… What Would You Say to Your Family?

Continuing with our series: “If You KNEW You Would be pregnant tomorrow, what would you say…” (Check out the first 2 blog posts: “…What would you say… to your doctor?” and “… to your friends” (specifically friends with kids who have irritated you, upset you, depressed you, and angered you no end throughout your infertility struggles. http://laughingisconceivable.com)) So now, how about your family?

 

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I’m Just in it for the Field Trips

Call me selfish, but school to me is all about the field trips. More precisely: It’s all about me going on field trips.

I tell people I go on my kids’ field trips, because my mother never did and I want my kids to be able to remember those experiences. That’s only a half-truth. Yes, my mother rarely went on field trips and I wish she’d gone on more. But the whole truth is that when my kids come home with a flyer about one, I wave it in the air and say: “Oh boy oh boy a field trip!” every single time. The other truth is: My kids would rather I not go. In fact, my daughter’s exact words before the last one were: “Do you have to come to every single one?”

field trip in museum

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Funny Fertility Flashbacks (I Hope) #8

So today is the last day of us looking back at some fan fave posts of the past year+. Hope you’ve enjoyed a yuk or two down memory lane. I’ll be getting off my fat ass and posting some new stuff on Monday. Have a great weekend!

“Holidays: I’m Not Convinced”

Originally Posted: Sept 8, 2010 (Wednesday)

So, what were we talking about? Oh right. This week is filled with holidays for me. From Labor day to Rosh Hashanah, (the Jewish New Year).

Yesterday we were talking about how the infertile among us dread holidays and despise family functions. And my theory (my Masters thesis) is that most people, those with normally functioning reproductive systems included, also hate going to these wingdings. And this is why: Continue reading

Let the Grilling Begin! (Tuesday)

So, what were we talking about? Oh right. Preparing for the long weekend ahead and the mandatory Memorial Day barbecue: The unofficial start of summer for grill gluttons and beer guzzling alcoholics everywhere.  (Start with Monday’s post if you can.)

The perfect place to celebrate Memorial Day weekend for me would be at a monastery where the monks take a vow of silence: The ideal barbecue: Plenty of food and no talking.

And even if there was talking, nobody would be talking about their kids, and there’d be none running around (perhaps there’d be some running around at an apartment complex a half-mile down the road with a connecting underground tunnel to the monastery, but nobody would likely bring that up at the cook-out.)  

But since most of us don’t have many monks attending our block parties, we have to work with what we got.

Sometimes as infertiles, you hold your breath as a big wingding approaches. “Will people ask us personal questions? Will we have to explain why we have no kids yet?”

No need to worry this time. For this weekend’s barbecue, don’t be concerned about the baby-making details. And don’t bother buying a cattle car full of beef, pork, or chicken either. Look around the neighborhood. Plenty to grill right here. Continue reading

I’ve Met ALL SORTS of Mothers in My Life (Thursday)

(Start with “Monday” if you can. We’re giving Mother’s Day and the days following, the tribute they deserve: With plenty of good old fashioned anger and violence.)

(And if you’d like to see other aspects of my agressive personality, please do subscribe to this blog for weekly newsletters always guaranteed to be full of… well let’s just say… info.)

So, what were we talking about? Oh right. The depressing, Hallmark-induced, pancake house celebrating, 24 dollars a dozen half-dead roses delivered to the wrong house on the right day or the right house on the wrong day—holiday that we affectionately (and sarcastically) refer to as “Mother’s Day”.

Enough I say! Today has been declared another holiday for all of us who survived Sunday’s debacle. I proclaim today to be: “Give Yourself a Cookie Day!”  Continue reading

(Infertility-Related) Hours of My Life That I Want Back (Monday)

Okay so I did it. It was something I didn’t want to do but I did it. It was against my better judgement, but I did it. I still have no idea why I did it, but I did it. I regret that I did it but now I did it and I can’t take it back… I changed the damn clocks. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on kvetching about changing the clocks for the next five days. That would be very cruel and extremely unusual punishment.

What we are going to be discussing here is what the “changing of the clocks” represents (besides my yearly ritual of trying desperately for a month to reclaim that hour of sleep that I lost and never seem to be able to find. It should straighten me back out in the fall when we change the clocks back …it just never seems to work out that way for me. I need my hour now! Whom do I talk to? What petition do I sign? What do I boycott? Where do I march?) 

What it all means, besides that I’m disproportionately exhausted over this one measly hour, is that Spring is approaching.

How do you feel about that? Does it mean, new season, new beginning to you? Or does it conjure up thoughts of “April showers bring May baby showers?”

Every season, has different meanings for different people and definitely different meanings for infertile people. So this week, in honor of Spring, I’m going to sprinkle some seeds in the dirt with a lot a lot a lot of fertilizer, water it down…and see what grows… pretty much what I always do.      

And for those of you who are places where you don’t get to experience the thrill of daylight savings time:  

So for people in places where you don’t change the clocks let me explain why we do it here. Okay, I can’t. I think it has something to do with longer work days but I feel more like it’s somebody on a big power trip just screwing with  all of us: “I’m going to get millions of people to change their clocks… I’ll bet nobody calls me ‘short’ anymore!”

The entire hoopla goes like this: In the Spring we move the clocks forward one hour. In the Fall, we put them back…Whoo ha. We need that hour back to rest up from all of the excitement.   

“The changing of the clocks” ritual is not quite as exciting as the “The changing of the guards” at Buckingham palace… At my house, “The changing of the clocks” ceremony entails my husband sauntering into the kitchen in his underwear, in the dark, with his eyes closed to change the clock on the microwave that we both forgot about the night before–while it’s a twice yearly event–I don’t imagine it would be much of a tourist attraction.  We don’t usually bother closing the curtains in the kitchen and even the neighbors don’t seem to care.

Listen I gotta go. If I’m not going to get my hour sleep, I’m at least going to find somebody to whine to about it for an hour… maybe two.

I’ll talk with ya again tomorrow.

Stress & Fertility Treatments: “What Could it Hurt?” (Friday)

(Start with “Monday” if you can. I’m just back from vacation this week, so if the posts are terrible I can’t really blame it on exhaustion. Let me know if I need to seek another excuse will ya?)

So, what were we talking about? Oh right. The new study that says that stress doesn’t hurt our chances of getting pregnant via fertility treatments. If you’ve been in the thick of treatments for a while, let me ask you this: That very first day when you set foot into a fertility clinic..think back..think way way back… If you knew at the very beginning of it all that stress couldn’t do diddly to keep you from getting pregnant…What would you have done differently? Continue reading

Infertility, Vacations, & Other Stressful Events (Friday)

(Start with “Tuesday” if you can. I didn’t post on Monday, Presidents’ Day. Presidents’ Day. What a gyp to Abraham Lincoln and George Washington. Two great men who get lumped together on what typically is neither of their birthdays just because they were both born in February. It’s like those poor kids who are born in December. “We won’t give you anything now. It’s almost Christmas. We’ll just give you one big present then…. every year for the rest of your life.”)

So, what were we talking about? Oh right. The emotional baggage we shouldn’t take along with us on our getaways from infertility. But let’s face it, a lot of us, no matter how much we promise ourselves we won’t… always waaaaay overpack. Continue reading

The Infertility Superbowl: Wanna Bet I’ll Get Pregnant? (Friday)

(Start with “Monday” if you can. I was hilarious on Monday. Humorous on Tuesday, Mildly amusing on Wednesday, Smirk-inducing on Thursday; Friday… You’ll be lucky if I put the words in any particular order…. If you want to see what I’m like on Saturday, please subscribe. That’s when I send my weekly update with some blog info and a bit more wacky me to get you through an otherwise sane weekend……….Also, There’s a seminar going on Tuesday, Feb. 15 for those of you anywhere near Long Island NY about acupuncture and fertility treatments http://tinyurl.com/4u2u98l . There will be an RE there also.)     

So, what were we talking about? Oh right. How unnaturally attached I am to the sport of football and its effects on my fertility treatments. Okay, so for four days I’ve been rambling on about the connection between the superbowl and infertility. And by now you’ve undoubtedly discovered that there isn’t any. The only thing they have in common is “me”. 

Okay, that’s not totally true.

What they both have in common is (drumroll please):  In either one—–Anything can happen. Continue reading

The Infertility Superbowl: Wanna Bet I’ll Get Pregnant? (Thursday)

(Start with “Monday” if you can. If you can’t, don’t worry about it. I’ll get over it. Just probably not anytime soon…If  you want to make it up to me and also happen to like my posts: Find them interesting or funny or anything at all… think about subscribing. I send some background on what I write and other stuff.) 

So, what were we talking about? Oh right. I was going on and on and on about my passion for football four days after the superbowl and you were wondering why I’m not in a twelve-step program. And then there’s the whole ugly infertility thing in the midst of it all. Continue reading