Way to inflate my ego ladies!

The wonderful Mrs. Cindy Lou Who gave me a Bloggy Friendship Award!!!  So cool!

"These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers."

Hey, if you think that writing about my love of the F-bomb (and TMI about my dysfunctional lady parts) qualifies me as "exceedingly charming," more power to ya.

So, in the spirit of bloggy friendship, here are some people whose writing helps me keep my sanity intact:

First off is TOOJ.  I <3 you girl!  You make me think.  And even if you didn't, I'd tune in just to see the pics of your adorable babies!

Emily.  It is SO nice to be able to talk to a woman whose "been there."  And I stole your hometown, so I owe ya!

Yaya.  I know you just got this one, and I KNOW you never pass them around, but I don't care!!!!  You are my sister in infertility, and you have been extraordinarily patient in answering all of my nosy questions.

Mary.  You love Stephen Colbert, I love Stephen Colbert.  It was meant to be.  Plus, as a fellow military wife, I gotta represent!!!

Andrea.  Your witty repartee usually makes me spit out/choke on my coffee.  And it is soooo worth it.

And last, but not least, Heidi.  You are my doppelganger.  Hell we're so alike that every time we talk, we rip another hole in the space/time continuum.  I can always count on an honest opinion from you.

Make sure ya'll visit all these ladies and give them some love!!! Their writing is well worth the trip.

So my kid follows me into the bathroom this morning...

... and I get a round of applause from the peanut gallery! 

"YAY MOMMY!!!!  You're a big girl, you peed in the potty!!!!  YAAAYYY!!!!  High five Mommy!!!!"

At least the potty training positive reinforcement seems to have sunk in.

So my hubby actually caught a break today...

... because I caught a nasty cold and totally lost my voice.  All I could do was glare and make obscene hand gestures at him while he laughed his ass off at my voice-challenged self.


To make things even better, this is the week my kid decided that she was going to stop taking naps. 


Oh, and my mother in law is coming to visit.  On Friday.  And before Friday I need to get unsick, vacuum, make some meals and stick them in the freezer, bake muffins and cookies, sweep and mop the floors, run the steam cleaner over all the latest stains, finish organizing the master bedroom, get the last of my pictures up on the wall, clean the guest room (easier said than done, I still have unpacked boxes in there!), deep clean all three bathrooms...


Anyone wanna come over and babysit my kid while I clean?  Anyone?

Why did the Reproductive Endocrinologist cross the street?

Because he saw a well-dressed, affluent infertile woman on the other side of the road!

Seriously, I don't even want to THINK about what I would be paying the damn fertility doc if I didn't have decent insurance.

So, the visit with the doctor went well.  He basically told me that I just don't ovulate, period.  Apparently my daughter is a total anomaly who shouldn't exist right now- she proves that I've ovulated at least once in my lifetime!  I got a good prognosis overall.  The docs are going to pump me full of hormones to try and get my eggs to be good little eggs and actually come down out of the ovaries (for once).

I got my thyroid medication adjusted (thank you God).  The hormone regimen I'm on right now consists of Provera (to force start my period) and Clomid to make my ovaries work like they should.  The Provera is kicking my ass into next week, I am SO FREAKIN TIRED.  I don't even want to think about the havoc the Clomid and it's little hormone buddies will cause.

The doc also wants my hubby to give a sperm sample.  I told the doctor that I'm sure he would be just thrilled.  The doc told me "Hey, the rooms are built to accomodate two- think of it as a date!"  An RE with a sense of humor.  Lovely.

Case in point, I had a cervical swab done (another one of those little procedures that "don't hurt").  The doctor came back the room afterwards and told me, "At least we know your husband's sperm is healthy, we could see it wriggling all around the petri dish!  You're a good patient, I don't even have to order you to have regular intercourse!"

I'm pretty hard to shake up, but even I was totally paralyzed with laughter at that point!

Well, at least the jokes were enough to distract me from the metal being shoved up my hoo-ha!  And that mental picture my dears, is worth a thousand words.

Will work for sanity...

Lately I've been caught in a giant catch-22:  I love staying at home with my kid, but staying home with my kid is driving me insane.  Really, INSANE.  I love my child to death but there's only so much housework you can do, only so many books that can be read aloud, only so many episodes of Barney that can be watched before you feel like killing your husband embarking on a search for more intellectual stimulation.

I need a job.  But I don't want to leave my house.

Does my entire life consist of catch-22's?  Don't answer that.

I've found what seems like a perfectly acceptable option:  starting an in-home daycare.  Unfortunately, it's going to have to be in MY house but we can't always get everything we want, now can we?  The military has an amazing training program for home daycare providers.  The training, toys, and equipment- all free.  You get enrolled in a state nutrition program that provides chow for all the kiddos (including my own kid, and that my friends is worth it's weight in freakin GOLD).

So all in all, this daycare thing sounds pretty good.  I'll have a reason to get my lazy butt up in the morning, my kiddo will have playmates.  Weekends, holidays, and military holidays would be days off.

Does it sound like I'm trying too hard to talk myself into this?

I like kids, I really do.  I just don't like punk-ass little kids who whine and cry above and beyond the call of duty.  Nothing some time in the corner wouldn't cure but STILL.  What if I start up this thing and wind up with a punk-ass kid?  Sigh.  I guess I'll just have to throw caution to the wind and take my chances.

And then there's the money.  I would be able to earn up to two grand a month (gross) watching six kids (which is the program limit, mine included) five days a week.    The extra money would be fantabulous; I'd be able to buy some really fantastic shoes pay off a huge chunk of debt faster than I had planned.

So what do ya'll think?  Should I go ahead with this plan?  Is there anything ya'll think I haven't considered yet?  (By the way, my hubby does approve of said home-based business.  As long as HE doesn't have to change any diapers, he's game.  Freakin man.)

God? Goooood? HEY GOD!!!! This is NOT what I ordered!!!!

So, the reality of this whole being infertile thing is starting to hit me, HARD.  What can I say, self-preserving denial has always been a particular talent of mine.  I have my first appointment with my Reproductive Endocrinologist on March 19th.  And I am terrified.  I'm praying that my thyroid disease is the cause of all my problems, because that's fixable.  I'm so scared that this doctor will find out that there are other things wrong with my lady parts.

With secondary infertility comes a strange sort of survivor's guilt.  So many women would die for just one child, and I already have a beautiful little girl (who, at the moment, is forcing me to type one-handed because she's attached to my arm like a little monkey).  I feel like I sound ungrateful for wanting another baby so badly.  I feel like I should just shut my mouth and praise God for the one child He's blessed me with. 

I have to remember to ask my neighbor to watch my kid, because I can't take her with me to the freaking fertility clinic.  I can't imagine inflicting my toddler on a waiting room full of women who can't get pregnant.  They'd throw my ass out the door! 

It's been 13 months since my husband and I started trying for another baby.  For fuck's sake, I got pregnant the first time on the first try.  Literally, I conceived THAT MONTH.  It's maddening to think about.

Please keep your fingers crossed for me!  I'm going to go keep myself busy cleaning house and putting my pictures up on the wall.

I swear to God I ran my blog name through Google before I wrote my first post...

Apparently, I am a plagiarist.  How was I supposed to know about a parenting book that was published when I was 15?  Oh well.  I was actually trying to rip off the title of the movie Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, but "Attack of the 3 Foot Toddler" was too much of a mouthful.