeks pregnant. Yea. So it’s not going well. Yasee, I peed on another stick today. And, well, it’s not darker and I KNOW they say it doesn’t matter but it has to, right? Doesn’t it make sense if your HGC went up it would get darker? Yea. I thought so. So anyway, I had another blood work lab today because the nurse isn’t pleased with my score of 47 on 17 days past ovulation. Oh, we know when I ovulated because I took this ovulation strip. Oh, it’s so neat, it’ll tell you when your egg is about 48 hours from being released. Crazy, hu? Anyway, so I had to go back in and now they’re saying things like “miscarriage” and “low HCG” and “if you make it to 2000, we’ll do an ultrasound.” So now I’m totally freaking out because, yaknow, I’ve told people and people read and came, and commented. Cool people. People I’d want to be pregnant at the same time with. Or share stories of my vajaja with or about discharge and my big boobs and puking. I mean, they’re all counting on me to stark puking. Yaknow? And we have a name for him.. yes it’s a him.. and I’ve already cried several times today over the low HCG levels and well, my boobs don’t hurt nearly enough…”
And that’s about the time my inner sensor FINALLY kicks in and starts beeping loudly at me to SHUTTHEFUCKUPALREADY. Did I mention I have a malfunctioning inner sensor? Seuss and I were talking about this tonight. That little red light that should blink when you’re on the phone with the financial consultant and instead you blurt out the above paragraph, in its entirety, and she pauses, says, “well, perhaps we can fiddle with the numbers a bit” and you lock your rate just a tad lower. Or when you’re discussing the contract with the seller and you begin said paragraph, again, momments after kicking yourself from the first phone call and yet, YOU DO NOT STOP, you actually say out loud, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this..” followed by an awkward pause…. “.... ....... ........ .... Yes, well, anyway….”
And that, ladies and 2 gents, is why I didn’t post today. Because I told the real-estate gal, the financial consultant, the seller of the condo, two nurses, the lab lady, some random stranger in the library, Erin and all our family my entire pregnancy history, all four weeks in its entirety, and I can’t bear to repeat it again.
Or else I might cry.
Beyond the Blog *added* Aug 16, 2006
Hi. Did you know I have a life? NO! I DO! I swear! One that takes place after I click the little ‘X’ on the browser window that involves things like poopy diapers, making tacky (and very very bad) dinners and some sort of work. And now, I’d like to share some things about that life. My life beyond the blog.
This week a few things started coming together. First there was the positive pregnancy test (then the negative test, the slightly positive test, and the positive test. But you’ve already been through that story..). There was the new design job, the offer from an amazing company, the news that I get to keep my current job (and telecommute) and the offer, finally, from the online university I’ve been waiting to hear from. Apparently, I got four jobs. And a baby. And a house.
And it’s only Wednesday.
I’ve had to make some tough calls. Calls in life that are the toughest kind to make. I’ve turned down people. I’ve had to decide to leave one of my dearest friends (and LB’s bestest friend ever). We’re having to decide if we need to lock an interest rate and get our finances started or hold off on the contract and pray the rates go down. We’ve made tough calls about our possessions, our “treasures” (read: the big bachelor TV), and position ourselves to pay a mortgage that is half our total income (ohmygod, it is HALF OUR INCOME). But we’ve paid off the cards, the cars, the mob and we’re starting fresh with no debt, a new house, a new baby, a new job and crappy ol’ shitty cars that may or may not last.
But we’re ok. Y’all. We’re doing ok.
So I’m sitting here with good friends, new and old, a child, new and old, a wonderful husband, wonderful people I will miss dearly, people I will get to enjoy again, and a new home to watch LB grow with her brother or sister in. I’m not saying I am not sad to see some changes, but I also think I’m so insanely blessed, I’d like to enjoy it a while.
Someone drink a beer on my behalf and toast the Universe for me. I’ll be here with my decaf. :: sip :: Ahhhhh.
**Y’all run over and wish Oma a Happy Birthday!**
Did I tell you ‘bout that time I went on a girl date? Aug 16, 2006
Well, that was fun.Now, did I tell you about the time I went on a girl date? No? Pull up a seat. It’s really not what you think…
So, last Friday, Traci and I went to a Paperboys concert in the Big Town to meet up with Cole. Traci met me (sans kid and husband) at the Borders to park a car, share a ride, and take our two pregnant asses out on the town. We had a nice chat, found a place to park in the shady area of town, and walked into what we assume is the right venue.
“Here for the show?” some young, obviously drunkish dudes ask us. “Well, are the paperboys here?” Traci is shaking her head in apprehension while I make friends with youngboy1. “Er. Paperboys? No. But you wanna come to this club. COMEON. We’re cool.” I don’t know if this is a hittin’ on (it’s been a while) or a sad attempt to make ten bucks for more booze. We decide the place we want is a few blocks down and as we leave, younboy2 shouts, “come back and visit!” while I run smack into a sign, “Tonight! Exotic Dancer Tanya!”
I think I was just picked up on at a strip club?
So we’re a block away, giggling about the strip club incident and discussing the prostitution on the 800 blocks when some other youngboys shout out, “You don’t want to go there!” We take a minute to figure out what they’re talking about. “Excuse me?” “Don’t go in there! We were just there. Some guy puked ‘cause the food sucks.” They are pointing to Traci’s shoes where, apparently, she was standing on some guy’s vomit. Yum. Then younganddrunkboy3 runs up to Traci, “This one! How YOU doin’? Nice to meety’a” and puts his arm around her all gross like. She shrugs him off and slips past the crowd and we make our way inside.
Traci was picked up on NINE MONTHS PREGNANT. Yes. She’s that hot.
We tell the people at the door we’d like to just look at the band area, seeing as how we’re pregnant and the one due in four weeks and 3 days (not that she’s counting) doesn’t want to stand the whole time and if there’s no room, we’ll be leaving. The ticket man reluctantly agrees. Luckily we find a seat at the bar and start ordering Shirley temples (raur) that get refilled for free for three hours. We totally forgot about the whole sneaking-in-for-free thing until we went to leave. “Oh, shit! We never bought a ticket!”
And that, ladies and gent, is how I went on a girl date, got hit on while pregnant, stepped in puke and spent no money. Whatsoever.
Turns out, I’m a damn cheap date.
Because the second kid isn’t getting off paranoia free *a running commentary* Aug 15, 2006
This post turned in to a running commentary as I wait for more blood results. Feel free to obsess with me. Or laugh and point. Or mock. Whatever. Just hit refresh and let the good times roll.
8/14/2006: 10PMI’m currently freaking out about how much my boobs don’t hurt. Hi? I’m not pukey enough. Hi? Someone tell me why I have to feel miserable to feel pregnant?
Right. Because I did last time. I rememer all too well.
I’m still tired and cranky and hungry (all the time). But I’m just not miserable enough. Not that I’ve heard that somewhere before.
Please remind me of this post when I’m crying about being miserable and pukey and tired and my boobs hurt too much. I’ll need a nice kick in the ass later. (but a gentle kick. watch for those pregnancy ‘roids.)
**updated** 8/15/2006: 6:37AM
I just had a negative home test. WTF? I’m seriously freaking out. Has this happened to anyone? Seriously? Freaking. OUT.
**updated** 8/15/2006: 10:15AM
So, the test I took this morning was the babywishes.org dip test. It was OH, SO FAINT. As in, “I *think* there might be another line?” And so, off I ran to the doctor for my blood work. I should find out tomorrow at the latest.
Until then, you’ll find me in the corner rocking and hugging my knees mumbling, “grow baby grow baby grow baby” and also, “omgomgomgomg”. If I start drooling, just hand a tissue my way.
**updated** 8/15/2006: 11AM
Just took another test of the same kind. Someone please tell me to stop peeing on random shit. These sticks are doing nothing but PISSING ME OFF. Ok. THank you. I’m off to get a real one.
(still in the corner mumbling)
**updated** 8/15/2006: 1:21PM
Thanks for all the people praying I’ll feel like shit. I’m feeling a little more peace now that I walked into the kitchen and the smell of the running dishwasher made me gag. Also? I’m going to take a nap now. I’d love to freak out some more but I’m just too damn tired. I’ll resume freakage at 1500 hours. (It sounds much more official in miliatary time, doesn’t it?) Also, I just picked up two EPT and two First Responce. Because that is how *I* roll.
Well, it’s faint, but at least it’s there, right? RIGHT? Now, I gotta stop peeing on things! Word is spreading that I’m a pee stick whore! :: ahem ::
She called. I’m at a 47. So, she said YUP, YOU ARE PREGNANT! and then had to listen to me go on about how paranoid I am. “Is it going up enough?” and “What should it be at now?” and “See, my Mom…”
She says, “You are not your mom.”
I said, “Yea, that’s what my Blog people said.”
There ya go. It’s positive. (she says in a small voice: HIPHIPHORRAY!)
TOTAL LIQUIDATION! EVERYTHING MUST GO! Aug 14, 2006
(Thank you to everyone for their well wishes for a lasting pregnancy. I’m four weeks. And I got two weeks “free.” Only 36 more to go (oy)!)
I’ve only had bad experiences with ebay. I don’t get ebay. I think I’m a competent person with a good head on her shoulders and a nice knack for shopping. But when it comes to ebay, I ride the short buss. And y’all, that’s just PURCHASING. Now I need to sell our crap and I’m like the novice poker player sitting in a room of smoke and beer saying things like, “Uh. I have a bunch of red. Does that win something?” Damn clueless.
For starters, we have to sell our 36 inch flat screen TV, our sofa, a washer and dryer set, a full mattress and frame. We have a computer, 156 CDs (all listed in Excel per Mr. Geeky Flinger), and a ton of books and Mac World magazines.
We take Visa. We’ll take anything. Anyone want some?
So, friends, countrymen, fellow Internet peeps, what should I do? I refuse to by “ebay for dummies” because 1. It costs MONEY to buy and 2. I am NOT a dummy. Well, I am, but come on. It’s EBAY. I’ll list my local stuff on Craig’s list (I am so not paying shipping on this TV) and make everyone else pay shipping on the CDs and such. But is there a better website for cds? What do I ask? What about all our little crap?
Oh my god, I’m going to have a hernia before this moving deal is over, aren’t I? Do they sell preparation H on ebay? Maybe that would be a nice investment.
We’re a little bit country and a little bit rock-and-roll Aug 09, 2006
I’ve talked about moving before and about how many times I’ve moved in my life. I think the number now sits at 17. In as many years. I spoke of how much I hated selling our house. And how much I hated all our crap. And how insane it made me to wait on the inspection and how much I hated our real estate lady.
And now? Guess what! I’m going to talk more about moving. Don’t roll your eyes. I might talk about my hayhay. Read on.
My In-Laws all live in one location. Both sides of the family. All four thousand cousins and six hundred aunts/uncles/grandmas/frenchies. And if they’re not 15 minutes away, they’re within two hours. And if they’re not within two hours, the family never speaks of them. Like. Ever.
My family, on the other hand, is everywhere. I have no central location to call “home” anymore. I have an Aunt and Uncle here in Portland. My parents are back in Houston. My other Uncle lives somewhere up there and another one somewhere over there. And a great aunt and uncle in San Antonio. My sister, just last weekend, moved to Arizona. I realized, with a sudden thud in my heart, as she drove away, I’m almost all alone. On Christmas when we have forty places to go to the InLaws and all that family, I have my Uncle and my Aunt. My One. Uncle. And. Aunt. Here.
When people ask why we’d move to Seattle, I feel like a total fool sputtering, “uh. it’s pretty?” They ask, “Do you have family there?” and I always answer yes. YES. Well, of COURSE I’d have family. What kind of an idiot moves to where mortgages are more than half your income and you drive ten miles an hour, at best, between 7 and 10 and 3 and 6? Obviously, family would be the only reason to make such a sacrifice.
And I do have family there. I have my adopted sisters, LB’s “Aunties” and the girls I went through that awkward phase known as “college”.
I don’t think this is strange, in these days, to have a family you adopt from your peers. Look at ”Friends.” They had their own thanksgiving. They were THERE FOR EACH OTHER (according to the theme song) and since we all know everything we see on TV is fact, I think I believe I’m not odd in adopting a family of my friends. I always say you are born into your family but you adopt your family.
So, I guess I’m a little curious. Are you close to your family? Not emotionally, but as in “my inlaws live down the road and my mom and dad are five miles away.” I know some of you have that setup. Sometimes I’m jealous and sometimes I feel totally sorry for you. I haven’t decided how I feel about the 2,000 miles separating me from Oma and the 200 from the InLaws. There are some advantages. There are some disadvantages. But over all, I don’t think I’m lying when I say I have family in Seattle. I do. I just wasn’t born with them.
The Short Buss Aug 07, 2006
I told you people not to let me out in public. Didn’t I say that? Therefore, don’t be surprised when I tell you the following is in fact, real, and not made up or embellished for blog’s sake. I have witnesses.
Hi. I’m a spaz.
No room to breath: Tales from a one-income family Aug 02, 2006
I’ve been doing the bills today because Look at that! It’s the first of the f’in month! AGAIN! and I decided to write down our income verses expence. You know, like educated, good financial planners do? I think it’s called a b-u-d-g-e-t but I can’t be too certain.
Anyway, having written down our bills, our average monthly expense, the rent and our miscellaneous items (like shelling out 300 bucks a month for GAS thanks to an hour commute for the mister) I came up with…
TADA! We can officially no longer afford shit tissue. (I hear aloe leaves are better anyway.)
The thing about finances is that (much like PPD) nobody talks numbers. I don’t want to pry. I don’t want to brag. I don’t want to wine and bitch that we’re poor (regardless of what it looks like here, we do ok, really. I just.. yaknow.. freak out a bit.) I just want to be HONEST. LIke “yea, we’re damn tight here, too, but we make it work! This is how…” I’m kicking myself over a few bad choices and laziness. Paying the bills late last month cost us almost two hundred dollars. I kid you not. People, PAY YOUR BILLS ON TIME. I do the online bill pay thing for the most part but the two crucial ones can’t be paid online. Yaknow, the big spenders AKA: the big yowzer of a late fee and weeping into your Wheaties the next morning. Those.
I’ve started looking at my roll as a wife differently. If I stay home with LB I either have to 1) work from home which is something I’m doing my damndest to make work and 2) see all the financial planning for our family as a job. I decided to look at bill due dates as deadlines and applying for refunds/coupons/reimbursement as a job. It’s income, isn’t it? It should be as important as a job. I never let myself get lax at work with my responsibility, why would I do it at home? It’s time to pull out professional Leslie and place her at the table with the checkbook.
With our prospective move to “nobody-in-their-right-mind-can-afford-a-house-are-you-kidding-me-ville” we’ve talked more and more about how to save and what areas to cut back on. I hear you screaming Starbucks, Internet. Yes, obviously that has to go. And what’s that? Eating out? Yes, I know. Cooking is now part of that “professional Leslie” that is the caretaker of her house. It’s not for our health now, it’s financial. (but god help us. Cyan instead of Cajun pepper. Seriously? THEY ARE BOTH RED.)
I think the biggest reason I’m in freakout mode is said move. Well, that and the thought of cutting the coffee umbilical chord. So, I thought I’d offer a few solutions we came up with and I hope you’ll pitch in what works for you.
First, behold! I hath made a spreadsheet! With colors! And formulas! And how many exclamation points to I need to use to get you to say “OOH! AAHHH!”
Yes, I’m impressed myself. Even the mister, the geeky engineer mister, is proud of my spreadsheet and is happy to use it to track our money. Screw Quickin’. We’re going Excel!
Second, I found out that you can take your change to a change machine and get a starbucks gift card (or music, or borders, or…) and not get penalized for using the machine!
Luckily I’ve started a change collection and am resigned to staying within the cash budget for “external” goods and saving up my change for my $2.30 white mocha americano. Which, if I may be so bold here, would be tip #3. Switch to an Americano, get white chocolate syrup and put a dash of milk from the creamer table. You save over a buck each drink and you won’t miss the milk. I promise. *And* just because I love you this much, that drink is only 100 calories (grande) instead of 340 for a grande white mocha. Yup! Get in line. Go ahead.
Next one’s on me.