Yesterday I had mild cramping and the lightest of spotting.
Ditto today.
I don’t think this little bundle of cells is any more viable than previous ones; I think it’s just a matter of time now.
So far I feel only just the slightest bit crazy, so the end isn’t right around the corner, I have to wait for it. I wish it would just fall out now and save me the week and a half of hormones and pain.
Sheesh. What did I do to deserve this?!
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In surfing random blogs these past few weeks, I’ve noticed that a lot of people use “walla” when they mean “voila.”
This bugs me.
It bugs me almost as much as the rampant abuse of contractions one sees out there. People misuse apostrophes constantly, I can’t stand it!
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Bucket just gave me a homemade chocolate-cherry taffy that he made himself and it was so good! Like a Tootsie Roll, only deliciouser!
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Did I ever tell you about the day I dropped out of MIU?
It’s not MIU now, of course. It’s MUM, short for Maharishi University of Management (which is completely absurd as roos can barely ‘manage’ to drive from Annapurna dining hall to the Golden Domes of Pure Knowledge without killing dogs and children in the street with their beat up old ugly cars, but there it is).
I majored in Literature. I was taking ‘The Transcendentalists: American Literature in the Eighteen Hundreds’ or something similar, with this amazing little mini-prof named Dr. Setzer. I was pulling something comfortably above a 3.5 GPA. I was the darling in most of my classes, and teachers and co-students alike appeared to love me.
My pod room in The Candy Shop was cool-looking, and I had a hotplate and a little fridge, and my room was situated early enough in the HVAC loop that I got heat and air, but late enough that I didn’t get too much of either and freeze or dry up – something of a major coup in dorm life.
I sang in a band, which in a town this size made me a rock star. I laid any boy I wanted and was proud of that (as I still hadn’t figured out that women, not men, decide who gets laid. I’m a late bloomer, what can I say).
I had ample student loans to cover the outrageous amounts of tuition, room, and board MIU charges, and was paying those bastards good money for the whole experience.
But I didn’t go to group program.
Continue reading Oh yeah? Watch me.
I still feel fine. No mood swings, no insanity. No bleeding. Some mild, mild cramping on and off, but I’ve been having that since I ovulated. Last time I was pregnant, I started spotting at five weeks/one day. Basically, if I’m still pregnant in eight days I will have passed the mark of the last pregnancy.
We’ll see.
Overall I feel remarkably stable, emotionally. Last time I was fucking nuts because my hormones were so utterly out of whack. God I hope I don’t have to go through that again; I remember not being able to go buy myself some soup one day because I was so crazy insane. (I hate being insane.)
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I’ve had PMS for two weeks now: cranky, hungry, moody, sore boobs, cramping, the works. I IM’d with Reni last night and she’s was a day or two late, too, and we commiserated about how bloated it feels. Neither of us thought we were late for any particular reason. I told her I’d decided to take a test this morning, ’cause there’s nothing like wasting twelve bucks to get AF to show up.
Well, I took a test this morning. And it was a big fat positive.
I was shocked. It hadn’t crossed my mind that I might be preggo. But there it is. I took the test out into the living room and handed it to Brett, who was playing video games. “I took a test to make my period start because I’m three days late. But it’s positive.”
Brett looked at it and handed it back, saying, “That’s a pretty positive positive.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I thought it was PMS.”
“Mmm,” he said. “I’m really not sure how I feel about this.”
“Me neither,” I said. “But as these things have a tendency not to stick, I don’t think either of us have to decide just yet.”
“Damn, baby,” he said.
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said as I left the room.
Continue reading BFP
Krista’s baby shower was on Sunday. I went up with Barb and ate ice cream cake and presented my knitted baby things and took pictures.
Barb and I stopped at Walmart on the way back, and wasted quite a bit of time looking at stuff. Then we printed out a set of the pics in the gallery for Barb, and I bought some groceries. All in all, a pretty girly day.
Brett’s been playing Rockstar Games: Grand Theft Auto San Andreas all weekend.
I brought it home around eleven thirty Friday night. He stayed up ’til four AM playing it.
Then he played it all day Saturday, and all day Sunday.
He’s a Grand Theft Auto geek!
This afternoon I was digesting my lunch and updating my knitting entries over at Iowa Chicks Knitting, in between processing Evergent emails, when suddenly I felt a rush and I was extrememly dizzy, my palms were sweating, and my heart was racing. My chest hurt. My vision was fuzzy, spotty around the edges. I thought I was going to pass out, or that I’d just had a heart attack. I felt nervous, freaked out, amped, and supremely scared and uncomfortable.
It was sort of like doing a big fat line of coke, only it wasn’t fun.
I started to breathe deeply, then I worked up the balls to check my pulse. (Yup, still beating. Too fast and too hard, but it’s still beating. At least the dizziness isn’t the result of no fucking blood flow to my brain fer chrissakes!!!) I got up and walked around the building for awhile, breathing. Then I went outside and walked around the block, breathing and letting my mantra roll around inside my head. I tried to return to my desk five or six times before I could actually stay seated. I was tingling, practically hyperventilating, and saturated with adrenaline. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and take a nap in a corner somewhere.
(By 2:07, my heart rate had slowed down to 106 BPM. All I was doing was sitting here in an office chair, copying emails and pasting them into a Filemaker database, and my heart rate was so absurdly high that it took time for it to slow down to 106.)
I googled “rapid heart beat” and got all kinds of scary shit about cancer and anxiety disorders. (Bad news is *just* what I need when I’m in adrenaline hell. Yay.) But then I read that this exact experience is one had by – are you ready? – periomenopausal women.
Periomenopause? Hello! I’m 36! I’m not that old. Is it possible that I will quit bleeding as early as 38? (Do people do that?) Are the majority of my symptoms (as my Well Woman care provider has repeatedly suggested to me) “simply” symptoms of periomenopause? Is this shit really all normal fucking aging?!?!
Continue reading Hot flashes?! Ya gotta be fucking kidding me!
Remember how I was waxing eloquent over those little samples of conditioner they put in hair color boxes? Well, my MIL hates that stuff and yesterday she gave me three packages of hair color conditioner! Yay!