What Is An "Adult"?

And when will I feel like one?

This post has been brewing for some time, and I don't think it's at all ready. But I have nothing to write about today and I'm out the next couple of days so I figured I'd see if I can try to express this feeling I have. If I can't, I'll just save it as a draft, not publish it, and you knuckleheads will be none the wiser, right?

So basically, it's like this: I still feel like a kid. I realize that I'm not unique in this regard; most people still feel like kids inside. But I REALLY feel like a kid. And I'm clearly not. One glance at my driver's license dispels that notion - I am 35 years old. My dad had FOUR kids at my age. He was definitely an adult. He had cocktail parties with monogrammed barware and people would come over with ties on and drink scotch and say important things. I mean, I do that too...I go to parties with a tie on sometimes, and I love scotch, and I think I may once have said something important. But the difference is...I don't know what the difference is. But there is one. It's like THEY were REALLY adults. I'm just ACTING like an adult.

There are other things I do that make me think I'm not really an adult:

• I still always want the window seat on an airplane and I spend the ENTIRE flight with my forehead glued to the glass. I have noticed that NO OTHER PERSON on the flight does this. It's not as if its my first flight, for pete's sake. I've flown all over the world, for years and years. Still, every single flight, eyes staring out the window.
• When I sit at my desk, I almost always sit with my right foot tucked under my left butt cheek. I'm sitting on my foot. Even when I'm wearing a suit, like right now, I'm sitting like a 5th grader. Can that be normal? I don't see anyone else sitting that way.
• When I hear a news story about a "35 year old man" or a "38 year old woman" I always think that they are kind of old. But I don't think of MYSELF like that at all.
• Even though I have more money than either of my parents, I still always hope there is a check in my birthday card or x-mas card.
• If I were ever on a plane that got hijacked, or in a bank that got robbed, I still expect that they'd let ME go free, because for God's sake, I'm just a kid.
• I feel like if I ever broke the law and got busted, I'd get sent to juvie instead of big person prison. Yeah, I know I'm wrong there. And I'd be popular in prison. Seriously.

There are easily 100 more things just like that I could list. Does anyone know what I'm talking about here? I still kind of feel like I haven't expressed it properly. At what age do you actually stop feeling young? I seriously feel EXACTLY like I felt when I was in my 20's. I'm into different things, but that's only because I can afford them now. And having a kid didn't make me feel older, that's for sure. I mean for F*cks sake, I'm playing with Leg.os every day now. And I get INTO it, too. At first I just handed her the pieces and she would place them, but now it's like "Buggins, give me that, it should go like this" and then next thing I know she is off doing something else and I'm STILL playing with the f'ing leg.os.

Anyway, that's my post for the day. Sorry it's not altogether thoughtful or well constructed or coherent. But what do you want? For Christ's sake, I'm just a kid.

0dp5dt

M is lying on the couch, all valium-ed up with a belly full of blastocysts.

The good news is that of the two than went in, one was VERY good, and the other was good. We wanted to make sure they didn't put any bad ones in, because last night we watched The Omen and we saw what can happen when you get a bad one.

The "not good" news is that the other 7 didn't quite made it to blast. There probably won't be anything to freeze, which is a huge disappointment for us. I suspect, were it not for the valium, M would be having a cow right about now.

They are going to continue to monitor them, and if they reach blast then they'll freeze them. But they think it's unlikely. I DID think things were going a little TOO well.

This cycle has been different than past cycles. Not nearly as much stress, NO fights, no crying. M was a great sport throughout all of it. That is due in large part to stripping away from M all the things that really drive her crazy (dealing with the nurses, dealing with the insurance people, dealing with the medicine.) So I took over all of that this time. And it made a HUGE difference. Yesterday we barely thought about the transfer today. We went to bed last night almost as if it were any other night.

I woke up around 4am wracked with butterflies in my stomach, but I wasn't sure why. But my stomach was in knots. I lay there for almost an hour pondering what was bothering me, and then it hit me: Twins. I am terrified of twins. We have NO support system, no family, friends who have their own problems, a small house in an expensive town and my wife has a very low tolerance for stress. Twins would destroy us.

Before long, I realized M was lying awake too, and we started talking. Turns out she was lying there worrying about twins too. If we were childless, it wouldn't be an issue. But we have a 2 year old. After a long discussion we decided it would probably be best to transfer only one blast, to eliminate the twin risk. But that was when we thought we'd have a whole litter to freeze.

So M went in at 11:15, and I waited outside with the Buggins. The doctor said to M: "You should transfer two" and M said "OK." Well, so much for our discussion.

We are now officially in the 2 week wait. I think it may pass more quickly than others, at least for me, because starting Tuesday I'll be in London for work and then San Fran and then NYC. So I'll be keeping myself busy. And getting lots of sleep in giant king size hotel beds. Love that.

Thanks for all your well wishes!

Blast Off! (Now with Updates!)

Updates below with blast info...

First of all, I've never been so eager to create a new post and push the previous one off the front page. Phew...

OK, so we're going to blast. 5 day transfer. We were not able to get the details of our embryo quality (which frustrated me) but the nurse said that we had "at least 6 embryos that were at either 6,7,or 8 cells". Because she didn't have the info in front of her, she said she will call back today with more info. Grrr.

UPDATE: Actually, they called me this afternoon and gave me the info I was looking for. It turns out, ALL NINE embies are 7 or 8 cells, and it looks like they ALL might make it to blast. Hard to believe. We may have a real shot at making some frosties!)

But...that's great news. The little suckers are doing well! And we may have some left over for the big chill.

Sunday is the day. Wish us luck. I really appreciate all the well wishes.

Also, about the previous topic, I just want to say that I appreciate all the thoughtful comments, even the ones I don't agree with. We had a constructive and open exchange of ideas, which is why I do this in the first place. I have no hard feelings, and I hope no one else does. I always want people to feel free to be totally honest and open with me.

On to sunnier topics. Like the weather. It may hit 70 degrees here in Boston today. On December 1st. Global warming anyone?

My Final Thoughts on Kids At Clinics

OK, so I'd like to add my final thoughts to this obviously heated and controversial topic, and then I'd like to never discuss it again. I've been wondering how best to express my points, and I've decided to just list them.

• People with kids in the clinic (waiting room or hallway) don't want their kids in there any more than you do. Perhaps more. It's no place for kids. Some people (many in fact) have NO CHOICE.
• The idea that you would cancel a cycle due to a lack of child care is STUPID. If we did that, our doctor would laugh at us and then tell us we obviously weren't serious about the process and would probably refuse to treat us any more.
• My child is not hurting you. The other children in the waiting room are not hurting you. Infertility is hurting you. For that, I am sorry. I wish there was something I could do for you, but there isn't. There is something I can do for our own infertility, though, and that's to undergo treatment. Which we are going to do, even if we have to bring our kid.
• Don't blame mothers for having to bring their kids. Secondary Infertility is just that. Infertility. Kids are part of the process. Clinics are NOT just for infertile people with no kids. It's for all infertiles, primary and secondary. If you have to blame someone, blame the clinics for not having a separate "family" waiting room. Believe me, we'd love that.
• It's not my responsibility to make you comfortable in the waiting room. It's my responsibility to make my wife comfortable, and to take care of my family and make sure everyone is safe and well cared for. If that impedes on your comfort, then I do regret that. But again, not my problem. How you cope with things is YOUR problem.
• My wife and I have been in BOTH camps. We have been the sad childless infertiles sitting in the waiting room, hurting inside and wishing we were pregnant. I've given mothers and their kids dirty looks. I'm also now the guy who sometimes (literally only 3 times) has had to bring his kid to the clinic. I have the benefit of wearing BOTH pairs of shoes. You have still only been in one. To gain comfort with this, you will have to come to terms with the fact that there are some things you just do not understand, because you have not been there. When you have a baby, and no childcare, or your sitter has called in sick at the last minute, and you have a belly full of follicles you've been working on for 6 weeks with daily shots, BCP, Lupron, etc, believe me, you're not canceling your f'ing cycle. You're bringing your kid.
• Finally, let me tell you about my neighbor...actually, she's the person we bought our house from. Only recently did we find out that she struggled with infertility for years. And she went through some pretty hard core treatments...surgeries, a strict diet of Lu.pron and Follist.im...you get the picture. Anyway, after almost 4 years of this she finally gave birth to a baby girl this past June and when we talked to her about this she said "Seeing kids in the waiting room used to upset me, but I fought hard for this kid and there is NO way when I start the fight for my second that I'm leaving my little pride and joy with some stranger who I'm paying $20 an hour just so I can pop in for a 10 minute blood draw and ultra sound...NO WAY!!"

That is all I have to say on this matter.

Fertilization Results

Got the call:

Of the 12 eggs:

11 were mature

9 fertilized

We need to call them Friday morning, and they'll tell us whether it's a 3 day or a 5 day transfer. If it's a 3 day, then 10am on Friday. I hope we make it to blast.

I'm happy with the results! Friday seems like a loooong ways away.

Monogram THIS

While we await our fertilization report, I thought I would share a story that encapsulates the frustration I have with my father (and, I think, the frustration he has with me).

He called me last night (we were already in bed).

Dad: If I were going to give you something for Christmas and it was monogrammed, what order should I put the initials? (First of all, this man is smart. Prep school, Princeton, retired senior executive of a major corporation. He can't figure this out himself?)
Me: Well, Dad. That depends.
Dad: Why? Depends on what?
Me: Well, some things are traditionally monogrammed with the wife's initials. Sheets, towels etc. Some things are monogrammed with the husbands initials, like barware. By the way, I gave M monogrammed high thread count sheets for our anniversary, so stay away from that please.
Dad: Jesus. Well, I can't tell you what it is, but it's not especially feminine. And it's for both of you.
Me: Ok. I'd say its safe to go with M's initials.
Dad: Ok, in what order?
Me: Well, that depends.
Dad. Oh for christ's sake.
Me: Well, do you want to do it right, or wrong? If you really want to go down this road, you may as well do it right.
Dad: I'm not sure I want to go down this road.
Me: Are the initials all the same size, like block lettering? If they are, the initials go in order, like ABC. Or were you thinking rounded initials, kind of old school?
Dad: I don't fucking know!
Me: Well, its a decision you need to make! if you want them old school, the last initial is in the middle, and is the largest letter. First initial in front, middle initial last. OR, some people do it jointly, with last name in middle, and then one first name in front, and the other first name last. Of course, in different situations you would have her first initial first, and my first initial last, and in other situations, the reverse is true.
Dad: I think I'll get you a card
Me: Works for me.
Click.

Now I'll grant you, I was clearly the more obnoxious person in that exchange. On purpose. My dad does not exercise patience or a great deal of thought when doing things. He is into instant gratification. GOD FORBID he should have to RESEARCH something. If he got me something monogrammed, it would be some beautiful, expensive thing with the WRONG initials on it because he didn't take the time to do it right. THEN, because it's monogrammed, we would end up not being able to return it. We'd keep it for a year, and then M would secretly throw it out. Happens every f'ing year.

Ah, the holidays.

Smarshy's Twelve

ER was this morning. They got 12 eggs, which are being ICSI'd with my boys this afternoon.

It's funny, ICSI is the only part of this whole process that I kind of have a problem with. I feel like as long as egg and sperm can come together at the meet-n-greet at the Petri Dish Cafe, then at least the "magic moment" isn't manipulated. It's the ultimate "survival of the fittest". But now, they can just inject any old sperm into the egg. Maybe that sperm wouldn't have had a chance the normal way? Maybe he's super dumb, or lazy, or will grow up to be an ultra religious right winger. Or maybe...he'll like country music? I can't bear the thought.

By the way, what is it with Asian porn? In every one of those "collection" rooms I've been to, they're full of Asian porn. Not American porn with Asian girls, but Asian porn with Asian writing on the box. (And perhaps Asian dialogue, but I wouldn't know. And if I DID know, I wouldn't admit that anyway) I mean, I think some Asian women are very beautiful too, but c'mon...WTF? Is it some kind of IVF male obsession that I'm missing?

Anyway, ICSI happening tonight. As long as we can transfer a couple and still have at least 1 cycle of frosties left over, we'll feel very good.

M is feeling great, bounced right back from anesthesia and was shopping in the fancy hospital gift shop within 30 minutes. Buggins was at a new day care affiliated with the hospital. Number of babies in the waiting room today: three.

I'll update tomorrow with fert rates. Wish my boys luck!

Trigger Happy

Tonight's the night baby. One giant intra-muscular shot in the ass delivered by yours truly.

Final E2: 2364

At least this time the HCG shot is at a reasonable time, 10pm. Last time, it was at 2:30am and I spent the first half on the night awake for fear I'd sleep through the alarm and the second half awake wondering if I had stuck the needle in the right place.

Retrieval set for Tuesday morning, transfer 5 days later. We're doing ICSI or ICBM or CSI Miami or whatever it's called.

Another interesting day at the clinic. I met Lola, and this time she came up and said hi. She was in for her retrieval, so it was nice of her to spend a few minutes chatting with me and M when she obviously had a few things on her mind. I met her husband, too. Let me tell you, there are not many people who can make me feel short. I'm 6 foot 5 inches tall. Mr. Lola makes me feel short. Both Lola and her husband are awesome. Super friendly and nice to talk to. Buggins was there, and she was being shy and anti-social, but they were very nice to her.

Speaking of The Buggins, she made a MAJOR waiting room faux pas. You see, I was with Buggins in the hallway outside the waiting room, and M was in a chair in the waiting room, waiting for her turn to be poked and prodded. Buggins knew exactly where M was sitting, and would periodically escape my clutches and go running into the waiting room yelling for her mommy. I would run in behind her, scoop her up, and bring her back to the hallway. Multiple times.

Well, after a while, M was called in for her ultra-sound, and a woman sat in M's vacant seat. This woman happened to have similar hair, similar build, and the same coat at M. At one point, Buggins got away from me and ran back in the waiting room, and my one quick glance at M's old chair and I knew exactly what was going to happen.

Buggins ran up to this woman, who was alone and reading a magazine, grabbed her leg and yelled "HI MAMA!!"

Time seemed to slow down right then. The room went deathly silent (Oh, except for Lola's laugh...) I looked into the young ladies eyes, which had widened as if to say "No way did that just happen to me. No way did a little girl just run up to me out of nowhere and call me Mommy as I sit in the waiting room of an infertility clinic". Yes. Her eyes said all that.

I apologized to the woman and explained that Buggin's mom had been sitting in that seat before her. She smiled and we bolted out of there. A few minutes later, I noticed that she had switched seats, possible to avoid a repeat of that fiasco.

I hope that girl saw that as a sign from heaven that she would one day be someone's momma. Or at least I hope she thought Buggins was cute in her little snowman sweater.

A Stimulating Thanksgiving

First of all, Blogger is pushing Beta like it's crack. They are getting more and more creative about finding ways to trick me into switching. Hear this, Blogger! I ain't switching! Not gonna do it! Finish getting all the bugs out with all the other suckas and then I'll come by when you take the "beta" out of the name. It wasn't the pioneers who had the best life, blogger. It was the pioneers who ended up with arrows in their backs. The guys who had it made were the guys who waited for the roads to be built by all the suckers. Then they just drive on through.

Phew. I went on about that a bit longer than I intended and much longer than was appropriate.

M and I had to stick around here for the holidays, because she had to get an ultrasound. My 3 siblings, their spouses, and all 10 of their kids got together at my sister's house in upstate NY, but we obviously could not make it. Explaining that one to them was not easy and I think some feelings got hurt. But hey, our feelings are hurt by IF, so it's all good.

The RE's office on T'Giving morning was more action-packed than I was prepared for. We brought The Buggins with us, since we had the first appt, 8am, and we really thought we'd be the only people there because of the holiday. Not so.

Something about that place makes the Buggins misbehave, I don't get it. Seriously, she is the most even-tempered, well behaved little girl, until she gets to our clinic. Then all bets are off. (Remember, that's where she bit M's finger).

Apparently, I was "spotted" by a REAL LIFE blogging buddy, Lola. We had both figured out that we probably used the same clinic, and our timing is pretty much the same, but since she has never posted a picture or even described herself, I had no idea what to look for. (She did mention once that she likes wearing 4 inch heels, but I'm on the lookout for ladies like that all the time anyway, so the RE waiting room would be no different.) Lola - had you worn those, I'd remember you perfectly.

Anyway, she saw me, and what's even better is that she saw the Buggins have a freaking BREAKDOWN when M was called in and Buggins could not follow her. We normally don't bring buggins in the waiting room, in fact I normally don't go to these appointments at all, but we made an exception that day. I scooped up the Buggins and calmed her down by promising her things I had no intention of ever providing (a whole car made out of chocolate? Forget it).

Unfortunately, despite recognizing me, Lola did not introduce herself because she was unsure whether I would welcome it. Let me clear that up right now: If any of you ever see me in real life, no matter what I'm doing, please stop me and introduce yourself. I will ALWAYS be happy you did. I can not think of an instance where I would be unhappy you did, unless you went on to mug me or something. Or spit on me. Because if I see you, and I know it's you, I don't care if you're on the phone. I'm coming up to you. And we're talking.

So after Buggins calmed down, I brought her back inside the waiting room and went to the far, far corner and sat down. After a few moments of quiet, I thought perhaps Buggins was going to make it easy on me.

That's right about when she started lifting up her shirt, showing all that God gave her, and yelling "Daddy eat it!!". Daaaadddyyyy, EAT IT!"(Lola - did you catch that little show??). Buggins was referring to her Bee Boo, which is an innocent little game we play in the privacy of our own home. Perfectly innocent, I assure you.

Well, it didn't look so innocent to the lady sitting across from us. She totally looked at me as if I was some kind of sicko. I guess a little girl flashing her stomach and yelling for her Daddy to "EAT IT" is a bit of a red flag.

M's follicles all look good, not too many, not too few. It looks like we'll trigger on Sunday or Monday. We're back tomorrow for another U/S.

We finished up the day with an excellent dinner at The Hampshire House, which you may recognize as the restaurant upstairs from Cheers. I think it was called Melville's on the show. We love it there.

Have a great weekend everyone -

I'm The WORST F'ing Father In The World

OK, first things first:

10 follicles, all looks "great" down there. Estradiol level (whatever the F*CK that is) is 219. I'm told that's "good". Back on Thanksgiving morning for more.

If anyone can help me understand what the estradiol number means, I'll give you a dollar. Seriously. I'll pay.pal you.

Now I'll tell you why I don't even deserve any more children and why I feel like jumping out my 32nd story window.

Because M had to leave early to get to her appointment, I had the pleasure of taking miss Buggins to her pre-school. I've never done that before. M left some stuff out for me to take there, like buggin's little Maisy Mouse bag, which held her goldfish crackers for snack time, as well as a little bib so she doesn't get crumbs all over her fancy little school clothes. M told me to remember the "moo milk", which is a little container of vanilla milk with a built in straw that buggins LOVES. She said they were in the fridge, and that I should not forget to grab one. Sure.

So the time came, I gathered up all the stuff, put buggins in her big coat and hat, and we headed off for school. I dropped her off, she seemed very happy, and off I went to work.

4 hours later, M picked her up from school. Her eyes were all red and puffy, and the teacher said buggins had been VERY upset. It seemed that at snack time, there was no moo milk. I forgot the effing moo milk. She was forced to eat goldfish crackers with no moo milk to wash it down. She had to sit there and watch as all her little friends got to drink THEIR drinks, but her Dad is too fucking stupid to remember hers.

Its one thing to suffer because of something dumb you did. It's an ENTIRELY different feeling when someone else, who happens to be totally innocent and dependent on you, suffers because you forgot something. Seriously, the thought of buggins in tears because I forgot the milk has put a huge lump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach. I think I will be plagued by guilt over this for the rest of my life. I will be apologizing for this at her wedding. Which I'll probably forget to give her a present for.

Buggins, if this blog still exists when you can read, and you happen to stumble upon it, I want you to know that I am very, very sorry. I will always make sure you have everything you need in the future. As I'm sure Mommy has told you several times, Daddy isn't very smart. But he loves you.

I Think I Hit A Vein

First u/s tomorrow. We'll see if all this mixing and shooting into my wife's abdomen is doing any good.

Wish us luck -

MWWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Stims start tonight!!!

What fun! I get to mix FOUR vials of drugs into each shot. I wish I could slip a little something extra in there, to make her euphoric or into a sex maniac or something.

SHOCKING Update to Pumpkin Touching

So I got home last night and, after eating a delicious bee boo (oh yeah, we're back baby), I settled down with a little glass of scotch. I ruminated a bit on the pumpkin touching dilemma, as I watched buggins perform her "ring around the rosey" dance 1,472 times in a row. I knew that today, Friday, she would be spending the day at the Children's Program, where Rick works and perhaps practices his evil pumpkin touching. I decided to probe on the matter.

Smarshy: Buggins, what's happening tomorrow?
Buggins: Want cookie
Smarshy: No, Buggins, what's happening tomorrow?
Buggins: Rick. Rick touched the pumpkin.
Smarshy: What? Say that again
Buggins (getting annoyed with me): Daaadddyyy...Rick chachy plumpgrem!
Smarshy: Buggins, I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that. Say it again.
Buggins: Rick cheldmen prugum!!!
Smarshy: What?? Rick cheldmen prugrum?
Buggins (totally exasperated with me): RICK CHILDRENS PROGRAM!!

Oh my God. She wasn't saying Rick touched the pumpkin. She was saying Rick Childrens Program. As in "I want to go see Rick at the Children program".

I totally threw Rick under the bus needlessly. I guess I can put away my lead pipe and brass knuckles. And I was all geared up for "mortal combat" type bloodshed and asskicking.
Oh well. Crisis averted. Riddle solved. She is at the Childrens Program right now, stuffing her little face with french toast sticks and subjecting Rick to hours of Ring Around The Rosey entertainment.

*****

Baseline ultra-sound was this morning. M has 10 follicles, which they said was very good, given that she was on birth control pills for 2 weeks. The Dr. said many women have none on their first ultrasound. And she hasn't even had any stims yet.

So it looks like M is off to a good start. They expect her to be a "good responder". Yeah, that's my lady.

Rick Touched The Pumpkin

Sometimes, when M has doctors appointments or needs to be in the city, we take the Buggins to a day care center affiliated with my work. It's an unbelievable place, such an amazing benefit. 20 visits a year are covered by work. And its like the Four Seasons of day care. Every person in there has an advanced degree in kidology and poopology and all that other stuff. Buggins loves it there, and they love her.

Almost all the people who work there are women (and they're all ridiculously hot, for some reason). The only guy who works there is Rick. Buggins loves Rick, and it always seems to be Rick who plays with her, writes her daily report, etc.

Also, Buggins is starting to make sense when she speaks. There's alot of "La la cribbie Elmo Banana" but then sometimes there is an actual sentence to be heard, i.e. "hello daddy, I had a fun day".

The other day she said something new, which caused me to pause and wonder just what the HELL she was talking about. She was following me around the house saying "daddy, daddy, daddy, daddddyyyyyy" so I finally turned, squatted down to her level, and said "Yes, Buggins?".

She replied, "Rick touched the pumpkin".

Well. My imagination started to run a little wild. She has since said it a number of times, at least 2 times a day. Buggins would not be able to watch someone do something like this and then describe it like that. She is saying "Rick touched the pumpkin" because someone said to HER, "Rick touch the pumpkin". Maybe it was in the form of a question? As in, "Rick touch the pumpkin?", or, "May Rich touch the pumpkin?" OR, what I'm MOST afraid of, "Do you enjoy it when Rick touches the pumpkin?"

The big question in this case, obviously, is...what the hell is "the pumpkin". Is it an actual pumpkin? Or is something sinister going on? Is my buggins crying out for help?

Now, obviously I am mostly joking here, and this type of thing should not be joked about. If I thought someone was out there touching Buggins pumpkin, I'd be doing alot less writing and alot more ass-whoopin'. But it does give you a glimpse into the paranoid mind of the father of a very pretty little girl. I am CONVINCED there is a madman around every corner waiting to make off with my little Buggins. And what I'm sure was a very innocent case of "pumpkin touching" temporarily sent me down a very dark path. I expect to head down this path at least once a day for the next 18 years.

I've decided that even though I'm sure everything is fine, and nothing untoward happened, I still have to go kick Rick's ass. If he asks why, I'll just say "Watch out who's pumpkin you touch". That'll teach him.

As far as Mrs Smarshy and I go, we haven't been touching the pumpkin in quite some time. Did you know that Lupron is one of the drugs given to repeated sex offenders to quell their sex drive? Yeah. If it has that effect on crazy sex maniacs, imagine the effect on little Mrs. Smarshy.

Oh, that's right, I have a blog...

I haven't been too good at updating this thing lately, and I apologize to anyone who has come here looking for updated posts. Work has gotten uncharacteristically busy, and that has left me no time to write. I really miss it, though. I've been reading all your blogs, though - and I want to give a big shout out to Alli and to Soralis. That's the good news I've been craving lately.

Too much to say to do it all in one post, so here is a quick executive summary:

Things are good on this front. We are on day 7 of Lupron. I love giving shots. Actually, I only like it every other day. For some reason, it doesn't hurt at all when I put the shot in M's left leg, but when I put it in her right leg, she screams like I'm poking her with a red-hot branding iron. That takes the fun out of it. Well, most of the fun. It's still a little fun.

So far, no side effects at all - no headaches or abnormal craziness. I say abnormal because if there was NO craziness, that would be incredibly abnormal.

We start stims on Saturday. I imagine that's when the evil Sith Lord will invade my wife's body. I'm planning on shutting down half my brain for that 2 week period.

She has to get an MRI on Friday because they think she may have an obstructed bile duct left over from her recent gall bladder surgery. Depending on what they see, this whole cycle could end up in the shitter. If she does have to have surgery, we hope we can at least get to the retrieval stage first, and then make some frosties. We'll see.

Buggins in sick. My poor little buggins. Nothing is as terrible as seeing your little girl sick, and there is NOTHING you can do about it. Fever, sniffles, coughing. I would give anything to take her illness away and give it to myself. One good thing about it: she gets really cuddly when she's sick, like a puppy.

M and I are still seeing the social worker every week, but we had a breakthrough. Actually, she had a breakthrough. I was staring out the window watching workmen lay brick on some new construction. They had nice form.

Anyway, I'll tell you all about that (the breakthrough, not the brickwork) another time. I gotta get home to see the Buggins.

Bee Boo

In my house, the belly button is referred to as a "bee boo". This is because of one of Buggins' favorite books, The Belly Button Book by Sandra Boynton.

Sometimes, when I get home from work, I announce that I'm very hungry and that I'd like to eat a Bee Boo. Thus there is a brief chase, accompanied by glass-shattering girly shrieks, until I catch her, then lift her up and pretend to eat her bee boo while tickling her. After a few minutes of frenzy, I release her and we both sit on the ground, catching our breath and feeling exhausted. Then I have a beer. This goes on almost every night.

The last couple of days I've noticed a disturbing change. I get home and announce that I want to eat a Bee Boo. Buggins looks at me, and instead of running away and screaming with glee, she simply stands there and lifts up her shirt. As if to say "Ok Dad, come and get it. Do your thing".

That makes me feel very
1) Stupid, as if this whole time she's been playing this stupid game for ME
2) Dirty, for obvious reasons
3) Sad, because our little bee-boo phase must be coming to an end

Also, it makes me a little worried. I mean, is that all it's going to take to get my little girl to lift up her shirt to some dude? What's next? I want to make sure I teach her not to go flashing her boobies to every pimply little dickwad who wants to cop a feel. So far, it looks like all someone has to do is announce they want to eat a bee-boo, and up comes the clothes (I think she may have even continued watching TV while holding up her shirt). Complete lack of passion.

It also brought to mind what she might be like if she were in a loveless marriage someday. Really. She gave off the whole vibe of "alright, make this quick, I'm watching my programs".

These are not thoughts I want to contemplate about my little girl. I ALWAYS want her to run from anyone who wants to see her bee-boo.

Tagged Again

Serenity tagged me and now I have to list 5 things you don't know about me.

Serenity just moved over to beta. Should I do that? All I've heard are crappy things about it. But I don't want to be the only loser still stuck back in regular blogger. What should I do? I'm inclined to stay here, if only because Serenity has already used the "lighthouse" motif, and anyone who know me knows that I'm all about lighthouses, and now I can't use that without copying Serenity. What a quandary.

Ok, so 5 things:

1) Rent the movie "Without Limits", starring Billy Crudup and Donald Sutherland. I am the very first person you see in that film, right after the opening credits. That's me, walking through the parking lot with a tray of coffee. If you watch it, you'll notice I was kind of, um, LANKY. Not so much anymore. That was 10 years and almost 35 pounds ago. The fact that I could put on 35 pounds and still not be fat at all tells you what a skinny dipshit I was. I've since gotten a haircut too, thankfully.

2) Whenever I see my wife being incredibly sweet to the Buggins, or whenever I see her being a great mother or whenever I get the sense that I'm being a good father, I get overwhelmed with sadness that I have not been able to explain. I am working with a counselor who is helping me realize that at that moment, I am mourning the fact that I did not receive that level of parenting from my own parents. Literally, the baby in me is jealous of my own baby. Weird.

3) I believe that we bloggers are totally full of ourselves. This exercise if absolute proof of that, in my mind. Why would I think 5 things about me would be of any interest to anyone? Why do I think I have anything interesting to say? I know many of you say, and I myself have said, that this blogging business is all about getting feelings out and the therapy of sharing. I think there's some truth to that, but I mostly think we all just want people to read our shit and think we're funny/smart/interesting.

4) I got a bonus in March that changed my life. That's when M stopped working.

5) My mother is an alcoholic who lives alone, thousands of miles from any of her children. She has a sister who lives 4 hours away by car. My mother refuses help, will not move, and is combative and is filled with self-pity. She does not return phone calls and prefers to hang out with her friends during holidays instead of her family. I am very afraid something will happen to her and we won't know about it for days or weeks. Not so much because I'll miss her, but because of the horribleness of dying alone and no one knowing for along time. The horror that that can happen to someone, despite the fact that they had decades of a happy, normal life, raising kids, being married for 40 years. Then, to live a hermit life of an angry alcoholic and to die alone, it just shatters the idea of happy endings.

Rock The Vote

Choose or Lose, Baby. Rock The Vote.

Remember when Martha Quinn and all the other MTV jerkoffs were trying so hard to make voting seem cool to our disenfranchised youth? Ah, the innocent 80's and 90's. Damn kids weren't voting enough. Some of them even chewed gum in the hallway.

I rocked the vote last night, with M and the Buggins, who isn't yet totally clear on the "V" sound and thought we were going on a "boat". So in the middle of the little voting room, she was screaming "Going to Boat! Going to Boat!!". Yeaaah. Rock the Boat, baby.

Speaking of rocking the boat, we really stuck it to ol' G-Dub last night. Republican or Democrat, liberal or conservative, blah blah blah. I just really like the fact that, despite all of the immense power inherent within the presidency, we can still stick it to him if we don't like what he's doing. No electoral college in the congressional or gubernatorial elections. Just us. We kicked Dubya in the pantalones. Sorry George. Now, take these cookies. And this milk, careful not to spill. Go sit in that comfy chair in the corner, and try not to make any loud noises. We'll come and get you in 2008 when it's time to leave.

My state (MA) elected it's first black governor. It seems odd to me that that is such a big deal. He ran against a woman, who would have been the first woman elected. That was a big deal too. What is it with this country? Margaret Thatcher was running the UK decades ago. And don't forget Cleopatra, Queen Elizabeth, Catherine the Great. A woman running things is really not a very new idea. One visit to my home proves that point.

Started Lupron this morning. I was like a shot wizard. The reason for that is that I went to Shot School yesterday. I went to the clinic (BY MYSELF) and got a lesson in how to use my wife as a pincushion. I am now officially an expert in syringes.

The nurse who taught me was a middle aged woman. Not especially nice looking, but certainly not homely, either. The thing about her was that she has got the most incredible colored eyes. They are like a pale, sky blue. I don't think I've ever seen eyes that color. And, she happened to be wearing a p.atagonia pullover that was EXACTLY the same color. Exactly. Now, this is no ordinary color, it's like "pale blue #423534". Hard to replicate in nature. And the P.atagonia really made them pop.

So of course I said something. That's just my nature. When it comes to things like this, I just have no filter. I said "Wow, you know your eyes exactly match your pullover, it's really a very nice color". She looked at me in amazement, and then sort of stuttered a thank you and got all weird. It occurred to me as I was leaving that she may have thought I was hitting on her. While I was learning how to shoot my wife up with fertility drugs.

Hey nursie, if you are reading this, I wasn't hitting on you. I just liked your eye color, that's all. Get over yourself.

I Love Spackle

I haven't really known what to write about the last few days. Instead, I've been working in my basement - cutting, nailing, painting, washing, and yes - spackling. I thought I would take just a moment of your time and announce to you that I truly love spackle.

There are only a few things, from a guys perspective, that come close to spackle in terms of variety of usage. Duct tape is up there too. But it's what spackle GIVES you that makes it so special. While duct tape will hold things together, spackle goes one step further - it gives you a fresh start.

Have a hole in your wall? Spread on some spackle. Did you drive a nail into your wall in the wrong place? Pull it out, and slap on some spackle. Did the pieces of drywall not connect evenly, and leave a gap? Spackle spackle spackle baby.

It covers your mistakes. Just wait for it to try, grab some sand paper or a wet cloth, and sand or wipe away the excess. What's left? NOTHING. It's like the badness was NEVER THERE. No one will EVER know.

Oh, I have so many uses for spackle in my life. There are a few ex girlfriends I'd like to spackle over. I knocked the buggins in the head with the 'fridge door when she was like 10 weeks old. I'd like to spackle that. My wife recently said that she would love diamond earrings, and I responded that I'd consider it if she were pregnant. I'd slather a whole CAN of spackle on that conversation.

Can't they sell Life Spackle?

I'd buy it at CostCo, in like a 10 gallon tub. Instead of a spackle knife, I'd spread it around with a snow shovel. But I would save a whole bunch for the middle of December.

Why? Because that's when we'll get the results of the current IVF cycle we're on. I would stand by the phone, spackle knife fully loaded and in hand, and when the call comes in, if it's a negative, EVERYTHING is getting spackled. The phone, my wife, her memory, everything. Then I will sand it all, and paint it all nice and happy.

Still Lacking Motivation

Hi everyone, thanks for your nice comments about the Buggins! I really appreciate it when people say nice things about her. I'm crazy about her.

I still can't quite bring myself to create a post of any significance. I originally started blogging because I thought it would bring me and M hope, but lately I think it's been having the opposite affect on me. It's making me feel hopeless. This is a community of people who I have grown to care about a great deal, so I feel each setback and negative event that befalls any of you acutely, as if it were happening to me. I would feel the positive events too, but there just seems to be a dearth of those. I'm not going anywhere, though. I'm far too involved in all your stories to disappear now. I just don't have much to contribute at this point.

I'm in shock over Kellie's news. If you haven't already, please visit her and offer a kind word.

M and I are still on the rollercoaster, and at every twist and turn she is screaming to get off the ride. The social worker we *have* to see together I'm sure thinks we're a couple of nutjobs.

The latest drama was that the box of fertility meds arrived, and when M opened it and saw how many shots and boxes of drugs were in it, she reacted literally as if she had opened the box and found a severed head inside. I was traveling that day, and I got calls on my cell phone while I was in a meeting and she was literally hyperventilating into the phone. She decided right then that the cycles was cancelled.

The next morning she decided she would try to continue the cycle.

That afternoon she cancelled it again.

Today its back on.

I'm going fucking crazy.