its a ... disappointment? NO!

Hopefully this time you get your girl!

I have heard the above phrase more times than I can count in these weeks of pregnancy, when I actually am up to talking to people.  Especially with how the pregnancy has been going, people are just sure.

Nearly everyone has said some variant of it.  From the polite "maybe it will be"s to the down right annoying "you better have gotten it right this time"s that baffle me.  I am pretty sure everyone who knows us is certain we only broke the two children standard the American world seems to hold so dear because we had not yet had a girl.

Its a ... oh my!

Truth of the matter is I'd rather a boy.  

I won't throw it back if its a girl (that was an attempt at humor, if you missed it, seriously chill).  But I know boys.  I have only had boys.  I am fine with boys.  In fact, I down right love 'em.  I relish being a mom of boys, I love that I can refer to my household as "my men" with a hint of humor but no need for qualifications.  

Even back when I babysat I only ever had boys.  Come to think of it, I do not think I have ever changed a girl's diaper.  The thought actually terrifies me.  Let's be frank here, I know for sure how unpleasant a diaper change can be with the anatomy of a chubby little boy.  There are some wrinkly, foldy parts there that poop just makes a mess of.  But it is not a *glances over her shoulder* vagina.

I mean seriously, WTF do you do with that?!

No, don't tell me.  I don't want to know.  

Not unless I have to.

Its a ...OMG!

Which I may have to, I have a strong feeling I am having a girl, and it terrifies me more than may be rational.  

But most of all, I hate that if I have a girl people will exclaim"finally" like I accomplished the real goal.  Or if I have another boy they will sigh and say "will you try again?" because for some reason the fact I have only had boys is a failure.  Like my sons are insignificant.  

Um, no. 

If I have a girl, then I have one.  If I don't and I have another boy, then I have another boy.  Neither is a failure, and technically both were the goal.  We didn't plan this pregnancy with the purpose of having a girl OR a boy.  We planned to have a baby.  A child.  A sibling for the kids we have.  A person.  That was it.  No need for a specific gender, and I have never understood that.  

Its ... THE BABY!

I am frankly offended by what the "finallys" imply about my existing children.  Like, damn, that one has a penis and it just isn't what we were hoping for!  Crap, there is another one with a penis, what a waste!  No, "that one" is a person I am amazingly proud of and honored to watch grow.  He is a beautiful miracle that takes my damn breath away with his brilliance, complexity, and glorious heart.  He happens to be a boy, but I refuse to allow societies expectations of him force him to be something he doesn't want to be.  Or I will try anyway.

I would be as passionate a mother of a daughter, but it saddens me when people undervalue my sons simply because I already have them and especially because I have more than one.  I don't need a matched pair or a set, I need a child that is here and healthy as possible.  You're over complicating and over thinking things if you go beyond that.  

Parenthood is complicated and terrifying enough.  Why add more stress to it, especially with something that I have quite literally NO control of.  

Bras.

Tampons.

Dating.

Deep breathing now ... I am not going to worry about any of it until I know I need to.  

Outlander *drool*

I tend to obsess on certain things.

Hot Scottish men, happen to be one of them.

Historical romance is totally my dirty little secret.  Has been for years.  Oddly, my mother got me hooked.  I was going through a really dark period of my life and reading has always been my escape, but I was having a hard time finding stuff that I could handle.  She handed me a copy of Whitney My Love, saying it was an emotional roller coaster but worth it.  After years of rolling my eyes at the lurid book covers she burred her nose in (seriously, this is my MOM, ew!) I rolled my eyes and only promised I would give it a chapter or two before I would give up.

I couldn't put it down.

I love an assured happy ending.  Romance novels, at least of the genre I adore, guarantee me that.  I call it a Sound of Music ending ... where they all escape the Nazis over the Alps at the end to live happily ever after.  I love me a happily ever after.

I also love historical fiction.  SO combine the two and I am a happy camper.  Throw in a couple steamy scenes and I am good to go.

If you are wondering, no, the GIFs have nothing to technically do with this post.  I just like using them.  Yum.

Anyway, I heard from a friend about the Outlander series and thought it sounded up my alley even if it wasn't a traditional historical romance book series according to some.  I also happen to love and obsess over Scotland and always have so it was like the best of all things for me.

I am only on book three now, but since I am not exactly up to my usual tricks lately I have been able to read a lot more and am chewing through my Kindle allowance rather fast these days.

Then I heard it was a TV show.  Of course, I can't actually WATCH the damn show, which is killing me.

I have to sustain myself with GIFs and youtube teasers.

It has been hard.

Ahem.

Anyway, I check at least once a week for a legit way to watch the show without suddenly getting a cable package.  So far I have had mixed reviews from people who swear certain sites are safe while others swear the same site made their computer speak in tongues and vomit pea soup.

While Paul Bunyan is super and understanding and all that, I think if I turn our computer in to a scene from the Exorcist he will not be pleased with me regardless of how valiant the cause.

I also suspect he may think the cause less valiant than I do.  Sooo not my problem.

google says: BAD NEWS BEARS!

Well the saga continues ... yesterday I spoke with my doctors office and freaked them out enough that I now qualify for a home healthcare evaluation.

I am simultaneously relieved and terrified. The relief is because there is hope that I will glad feel better and we can hopefully regain some weight, peace, and excitement. The terror is simply because I googled my treatment plan and was met with multiple horrifying stories where it all went wrong. Like catastrophically, but that's what google is for, right?

Here is the worst case scenario imaginable! Now panic over it for days!!!

I mean, let's be frank, if there is a chance of a horrendous, atypical reaction to be had the odds just aren't in my favor!

I want to document this process, as much for my own good as potentially someone else's, so I'm going to be honest as I can. 

I feel very betrayed by my own body. A friend asked me the other day if I resented the baby, honestly the question shocked me. That's how far from "resentment" I am, it never occurred to me. Baby is as much a victim of this senseless crap as I am!

If I am to blame anyone or thing it is my own body, which seems to have decided that basic nourishment is poison. 

It is so weird to be thirsty, parched even, and yet I cannot drink. I could have any fluid I want to (except maybe the damn margarita I so deserve) but I know drinking it would be a mistake probably 80% of the time. Usually drinking triggers an episode of vomiting where the amount that comes up is greater than the amount I attempted to send down. Furthering the dehydration even more. Food can occasionally make it down, drinks are rare. Weird. 

I feel like a failure and like I am being failed. With the potential risks and complications that may lay ahead with the new potential plan I find myself looking back and wondering what I did wrong, did I really try hard enough, am I making too big a deal of all this? Logically I know it is time to take more aggressive action, I've barely been living for a month ... Shoot even my concept of time is shot. I have no idea how long it has been. I guess from week 8 to now, so that would be 6 weeks. Sheesh. Yeah, it's time to do more. But it's scary too. 

So today I am waiting in my insurance company to approve whatever they will approve and call me so that we can set up appointments and all that. Of course it's a Friday so I am lacking confidence regarding the speed with which this will all happen. Strange to fear it but want it all to hurry up. I've always been a practical person, once a decision is made I'm like "let's just do it and get on with things" so I am not a fan of limbo.

Yeah, no. 

Anyway, more whining and boring babble is likely to come. I have a non HG post coming soon, full of GIFs and one hot Scot, so there's a ray of delicious sunshine coming soon!

Oh and last thought I will leave you with here ... due the the constant companion Zofran has in constipation I get to try my very first Dulcolax suppository tonight.  Yup.  I know, you are jealous of the fun I am going to be having!  Wild Friday nights up in here!

Hyperemesis Gravidarum: what NOT to say!

Irony of ironies, I have barely been able to post the myriad of things I have wanted to, including wrapping the editing of the post where I announce my pregnancy, because I have been too sick.

So, by the way, I'm pregnant.  Yay!

I have always said I was a princess, but man, Hyperemesis Gravidarum just wasn't the thing I wanted to check off in that box as proof.  Not only to Duchess Kate and I hypothetically bond over illness, but this same illness is the reason we publicly announce our pregnancies.  HA!

It is hard to talk about HG when you are actively in the throws of it.  Go figure, talking about puking is hard when that is all you can do.  So I'll not tell you much right now about how I am doing or what this journey has been for me personally, but I will.  Just when I am better.  Presently I am 14 weeks and the clouds are lifting enough that I find this post possible, a few weeks ago it simply wasn't.

This is part hormonal, nauseated, angry rant with a dash of begging and education thrown in for good measure.  And lots of GIFs because they make me happy.

In no particular order because anyone of these if grounds for me aiming at you when I get sick for the 100th time today ...

1. "Oh I had morning sickness too!"

Morning sickness is crummy, I make no bones about it.  But HG is not morning sickness, though by medical definition it is often referred to as "severe morning sickness."  Let me put it this way, if you can count the number of times a day you get/got ill this is NOT the thing to say to me.

2. "Have you tried crackers/ginger/Preggie Pops/Seabands/some-weird-wives-tale/etc.?"

If one more person suggests ginger in any form {typing paused because I actually had to gag and dry heave over this} ... in a word, yes.  Yes.  I have tried all of that.  Desperately. Repeatedly.

3. "Oh my gawd, this one time when I was pregnant I threw up in...."

Do not talk about up-chuck in any form.  Not only do I not care, because that requires energy I do not have, I also cannot take hearing it.  Its also pretty freaking weird but for some reason people seem compelled to tell me.  I have managed to christen every receptacle typical for catching illness and many never intended for acts so vile.  We can swap horror stories some other day, for now please just shhhh.

4. "Have you tried just forcing yourself to eat or drink?"

Seriously?  I am trying not to drop F-bombs here but this one is hard not to reply with a good ol' "eff you" too.  Scientific question: what would happen if you tried to spray a garden hose UP Niagara Falls?  Same dif here.

5.  "But doesn't taking medicine while your pregnant make you nervous?  What if your kid has like a third eye because of that?!"

You're asking the wrong questions.  What if my child is so malnourished that s/he doesn't make it?  What if I am so malnourished or dehydrated that I go into preterm labor or miscarry?  What if both my baby and I don't make it, because that happens with HG?  I hate taking medicine, but without them I wouldn't have gotten this far.  It scares me, but not taking them scares me a lot more.

6. "Oh I understand!  When I was pregnant I would hurl the second I even saw *insert food item here* much less smelled it!"

I am sure that was awful, and I say that without too much snark.  I had that in prior pregnancies and it sucked then.  But here's the thing, I don't vomit because of seeing or smelling food, though that is a sure fire way to make me sick. I am sick no matter what.  Sometimes I can't even talk because the act of opening my mouth and activating my vocal chords does it for me.  I cannot swallow my spit half the time.

7. "I gained 30 lbs when I was pregnant, you're lucky to be losing some!"

Or anything like this.  Anything that comments on my weight loss as though it is some kind of GIFT makes you an undisputed asshole.

8. "Well you haven't lost that much weight."

Seriously, if you were an asshole on #7 this makes it even worse.

If you are looking at me and thinking I haven't lost that much weight chances are you are seeing how puffy and bloated the medication I am taking has made me.  Or even better, and way more TMI but you -- special snowflake that you are -- deserve it: Maybe my tummy is so large because the medication that they have pumped me full of makes it utterly impossible to poop.  Yup.  I am so damned constipated that my entire GI track is as backed up as a LA free way at 5 PM on a weekday.  What I manage to get down may never come out again!  So my tummy IS huge and I AM maintaining weight temporarily, but its not a good thing either.

9. "Oh I bet you are so sick because you're having a boy/girl this time!"

I admit, I have always joked (as a mother of only boys) to my girl friends who have had girls and are uncomfy through their pregnancies that it has to be that they are having a girl causing their misery.  "After all," I tell them, "two women can never occupy a confined space in peace!" so they MUST be having a girl. I swear, I will never say this again.

I have been assured I am having a girl this go-round because of my pathetic state more times than I can count.  Wives tales and gut feelings aside, HG has no known cause, cure, or even a sure-fire treatment plan.  The gender of my child is not what is making me so ill, even if it winds up coincidentally matching your theory.

10.  "Bet this will be your last baby now, eh?"  

I admit, now is NOT the time for me to discuss ever being knocked up again.  But I find any questions like this rude and nauseating when I am not in my current state, why are you inquiring about this at all you nosy weirdo?

Because actually screaming would mean
I have to open my mouth ...

Between the sickness, and the resulting exhaustion and weakness I have experienced as a result, I have not been up to a whole lot.  Sitting up at the computer is actually a challenge.  So whether you found this because YOU are going through HG (hugs and sympathy!) or because a loved one is, hang in there.  My thoughts and prayers are with you.

karma, threenagers, and juice

A letter to my mother, if she could have read it 30 years ago.

Dear Mom,

Fear not, karma soooo has this under control.  I know right now you are looking at that precious child you birthed and thinking "dear gawd she is a demon" but I assure you, what goes around comes around.

You see, I am that demon ... er, I am your daughter.  I am all grown up now nearly 30 years later with a child the exact age as I was when you first really started debating "can I sell her?"

You didn't sell me, and I am grateful, but I doubt you could have if you tried.  While I was cute, I was apparently an absolute mutant of a child.

You have told me that I would scream or shriek when I threw a tantrum so badly you were just sure someone would overhear and call the police convinced I was in the process of being boiled to death.  Reality being what it is, I was merely pissed you had dared utter the word "no" to me.  But for all those times you shared those stories and I rolled my eyes convinced you were exaggerating, even after my first child was born for he failed to have meltdowns of that level, I assure you I am now eating a feast of crow.

The Beans is cute, but oh. My. Goodness.  Hereforward for the sake of clarity we will call him Dr. Banner or Hulk.

It all started with Captain America.  No joke, it really did.

He loves these juice bottles with heads of characters on them, and most of all he loves Captain America.

I was out of Dr. Pepper and decided to splurge before we picked Meatball up from school.  We were going to get me 44 ounces of my drug of choice and him an apple juice with Captain America's head on it.  The whole way into the gas station he babbled about getting his hero and how he hoped they had one.  Well they did, but they also had Muck.  He is a stupid truck from Bob the Builder, a show Beans has watched ONCE.  But he was CERTAIN he needed Muck.  Had to have him.

But Muck is smaller than the Cap I said.  I showed him.  He saw that it was smaller and NOT Captain America.  He heard me tell him that I think he should get the Cap'n.

Yes, he hears all of it and knew, he wanted Muck the scoopy truck.

So after about a minute of my "are you sure"ing him he convinced me.  We bought Muck and my beloved Dr. Pepper.  We walked outside, buckled him into the car seat and then I pealed the seal off the Muck apple juice that we had already been discussing for about 3 minutes at least.  I handed it to him with a smile, certain he got the ridiculously expensive juice of his dreams.

"No, Mommy, I need my Captain America."  said Dr. Banner, the still reasonable big-blue-eyed angel in my car.

"Sweetie, you picked the truck one, we didn't get Captain America."

Then he did this.

Figuratively of course.  Well mostly, it did kinda look like that but he was less green and muscley.

I closed my door and took one sip of my 44 ounces of heaven.  I hadn't had a Dr. Pepper in 2 days and that caffeine flew to the pleasure receptors of my brain promising that we could handle this melt down.  He's usually a reasonable kid.  We will have maybe 5 minutes of yelling and whining, then he will be fine.

Oh how wrong I was.

I start to pull out of the parking lot, and this is when the Hulk realized the shmit was getting serious.  He started kicking the back of my passenger seat with everything he had.  The seat organizer that hung over the back was a casualty that he flipped up and started pummeling.

Unfortunately, as a driver, the sight of something suddenly flying like that startled me.  So I jerked the wheel.  Did I mention that the cup holders of a 2001 Corolla are really not equipped to hold a dixie cup much less 44 ounces of peace and deliciousness?

So 44 ounces (minus ONE sip) of Dr. Pepper dumps down on my feet, all over the pedals and floor.  Any moment now Noah will come floating along in the deluge I tell you.

I turn around and pull back into the gas station as it is the easiest place to go.  Hulk is now really screaming "GO INSIDE.  I NEED CAPTAIN AMERICA APPLE JUICE!!!"

If I had been on fire and Captain America apple juice was the only means with which to douse the flames ... well, burn baby burn.

So I scoop the ice out of my car into the parking lot.  I use my discarded sweatshirt to absorb what I can.  All to the tune of:

"I NEED CAPTAIN AMERICA APPLE JUICE NOW!!!! MOMMY, GO GET IT!"

I try to calmly say no and reason with IT.  Nope.  I try the mom voice.  Nope.  I try the little-devil-that-was-my-last-$3-and-my-Dr.-Pepper-is-gone voice.  Still nope.

So I drive.  Realizing there is no way we can go to the grocery store with him like this I just decide to take the long way to Meatball's school to pick him up.  Maybe we will be there early, but hey the kid will likely fall asleep and I will have a quiet moment to crush some candy like a junkie needing some kind of fix since I am without caffeine now in the parking lot.

Yeah, I still was underestimating the sheer power of karma and the Hulk.

Over an hour later he was exhausted.  The Hulk fell asleep.  Thank goodness.  I privately swore to myself I'd kill anything that woke him -- see this is why we know where he gets his anger issues from.

Then he starts again.  In. His. Sleep.

Seriously, how is that even possible?!

I tried to soothe him.  I was even kind about it.  It was hard, but I did it.

He wakes up.

"NO YOU BE QUIET MOMMY!!!!!!'

Okay, kid.  Sheesh.  I say nothing.

"YOU NEED TO BE QUIET MOMMY!!!"

But I am being quiet!  I desperately point out.

"BE QUIET NOW MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Okay, he had me there, I had spoken.  So I stayed quiet.  But he kept screaming how I needed to be quiet NOW.  Then Meatball got in the car.

"MOMMY BE QUIET LIKE MEATBALL! BE QUIET NOW MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!"

Dude, seriously, I am not talking!!!!

He started to go hoarse.  Then he shrieked until he gagged.  Each time I asked what was wrong (before the command to be silent of course) I was told "I DON'T KNOW!!!"

He kicked one shoe off at some point in this ridiculous mess and when we got home and I pried him out of the car and set him down he screamed anew at me for that. We got inside ... well after Paul Bunyan ran after him when he tried to run down the street screaming "I NEED MY SPIDERMAN SHOE!!!!" then carried the kicking screaming mutant inside.  He continued for a little bit and I sat on the ground.

"NO SITTING ON THE GROUND MOMMY!!!!!!"

I am waiting.  I said.  I think you need a hug, I told him.

"I NO NEED HUG.  YOU NO HUG ME!!"

I made the best sympathetic grimace I could, sure my ears were bleeding and the neighbors -- who had to have seen the screaming child try to flea in desperation -- had to be assessing if it was 911 worthy yet.  I held out my arms and said "I think my Beansie needs a mama hug."

Then he ran at me and threw himself in my arms.  We sat quiet for about 5 minutes with him just hiccup breathing and me regaining my hearing.  

I learned a new term today, mom.  It is "threenager" and I am hoping that it is a short lived phase because he isn't even actually three yet!

So, mother of mine, rest assured that I will some day get every ounce of what I have given.  I too will have friends smile and say "oh surely he didn't scream for the whole hour" while my left eye twitches.  I too will want to snap and scream and go as crazy as you probably did.  But I too will hug that little a-hole and tell him how much I love him, making him know he is incredibly special and safe and loved in spite of the monster he is being.  Just like you did.

And I will pray that he will grow out of this, just like I did.  Only sooner, please.

With love, respect, and wine,

Me

Fate is all up in my bizness

Gargamel is even more evil than I thought!

My day was a miserable one, right from the part where I woke up nearly 45 minutes late onward.  It was just a mess of a day, so when I looked down at my phone and saw the name of my girly doctor's office on the caller ID when my appointment was only a couple hours away I knew they couldn't be calling to confirm.

Nope, Gargamel somehow, from the confines of my poor, poor uterus, managed to make the doctor sick and cut out early today.

Seriously.

Well, the doctor DID get sick, and DID have to go home early.  I chose, however realistically you may find it, to believe that Gargamel is somehow responsible for this.  Gargamel's new date of death is Thursday, fingers crossed!

But, let's try for something happy, just to spite the evil little piece of plastic!

Nine years ago I met my husband!  Yup, nine years ago today the Bunyan and I met, and it was a meeting that was entirely contrived by completely meddling pushy people who refused to listen to either of us when we swore we had no interest in meeting anyone of the opposite sex no matter how perfect they swore we were for each other.

It all started with blinking Guinness stickers stuck to my boobs.

So this may not be the version I tell my children ... but yeah, epic St. Patrick's day.  Given my super fabulous opinion of my birthday, I generally celebrate St. Pat's as my special day.  I milk the redheaded Irish thing for all it is worth.  So there I was at a local pub having a grand ol' time with some friends who had never had an "Irish Car Bomb" and wanted to try one.  Or four.  Whatever.  I happen to be an expert on slamming those bad boys, or was back in my prime anyway LOL  So most of the night is a bit blurry in my memory honestly, but I recall a friend trying to click her heals together "like a leprechaun" and she wound up falling quite spectacularly.  Oh and somehow I walked out of the pub with three pints of beer, all nice Guinness themed glasses which the bouncers happily let me leave with but the designated driver had the good sense to make me chug/spill before we headed home.

So the following day, I had to get up and ready because I had a painting to finish and my BFF was going to be coming to town.  She and her husband planned to spend Spring Break with me and Meatball (who had been getting spoiled by my parents while I leading the bar in Danny Boy).  At relatively the last minute they invited this friend of theirs, some dude who I had seen precisely one blurry picture of and admittedly thought had a super sexy voice because he was over at their house frequently when I was on the phone with BFF.  She and her husband were both insistent that we were like perfect for each other.  Both of us were entirely cool with being single having both had horrible luck with the opposite gender, but he figured he'd come because the weather here is infinitely better than the weather in the midwest.


So I try to get going, but I was still pretty unsteady from the night before.  By unsteady of course I mean I had drank so much that I was still drunk.  It was like 7 PM and I still was getting the spins if I moved too fast.  I was glad I hadn't had to go anywhere all day and I was thinking I was really too old to act so stupid when the door bell rang.  Dressed in my painting clothes -- old jeans and a t-shirt covered in paint -- with my hair in a pony tail and very little make up on, I hurried to the door.  Not what I would have chosen to wear had I known what was about to happen.  I was so excited to see my BFF, who was a few months preggo at the time, that I really wasn't thinking about the other guy until I opened the door.

Bam.

Seriously, I am not a super sappy person, but that was it.  We consider March 18th the start of our relationship, our anniversary because we honestly were both done from then in.  I knew, I spent the better part of a year telling myself I was crazy and needed to shut up with all this "love at first sight" crap I was thinking.  But it didn't matter.

Bunyan may drive me bonkers, and I am sure I do him too, but he is my soul mate and best friend.  There is no one I would or could walk this life with, and I am beyond grateful for the honor to even know him, much less be the one who steals the covers from him.  Every night.

So while it may not be an Irish Car Bomb, I still raise my drink in a toast to the man of my dreams, the guy who killed my 24 hour old buzz nine years ago, is an amazing father and a truly awesome person whom I love dearly. Ta mo chroi istgh ionat! 

Ode to Gargamel

I think I have mentioned before that I like to name things, not just my children.  My car is Betty.  My blender is Gandalf the Grey.  I have alternate names for my kids and husband here on the blog, and so on.

Well Gargamel is my IUD.  Gargamel is scheduled for eviction tomorrow.

Now before you start thinking OMG congrats on wanting to get knocked up!  I would like to tell you that this is emphatically not the plan.  The plan is to not be miserably sick and dying, not to be baking any buns in my oven.

See while I may have reason to hope that Vitamix may someday contact me so that I can tell the world about how fantastic their product is and how necessary it is for families with uber speeeshal dietary needs, I will never have any reason to hope that Mirena will ask me to advertise from them.

Cuz if they did it would go something like this:

Hi there *waves enthusiastically* would you like to have reoccurring pregnancy symptoms like phantom kicks, a ever expanding gut, and emotionally-hormonally-psycho-roller-coaster regularly?  Well have I got the little T-shaped piece of plastic from hell for you!

How about whiskers on your breasts?  Yup, you effing heard me right!  You will sporadically get one of these at total random and be like "WTF is that?!" and wonder if all those "it will put hair on your chest" BS things you heard are true, but nope.  You can smoke all the cigars you want while shooting whiskey and have totally fur-free boobs, but the IUD can give you a breast beard in no time!

How about fat?  Your gyno and all the literature you will find in our useless pamphlets and brochures will swear this Can. Not. Happen.  But between you and me, I guaran-freaking-tee 15 pounds minimum.  In the most awkward as hell places to boot not just evenly distributed everywhere!

Feeling sexy yet?  Oh, yeah, speaking of that, wanna know why we are sooooo effective as a method of birth control?  Well its cuz your sex drive is going to tank so damn hard you'd rather do the dishes after Thanksgiving than do the deed!

And how do you feel about your period?  I mean presumably you are trying to tamp Aunt Flo down a smidge, amIright?  Well many women may experience a dramatic decrease in frequency and severity of all menstrual symptoms ... but if you are really lucky you may be one of the women who have constant unexplained bleeding, heavy, horrible cramping, and a completely inconsistent cycle that makes you want to go insane!

Oh, and you might actually go insane too.  The emotional roller coaster we mentioned earlier could be totally punctuated with frigging panic attacks and cool shit like that!

-- end advertisement -- 

I think you may get the picture here, I am not going to be popping on here sharing my awesome new job opportunity with this particular company anytime soon, especially since that is the SHORT list of misery that Gargamel brought me.  Add to all that the crippling body pain, the weird autoimmune stuff that flared horribly, and the overall discomfort I have with some plastic thing being IN my uterus not rendering me from getting pregnant but merely rendering a pregnancy from not sticking ... blech.

If you are wondering why in the name of waffles I chose to get the IUD in the first place, I could post for another 45 minutes detailing my shatastic luck with any form of contraceptive.  Latex condoms could actually kill me, the pill tried to, the Ring was great until I became a psycho and then was allergic to it, the shots I am ineligible for because of family history and the patch is a no-go because I attract severe migraines without any help thank you.

So basically, the most Catholic part of my body is my uterus which wants nothing to do with contraception.  Clearly, I am just insanely lucky.

So the dilemma of what to do when you don't think now is a good time to get preggers while also not wanting to live celibately forever is best solved, for Bunyan and I anyway, by taking a more natural approach.  Natural Family Planing (NFP) or the Fertility Awareness Method (FAM) are both things we are learning more about while carefully proceeding without Gargamel's efforts to make me miserable.

I may blog about them some more as I go on, but may not.  I sincerely hope that the blog will not start with two pink lines, because if you know what you are doing you shouldn't get pregnant at all.

But then again, when have you ever known ME to know what I am doing?!