updated fyi

I'm pretty sure I'm NOT pregnant.

of anyone thinks otherwise, please submit your reasons here because I WANT to think that maybe I am.

Sure, my boobages are sore (and lumpy. Jesus god, what is THAT all about??) and I'm a bit mood swingy cranky, and I HAVE felt "different" this last week, I don't feel different ENOUGH. IN any case, anything "different" I've been feeling can be neatly away by a progesterone level I've never seen before, and that level can be explained away by I don't know. I have NO idea how my progesterone got up that high in an unstimulated cycle but I bet being an old fart has a lot to do with it.

AND, my belly is too flat. Or, it is when I wake up. It DOES get to Is She Or Isn't She proportions by the end of the day, but all in all, too flat.

Speaking of which, my belly is FLAT.

Ever since I had Daniel, people have been eyeing off my poochy midsection and crowing "oh, and you're PREGNANT again!".

Which you should NEVER do unless the woman in question is CROWNING right in front of you.

I did all my core strength thing but I might as well have been doing NOTHING because NOTHING worked and I just accepted the pooge as a) old age and b) once upon a time I had a baby AND I'm old aged.

Then I had that boring back injury last year, and after a long time of poking and prodding and not getting anyway with my physiotherapist, I finally said "look, you can wiggle your finger into that sore bit in my back FOREVER, but it's not making it better. Give me some rehab already oh look this is a PILATES studio. Ever think about THAT, bozo?", so I started doing Pilates not that long ago. The new physio jammed her fingers into my tummybits and then told me to clench my undercarriage as hard as I could. So I CLENCHED and she said "So, incontinence is a problem then".

Because my pelvic floor (which you can feel in your tummy, nothing weirdo was going on that day, okay?) was THAT weak.

It's not, and I wasn't, by the way, but still. THAT weak. HOW EMBARRASSING.

I mean, I've been SHARING my actual pelvic floor this entire time and since June last year, it's gone from being able to shoot ping pong balls across the room to Is It In Yet? and I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE. OH THE SHAME INTENTIONAL CAPSLOCK

But anyway, I started doing one-on-one Pilates sessions three times a week, doing the MOST basic stuff and FAILING, which was MAJOR suck, but now I'm up to two classes a week and one private session, and soon I'll be let loose in the studio on my own, and suddenly, like about two weeks ago and seemingly overnight, my pooge went flat...okay, flatTER. It's almost like before I had Daniel - and I'm FOUR years older now so I'm in the Automatic Pooch Zone ANYWAY.

Pilates, people. It will ANNIHILATE your pooch.

And jesus H, after that s,idebar where was I?

Three and a half weeks pregnant IF I'm pregnant, which I don't think I am because I don't feel pregnant except for the boobs and the crankypantsedness, and shouldn't I be CONSTIPATED by now?

(which is a throw away clue if you want to answer this question: Guess who can poop?)

I WAS headachey last week, I DID have cramps, and it DID feel like someone had stuck a sandbag in my pelvic cavity during that time too.

So I don't know what the fuck. I'm all signless this week. Except for the boobs and the crankypants that can be explained by 100nmol/L progesterone thing that can be explained by being pregnant. Which I am NOT.

Then again, nothing has been peed on yet, not even the cat (what?), so I guess it's not over until it is.

this is why I don't make To Do lists

and probably why I should.

My new camera came with a hundred bucks' worth of printing, which is why I bought my new camera. It was effectively half price IF I printed up twenty five bucks worth of shit every three months from the date of purchase.

The first three months' voucher is due to expire in two (2!) days, and I've haven't sorted one freakin' image out of the whole mess of them created since the last time I printed anything up, which was six (SIX) months ago - and I'm not a deleter, so a) you can imagine how many photos there are to wade through, b) so it's good thing my kid is pretty because the succesful:suck ratio of the image contents isn't too horeendously weighted in sucks' favor, which means c) CAN you imagine how many pictures of my kid I need to look at not skim through??

A whole fucking lot, is what I'm saying.

Which explains why I'm here and not actually doing something printy.

day 22

Which means yesterday was day 21, although I suspect TODAY is day 21, seeings as how I'm pretty sure I ovulated last Friday, not last Thursday.

Which is pointless babble when the point is that my day 21 ie YESTERDAY's bloods came in today, and my progesterone level was

*taruntara*

100 nmol/L.

Which, obv, would be even higher if today IS my effective day 21.

This is how it was delivered: ".....that is a very very very good level".

Also: "..the higher the progesterone the more likely a pregnancy has occured.".

I'm certain they'd not be so gleefully hopeful with most of their patients, but they know me now, and they know I'm about the only freak on their watch who isn't afraid of bad news, who relishes hopes being raised, and who wants to take everyone brave enough along for the wonderful ride that is Possibility.

So that's what she said, and 100 nmol/L is a lovely high level - and lovelier still because my (effective) day 21 result when pregnant with Daniel was a healthy 61.

So I'm happy with this. Yes indeedy, I am.

Because even if I'm NOT pregnant (because chances are, I'm NOT), that pretty little 100 means my lameass musings can now be based in fact and probability, and not just hopes and possibility.

In short, yeehaw.

Not because I AM pregnant (because, srsly)(then again, didn't I say I had a good feeling about this?)(because I did, and do. I just figured it was because I was being all proactive and shit about it all), but because now I can more effectively HOPE that I am.

If it all blows up in my face, whatever. I'll at least have had the next week to full on believe that maybe, just maybe I am.

edited to add (at which point you're all knowingly saying "ah, she's been googling", to which I reply, "YA THINK?!".

from iVillage.

...In general, the midluteal (middle of the second half of the cycle) progesterone in a non-pregnant patient is 8 to 10, but can be as high as 20 ng/ml. In a pregnancy cycle, it should be greater than 10 to 12 ng/ml to have a better chance of a good pregnancy outcome, but in general, we like to see 16 or over...

conversion factors from here.

so!

8-10 ng/ml converts to 25.44 - 31.80 nmol/L
10-12 ng/ml converts to 31.8-38.16 nmol/L, and
16 ng/ml converts to 51.88 nmol/L

OR how about we forget about all that complex shit and I show you the fucking obvious conversion instead?

Behold!

100 nmol/L equates to

*drumroll please*

31.45 ng/ml

*ta da hands followed by sweeping bow*

superFREAK

SuperFILLER.

and probably only amusing to me.

the week in review

It involved blood tests on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday AND Thursday. Then there were the donor inseminations on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, plus one ovulation yesterday, all of which were preceded by pre-warmed (so cosy!) speculums, and daily examinations of my cervical mucus.

Which was particularly prolific this month, thank you so much for asking.

That's all passed now (you: WE DIDN'T ASK), but my boobs are still rounded today, and my nipplages are STILL showing elevated Perky levels (you: GREAT TO KNOW! NOW SHUT UP) , AND I've been exceptional in the, uh, how can I put this delicately yet descriptively enough so you all know what the hell I'm talking about? GAGGING FOR IT arena.

Oh, I'm gagging for it at any given moment anyway, but this month? WHOA, so I'm hoping this cluster of SIGNIFICANTLY ramped up fertile signs mean I was significantly more fertile too.

Does anyone know? DO they? Those of you with more than one kid, I'm looking at you because, my lord The physical signs were SO distinct, and physical signs aside, I'm still fanning myself at (and impressed with!) the THOUGHTS and the URGES and I've got to DROP this subject because STILL WITH THE WHOA.

So DOES an increase in expressions of fertility suggest greater Knockupability?

Because if the amount of time I'm STILL devoting to thinking about sex is any reflection of said, WHY YES, I WAS. UPPERCASEDLY SO.

So it's all done and dusted and if I'm going to GET pregnant, I AM pregnant now.

One more blood test next Thursday to check my day 21 progesterone level, and instructions are in place to get excited if my period doesn't arrive by April the fifth.

So! How was YOUR week?

fts

I filled in for a chair class at a retirement village about a year or so ago.

I showed up on the day with Daniel in tow, and explained very clearly that he was with me because I'd been called the NIGHT before, and had no time to arrange care for him because it was now only 9am the next morning.

No! they all said, he's delightful! We LOVE having him here!

and on their approval, I continued to bring him along and at EACH and EVERY class I taught for the next six week ie on TWELVE separate occasions, they oohed and aahed at Daniel and told me how NICE it was to have him there, that he was a breath of fresh air, he reminded them of their own grand or great grandchildren, bla bla BLA.

I wouldn't know a chair class from my elbow, so having him with me kind of sucked because I couldn't focus on PRETENDING to know what I was doing, and the entire time I felt like a big, giant chair class failure.

So it wasn't enjoyable but I did it for the greater good because they= old, and Daniel and those like him are GREAT therapy for lonely old people whose families seldom visit.

Then Linda called again today and asked I fill the same class for April 16 this year. Now they must be scraping the barrel to call on me because I'm not qualified to teach the elderly, and I KNOW I suck at it because I have NO idea what to do and just wing it, badly.

Point being, they must be at the point of "just get SOMEONE".

So I took it and mentally arranged childcare for the day, and ignored that the cost of said is more than they pay me.

THEN she said "don't bring Daniel", which I wasn't planning on doing ANYWAY, "because the oldies got stressed by him being there last time".

The fuck?

Tht was the feedback Dangeen (the original idiot who fucked off for six weeks without a] telling anyone or b] arranging a suitable replacement) wanted me to know. That they were so stressed by him being there.

Essentially the message was they feared for Daniel's safety, so essentially the message is that they don't feel I was paying enough attention to his welfare by bringing him along because of the tea and coffee making facilities in the hall, which were just ONE of the many things I didn't like about teaching that class, so it's not like I wasn't aware if it, and it's not like I was THRILLED to have my kid in the same room as something that is, in actual and real fact, a panic attack trigger. Scalds, burns, and hot things freak my shit out.

So to get that feedback an entire YEAR later after they ALL went on and on and on about how much they LOVED him being there, which is WHY I continued to take him along when I'd have preferred to leave him in care, sucks.

I HATE being judged for something by someone who assured me it's AWESOME to be doing that something in the first place.

I also don't know why this has upset me so much, but it has, and thus explainuth this whineyass entry.

I declined the class in the end because, fuck 'em, I guess.

next!

So!

A lot has happened since we last talked Reproductive Medicine!

A lot in my HEAD, anyway.

Losing that embryo was a GOOD thing. Not in that it felt like I lost a child, because that feeling ISN'T a good thing. It was good in that now it's over. It's done and dusted and I did my best and even got pregnant and THAT'S what I wanted, if not a child, then to know that I did what I could to HAVE a child.

I had my luck in that first IVF cycle, and with the old Lightening Doesn't Strike Twice rule of thumb, I doubt I could conceive again, especially now that I'm in Haggard Old Crone territory.

So no more IVF. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat if I was younger and my chances of conceiving were better than they are now, but we're talking single digit percentages here so all that fuss and heartache and money doesn't seem worth it.

Especially as the odds in regards to donor insemination are pretty much the same.

Simple, marginally cheaper, and none of that bullshit with embryos not making it to transfer or freezing, because all that stuff can be filed under Mega Suck too.

So that's what I'm doing tomorrow morning.

With a dashingly featured new donor who's an air traffic controller.

Oh I'm sorry, didn't you catch that? He's an AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER.

Which actually matters for shit to me.

I chose him because he's written a letter to any future child his, uh, "material" produces. He's absolutely open to interact with that child, and has no problem with exchanging photos and it's all that *gestures widely* that makes him prime beef.

Speaking of donors, it's Text Of The Week! time.

And this one's from Strep: "Sorry for not calling/texting/emailing for EVER. I've been busy at work and home".

No problemo, dickweed. I'll be sure to pass the message on to your son.

messy

So I'm looking at the floor and am changing my vision. That crap? Is "agility training". Wading through it for the rest of my natural life might just be the difference between having a broken hip and NOT having a broken hip at some point in the future. Of course, it could also BE the reason I fall and break a hip, but no doubt with all this training I'm getting in in the meantime, it would have been a LOT worse if not for my finely honed Dodge And Weave skills.

So! Not only am I getting in some physical conditioning, this mind control thing is giving me some psychiatric help because if I keep seeing this entire mess of crap as JUST an entire mess of crap, I'D GO NUTS.

and he doesn't eat, which in and of itself, doesn't particularly bother me.

Think of it: if he doesn't want to eat, I don't need to cook.

*punches sky*

He eats when he's hungry, which is NEVER, but he's not skinny, his eyes are bright and his nose is wet (what?). Point being, he's a picture of health, even more so than (dare I say it) most of his peers who (dare I say it??!) all seem to be carrying a layer of Soft & Spoogey all over their little bodies ALREADY.

I PREFER it if he gets ONE good meal in a day, say, some tuna and corn (which he - and this is no lie - just walked in and REQUESTED) or some meat and vegetables (he LOVES broccoli and cauliflower), but I'm not about to get all control freak about it and INSIST he eat if he's told me he doesn't want to.

And lest anyone think I'm taking MY body issues and laying them on Daniel, I'm NOT. He has a ready supply of vegemite sandwiches for snacks each day, we always have fresh fruit on hand, yogurt has a permanent place in our fridge, and snacks aside, we're never without the makings of a well balanced meal.

AND

He gets a happy meal once a week, and other sugary crap MORE than once a week, because junk food is more about being FUN food, and denial is just that. Denial. It's something wanted and being missed out on, and he's THREE, if he can SEE it, he WANTS it, and if I don't make it a part of MY food choices for HIM, he;s being DENIED. Hopefully too, because nothing is off the menu, he'll (eventually, at least) continue to make good food choices SOME of the time when he's got the chance to pour whatever he wants down his food hole, and not go nuts ALL the time because I never gave him that shit NOW.

At three, he already DOES make healthier choices, so it's AMAZING to me how many mothers think it's okay for them to insist MY child drinks a soda, but who would get offended if I insisted THEIR child drink water INSTEAD of soda.

No amount of "no, really, he LIKES water" will get them to stop, so Daniel has been poured a LOT of soda and has subsequently REFUSED a lot of soda too.

Aside: THAT really (and silently) bugs me. I mean, I NEVER insist anyone else's child drink water instead of soda or juice, or plain yogurt instead of flavored, or plain milk instead of chocolate, or some wholewheat crackers instead of a cookie, or or OR. BUT, I can't begin to count the number of times another mum has insisted Daniel have something he doesn't even LIKE. They don't give up though, not even after two or three "no, really, he'd RATHER have water/plain milk/other non coloured flavored sugared variant" explanations from me. "Oh, let him try it", they say, and then I say "Oh, okay", like I'm giving him the chance to try the fucking manna from heaven I've denied him his whole life, and...he doesn't like it.

And instead of seeing that I don't say "he doesn't drink soda" because I don't want him to have it, and getting that I say it because HE'D RATHER DRINK WATER, I get judged because OBVIOUSLY if I'm giving my child only the (apparently way out and hippy) alternatives, then I MUST be judging them for NOT being like me. Which I am NOT.

No shit, one of the mothers we used to hang out with was FOREVER apologising for the chips, the cordial, the biscuits, the SHIT she gives her kids and offered to Daniel, and I was all in my head thinking "whattherfuckever, but if you feel you need to apologise for your menu selections, then a) WHY do you HAVE those menu selections, and b) it's not ME you should be apologising to.".

Which, where did that all come from??

Cleansing breath.

Rewind.

Daniel doesn't eat (much), and it doesn't usually bother me. I figure too, what with the Obviously Not Starving thing he's got going on, I must be overestimating just how much a three year old needs. I could also be underestimating just how much nutrition he's getting within the structure of our At Least One Good Meal a day system.

Like, maybe he doesn't eat all day because his inner bucket of vitamin and mineral requirements is replete?

He eats a LOT at childcare too. They're always all "Isn't Daniel a GREAT eater?!", and I'm always amazed that kids will eat ANYTHING as long as there's competition.

He's only there once a week and the food smells AWFUL and is composed of a lot of filler and not much substance, and their sandwiches are made of day old bread and the directors go through the fruit the parents bring each day and take the good stuff home to their families and leave the daggy stuff to be cut up for the daycare children (it PAYS to be in with the staff, I swear. Also, basket of fresh fruit by the door, basket of yesterday's fruit in the kitchen being cut up. YOU don't have to be a mathematical genius to work it out, even if you're NOT in good with the staff)(my god, I sound like a conspiracy theorist), but much like animals in the wild fighting to stuff their faces the fastest, the kids could be served ANYTHING (raw buffalo?) and they all stuff it down SO FAST in order to...I dunno. Win?

So Daniel eats a lot on Mondays and takes the most righteously stinky dumps on Tuesdays, and then seemingly exists on air for the rest of the week. That changes the second he's offered something composed of artificial everything and is served by a teenager asking if he'd like to supersize that.

When he REQUESTS something that requires I heft my ass out of this chair though, and that I SLAVE over ingredients to create some culinary MAGIC and THEN doesn't eat, that's when I want to tip it over his head and then throw them both in the wheelie bin outside.

how we are

I was just asked this.

It's still squick making to know someone was in here, and it's very annoying to be too scared to go outside AT ALL after dark. Even hanging clothes on the line out back skeeves me, and it's a pain in the ass to have developed bionic hearing because I hear EVERYTHING outside, right down to the fucking roaches (The Fucking Roaches, not The Roaches, Fucking, although I'm sure if they WERE hard at it, my Silar quality hearing has it nailed right now) scritching the concrete, so it's seriously annoying to listen to every. single. noise and feel every. single. momentary flash of OMG before sense kicks in and doofs me upside of the head and tells me to chill out.

But I'm fine, really, and Daniel has no idea so HE'S fine too.

At the end of the day, kiddies, after something like this, you've got to reclaim your own life. Time will give some of it back, but if you want it all back and fast, you've got to ACT like none of this matters, because in the end? It actually doesn't. None of this was personal, and it WASN'T that big of a deal.

Things got taken. No one was hurt.

This burglary wasn't about US. They weren't thinking "how can I best fuck with this family?", they were just thinking "how much can score is in this place?", so they didn't steal OUR things, they just took STUFF.

After my first burglary, it took me eight months and a pretty funky dream sequence to buy that clue, and when I did, literally overnight I stopped feeling so persecuted and began feeling like shit happened, move on.

So shit happened, I'm moving on - and thank you all for being the realest friends I can imagine (what?)