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October, 2010:

The C-Word



And that was the sound of my faux-OCD-self coming to a complete halt in this baby making business. NO, we’ve not put our plans on hold, just the obsessing part. And when I talk about the obsessing part… in all fairness, there is no “WE” involved…. just little ol’ mature-maternal-baby-making aged me.

When you find yourself peeing on a pregnancy test for the third time in one day, you might have a problem. And the crabbiness that results from monitoring my barren womb THAT closely…ON TOP of having just given up coffee…. well, that doesn’t exactly build the type of environment that makes the baby MAKING part of the equation organically happen. Do you get what I’m saying??

Sandy’s Simple How NOT to Make a Baby Equation:

Me (-coffee) + obsessing = shrew

shrew + man = no nudge-nudge-wink-wink

IF (nudge-nudge-wink-wink = NO)   THEN (no babies)

It was with the above knowledge in mind that I sat in the kitchen with the prescription of Clomid in my hand. Clomid, for those of you who are unfamiliar, is a common fertility medicine. It will trick your body and mess with your hormones to pop out some eggs. Some of the side effects include multiples (as in TWINS), hot flashes, bloating, and mood swings. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t the twins part of that information that scared me. Like I said before, I’m too old to be havin’ to have babies one at a time, so twins would be a welcome Clomid side effect.  HOWEVER,  it was THE OTHER side effects that had me petrified. I feared what would happen to my relationship if I was a woman experiencing PMS on steroids.

So it’s with Scott’s blessing that I’m taking a break from all the extra’s involved in this process. I’ve not taken my temperature in over a week and there has been no peeing on any sort of stick. … and the Clomid remains in its container…… for now.

Kicking the Cup…

I don’t mean to complain, but it seems to me that in this baby making business  I’m getting the shorter end of the stick. Where I’ve endured surgery, diet, needles, pills, and more than one doctors appointment that had me hearing the phrase, “This might pinch a little bit…”, the only doctors appointment Scott ever had involved porn and there was an orgasm at the end.

AND NOW, after being told by my acupuncturist that coffee (all kinds, even decaf) could cut my fertility in half, I’ve given up coffee. COFFEE!

FINALLY I have some sympathy for Scott. Because while I have to give up coffee, he’s the one that has to deal with an uncaffeinated-PMSy-I’m-STILL not-pregnant me. And that’s when our sticks seem to be a little bit closer in size… Though, probably even shorter. When I’m in THAT sort of mood, I’d be grabbing both those sticks and hitting the crap out of things… metaphorically speaking, of course!

Look at me: Day five without coffee! Yes, it’s true…. I sandy, the self proclaimed Caffeine Queen- Death Before Decaf -Starbucks is my hometown- fueled by caffeine ME…. has kicked the cup!

Someday when the twins* are old enough to ask me, “Mommy, how much do you love us?? I’ll say, “More than coffee sweeties… more than coffee.”

(*Yes, twins. I’ve decided twins are the way to go, since I’m far to old to waste time popping them out one by one!)


Here’s some pictorial proof….

His Appointment:

Scott actually took a picture of the Porn-O-Matic entertainment center... BEFORE he got down to business.

Scott actually took a picture of the Porn-O-Matic entertainment center… BEFORE he got down to business.

And Here is a picture of one of my appointments:

Not having plastic surgery....

Not having plastic surgery....

Universe are you there? It’s me… Sandy.

I was truly expecting that I’d be expecting after only one month of trying. From the depths of my inner being I just KNEW it was fated.  After all, I AM a positive thinker.

Perhaps I didn’t phrase it correctly when I presented the universe with my intentions, because here I am five months later and my womb is still vacant.

After the deed wasn’t accomplished in that first month… I began to worry. This is fated, right? RIGHT?!?!??  Well, if the Universe was going to make me work for this, then I decided I’d better get serious about it…. Time to get educated. Time to get my laptop out and visit some forums…..

Immediately I encountered a problem…. I had no friggon idea what they were talking about. I mean, literally… no idea what they were even discussing. See for yourself, here’s a typical forum post:

“Me and my DH BD’d 15 days ago, then he had to go out-of-town. When he got back, 5 days ago, we bd again. Now I’m 6dpo and I couldn’t help but poas, because I’m addicted lol. Thing is, I got a BFP!!!! Does that mean I calculated wrong?!?”

Seriously! That’s what It was like. I felt like I was back in school and having to look up every word I didn’t understand… jotting down the definitions, so I would remember what they meant for the next time.

(FYI: the above fictitious post was a woman talking about having sex with her husband 15 days ago and then again after his business trip, 5 days ago. She’s now thinking shes 6 days after ovulation and she got a positive pregnancy test. So she’s thinking that she messed up her ovulation calculations.)

When I first started wandering around the forums, I was SHOCKED at how many YOUNG women out there are unable to get pregnant. How is this possible?? And what does that mean for me? Here are 20 year old’s talking about how they’ve been trying to conceive for months and months…. and still nothing. There are posts I read from women in their early 30’s who had already opted into IVF treatments and have still not gotten pregnant…. So five months in, compared to many of the women on the forums, doesn’t seem very far in it at all. However, my being 40 adds more pressure to the timing. For a woman of mature maternal age, the game changes. It’s like counting in dog years…… my eggs have no doubt accelerated their aging process and now are kickin’ it 7 times as fast as a 20 year olds!

I promised myself that I would not panic…. I would not become as crazy as some of the crazy I witnessed on the forums. I would not start stomping my feet (metaphorically or otherwise) while yelling at the universe about how my biological clock is TIC-TIC-TICKING!!!! And though the 15 pregnancy tests and 25 ovulation test strips underneath my bathroom sink are sorta screaming, “Tooooo late, you’re there…” I am trying to do my best to keep sane, stay positive and not give up hope.

But my foot is twitching and I might feel a stomp coming on….

Reverse and Rewind….

When I first met Scott, I was still riding the high off of my overdose on relationship self-help books. I was going through my “put it all on the table” phase. I was determined to show him all my cards and for him to show all of his too. The theory behind this is: if you let it all hang out, sure you might scare off a few, but you’re more likely to find THE someone who will love you for exactly who you are…. thus avoiding the awkwardness of being 2 year into a relationship and finally admitting that you never really liked football and you prefer to cook once every two weeks.

A real convert of the I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours thinking, I took every opportunity to NOT hide who I was. Where some (sane) 38 year old women might try to hide their age from the hot 28 year old they find themselves lucky enough to be on a date with…. I compulsively dropped my age several times during those first few dates. I just didn’t want him to ever say, “You never told me you were THAT old!” Because I did….over and over again. Also, with no fear I broached the subject of children. I was able to get out of him his expectations for children in his future and I remember telling him that because my tubes were tied and I was 38, it would take medical intervention or adoption for us to ever have kids together.

Yes, I know… nothing like a little playful-flirty, “You have beautiful eyes…. by the way my tubes are tied and my eggs are old, so we might need to see a fertility doctor….gawd, you’ve got a gorgeous smile too….”

Fast forward several months…..

I knew that having kids was very important to Scott. I enjoyed having my daughter and was not against doing it again. Hell, she was almost 18… so I knew I could get a kid to the finish line without screwing them up too bad. And that was on my first go at parenthood, imagine what I could do on my second try!

I decided to talk to my doctor about whether or not having kids was even an option for me. Blood tests were ordered, needles inserted, blood work sent off…. and then finally the results were in. My numbers were pretty damn impressive for a woman of 38. In fact, if my stats could go to bars, they might just get carded!

Fast forward several more months…..

He’s THE ONE. I’m THE ONE. We’re blissful. But time is not on my baby-making side. So instead of a few years of uninterrupted-by-poopie-diaper happiness…. we decide to jump into the baby making.

Fast forward a several weeks……

I researched my insurance options for getting my tubes reversed (none), I researched doctors who perform the surgery (several), and narrowed down my choices (few).

Fast forward several more weeks….

If you want to feel old at 39, sit in a fertility clinic, next to your younger paramour and listen to how old your woman bits are.

Fast forward a few more weeks….

I get wheeled in, I get wheeled out….. they could rebuild me, they had the technology!

Fast forward to present……

If something interests me, REALLY interests me, then I’m all over it. I will research that puppy to its death. Some might call this “obsessing”, but I prefer to call it “getting educated”. Fertility and pregnancy have become my new area of interest. True, I already have been pregnant before, so you’d think it’s like riding a bike…. but this is not the case since there was no planning with her. She was my serendipity baby and a happy surprise.

This time it’s going to be different….. this time it’s going to take some work!

To be continued…..

Cougar Town has babies?!??

Four months ago I found myself being wheeled into an operating room to a tune of James Brown. At least I think it was James Brown…I was a little distracted, it was mid-song and like I said, I was just about to have surgery. Once they put me on the table, the nurse turned off the music. If I’m to believe every tv-drama surgery I’ve ever watched, no doubt the music went back on once the scalpel hit my skin.

There I was, about to turn back time. No, not plastic surgery…. tubal ligation reversal. My womb was about to get back into action. My eggs were about to have free reign of my tubes. The girls were gonna be able to mingle. And if they got lucky and actually hooked up….. well then, more mini-me’s will walk the planet.

Yup, I know what you’re thinking….. plastic surgery makes more sense. After all, I’m 40, already a parent of an on-her-way-out-of-the-nest 18 year old daughter, and in a relationship with a much younger man. Why not a little Botox in the crows-feet, instead of trying to hear the pitter-patter of babies feet?!

So here I am….. a few months into this unfamiliar territory of TRYING to get pregnant. And I’ve got to tell you, after all the reading, temp taking, vitamin popping, doctor consulting and diet fixing……. I’m beginning to think it would be a hellava lot easier to just let the condom break!

Meanwhile…. I’ve decided to write about it. To be continued….