I'll get it out of the way right up front: three pregnancy announcements between Saturday evening and Tuesday evening are a lot for me to handle. There was the first one about two weeks ago, so the total is actually four announcements. It is a lot of smiles and congrats and I'm-so-happy-for-yous.
Each pregnancy is one that I am genuinely happy about. The parents are somewhere between excited and anxious, but really much more excited. One friend had warned me that they were "trying" about six months ago, another didn't realize that birth control is rendered ineffective with the introduction of antibiotics, we are attending the wedding of the next couple in May and I hope she still fits into her dress, and lastly, my dear PT, who really wanted this second baby to come along quickly. There you go. All aspects of my life will now be taken over by pregnancy talk. Good thing that I know the language because one of them has already called me about morning sickness. Or a sinus infection. Or altitude sickness - we aren't really sure. Another had bleeding and we all know that talk like that terrifies me. But she laughed because everything is okay. The friend with the antibiotic mix up isn't sure about becoming a dad, but he will be amazing. And only children are a different breed, so two's company for her and I'm glad she didn't have to worry any more than this.
Others that I choose not to share the battle with have been sitting around theorizing about why I don't have children. The first question is: how long have you been married? Five years. Okay, don't you want to have kids? Yes. How long are you going to wait? I can't answer that. Well, we can see that you might want to get your career established first . . . Receptionist and night-time teacher are careers? Really now.
I'm really not feeling well today. Some sort of sick/body ache/lack of sleep thing. And I've been grading papers nonstop since Sunday night. I have to teach tomorrow night in this funk. I haven't even read the chapter that I'm teaching yet. Call me over prepared.
I understand wanting a child. I understand the joy of pregnancy. I understand the heartbreak of loss. I understand the pain that comes with not knowing. So the question is, do you understand what my life is like trying trying trying and getting nowhere? I understand that there is a plan. I understand that this experience has possibly made me a better person. Do you understand that it has also chipped away at my heart? Do you see the joy and sadness behind my eyes as I play with your children? Do you understand that I cried at the news that you were pregnant, not out of jealousy or anger at God, but because you won't have to experience this painful wondering and longing that I hold inside? I understand that this is my cross to bear. I understand that somehow it will make me a stronger person. I don't understand why me. I don't understand how causing pain to my husband, family, and friends is going to turn into a positive. I don't know how my heart can hurt so much and not break. I don't understand where the strength I do have comes from. I don't understand how I can smile with tears rolling down my face.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Sock It To Me 2010
At first, they look just yellow, which is awesome because I love yellow.
Then, you see the bright blue superhero lightening bolts. Which are, accordingly, superheroish.
These are part of a sock exchange started by Kym, called Sock It To Me. I think it is because we, as part of this infertility/loss/etc. community spend way too much time in the stirrups at the doctor's office. All the doctor ends up seeing are our socks and vaginas. Really. But there is probably many other reasons for an exchange such as this!
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I love these socks (who arrived like, two weeks ago and I am totally just now getting around to posting about it). And they were sent to me by the lovely C of My Journey Thru Motherhood - so thank you! She reminded me that I am a superhero while I am going through all of these treatments (IF related and others), and I so appreciate that! And they are from Sock Dreams - the best online store for anything sock/tights/legging/etc. related!
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I got to shop for socks to give away also, and though I was a little late on the whole shipping thing, they arrived securely at JJ's. How fun! Check in and see the crazy/warm/special socks that everyone else received!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Cheerleading Week
I heard that it was National Cheerleading Week on BlogHer, I think. The stories were sort of sad and spirit crushing, and since I have a huge list of things I should be doing instead of writing a trivial blog post (i.e. reading the 500 page textbook I'm supposed to teach next week, abdominal breathing, finding an affordable yoga class, making C feel loved and cherished after what I just spouted off, etc.), I'm going to post the upside of cheerleading. No really, uncoordinated me was an actual cheerleader, or well, I pretended to be for three years.
So, the background story is that sophomore year of high school, I up and quit school. The high school of 2000 was too big for me and so uncomfortable a fit. I refused to go back. I had friends and wasn't too much of a social outcast, but I couldn't go back. My ultimatum to my parents was to homeschool me, send me to the "country" school fifteen miles away, or send me to the christian school two blocks away. I sound like a stuck-up princess, but it was the best stand I made for myself at the time. I was going to get lost and I wasn't sure I'd find my way. The parents decided (angrily) on the christian school. I walked into a high school of less than 40 kids. Some girls were talking about cheerleading (and I almost worked up the nerve to try-out in ninth grade at the huge school, but not quite) and I mentioned my interest. The coach was my English teacher, her daughter a freshman cheerleader, and they told me if I brought money for shoes and socks that I was on the squad. So, I guess I bought my way on.
I loved it. Loved it. Loved it. We weren't incredibly talented or even remotely competitive, but we had a lot of fun. I had a lot of fun. I learned cheers, always sucked at jumps (except the karate kick one), and wiggled my hips without ever actually wiggling my hips. I was a flyer and I was a base. I loved my fellow cheerleaders and I really didn't like some of them - but I would throw my body under anyone who ever fell (dude, that is your JOB - to protect your other cheerleaders). My first year, a couple of freshmen allowed me to be me and I love them for that. We talked about everything: farting, body hair, and even periods. Those girls made me proud to be one of them and proud to cheer with them. We laughed so hard at so many things. Hell, we even wrestled (I don't think any boys read this, but yes, we wrestled and yes, it was hilarious, and yes, I'm betting that it happened in uniforms at least once). I even went on to cheer without the original bunch. I loved cheering the basketball teams on (sometimes three per night: JV boys, V girls, and V boys). I made myself loved by the players and their parents. My smile was rarely fake - and then, only because of hs drama.
I wasn't obsessed with cheerleading, but it was so nice to be a part of something. I was probably mediocre at best, but I definitely had the enthusiasm. Cheerleaders were not the popular girls at our school, in fact, they were looked on as useless and as an activity that took warm bodies away from the girls' basketball team. But I (we) overcame that. We fought for the acknowledgement that we were supporting all of the players and that our encouragement meant something. I was the annoying girl that would go up in the stands during the cheer "Up Up on Your Feet!" and drag people to standing. If I was going to cheer on the players, and they were there to watch the game, they could support the players as well. I saw us as facilitators as well as cheerleaders. Okay, so maybe I took it a little bit seriously. But not in the "Bring It On" way.
I cheered with as many as five other girls and often ended the season with one or two others due to grades (not mine, obviously). I was threatened and walked out on by a coach. I refused to accept any authority endorsed by the coach, and therefore, was never captain - but somehow always listened to. I have always and will always hate white bicycle shorts and spanks and love LOVE love the color kelly green. Don't care for the way sweat smells on polyester and I know that those old uniforms can be washed in a regular washing machine - repeatedly, even if the tag says 'dry clean only.' I know that the reason you order uniforms instead of altering uniforms is so that the mascot name doesn't start in one armpit and end in the other. The metallic braiding on said uniform should never, never touch your bare skin - especially where there is a possibility of friction (re: arm holes) because there will be rashes and burns.
I know that you have to trust your bases to catch you and that you really shouldn't stunt on concrete or gravel. I know that bruises fade, for that was the motto: Bruises Fade! And you weren't a real cheerleader without loads of stunting bruises. Yeah, I loved it. I loved (almost) all of the girls who were in it with me. And for the record, there is no crying in cheering - just so you know. I will kick you off the court if you are crying during a game you are supposed to be cheering.
Yeah, so. Cheerleading was good to me. I didn't feel like a loser or a reject, instead I felt loved and accepted and like I belonged. It was a small fishbowl environment, I know. But can you say too many bad thing about it if it boosted this girl's adolescent self esteem? Thanks Coach R, C & L, EM, and thanks to my sister for following in my footsteps, but making it her own.
There are lots of other things I could say about that school (uh, written for nonfiction class), those people, and that experience, but I'll leave it for another day. This week is, apparently, about cheerleading.
So, the background story is that sophomore year of high school, I up and quit school. The high school of 2000 was too big for me and so uncomfortable a fit. I refused to go back. I had friends and wasn't too much of a social outcast, but I couldn't go back. My ultimatum to my parents was to homeschool me, send me to the "country" school fifteen miles away, or send me to the christian school two blocks away. I sound like a stuck-up princess, but it was the best stand I made for myself at the time. I was going to get lost and I wasn't sure I'd find my way. The parents decided (angrily) on the christian school. I walked into a high school of less than 40 kids. Some girls were talking about cheerleading (and I almost worked up the nerve to try-out in ninth grade at the huge school, but not quite) and I mentioned my interest. The coach was my English teacher, her daughter a freshman cheerleader, and they told me if I brought money for shoes and socks that I was on the squad. So, I guess I bought my way on.
I loved it. Loved it. Loved it. We weren't incredibly talented or even remotely competitive, but we had a lot of fun. I had a lot of fun. I learned cheers, always sucked at jumps (except the karate kick one), and wiggled my hips without ever actually wiggling my hips. I was a flyer and I was a base. I loved my fellow cheerleaders and I really didn't like some of them - but I would throw my body under anyone who ever fell (dude, that is your JOB - to protect your other cheerleaders). My first year, a couple of freshmen allowed me to be me and I love them for that. We talked about everything: farting, body hair, and even periods. Those girls made me proud to be one of them and proud to cheer with them. We laughed so hard at so many things. Hell, we even wrestled (I don't think any boys read this, but yes, we wrestled and yes, it was hilarious, and yes, I'm betting that it happened in uniforms at least once). I even went on to cheer without the original bunch. I loved cheering the basketball teams on (sometimes three per night: JV boys, V girls, and V boys). I made myself loved by the players and their parents. My smile was rarely fake - and then, only because of hs drama.
I wasn't obsessed with cheerleading, but it was so nice to be a part of something. I was probably mediocre at best, but I definitely had the enthusiasm. Cheerleaders were not the popular girls at our school, in fact, they were looked on as useless and as an activity that took warm bodies away from the girls' basketball team. But I (we) overcame that. We fought for the acknowledgement that we were supporting all of the players and that our encouragement meant something. I was the annoying girl that would go up in the stands during the cheer "Up Up on Your Feet!" and drag people to standing. If I was going to cheer on the players, and they were there to watch the game, they could support the players as well. I saw us as facilitators as well as cheerleaders. Okay, so maybe I took it a little bit seriously. But not in the "Bring It On" way.
I cheered with as many as five other girls and often ended the season with one or two others due to grades (not mine, obviously). I was threatened and walked out on by a coach. I refused to accept any authority endorsed by the coach, and therefore, was never captain - but somehow always listened to. I have always and will always hate white bicycle shorts and spanks and love LOVE love the color kelly green. Don't care for the way sweat smells on polyester and I know that those old uniforms can be washed in a regular washing machine - repeatedly, even if the tag says 'dry clean only.' I know that the reason you order uniforms instead of altering uniforms is so that the mascot name doesn't start in one armpit and end in the other. The metallic braiding on said uniform should never, never touch your bare skin - especially where there is a possibility of friction (re: arm holes) because there will be rashes and burns.
I know that you have to trust your bases to catch you and that you really shouldn't stunt on concrete or gravel. I know that bruises fade, for that was the motto: Bruises Fade! And you weren't a real cheerleader without loads of stunting bruises. Yeah, I loved it. I loved (almost) all of the girls who were in it with me. And for the record, there is no crying in cheering - just so you know. I will kick you off the court if you are crying during a game you are supposed to be cheering.
Yeah, so. Cheerleading was good to me. I didn't feel like a loser or a reject, instead I felt loved and accepted and like I belonged. It was a small fishbowl environment, I know. But can you say too many bad thing about it if it boosted this girl's adolescent self esteem? Thanks Coach R, C & L, EM, and thanks to my sister for following in my footsteps, but making it her own.
There are lots of other things I could say about that school (uh, written for nonfiction class), those people, and that experience, but I'll leave it for another day. This week is, apparently, about cheerleading.
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