HA!

HA!
Originally uploaded by aibee

Merry Christmas, peeps!

with love to you and yours,

from me and mine

xx

Christmas Eve recital

poet
Originally uploaded by aibee

Unrelated aside: Daniel's wearing reindeer ears. You can't quite see them because he's having a Reindeer Ear Malfunction: wind resistance became too much for them in the park the other day and *snap*. Still, the bells work which is why he wore them to bed last night*.




* 4 year old logic. I don't quite get the connection either.

birthday boy

Daniel's birthday was last Saturday, and it was grand(issimo). Eventually, according to my now four year old. I'd wrapped all his gifts the night before, arranged them for maximum impact, then tossed a blanket over the lot. Camoflagued! And in the morning,. dude was yoinked out of bed way before he was ready, handed a banana and tossed into the car because I had, uh, things to do. Then there was swimming, then there was the obligatory communl showering after swimming (him, not me) and then when he'd effectively lost an entire half day of being four, I took him home, wished him happy birthday and (with flourish) removed the Gift Containment Device ie the blanket, and Daniel was staring RIGHT AT THEM when he asked "but where is mah present?".

I think he missed them because he was expecting A gift, and he was given a PILE of them. Or maybe he couldn't find them, what with them being right under his nose and all, because now he's (almost) A Man.

Kind of related Daniel factoid: dude thinks gifts are prettily wrapped boxes. He wrapped a couple of boxes himself (HIM. SELF) a few weeks ago and is still getting mileage out of them and .he carries them around and says "these are mah presents, mummy" and...that's it. Content irrelevant.

Mum sent him a parcel too, and I'd hidden it in plain sight (What? This box? Oh it's just a *mumbles*) so I kicked that over to him too and he thoought the BOX was his gift, imagine his surprise when I showed him that the box contained things.

I felt sad then, because it's a reflection of How Much People Who Don't See Him know him ie NOT AT ALL, not because I wanted better score for him, she gave him things that don't hit him in the Happy Spot. I feel sad for him that no one knows him like I do. He should have more people in his life, more people that would do anything for him, would drop everything for him, and who WANT to be with him, not because of what he represents, but because of who he is.

But! It meant I blitzed the Best Gift Evah stakes and Daniel LOVES his metropolis of Thomas paraphernalia. It's Track-o-rama at the Casa De Bee! And I'm expecting to be tripping over this shit until he moves on to girls and boobs and stuff.

We futzed around at home for the rest of the afternoon, because you don't give a four year old a bunch of Thomas stuff then suggest we go out to have some fun. We went for a walk late in the day though, and then planned on hitting Macdonald's for a rousing birthday dinner which kind of backfired because THINGS HAPPENED BEFORE WE LEFT STAY TUNED, and I'm staying in The Happy Place for at least this and maybe another paragraph.

Sunday we had a school picnic which was AWESOME. I love that after, what? Two months? We're making friends and are hanging out around a picnic table and sharing food. The kids all ran around, free-range style, and were looked after by everyone, so it felt less like a school picnic and more like what I'd imagine a a family picnic would feel like.

By the time we left, we had another kid on board and were running late for Daniel's MacDonald's Birthday Extravaganza, and still no cake! so I drove and Extra Kid told me HER mummy says bad words when SHE drives and I was all "Really? Not only me? *powerfist*", because Daniel yelling to that cyclist the other day "YOU'RE AN IDIOT" was a) TRUE, b) a lesson in ShutThe(Eff)UpOlogy, and c) a total PHEW moment when he didn't call the guy a FUCKING idiot.

Daniel's party was awesome. There were around 3o kids all running around, and not one (NOT. ONE) bit of fisticuffs broke ut. There was about that many grown ups too, and word is they all had a good time too.

dun dun dah

So much to say, but never being able to find the time EVAH to update (well I DO find the time and then I fire up MacSolitaire and stare slackjawed at the screen and end up dreaming of winner conbinations involving black and red, clubs on clubs, hearts on hearts I think it must be like gambling ie intermittent positive reinforcement being a stronger something or other of behaviour leads to the intermittent Congratulations YOU WON pop up box being more important thatn telling you all about how awesome my son is and, srsly, how am I supposed to update when there is more gambling to be done?) means you get to enjoy my Should Have Been A Tweet style of updating. LUCKY YOU!

So I'm in the middle of my last ever DI cycle, in that, even with a weinerish LH of 7, I had a bunny ears air quotes procedure on Saturday morning (my son's birthday, Happy Birthday, Son!) in case I surged on Sunday because that's what happens, my ovaries get jiggy on the Day Of Rest which is a pain in the ass because the unit is CLOSED when my ovum is on the damn prowl. I'm going in today, to spend some quality time with the grief counsellor, and to have a blood test that will be sent to the lab while I'm talking about things that have nothing to do with grief at all, and there may or may not be another date with the reproductive material after that, depending on the results.

I've consulted my cervix and it's saying "I dunno for sure, but I think your ovaries did the biz yesterday, lucky you!", so I'm not sure there'll even be a repeat of the wonderful times to be had while laying flat on your back and wondering why in hell the apparatus required is as long as your arm.

Point being, if you pray to any thing or anyone, please pray for me.

Some study in 2001 (bla bla now discredited because some asshole wanted to take mysticism away from conception because of some shit about the authors being convicted of fraud [aside: when really, who cares about the methodology when the {supposed} results study gave hope to so many people?][and this is why I'm not a research technician]) showed that prayer increases conception rates, even when those being prayed for didn't know they were being prayed for, and those praying had no idea wtf they were praying for, they just prayed, and couples got knocked up at twice the rate or whatever number the authors made up proved.

It's SO HARD for me to ask for help, and I do feel like a total dick to ask for help in the form of prayer. My spiritual beliefs are very strong. They're not christian, but I believe that if we have spiritual beliefs of any kind, they all lead to the same thing, but in a way that is accessible to us, the who we are and what we are able to have faith in.

Which is a roundabout way of justifying a request for prayer.

When I probably don't need to anyway because if someone asked ME to think happy thoughts, I'd be all "No problemo! Bunnies, kittens, I'm SO THERE, yo'.".

So I'm just going to back away now because I'm making this more complex than it needs to be, because I'm shitawful at asking for help, and I'm just going to ask for help.

Please pray for me.

Thank you in advance.

xx

unrelated to each other

The police were out here again last night and Oh Wait, I didn't mention that some asshole broke in to our home a month or two ago and - wait for it - didn't take anything, did I? That was hela creepy, actually, as per:

We'd went to work at 6pm, and then the store. Daniel fell asleep in the car by the time we got home at around 8.30, so I left the lights off, carried him in from the car, and plonked him on the loo before putting him to bed. There was stuff from the window sill all over the bathroom floor, and it was from the OTHER side, not the window opening side, if you know what I mean, and I figured the cat was getting old and had had had some kind of brain fart and had tried to exit via the wall or something. I put him (Boy, not Cat) to bed, went back to the bathroom, put the lights on and saw from the shelf on the OTHER side of the room on the floor as well. Then I checked the window for openability and yes, THAT function was On, thank you assholes who busted the lock.

Once I checked the house for leftover intruders hiding in the closet (which is the Scariest Job In The Universe, ESPECIALLY when your child is asleep in the room with the BIGGEST closet), I checked the doors and other windows and bla bla BLA.

Back door, WIDE OPEN. Stuff Inside, not taken.

The list of things not stolen included my laptop, which was on the table next to the kitchen which is where the back door is, ie pretty fucking easy to pick up, carry off, you know what I mean?

The police came, crime scene investigators came, fingerprints WEREN'T dusted for (wtf, Mr Policemans?), and they all agreed this was a leetle creepy, especially since:

a) my neighbour over the fence was away, and his back window was left wide open for his cat to get in and out of, which makes it SO EASY to rech through and open the back door without a key because his back door isn't deadlocked.

b) me: "So a lot of houses are being broken into in Shithole Neighbourhood then?"
policeman: "Uh, no. Just you."

c) me: "that's is creepy".
policemen: "yeah, it is."
me: "!"

d) NOTHING WAS TAKEN, which is creepy because either:
1) they were in my house when I pulled in the driveway and had to time to steal anything as they ran out the back door as we came in the front.
2) they came in my house because they weren't after things (omg)

Option 2) was the favorite of the guy who came the next day to fix the locks (aside: I spent ALL NIGHT in a house that WASN'T SECURE *shudder*) . I was all "Very reassuring, thanks a bunch." and he was all "I know, I'm sorry, but I see a LOT of this stuff and this IS creepy. You need to be careful.".
Awesome, eh?

Anyway, lock fixing guy checked everything and found that Every. Single. Door and window had been tampered with. The back window next to the bathroom window had been jemmied, the screen on the kitchen and laundry windows had been torn off, and the bathroom window had been fucked with enough to break the lock. The front window had a bigass handprint on it that the crime scene LOSERS had missed, but because it wasn't found til the next day, they couldn't do anything because even if it turned out to be whoever broke in's handprint; day after, means shit in court.

I've been REALLY conscientious about locking doors and closing windows since then, so was a leetle weirded out when I came home the other day to find the back door open again because, even wehn we're at home, or ESPECIALLY when we're home, it's kept locked. The front door handle has since gone all saggyweird too, like it's been yanked on so hard it buggered the Not Saggyweird function of the lock, and then kast night the front light was on when we got home. Could have been me, even though I went to tturn it on before deciding NOT to on the way out the door.

Other Stuff that probably Means Nothing but now that I'm noting CLUSTERS Of Meaningless Stuff, is now stuff that is Worth Noting, you feel me?, includes the medicine ball I nearly broke my toe on yesterday because it was There, ie Not Where It Usually Is, which is why I kicked it. Because I didn't see it, in case that wasn't clear. I didn't kick it because I was all "Mthfkr, get back where you belong!" *punt*. it weighs five kilos, it's not like it's going to blow in the wind, you know?

I keep feeling like someone has been in here (the open door I came home to again isn't helping) but without a key, I have no idea HOW, must be my vivid imagination, etc.

I went outside last night to feed the cat and Daniel's Ikea tent had been knocked over. Wind, I thought, even though it the struts had collapsed on themselves rather than the tent being blow over. In a sheltered yard. On a not windy day. Then I looked up and saw his wheelbarrow in the yard, on its face and NOT upright under the Window of Jemmy where I leave it as a wanky little noise making device to alert me to Dead Of Night intruders.

So I went back inside, checked for people lurking in the closets, and called the police, who confirmed that this is creepy, the door HAS been tampered with, the stuff I'm noticing needs to be reported every. single. time, even if it might just be me being a space cadet and wandering off with the doors and windows open, and do I have any crazy exes?

They're going to file an intelligence report ("which means...", the cop said, "..that I'm really smart?" I answered. Noted: cops have no sense of humor.) and I probably should have told them about Chris because I never told you how THAT ended, how about I do it now?

We DIDN'T get back together, or anything THAT stupid, but he was around because Out Of Jail, No Friends, Father Just Died, and I felt sorry for him, which just so we're clear, isn't the basis for a romance, because I did NOT go there.

ANYWAY. I figured I'd give him some time to settle into Just Out Of Jail Life. He was like a puppy or a project or I don't know what the fuck. I felt sorry for him because he had no one and I had no one and when my life was a lot, well, THINNER, than it is now, I'd have benefited from someone caring if I lived or died, you know? Then he began drinking and I was all, uh, no. not in my space OR place. So he threatened to kill me and hide my corpse where no one would find it.

I can't believe the shit I've got myself into in the past oh wait, I can.

***

About That Other Thing.

I had light bleeding for, like, two days. I barely needed light pads. I'm still spotting now, but not a lot. Nothing on Tuesday and now I really only see blood on toilet paper when I pee.

I have NO IDEA how you can miscarry when the bleeding hasn't even reached the Non Epic proportions of my usual period. No cramps, no flooding, no sad litle pieces of tissue being flushed out to sea, but I don't feel pregnant anymore. My uterus still feels swollen, but less so today, but my boobs are all "yo, punch me RIGHT HERE, I can take it." ie they don't hurt At ALL. Maybe when I squish them, but I bet YOUR boobs would hurt if I Test Squished them too.

I was at the unit yesterday to a) see the counselor and b) pay my bill, and even the receptionists couldn't wipe the dopey smiles off their faces. They'd all seen the Chicks Who Are Pregnant List and that I was on it, and while they also knew I'd been bleeding, these are women who GET me. Two of the nurses didn't say anything, and I expected that from them, while the others were highfiving me in the hallway. Karen, in particular, could NOT wipe the stupid smile off her face, which was especially nice.

I never told you about THAT either, did I?

Oops.

After my last transfer on my last IVF cycle, I was in the waiting room waiting for the progesterone shot in my ass, and Karen walked in. She asked if it was okay to sit down, which of course it was. Then she sat down and told me she was SO SORRY for being SO awful to me that past year. She took full responsibility and never once said something dumbass like "I'm sorry, but [excuse for bad behaviour goes here]". She didn't blame it on a bad day, or over work, or a misunderstanding. She said sorry, she should NEVER have spoken to me in that way, and that she actually quite likes me (she thinks I'm funny and that more patients should be like me[!]) and then she wished me all the best for the transfer. She understood if I didn't accept her apology and left it at that. Then we started talking, and since last November, she's become one of my strongest, most cheerleadingest champions.

She's the one who really gets me and my positivity. SHE'S really positive too. She's the one with no fear of saying "it's looking good!" when I get my (always high) progesterone levels back. Each time, without fail. The rest hedge their answers with things like "we don't know, wait and see", while Karen meets me on Happyland, that place when you don't know where things are going, so why NOT believe the best COULD happen?

So there's that.

My doctor walked in while I was waiting, and we both said "I TOLD YOU SO!", before he grinned like an idiot and wandered off after calling his his next patient in.

These are all good things, and pregnant still or not, I GOT PREGNANT.

The people that matter are celebrating that and aren't ready to give up on it yet, and even though I'm damn sure I'm not pregnant any more, I have hope because they do.

No matter what I fucking did it. I'm not walking away in defeat, I'm leaving knowing that, if it was meant to be it COULD have been because I fucking did it! So it's not meant to be and I KNOW that now.

I'd love if a new baby was on the way, and I'm scared of how far I'm going to fall when I know for sure there isn't, because I WILL fall and I have no "and now we can do this or at least we have next month or try try again" bullshit to keep me going, so it's absolutely NOT like I'm all Tra Fucking La about calling in for my results today.

I'm terrified.

***

And Daniel just walked in with a tube of toothpaste that "Esscuse me, I have to squeEEeeze it, to make the EEeNn, like on PlaAayschool. Hey mummy, esscuse me, I need a SpOOoon.".