Thursday, May 29, 2008

"Best Day Ever"

Mel @ Stirrup Queens has asked for help on behalf of another blogger. Please clickOur Own Creationto head over to Allison's blog and help out. It doesn't take much, just a simple click. Can you help me help a fellow blogger? Please?

Sunday, May 11, 2008

In Memorium


Methos went outside Thursday morning, never to return.

Methos Trouble Underfoot came into our lives 2 1/2 years ago, when he was a 6 week old bundle of white fur. Within 3 hours of his arrival, he had the house completely under his control. He was fearless then, and he'd stayed that way. When yelled at, he didn't run...he'd just hunker down as small as possible and look up at you with those blue eyes and meow, as if to say "See me? I'm small and cute and cuddly and I purr really loud. You know you love me. Don't me mad. I'm cute!" I've always had trouble keeping him inside - he came from outside, and that's where he wanted to be. After a year of fighting him I started letting him go when he'd sneak out and in the past six months I've been letting him out when he asked. This...this was my downfall.

For you see, he went outside Thursday morning when the in-laws left. Before I went to bed that night, I went outside and called for him because I don't like him to be out all night. I also figured he was hungry, as he ALWAYS comes home to eat. There was no answer, but I didn't think much of it since he does sometimes stay out all night...but he comes in when FIL leaves in the morning. When I got up, he wasn't in. I called for him again, but no answer. A few hours later I tried again...and that's when I began to panic. Every hour I'd go out and call for him. When Aaron got home, we went to look for him. I just knew he'd be in the patch of tall weeds across the street and that he wouldn't be alive. I was right. He got clipped by a car, or at least that's the best we can figure.

Methos has a special place in my life. I guess you could say he's my infertility pet. When he showed up on my doorstep, I felt as if God was saying "I'm sorry you can't have children. I know you want a little here, have Methos." Methos was a very different kitty from Winnie, who I believe God gave me because I wanted a little girl. They are definitely as different as boys and girls. In human years I think Methos was reaching his whiny, angsty teen years recently. These two cats are more human that some people I know - so full of personality and love and talk. When Aaron told me that Methos was gone I felt a stab and twist deep in my body - as if my uterus had been stabbed. Not only have I lost a pet, I've lost my child. (This is not meant to be a direct comparison to the loss of a child - nothing equates that, nothing.)

I am back to living in the land of "what ifs" and wishing that I could have the innocence of my youth once again, when I could allow people to comfort me with platitudes and believing the lies we tell each other. "I'm sure it was quick and he didn't suffer" or "He's in a better place now" or "there's nothing you could have done." I'm busy tormenting myself with "did he get hit because he was running to me when I called him? Why didn't I hear his yowls of pain? Why didn't I know he was hurt? Why didn't I go looking for him Thursday night? If I had found him just after he was hit, could I have saved him? Who did this to him and why didn't they stop? Why did God take my boykitty away from me? Why did I let him go outside, especially when I knew the dangers?" I know that there are no answers and I expect none. I imagine I'll stop looking and listening for him eventually. But for now, the house is too quiet without Methos the Monster and his purring and talking.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Deep thoughts

This post on BlogHer that was written by Mel really got me thinking. Enough thinking that I actually signed up for an account just so I could comment. My comment almost turned itself into an entire blog entry, so I thought I'd bring it here and expand on it a bit.

My comment there reads:

When we first started TTC, I went shopping crazy. Well, crazy for me, anyhow. I bought anything and everything Tigger related I could find: toddler toothbrushes, crib and twin sheet sets, pillow to match the sets, bibs, a rocking tigger (like a rocking horse), a car window shade. If it was Tigger and I saw it, I bought it.

We're going on four years now with no luck. We're no longer actively ttcing. Two years ago I put all the Tigger items into a storage unit,for use at a later date (theoretically). After reading this article, I realized something that I have no answer for and that makes me slightly panicky: My inlaws are moving out, and all my things from the storage unit are going to be coming back into the house. That means that all that baby stuff I've stashed is coming back too. I have to find a place to hide it where I will never come across it again. Why don't I get rid of it? I can't bear to. If I do, I feel like I really AM giving up.

I can understand the no-longer-in-the-trenches women who feel hesitant to buy things. I can understand those who have and are now terrified. It's as if by purchasing something you're just tempting karma to come get you. But if you don't, then those who don't understand you guilt you. I really don't think there is a win on any side to this whole deal.

I thought about my comment the entire time I was taking my lab exam. I thought about it while I read the paper during lunch. I'm sitting here in the computer lab, thinking about it again. I read Mel's response to my comment and thought some more. I thought about all the room we're going to have when the in-laws move out and yet I don't seem to have a place to hide something. Having it in storage is one thing - I rarely go to our storage unit. Putting it somewhere in the house where it could leap out and get me at any moment, or cause me to look sideways at the closet where I put it every time I see it doesn't sound like a good idea to me. I can only think of one thing to do with it - use it.

You see, the current space plan is this: Aaron and his friends are going to use the back living room as a place to game every Saturday. This means that Fred and Wilma will be coming over and bringing their children. Attached to the back living room is the room that MIL & FIL are using for their bedroom, complete with a closet. We're planning on putting the spare twin-sized bed back there and turning that room into a place for the children to play. It will give them a place to play, and they'll have to get past everyone to get into another part of the house - which is forbidden, because the house is not child-proofed and I have no plans to make it so. The bed will give them a place to crash if it's time for bed. So...perhaps I'll put the twin sheets on that bed, put the rocking tigger out for the oldest to play on.

Perhaps being confronted with things on a daily basis will make them lose some of their power. It's the fear of the unknown that gets us, I think. No matter how much we know, we still can't control or know everything and it scares us. We allow things to have power over us, such as I have with these toys. Yes, I bought them for my someday child. There might still be a someday child...but in the meantime, shouldn't these toys be loved for and used by children, even if it's not mine? Why am I so afraid of these items?

I knew a girl long ago on the WebMD JSO forums who used to try on all her clothes with one of the big salad/mixing bowls strapped to her tummy so she could see what the specific clothing item would look like when she was pregnant. I remember thinking "Why would you torture yourself that way?" and that was BEFORE I ever knew I was infertile (or subfertile, according to one doc). About a year ago or so, I went shopping for shirts and a comfortable bra. I knew that, given my body shape, maternity clothes are actually fairly flattering on I went to Motherhood. When I went to try on a shirt, there was a foam "belly" in the dressing room...presumably so you could see what the clothes would look like when you started showing a little more. I debated with myself, and then put it on and tried on my shirt. I showed my husband, then took off the shirt and belly and left the store. Why did I torture myself that way, knowing what I do? I don't have an answer, except that my brain said "This is the only time you're going to see yourself this way."

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Bitter much?

Some days I think I'm ok - and I think this is true for MOST days. I no longer have the urge to scream every time I see Wilma with her children. I no longer count the pregnant bellies I see in the store, or feel the need to point them out to Aaron by saying "Oh look...there's another one." This is not to say that I don't still look at babies wistfully, or get upset when I'm surrounded by child-talk.

Other days, however, I feel warped. I hide behind armor made of bitter and distilled anger and frustration. Case in point: We are currently studying the reproductive system in my physiology class. I could easily skip this section and probably still pass, but I'm going on the off-chance that I might actually learn something. Yesterday we were covering the female system. My professor (whom I dearly love) was trying to explain the ovarian cycle, and how ovaries and the oviduct work, and how they don't touch (which can lead to ectopic pregnancies and endo ending up in the body cavity). To demonstrate this, she had me make a fist and hold up my arm. Y'all - I got to be an ovary. My first thought? "Well, at least my ovary has SOME use." I was slightly shocked at my inner voice, but then thought "well, that's about normal for me these days."

You see, instead of getting angry or sad, I just turn sarcastic and bitter. It works for me - hide behind the flippancy that still has a ring of truth to it. I do this with everything else medical that bothers me. I still remember going to a neurologist about the pain in my spine, and how random bits of my legs and feet kept going to sleep. He said "well, you're awfully flippant. It doesn't seem to be bothering you much." Dude...if it didn't bother me I wouldn't be here. I just can't face it fully on, because I'll work myself into a frenzy and come apart at the seams. It appears I've done the same thing with being infertile. It still bothers me, but if I can deal with it through being flippant...I'm ok.

Now if you'll pardon me, I'm going to go find something to wash the bitter taste out of my mouth.