Dear Darla Diaries

faith for the weary

Being a Christian isn't always for the weak or faint hearted. There are Those that have these stereotypical mindsets that Christians should be perfect and strong and not hyprocritical. Christians are humans that bleed and have emotions and feelings and faults. The main difference is they should strive for love and sacrifice and believe in eternal hope. That isn't too say we aren't weak or make mistakes or forget.

One of the hardest struggles of faith for me is maternal. I don't question love or salvation or many of the core elements of Christianity. I truly believe we should help each other, and live as a community. I believe that Christians screw up. A lot. 

I was raised believing that God Can Do Anything! But it was tempered with He Won't Do Everything. God will answer your prayer the way He sees fit ... which isn't always our hearts desire. I've also been raised to believe that God can answer any prayer. It's such a juxtaposition. The whole will He?/won't He?/why? struggle. The struggle we deal with over death, cancer and limb loss. The struggle we deal with when life seems to be going full speed ahead in the wrong direction.

I know I believe that at the end of any destination is God. He is always standing with us, bearing with us and helping us forge through even the ugliest things in life. Life doesn't always make sense and it's not always ours to understand.

All of that being said, it doesn't make it easier. When I'm wrapped up in my husband's arms and the words are tumbling out in a flood of tears it doesn't make any sense. I don't understand why God has given us such a heart for kids, with totally unexplainably poor working ovaries. Our families, by definition, created the term 'fertile mertile.' I can wax on for days about our kin filling every type of stereotype of who should/shouldn't/could/couldn't become parents and did otherwise. We have Jerry Springers, Teen Moms and dysfunctional wrapped up with a bacon bow tie. And yet, Not Us. We are the anomaly.

I'm told wait for the still small voice. You'll hear it. And I do. For some things. I don't ever doubt the confirmation that my husband was The Right One. I don't doubt that the military and Germany weren't the right decisions. I just don't understand this. I don't understand prophetic friends and family feeling at peace that This Month! or This Year! or This Week! God will answer your prayers. I get so frustrated by the fact that after nearly a decade I still get caught up thinking 'Am I a week late?', 'Could these be pregnancy symptons or just PMS?', 'Should I google these symptons?' and my favorite 'Is it worth it to take yet another pregnancy test to confirm that it's not true and thus disappoint me regardless?'

I want to cling to the faith that Mary was given a virgin birth, miracles happen and people get pregnant every day in ways that completely and utterly define science ... and it could happen to me. I want to NOT believe that our lack of parent status isn't attached to our faith. I want to believe that this time the still small voice isn't me telling myself that it could be true. I want to be able to dream what it could be like to be pregnant, just once, and talk to my husband about it and him not be utterly heartbroken because he knows how utterly heartbroken it makes me.

I just want one baby. One pregnancy. One life. I don't want a million dollars, a fancy home, the perfect job, the perfect pet. Bring on the 'morning-sick-all-the-time.' Bring on bed rest, gestational diabetes, blood pressure and prayer. Bring on something besides my barren womb craving a fetus and the irritation I feel around the plethora of baby spawn makers at my job (which are not the same as Friends! edible babies! nomnomnom!)

As my husband and I seek to renew a healthy and hopeful relationship with God and mend many broken fences that have happened as a combination of life changes and our infertility struggle, we are trying to start new habits. We are starting with communication. This week we are purposefully and deliberately praying for the same topic. Sunday we hope to discuss the scemantics of Adoption, not just the theory. My hope is that one way or the other God can show us direction so that each month I don't try to salvage my weakening faith with a band-aid created by the theory of something instead of it's reality.

I can't imagine struggling with this same issue and not being Christians. I know that without Faith and Love our 11 year recommitment would've been divorce paperwork and a shack by the sea. I hope that if any of you are dealing with this you can be surrounded with the love and support we face. I much prefer the well intention and yet often misguided support than the lonely bitter pill I'm great at hoarding and swallowing.

if only it were so easy

Twin aka Alfalfa >> Me. Yesterday. 3:58 pm
    Dear twin. Your stupid aunt came to visit. She brought her friend Cramps with her. Ugh.

Me aka Darla >> Alfalfa. Yesterday. 4:00 pm
    My aunt is a whore and you should be so kind as to keep her on your third of the globe.

Alfalfa >> Me. Yesterday. 4:22 pm
    You wish.

 

Me >> Alfalfa. Today. 4:48 pm
    omg twin .. your aunt must be coming ... I'm feeling irrationally angry and hiding in my room - now that I'm home from work and the pile that miraculously made itself appear in my kitchen

Alfalfa >> Today. 4:49 pm
    I only have one bar on my twin. Will have to text you when I get home.

 

Me >> Buckwheat aka Baby Sister. Today. 05:21 pm
    lmao - you know I'm a girl when I came home from work. looked at a slightly rumpled house, distracted hubby doing nothing worng, awesome chick n dumplings MIL made and was instantly cranky. sometimes we need a Does Not Play Well With Others sign for no reason at all.

Buckwheat >> Me. Today. 05:23 pm
    : (

Me >> Buckwheat. Today. 05:25 pm
    it's probably the PMS signaling my aunts arrival in the next 24-73 hours /sigh

Buckwheat >> Me. Today. 05:26 pm
    Put out a no vacancy sign in your front window quick!

 

Oh look Honey, another Blue Light Special! And from the looks of things these babies are flying off the shelves!

Source: Holy Taco

 

haas' hope and adoption

I just found a new blog written by the soon-to-be-mom half of one of the cool couples we've met here in Germany. Becke and her husband Dan are embarking on the same adoption process that we will be starting slowly. I hope I don't overpower her with one-thousand-and-one questions around meeting with our own legal counsel, adoption agencies and the like. You can click on the photo of her blog or click here to see her amazing journey.

a very not-so pregnant pause

Love should end with Hope. Hope is what guides us. It gets us through the day and especially the night - Knights Tale

Warning: My dear happy lovely readers this is just another long sad sordid post about wanting to be fertile and a few revealing and hopefully inspiring links for those traveling down this same journey. If you aren't in the mood or don't have the time just wait until the next post cause this may be a little lengthy. Sometimes the Infertility Monster likes to rear it's ugly head and remind me it won't be forgotten!

I had quite a discussion with MrD recently . I brought up a taboo topic or rather one we had shelved momentarily when we left the USA. And by momentarily I should clarify as Forever Shelved by hIm and Things That We Bring Back Up Eventually by mE. As life tends to do some topics will come up in a cyclical fashion like say on blue moons, every other holidays, the thirteenth Thursday of every month and hypothetically the only Sunday we have had off together in about 6 weeks. [Insert deep sigh here.]

The Subject: Babies aka Pregnancy aka Me Pregnant.

Is there really any other topic for the Married Without Kids Couples That Seek To Have Them? Or any topic that should be drug out of a closet and beat senseless with a wet noodle besides that in which that almost destroyed by marriage? I think not!

I didn't bring the topic up to make him want to pull out his hair … or wreck the car. I brought it up because recently I tripped backwards over a pole and got blindsided with it. [Read: the little bastards Remorse and Regret forced me into a vicious game of Duck Duck Slap and won't let me be about my business.] In my thought process it made sense: Vicious Pity Me Thoughts regarding an Us Item came up, so Let.Him.Know. (Part of my former infertility depression problems came from me burying these types of items and not being honest with him.)

Wow, sometimes the simplest trains of thoughts can derail in a blink of an eye. I broached the topic mid traffic circle or rather I took the long and convoluted route to get to the core of the It Sucks state of mind I was in. I tend to forget that with me life is like spaghetti. I can see the connection between the hordes of impregnated females seeming to stalk my every move on base with my deep seated desire to be pregnant once. For some reason 95% of the time I am blessed with blindness to their selfish selfless boasting breathing but that other 5% of the time they can not only find the limelight but continually plant their abundantly blessed asses smack dab in the middle of it no matter where I turn. The helpless Jealousy just burrows under my skin like a bulbous blood sucking tick leech that come fire, salt and boric acid ain't budging. Sometimes the busyness of the neverstopping work or hyperactive sinus allergies or online gaming or time difference with the states just isn't enough of a distraction.

I don't hate them … I can't even despise them. I crochet them booties and blankets and give them well wishes as I guess their due dates and fuss with the deliciously chewy fresh infant necks, toes and fingers. The oblivious moms smile and laugh and share that cute little anecdotal stories completely ignorant to the fact that they could be conversing with a barren womb who could most likely NEVER fully experience the joys and losses and pregnancy pains they live through. The seemingly most common occurrence for most woman, by accident or planning, can be the most heart wrenching angst of others. And, on occasion, I crawl into my car at the end of day and just want to chain smoke a carton of Camel menthols … and I don't smoke.

I know it all. I've heard it all. As those of you in my shoes can attest sometimes it's not about the 'in God's times' or 'have you tried adopting' or all the other little noncommittal gestures people can come up with while all you're wanting is to be close enough to another in your shoes that you can share a martini in the adults lounge and vent and bitch about That topic together. You can speed chat and compare horror stories of how your spouse responds to the whole process. The ostrich mentality … the racial ignorance [their men lacking ovaries and hormones] … the tangled web of communication between the feelings of utter helplessness and how the infertile state of mine can very well compare to the incurable disease state of mind. They think: but you really ARE healthy. Ours: Not in This way!

I discussed a new angle to our story when I was talking to MrD. Trying to get pregnant is like giving birth. The hope that maybe new treatments could work erases a lot of the memories of the pain of trying before. Kind of like how mom's will tell you the 3 weeks of intense vaginal-wall-tearing labor was totally worth the cost to birth their 9.8lb baby boy. When you hold him in your hands you forget the pain. Two years after we stopped taking the pill my mind kind of blurs the focus on all the marital discourse to focus on that last gem from the doctor: a few rounds of 150Clomid might work [also might not.] If we tried AGAIN since now we understand the OPK [ovulation predictor kits] maybe a few rounds could work. Regardless of the fact it's less than a 50/50 chance with my very irregularly charted ovulation cycle. Regardless of the fact that we went through two years of ignorant fertility testings. Regardless of the fact it made me borderline physically violent and a little psycho. Regardless of the fact it brought up a complete noncommunication barrier that turned me into a complete and utter wreck. Regardless of the fact the stress almost completely obliterated our 8 year marriage. Regardless of the fact it almost cost me my best friend. Regardless of the fact it can't be worth the cost.

You have to understand I more than likely won't be going back on meds any time soon. But sometimes when you look in the mirror and all you see is Lose staring you in the face your brain instantly reaches into the What If bag of merry tricks and tries to remind you: Does the End justify the Means? It all depends what the means will do in the middle. And sometimes … as I've mentioned a million times before I just want to become a mom through natural means just once … ONCE … before we adopt. And I wish adopting from Germany, as a military spouse, wasn't so complicated.

So C'est la vie friends. Thus is life.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

P.S. New blog read! Looking for a nifty photo to [INSERT HERE] when I into a new infertility blog to paw through. Stephanie [@StephanieBaffone.com] has this brilliant advice that I know Queenie, Grok and Angel can readily agree about ...

Suggestions
For the loved ones of those battling infertility, here are some tips on what to avoid and a suggestion of how you can be sensitive.
    •    Avoid the temptation to say, “Just relax!”
        o This implies blame. Trust me, we are good at blame all on our own.
    •    Avoid asking “Why don’t you just adopt?”
        o Adoption is a gift beyond measure for those who feel called to it, but it is not a panacea for the desire to conceive, birth and raise a biological child.
    •    Understand when we pass on baby showers, birthday parties and christenings
        o Sometimes we need time to lick our wounds.

* Full post titled "How To Help Loved Ones Dealing with Infertility".

*Also another point to ponder by author Pamela, "Would You Tell Someone You Are Infertile?"

Infertility has been called the “silent disorder,” and remains something of an ugly stepchild among diseases -- a curiosity considering the large numbers of couples affected: 50 to 80 million worldwide according to the World Health Organization, and in the United States, one in eight couples of child-bearing age.

p.p.s. I always wanted to be afflicted with the ugly stephchild among diseases! Normalcy is utterly boring and lacks any creative genius.

p.p.p.s. Alfie and some of the BFF's ... you know what doesn't apply to you because you already knew all the right stuff.

keep your puppies to yourself

It’s about that time again. Time to wallow in the I Really Want A Baby drain for a minute or second or hour or two. Every blue moon or so I circle back around it like a dog circling it’s favorite yet elusive cat stuck just out of it’s growling reach. All the other puppies … or all the one’s I see on a daily basis seem to be unconsciously flaunting their pupas a lot more than normal. When I see them wandering up and down the aisles of my store caressing their baby bumps and oogling pints of ice cream and slightly stale ding dongs I sometimes want to scream.

At the root of it all it still astonishes me sometimes (or angers perhaps?) that the innocent girl at the age of 21 marrying my gorgeous lug of a boy, who thought it would hard to stop at 4.5 kids, would be proven such a liar. All around her girls could sniff in the direction of mans testicles and become pregnant like magic. Her own twin sister popped out the first after a night of drunken sex with her than-hubby at a fourth of July campout. The same sister got knocked up the second time during a highly stressful state of her life, after deliberately getting off the pill, hardly ever sleeping and being far beyond any state of needing a second baby. Now you have to understand I ADORE my nephews and I thank the Lord every day for those sometimes devils children, regardless of how it took her to get knocked up. They are my first loves and I feel their pain and joys on a molecular level. I merely use her as an example of how it had been shown to me again and again that getting pregnant was supposedly as simple as getting a milkshake or having your monthly visit from AuntFlo.  It wasn’t complicated or difficult or an Urban Legend.

When I sit randomly after or before work and debate between the boring task of one house chore or another I sometimes come back to the same thought: What would it be like to have a child bouncing around this place like a bull in a china closet. My own lodestone of selfishness, saucy lips and nonononononono. I’d give my left nut, if I had one, to see a mini-me put hands on hips and argue with his/her father. That utter look of love and adoration on his face as he heard the phrase Daddy!DaddyDaddy!

I’ve started to flip through the complex maze of chaos they call adoption that’s actually compounded into a disastrous mess when you add the international regs with it. It may not be obvious to new readers but I do want to tackle it the way some conquer the Boston Marathon or climbing Mount Everest. The reams of regs however make you want to scream a little or just ignore it for a little while longer. I’ll go with the ignoring it. Maybe in the meantime my body will follow the Kharma wish of all the ignorant and knock itself up. Because in the words of THEM dontthinkaboutitsohardbecauseinHIStimeitwillhappen!! They also believe in flying monkeys and worpeltingers. Thanks for the vote of encouragement. That and a nickel won’t buy me the sugar-free Monster I’m going to need for my shift. (And by unappreciated advice I am referring to the ignorant not my favorite blogreading loves [I fraking love you people!] and family and besties. Without you I wouldn’t be able to get dressed in the morning.)

can patience wear thin

“Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. But to keep going when the going is hard and slow - that is patience.”

The first challenges of this PCS may qualify as the hardest. It's not about being friendly and making friends easily. It's not about being flexible and rolling with the punches. It's not even about keeping an open mind. It's about patience.

Right now it's a mixture of being patient during the silence and "in-between" time and being patient while being forced to rely on others for help and complete lack over control. The independence we had in the states almost seems like a luxury at this stage.

Challenge: Economy lodging.
While our little room is pretty, clean, neat and well lit it's still a very tiny box. We're endlessly pouring over the rental listings for the Landstuhl, Einselderhof and Vogelweh communities. MrD is fidgeting hardcore and wants out of this cell like a starving man drooling over a scrap of moldy bread. Last night was the first night that we severely loitered at a local eatery and giggled laughed and flirted. He's practically short circuiting whenever he gets near our room and is coping by sheer will and his iPhone apps.

It could be anywhere from 2 to 8 weeks before we get out of here. MrD has has to make the appointments to look at housing due to our lack of transportation and his access to "carpool." I send him tips and he tries and gets at least one successful contract. This is normally my side of the house and it's a little trying at times for the reversal of roles on both our parts.

Challenge: Lack of transportation.
Having your own vehicle and drivers license is almost taken for granted in the states. Right now it's a huge feat of humility for MrD to have to rely on one of the teenage airman in his shop to drive him around. He hates that he has to put someone out to pick him up, take him to their shop, take him to housing appointments to view possible rentals and return him to the hotel.

Due to my independent and enabling nature I am deliberately walking either to and/or from the nearby BX and Commissary to get what we need... which is not where he is working. This area is a mecca of bases and a serpentine of communities and although resources are plentiful it's a bit hard to understand an unknown language at times. I also refuse to be a wife that makes life more difficult on her spouse than necessary so I'll figure it out one way or another.

The other complication is that in Europe/Germany you are required to have a USAFE license to drive an auto. We won't be able to test for ours until the 8th and 10th respectively. Both fingers crossed that one of us passes the first time. It's a 154+ questions and a good chunk is understanding a variety of road signs. Our car won't arrive until at least the 13th and if need be will pay the 169euro/week to rent something.

Challenge: Spouse employment.
I am itching at the bit to have a purpose for the 9 hours a day I'm at home without MrD. Right now I'm in a bit of a conundrum. A management position has been offered to me as well as a fast paced high energy position at the BX. The problem I'm facing is stepping into a position as high stress and high responsibility as my last job right off the bat. I feel a bit uncomfortable taking on a position that would take a good 6 months to get attuned too while facing a huge language barrier, lack of home base and lack of transportation. It's one thing taking on a huge challenged while you feel centered and another thing entirely while hanging in the wind. I'm debating between taking an entry level low stress position immediately or holding off for two weeks either way while waiting for at least lodging/transportation to sort itself out.

Challenge: Language barrier.
It's all fun and games until you feel like an idiot saying please and thank you. In the past 10 days we've somewhat successfully mastered the art of paying with euros, ordering tapwater or 'wassel', food, please 'bitte' and thank you 'danka' and good day 'guten tag.' You still feel like a complete floundering guppy when you sit at a diner to hear layer upon layer of German floudering around you like an unknown music that sounds ever so enticing but is just out of your reach of decoding. If I'm not working in the next few weeks I'm going to start pouring my way through the Rosetta Stone German course as well as seeing what type of classroom course they have on base.

“Do or do not... there is no try.” Yoda

breaking it down gently

I'm not sure how many of you recall this little gem of a relationship between Charlie Brown and Lucy. Over and over in my small country life growing up we were exposed to the experience of Charlie Brown repeatedly being left on his back. He would try again and again just wanting to boot that football and regardless of whatever Lucy would tell him in advance she always took it away the last moment.

Tonight I think I was finally able to portray my pain of our infertility journey with MrD. I likened it to the football. I said: have you ever wanted something so badly and time after time they tell you TODAY is the day. Than time, after time, it is whisked away from you at the last minute. That was the feeling of our attempted pregnancy journey. Time after time the doctor's said THIS month you should be pregnant followed by NEXT month we'll know, we'll have an answer or the correct dose of meds to get you pregnant. It became a vicious breeding cycle of grief, remorse, anger and hope ... and repeat.

He wanted to know, he didn't understand why I was so violently angry. It's the one thing that didn't seem to make sense. I was never .... I never meant to be angry AT him. i was just ANGRY. I would've given a limb, or both legs, to be able to hold that golden football one time. I wanted him to support me with his entire soul like he did karate, the gym or the military. I'm sure he may have been, in his own way, but I just couldn't see it. Than, I failed to communicate, that I wanted to hear him admit that he loved me enough to tell me to STOP. If someone loves you they will truly tell you that for that sake of your life you need to stop.

Tonight we had that discussion. We agreed to stop. Another journey like we've already experienced could kill our marriage. If we manage to get pregnant solo ... so be it .. but not through the meds. He can't we can't handle the emotional baggage of the grief cycle again. I've decided, at least at this stage, to not make it more of a public announcement than this blog. If others ask I will casually differ or sidetrack or hedge. It is our private decision and our justification. We already get enough "when it's god's time" and flurry of other unsolicited and often helpful yet just as often ignorant advice on the matter. To us ... today ... the matter is taking a break.

throwing out the baby's bathwater

I haven't broached the snarcky pained wit box that is wrapped around my last bits of the trying-to-get-preggers sanity recently. Since I've been nearly 8-months sans the bitch inducing piggybacked ovulation meds and more than 6-months without my man-source it's been a little easier to ignore. A little easier to soothe my ruffled feathers and focus on the smallish excitements in life like iso-active toothpaste and cat lesions. A little easier to be calm and to be honestly excited for both the unexpected pregnancy of close friends, long overdue healthy pregnancies of close fertility blogger friends and the sad news of others choosing to terminate pregnancy at the barely started phase without judging.

To those who haven't experienced the pain of infertility in any way shape or form dealing with seemingly normal things like healthy pregnancies of friends and family members isn't a simple ordeal. The irrational green head of jealousy and the sneaking ninja of irrationality are the juxtaposition of something that is often completely unexplainable. The phrase "I understand" becomes of the of the most ironic oxymorons of all times. It's a living breathing complicated beast that can often be nearly impossible to put into clean lines.

All that was to explain why the witty verbage of fellow infertile bloggers can crack me up to hysterical levels. When the likes of these brilliant minds can put that exact Arg! feeling into words it's like that perfect dose of whiskey. Like achieving the mind numbing effect inside the perfect moist chewy chocolate brownie without that dirty undercoating that just can't be maxed by mixers no matter what the cocktail goddess brags. It's just that good.

Today I stumbled into Aunt Julie from A Little Pregnant (a beautiful blog in it's own right) dishing it out at the nearly discovered and everso deliciously snarky Mommy Wants Vodka. Now I will place one in my left pocket and one in my right and carry them with me where ever I go.

I will share a single beautiful graph from the post to show why I want to pass out hugs, and I can be a stingy hugger when it comes to strangers or semi-strangers whom I'd love to meet in this case. (This quote is in direct regards in how to handle those utterly useless heaps of information being given by the overly helpful and completely ignorant do-gooders who think 'trying and failing' to get pregnant must be due to the fact you aren't having sex each and every day you are breathing. Whatever. And need I remind you all, again, that menstrual cycles are NOT a marker to determine if you are or aren't ovulating. That's right bitches, please explain it again.

As for the unsolicited advice, the souped-up Schwinn in me wishes you could meet their suggestions with wide eyes and a grateful gasp. “Ohhhh! That’s a fascinating thought! Wait, let me get a pen. I want to pass your idea along to my reproductive endocrinologist, the noted Dr. Shirley M. Pregnate, and offer it as a potential avenue of research, because in all my years of trying no one has ever suggested that we stop using condoms,” or whatever helpful pointer you’ve just been given. I know: It’s wrong to shame the ignorant. I know. Because then you’d be a complete bitch. And we’re trying to avoid that.

P.S. If you want Blog I would highly HIGHLY recommend reading Becky's "Blogging for Dummies" bit. In fact I may eventually do her the honor of permanently framing that shit in platinum and making it a frontpage fixture on my blog.

new year, new promise

I just finished watching the cute Julie and Julia. It reminded me of something small. Something brilliant. We live better with a goal, with a focus. We wake up breathing it in and we fall to sleep with it on our lips. 

When we think of life goals or new year's resolutions many standards things come to mind: be a better Christian; eat healthier, get in shape, exercise more ... Each of these things are good, but should be ingrained into our lives. If i focus on dieting or exercising I fail miserably. If I think that every choice is choice to better myself and don't focus specifically on just one thing I tend to eat a little better, exercise a little more, develop my spiritual life further and don't hurt quite so much.

My goal is a better gift to my blog readers, a new focal point:Germany.

As I have eluded to previously MrD is coming back from Mars shortly, and during this first deploy.ment he received our 2nd official order station to our first trip overseas and new home, Ramstein AFB.

I may have shared bits and pieces in the past, but I hope in the future to focus both on the military steps for an out-of-country "move" PCS (permanent change or station), as well as the continued journey of the our fertility struggle.

Wishing you all the best in the meantime,
Darla

 

P.S. Lesson #1 in Military Jargon: PCS vs TDY

PCS: Permanent Change of Station. When you PCS you officially move from one base location to another. Often times the Army and Air Force can be interchangeable at Air Force bases and Army posts, but that isn't always the case. Many civilians are under the mis-assumptions that military members get choices into when or where they are stationed. This is a myth of a long and lengthy variety. While some can give their opinion or have that option, not all.

TDY: Temporary Duty. This is generally defined as either training assignments or deployments. This can be in or out of the country and can often vary from the short term 2-6 week assignments to 6-12 month deployment assignments. Deployment assignments are also not limited to stateside members but to members stationed on foreign soil For example although MrD is just returning from deployment he could be given orders to deploy again from Germany. Remember we are dealing with the government and their ultimate goal is to protect themselves and the country and the cost of family separation isn't always up for consideration.

75 days and counting

A wise woman once told me that those that haven't experienced deployment or long periods of separated time from spouse/partners can't possibly understand how we feel when someone says something like 'oh he'll be home soon' or 'over half way there!' or 'three months will fly by!' She explained it along the lines of 'why don't you try sticking your head in a doorway and slamming it repeatedly with the door for the next three months or 30 days and see how quickly time flies by.

In truth, the days start to blur together and meld along the edges. It feels like quick snaps in a movie where Monday evolves into Friday and the weekends are a hodgepodge of rapid-fire events and sloth-like moments. I tend to want to feel the adrenaline rush so I can constantly feel alive and imitate the roller-coaster of my love life that normally strums under my fingers. Nothing replaces the heartache, headache, encompassing love and tumultuous thrill ride that has been ingrained in my bones the last nine years.

To add insult to injury the second part of my everyday existence, my MIL-mommate has also been doing an extended road trip to retrieve her stuff. So the two warm talking bodies that complete my kid-less home existence, along with my pets, are leaving me in a quiet world. Any parent of a live-in child could compare it to an extend absence from them all. The noise is what fills in the edges of your day.

His return heralds in another lane that I've been slowing revamping my body to be tuned for: the baby files. With three or so cycles before he comes back I've begun doing the home Ovulation Predictor Kits (OPK) again, and starting to get the Clomid scrips filled. Prior to his departure we had finally achieved the right dosage of Clomid, but it was almost a years worth of dosage in. The emotional meltdown from the trial and error and the chemical warfare on my body only further supported the next 8 month hiatus prior to and through the dep.loym.ent.

We have six doses. Dr Bo, my fertility specialist, says with almost certainty that if those six doses doesn't assist in producing a child in my womb than it's invitro (IVF) is the only option left. And at this stage, with very raw wounds from the two hard fervent years of meds and testing and emotional chaos in my marriage, I'm not sure I'm willing to open that door. Only time will tell.

75 days to go. Let the games begin.