Going to May

This post will start heavy. I was feeling bitchy today, but for good reason. Don't worry, my little minions, it will end light. After all, we are going to May.

I woke up this morning feeling okay. It's a Monday, so in my world there isn't much to feel but blah. In a grander scheme, one with a crap ton of optimists flitting around, it would be a marvelous Monday, another day to be thankful to be alive, another day to be grateful for what you have, another marvelous fricking day. 

Shut up.

Today was not one of those days.

Today started out with my normal wake up. I ate breakfast and then tidied myself for work. I woke our two-year old. Mistake. I know I really can't bring her to daycare sleeping and unkept, but I should have left her sleeping. I should have lugged her to daycare in all her dreaminess with drool dripping down my shoulder. I didn't. I woke her up, and she waged war. 

Meanwhile, the puppy we are fostering for the boxer rescue has been ill. He hadn't consumed a bite a food all weekend and was puking stomach bile all over the damn place. I am really concerned about him. Really. Still actually. But, dude Tucker, you totally did it to yourself when you ate that rope toy. Did you not read the disclaimer. "Chewing only! Not for puppy consumption!" When the hell did you do that anyway. You are never left unattended!

Anyway, he did eat it, and that was that. When I thought he was getting better on Sunday, I was wrong. He left be a big pile of slimy, green puke in his kennel this morning. Fine. We'll go to the vet. You win.

Still meanwhile, because this has only been forty-five minutes of my day, Graisyn is yelling at me. She wants her red toothpaste, she wants her pink dress, why can't she watch a show. AHHHH! You can have your red toothpaste child. I don't care. You are not wearing your pink dress. You just wore it. Please find something else to wear. You can't watch a show because we don't have enough time and, by the way, you won't have time to eat either if you keep it up. What? No?! What do you mean....

She peed in front of the toilet. No not the dog, my child. Whizzed right there in front of the toilet. You've got to be shitting me...kidding me, I meant kidding me. Dog puke. Kid pee. Anyone got anything else. Bring it. I'm only on the verge of losing it. Cleansing breath.

Puke cleaned. Pee cleaned. Vet appointment made. Work updated that I would be late. It was 7:40 a.m. I  woke up at 5:00 a.m. Maybe this doesn't sound like much, but subtract a half hour because I spent the first thirty minutes of my morning getting yelled at by Fit TV's Gilad to, "Do this eight more fricking times." Screw you, Gilad.

Child fed. Dogs fed, well two of them. Tucker still won't eat. I'm tired.

Child loaded into vehicle. Moving. Graisyn isn't talking to me. She is making fish lips in the back seat. This continues all the way into daycare (which is right around the corner from our house). We greet her caretaker. Well, I do. Graisyn is still making fish lips. I say good-bye to Graisyn and tell her that I love her. Nothing. I think she has turned mute. I am out the door and down the stairs before she belts, "BYE, MOMMY!" Thanks, kid. Now everyone's deaf.

I head back home to pick up Tucker and off to the vet we go. This won't be so bad. I'll have him evaluated, fixed up, and then I'll be on my way to work. We arrive at the vet. Tucker gets checked in and weighed. Then we are asked to wait to be called back. I turn away from the receptionist's desk to sit in the waiting area and hear a pop. My sandal. My the thong part of my sandal just broke. For God's sake. Will someone please throw me a bone. Okay, okay. It's fine. I had my work shoes in the truck. I went and retrieved them telling the receptionist that I had better take Tucker out to pee before his visit with the vet. Yes. I lied. Leave me alone. I was too embarrassed about my shoes.

The vet examined Tucker. Nothing. No blockage. No reason for the puking. No reason for the not eating. He probably had a stomach bug. Fine. Tucker ate two bites of food at the vet. "Watch him for the rest of the day," the vet said, "If he vomits again, I want you to bring him back it so we can run some blood work." I can't believe I have to use PTO for a crap day like today. Fine.

I got home with Tucker. He slept. I thought I better make myself useful and finish up the Economics homework I already spent almost two hours on this weekend. No biggie. Then I can enjoy the day. Six hours later. SIX HOURS later and I am still not done with my homework. This is a gen. ed., people. This isn't even the real deal yet. Six miserable hours. I should have stayed in bed.

Tucker did okay for most of the day. He did not throw up, but he also would not eat anymore. He has done nothing but sleep all day long.

At 4:00 p.m. I head to pick up Graisyn. This is a forced break from my homework. Please, God, let her be in a better mood. When I arrived at daycare, she seemed fine. The evening that followed went well. We went for a bike ride, we baked mumma a surprise pumpkin pie, she ate pizza, we read books, Uncle Tyler stopped by with treats for the pups and to talk about the work day's happenings. It was pleasant. Tucker still isn't eating. His treat is waiting for him to feel better.

We topped it off with a show and a little baby talk initiated by Graisyn.

"Mommy, am I going to be a big sister?"

"Yes, baby. In May."

"Oooooo! In May!? Will you go to May with me?"

"Grai, May isn't a place. It's a month. Like your birthday is in October, the baby's birthday will be in May."

"But I want to go to May. Please come with me. Come on. Let's go to May!"

"Okay. Mumma and I will go to May with you. Now let's finish up your show so I can tuck you in."

Grai resumes her show. 

"Mommy, I have to go potty."

"Okay. Run!"

I head upstairs to help her wipe. There she sits putting on new PJs. There is that glaring puddle in front of the toilet. Ugh.

I couldn't make it up if I wanted to. Take me away. Take me to May!

A BUNDLE of Money

I like money. Okay, to elaborate, I like to save money. I am always counting our pennies. I am always asking Sara how much she spent where. I know it sounds controlling, but it really isn't meant to be. It's really just another piece of my OCD self that drives my poor Sara crazy.

I have a point. I've carried on and on and on some more about how much having a child costs us. It's not cheap. So, when we discussed having another, second child, though excited, the first words out of my mouth were, "Do you think we can afford it?"

"We always find a way," states my impossibly optimistic wife. Why is she always a little bit more right than I am. THAT drives me nuts!

She was right though. It wouldn't be easy, but we could do it. We already selected a donor, different from Graisyn's, but tall like her's with German/Irish lineage, brown hair, blue eyes, and we already had him on ice at the clinic. We met with our doctor who was for Graisyn and who wouldn't be this time around. We picked a new doctor. We met with our beloved fertility nurse, and we set a timeline. We would start trying right away. Forget waiting. Let's through all rationality out the window.

Armed with a limited savings, we whipped out our checkbook to pay for our visit with the doctor and our nurse. We also ordered Sara's Clomid. A little something to provoke follicle production. Let's ripen those eggs, girly, and bring on the hot flashes. And there would be hot flashes too. I remember. They suck. Horrible for her. Free strip tease for me...

Sara popped the Clomid for five days. We followed that up by an ultrasound to measure her follicles. Perfecto. Left ovary it was. Our nurse instructed Sara to do the over the counter ovulation kits to monitor for ovulation by that week Friday. If Sara didn't surge by then, I was to stab her in the arm with an HCG injection, a little by mail drugs to force ovulation. Pinch the arm fat and in she goes. Don't worry, honey, I'm a professional. This won't hurt a bit.

Sunday was our day. If the good Lord loathes the homos, he won't let 'em get knocked up on Sunday. This is the philosophy I follow so I don't get my hopes dashed. We walked into the clinic. Me. Sara. Graisyn. We trucked up to the lab to pick up Graisyn's baby sister brother. A perfect little vile of washed sperm in an orange biohazard bag. Cute.

We scurried on down to the Women's Health clinic with our gold-lined vile of goo clutched tightly in our grasp. On arrival, we were met by our other fertility nurse. Me. Sara. Graisyn. This was Graisyn's first introduction to the same nurse who had implanted me with her just a few years prior. Nurse meet Graisyn. Graisyn meet nurse. She helped make you. Remember Fine, that wasn't the conversation that was really had. But it is what the atmosphere felt like. Just a bit strange. Who would think that a threesome with a bunch of woman who aren't even remotely close to doing anything could create life. It's kind of creepy, but, hey, it works for us.

The nurse got Sara comfortable on the table and loaded her into the stir-ups. Graisyn and I pulled up a chair and situated ourselves near Sara's head. We held her hand. Graisyn continually made sure that it wasn't her the nurse was going to examine that day. I assured her that today was not her day. Our baby making process began and just like that it was over. If I were straight and it were over that quickly, I would be disappointed. Very, very disappointed. Not Graisyn though. Typical impatient two year old, "Mommy, can we go now."

"Ten more minutes, babe. Then we can go. Mumma has to rest first."

It was August 14, 2011. That was the day we tried for number two. The entire process was just as weird, nerve racking, and un-romantic as it was when we tried to conceive Graisyn. The thing is, though, that it's our process. It's what we go through to have a family. And, it certainly does make for a good story especially when the insemination works...which it did!

Wow! It worked! First go around. We didn't think that would happen. Money conscious little bugger just like me. Saving us tons by avoiding future ovulation ultrasounds and inseminations. I love the little bundle already.

Our first ultrasound will be on September 29th, Sara's birthday. I can't think of a better way to celebrate than to see our baby's heartbeat for the first time.