The Joke's On Me or The Long Con

Hello Internet! Remember back in April when I said I thought the universe might be trying to pull a long con on me? Well, for those of you not already in on the joke, I was right. Just a few days after the S.O. and I had a conversation about how it's probably all for the best for us to not have a baby, I find out that I just might be after all.

That's right Internet, I am pregnant, in the family way, knocked up, preggers, expecting, have a bun in the oven. And no, we didn't plan it to happen this way. It just did. In fact, the so-called fertility specialists told us we had about a 1 percent chance of getting pregnant "the natural way." (Those specialists can kiss my ass, by the way).

It's all quite scary and exciting at the same time, like a really good zombie movie or a roller coaster. In fact, it's almost exactly like those things, I'm scared, but having a good time and completely nauseous most of the time.

Don't try to tell me all the things that can go wrong. And I don't want to hear anyone's horror stories. I've heard enough of them anyway -- from the scary one-in-a-million birth defects they feature on TLC to the former co-worker who told my pregnant friend that the air in Colorado could cause a miscarriage (sorry, I have to breathe!) to all the things that can happen to my body during and after pregnancy. At this point, I kind of figure the universe will have it's joke and I will have a baby at 43. Hey, if the celebrities can do it, I can do it.

With all that said, I promise to try to not talk about it all the time. But once the baby is born, expect plenty of photos and stories about the adorable (and maddening) things that happen around our house.

Here's the first of the photos. Although I'm pretty sure that's a panda.

Hi ya, Big Boy

Yesterday, I went to my friend's house so she could cut my hair and make it look like a color that actually exists in nature (yes, they call in "Natural Instincts" but it doesn't look all that natural when you put it over pre-existing dyed blond hair, but that's probably a story for another entry). She recently had a baby boy, and this is the first time I got to see him -- other than a picture on Facebook, in which he looked oddly spray tanned. (He's not.)

During the course of the afternoon, I got to hold the boy a few times. He's quite cute and seems so tiny. I held him and walked around with him for a bit while my friend made us some lunch. During that time, he decided it would be a really good idea to pee and let some leak out the diaper -- just a couple of drops, but still it's pee. I have to wonder if I should be flattered.

It turns out that having a kid is kind of a big job. And my friend, who recently turned 40, isn't so sure she wants to try for a second one. I don't judge -- OK, yeah, I'm Judgey McJudgerson, but I don't judge my friends in regards to their parenting choices and styles -- but she did seem to be pretty darn tired and was obviously feeling like she was nothing more than a dairy for this little man.

Don't get me wrong, she's deliriously happy with this baby. She was just exhausted and realizing (as I'm sure all new parents do, no matter how prepared) that having a kid is way more work than they thought.

I have accepted the fact that the universe doesn't want me to have a baby. But there is a part of me that thinks the universe has a grand scheme to lull me into a false sense of security, then years from now, when I'm contentedly settled into my mid-40s -- BAM! -- pregnant. Is it wrong that I think the universe is trying to pull a long con on me?

Final day

Today is the last day of NaBloPoMo, and I made it. Granted, I posted plenty of photos and random crap. But then, isn't that why you visit my blog?

Don't worry, today will be no exception.

It's also the last day of our adventures in puppy sitting, and I've reached a couple of conclusions. I am not cut out for puppies or babies. I'm too old and impatient. What do you mean you have to go outside at 2 a.m.? What do you mean you can't hold it as long as my 9-year-old dog? Ack! You had an accident! What is wrong with you? (Yes, I have unreasonable expectations. I also expect my own dog to be able to understand why she shouldn't bark at people outside on the street and to speak English.)

Just imagine how I'd be with a human baby. Don't you have a job yet? When do you start school so I can go back to blogging and chatting online?

Now, this isn't to make my dear friend feel bad, because I volunteered freely and with no pressure. I know it would have been easier if I hadn't felt so crappy off and on all weekend. Because despite the pooping and peeing -- and one pretty big (smelly) accident -- I have to admit. He's awfully damn cute.

And, puppy-sitting has not put me off the idea of getting a kitten. Go figure.

Pincushion

Why would someone voluntarily allow herself to have pin pushed into various parts of her body, including her ears and forehead? Because she’s willing to try it if it might help her become a mother. Don’t worry, I know how babies are made. But apparently, it’s kind of amazing that the human race hasn’t died off, considering how difficult it is for an egg to get impregnated, implant itself and then grow into a whole real-live human being. I’ve read that acupuncture can help the process along. And a good friend tried it while going through IVF. It can’t hurt — well, it can’t harm me. But it really doesn’t hurt all that much. It’s more of a bizarre sensation. Sometimes it feels like electricity. Sometimes it just feels like a small prick (minds out of the gutter people). And once all the needles are in, you get to lay perfectly still for 45 minutes. I have been known to drift off quite comfortably. I haven’t been having treatments long enough to know if they’ll actually help. But 45 minutes of uninterrupted, guilt-free napping? I can get behind that. Sometimes I see a little spot of blood or a small bruise at the needle site, but they hurt a lot less than the paper cuts I give myself on a regular basis or the stubbed toes from the bed frame in the middle of the night. And I’m 99.99% sure that paper cuts and stubbed toes do absolutely nothing to improve my chi and help me have a baby.

A new phase begins

I’ve been off the grid blogwise for awhile, but now I’m back.

After six months of trying to conceive, I got pregnant, only to miscarry a mere eight weeks later. Because I don’t know exactly what went wrong — through my own research as a cyberchondriac, I’ve determined that I had a blighted ovum and there’s nothing you can do about it — and I really don’t want to go through another miscarriage, I’ve decided to do everything I can to help my 39-year-old eggs along.

I started seeing an acupuncturist. I've been taking a regime of Chinese herbs (some more foul than you can imagine). I’ve been taking my basal body temperature daily (and getting frustrated at the lack of a digital thermometer that will actually work for more than one effing week). I've cut way way back on soda of any kind and am trying to watch what I eat (with varying degrees of success)

We've been told to wait to try to conceive for three months. By that time, I will be knocking on 40’s door. I used to think if I weren’t a mother by the time I was 40, I’d never be. Now, I know that if I really want to be a mom, I’m going to be one of those women who are mistaken for her kid’s grandma. And I’m ok with that. Funny to think that something I never thought I wanted is the one thing that totally occupies my thoughts now.

So, if you’re not interested in reading about my adventures in acupuncture or how disgusting ginseng tastes, you probably want to move along now.