Without incidence...

The Luck of the Irish!

Saint Patrick's Day 2010 is a day that is forever etched into my soul.

On Saint Patrick's Day 2010 I had my first miscarriage.

I was at work, bartending when it started.

At the time no one knew I was pregnant. No one knew I was even trying. No one knew of my struggles.

And no one knew I was miscarrying.

I had 8 hours to go of waiting on wall to wall people drunkenly celebrating.

And through my fake smiles and green glitter I was heartbroken.

I could feel my cramps intensifying with every hour and well, the rest, let's just say I am very happy that our uniform was black.

I made it through that night but a part of me died that day. A part I will never fully get back.

One year later on Saint Patrick's Day 2011 I was once again bartending.

A series of unfortunate incidences led me to be let go from that job.

A job a loved.

I ended up leaving my work family behind.

I would have to say that the Luck of the Irish has not been raining down on me in the Saint Paddy's Days Past.

But Saint Patrick's Day 2012 went off without incidence.

And although I secretly mourned the loss of my baby, I was surrounded by family and friends, green shirts, hats and sunglasses, good food and a sense that maybe, just maybe my luck might be changing.

Even the Outsiders have a place to go:

I did not read the supportive comments on Mel's post over PAIL.

I did not read the ugly comments over PAIL either.

In fact I've read very few posts on the subject at all.

I didn't need to.

All those feeling being expressed.

Feelings of hurt and loneliness.

Feelings of friendship and camaraderie.

Feelings of anger and bitterness.

Feelings of defiance and self righteousness.

Feelings of love and understanding.

All of these feelings are feelings that I have felt at one time or another from the moment I was told I would most likely never have children.

I have felt them when I started trying to conceive.

While reading blogs or reading comments.

While creating a post or listening to the sound of my own sorrow.

While embracing the journey or dreading the next step.

I have felt them all and I am sure you have too.

And to be honest I never really thought about the blogs of those who've crossed over.

If it was someone I followed. In spite of my own pain I was truly happy.

And sometimes I could read their posts on their pregnancies or their babies and sometimes I couldn't.

When I could I would envision myself in that place.

The days that I couldn't. I simply wouldn't. I wouldn't read.

And I know there are some bloggers who have made it to the other side and felt that there TTC blog was no longer appropriate. So they closed that blog and started a new one. And whether or not I followed I don't think was their concern. Well at least in my opinion it shouldn't have been.

Blogging is about where you are in your life and what you have to say regardless if anyone is listening.

And once again on the days when things were too rough for me, on the days it hurt too much.

I simply wouldn't read.

I don't think that I ever thought to myself: "They shouldn't be posting that! They should be considering my feelings."

No never. Not in blog land.

But I am not perfect. I have had my moments of bitter thoughts.

Thoughts that go like this:

Read line about breastfeeding..."Seriously! Fuck!"

Click close on my web browser.

Read line about a morning sickness complaint...scream in my head "Yeah!! Try the alternative!!"

Click close on my web browser.

No I am not perfect. Being the Outsider hurts.

But I never thought my hurt was because of those that have crossed over and that they weren't being supportive of me. I never blamed them for my feelings and I have tried to be as supportive as my emotions would allow.

And I also have moments like this:

Read a post about baby's first foods..."Wow, I am so going to try that with my baby."

Read a post about a toddler's antics..."I hope I'm ready for that!"

And those were the days that I read.

But to be honest if I wasn't already feeling like the little girl with her nose pressed up against the candy store window longing for what's inside.

Or staring with enormous want for the puppy behind the glass.

And if I didn't already feel like I was forever on the outside looking in.

I do now.

Well I should say I did.

I will admit that initially when the PAIL uproar started it seemed to bring all those feeling of being left out to the forefront for me.

Like the glass wall has literally been put up in between the "have's" and the "have nots".

Now the prize is being waved in front of my face instead of being a part of the process.

And it deepened these hurt feelings.

But after my last post about how being the one still struggling has left me feeling like an Outsider. After expressing all these feelings of hurt and loneliness, I received so many comments from those feeling the same way. Feeling as if we were left alone on the battlefield.

And these comments made me realize that I am not alone.

And it shows me that even the Outsiders have a place to go.

And I think maybe that's all PAIL is trying to do is release their feelings of being so utterly alone.

I'm not sure how I really feel about PAIL. It does bring me the feeling of there's a fort, right in my own backyard, with a giant sign on it that says: "Members Only".

I also know the feeling of trying to belong. And PAIL evolved from that feeling.

So I don't really know how I feel.

I feel alienation and understanding?

Here is one thing I do know after all this is:

Even the Outsiders aren't alone.

They have each other.

The Outsiders

There was a recent post that seems to have caused a lot of stir in the community.

When I read that post, I did not get offended at all.

It could be because I have lived in that place she was coming from.

It could be because I have felt the same kind of hurt and defeat that fueled that post. Not a defeat of giving up a dream but the defeat that only failed IVF cycles can bring.

And I am a little shocked at the backlash over this.

I am not going to link the post or mention the blogger.

I am just going to write about some of the issues that resonated with me.

Warriors come out and play...

When I first started out on this journey I felt so utterly alone.

I felt like I was the only one going through this.

I felt like there was no one out there who could possibly understand.

I felt like an Outsider.

I felt as if only I have ever had to face such a cold, harsh reality...

I may never have children.

It's a crippling fear and with the fight or flight instinct most of us choose to fight.

And I did choose to fight.

I fought like hell.

And I found a community of women fighting the same battle.

I had found my warriors.

I was no longer the Outsider.

The "fertiles" became the Outsiders because they would never know what it's like to fight and all they would ever be able to do is take it for granted.

And you could laugh it off when a "fertile" announced a pregnancy, complained about morning sickness or a talked about an "oops" pregnancy.

We could point to the Outsiders and actually feel sorry for them because they would never be able to appreciate what they have the way we, the warriors, could.

Because they didn't know. They have no clue of the magnitude of the situation and they could never understand. And we told ourselves we would care more, appreciate more and love stronger.

And your girls, your sisters, your warriors...they know. They fully understand. They are there in the trenches with you.

And there is this huge feeling of solidarity.

The feeling that we were all in this together.

We're all warriors fighting the same battle.

But what happens when you become battle weary?

We no longer get support?

Or when one of our sisters succeeds!

Sensitivity and compassion are lost?

You made it!

If it were me I would be screaming from the roof tops.

And you do!

And you should!

You should be over the moon happy and not feel the need to defend the means by which you got there.

Maybe it's something like "survivors guilt" which causes everyone's defenses to go up.

You fought so hard and you made it.

And I don't blame you. I don't fault you.

But for those of us left behind being within hearing range of that celebration magnifies our own battles. Our own losses.

It plunges us into a place where doubt of our ability to achieve the same success clouds our ability to truly embrace the victory.

"You can't win. You know that, don't you? It doesn't matter if you whip us, you'll still be where you were before, at the bottom. And we'll still be the lucky ones at the top with all the breaks. It doesn't matter. Greasers will still be Greasers and Socs will still be Socs. It doesn't matter." - The Outsiders

So now who becomes the Outsiders?

Those of us left behind?

Those of us still fighting?

Or those of us who have won the battle?

There is definitely dissention in the ranks.

A division among our own.

Aren't we the ones who are supposed to understand and show the most compassion?

Wasn't the Outsiders, the "fertiles" who were insensitive and didn't understand?

Weren't they the ones that callously threw around pregnancy and baby talk that ripped our hearts in two?

And now we are attacking our own because a limit has been reached?

This dissention, this division I didn't understand when I was a new soldier, ready fight and full of the promise of victory.

I remember early on in my journey one of girls left the community. I checked in on her to see if she was okay and she told me that all the new pregnancies and ultrasound pictures and baby talk was just too much for her to take.

I didn't understand. At the time all the talk and seeing your fellow sisters win gave me hope. It fueled my determination to keep going.

But Now...

After 10 cycles, 2 pregnancies and 2 miscarriages I also know the complete devastation that only IVF can bring.

Now...

Every BFP, every ultrasound, every complaint about morning sickness, every mention of bellies and nurseries fills the empty void within my being with the loss of a million dreams.

A pain so intense that it can bring me to my knees.

As happy as I am that our fellow "soldiers" were able to win the fight, it still hurts that I am still fighting. And it brings a whole new level of devastation that one could only imagine because unfortunately for us, those of us left behind, we must face the very real possibility that it may never happen for us.

It is beyond battle weary.

I myself have shouted from the roof tops that I would never give up.

But now...

I have felt many times that I was done with IVF. I have been angered and enraged that mine didn't work and I was putting myself through such physical and emotional torture. I was infuriated that I have spent nearly $50,000 (Oh yes you read that correctly) on treatments and my arms are still empty.

IVF has become a bone of contention for me.

I am contemplating my ability to charged into battle again.

And it makes me contemplate the risk of going forward with no guarantees.

I dread starting a cycle and all the shots and all the medications. I can see the effect it has had on my body and my appearance.

But I can also see IVF for the true miracle that it really is.

Really without it, what options would a single gal of "advanced maternal age" have?

On my last FET I remember watching these 3 shining dots on the ultrasound screen as they burst into my uterus like shooting stars and even though that FET failed I was overcome by the miracle of it all.

It blew me away.

But I am in full retreat right now.

And really it isn't whether or not I could face another failed cycle. I am actually more afraid of my cycle working and miscarrying again.

That I could not face.

And as I try to decide my next moves, I try to find my support base and realized that I have truly been left on the battle field alone.

My friends who have won, who have rightfully moved on to a place where this pain is a distant memory. I cannot join their ranks. I do not belong. And their celebration becomes my heartache.

I can't march with the new soldiers joining the fight. Their optimism becomes my dissention.

It really does becomes divided.

I wish it wasn't so.

So who are the Outsiders now?

"You can't win. ..you'll still be where you were before... It doesn't matter. Greasers will still be Greasers and Socs will still be Socs. It doesn't matter." - The Outsiders

In truth The Outsiders are the battle weary. The ones that are left behind.

*By the way I am not giving up, I am just trying to find the best way for me to achieve motherhood.

Time Machine

Somehow I woke up and it's now 1952*.

I am boggled.

I am perplexed.

I am disoriented.

I am suddenly thrust back in time where women's rights seem to be nothing but a distant dream.

Was I always in 1952?

Did the feminist movement not happen?

Did women not fight for their right to control their own bodies?

Did they not fight for the right to use birth control and get the screenings necessary for their health?

Did women not fight for the right to be treated equally?

Whether it is in the work place or on the battlefield, did women not only fight for but earn and deserve equality?

I thought we were well past the days of when a woman was violated and there was this notion of "she asked for it"

I thought those days were long gone!

Did we not fight for human rights too!

Where people weren't fired for their sexual orientation? Never mind having the company that hired them publicly petitioned to fire them based solely on their sexual preference.

Did we not already fight!

Or am I trapped in another time?

Did these things NOT happen?

Because all of the sudden I have a feeling the battle has just begun.

I'm not even quite sure in this parallel universe of 1952 in the midst of 2012 that I even have the right to vote.

Because lately I get the feeling that this Time Machine might bring us back to a place where those rights we fought so hard for will just vanish with one pull on the voting machine.

And much to my horror many of those thrusting us back into the dark ages are women themselves.

It seems like more and more not only women's right but human rights are taking pot shots left and right!

And this is probably the most deplorable of them all:

Fox Pundit Says Women In The Military Should ‘Expect’ To Be Raped

I am afraid that this Time Machine I am currently stuck in might bring us even further back.

Back to the middle ages or even worse...

Into a time where apparently there is an acceptable level of rape.

*Note - I randomly picked the year 1952. There is no historical basis for this year.

Rage against the Machine

When I was 16 I became sexually active. Some of you might gasp at this and others might nod their head in silent knowing but one thing that is not really up for debate in this post is whether or not teens should be or shouldn't be sexually active. I am sure all of us would wish that they weren't but for the sake of argument let's just stop turning the blind eye and trying to live in the idyllic world and just agree that back then, back in the 80's and now, in the 2000's that teens are having sex.

And in the 80's I was one of them.

But I had a place to go.

A place that didn't judge.

A place I felt safe to go to.

A place that educated me on protection against sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancy.

A place that in their education highlighted that abstinence was the best form of protection.

But if I chose not to use abstinence then I could at least make an educated decision on how to protect myself.

This place didn't judge or push. They just gave me the facts and the options.

This place is Planned Parenthood.

When I graduated High School and went off to college I remained at that place because it was a place that provided me with the basic screenings and tests that I needed.

A place that provided me with pap smears.

A place I went to for breast exams.

A place where I could get birth control.

And this place provided these services to me on a sliding scale so that I could afford the healthcare I needed when I didn't have insurance.

This place is Planned Parenthood.

And this place made me safe and secure and healthy!

I couldn't imagine being a teen looking for guidance and help and not having the services of Planned Parenthood.

I couldn't imagine being a young adult trying to make my way through school and beyond without the services provided by Planned Parenthood to ensure my overall health.

There are a million undesirable scenarios that could arise if I did not have this place to go to.

But thanks to Planned Parenthood I didn't have to face those scenarios.

My rage against this political agenda to attack and defund Planned Parenthood runs deep.

They have been taking swings at women's health and it is time for us to swing back.

We need to take action and we need to do this by NOT voting for those who want to deny women basic healthcare and by NOT donating to or running in or fundraising for ANY organization that puts the needs of the women they claim to be supporting last on their political list!

This isn't about the "A" word as so many of your politicians want to make this about. This is about ALL women and about "ensuring quality care for all".

"ensuring quality care for all" taken right off the Susan G. Komen website. It is written right into their mission statement: "ensuring quality care for all"

So if that is the goal then why is there a sudden attack on a foundation that strives to do what the Susan G. Komen foundation cannot?

Planned Parenthood actually provides the care for all!

Katie over at "From IF to when" has a very spirited post on this. woman vs. woman: my response to komen

Go Katie!

And Mel over at Stirrup Queen in her post: "Susan G Komen, You Can’t Delete the Tweet" suggests that we all print out the Planned Parenthood at a Glance page in order to educate and inform those responsible for the attack on Planned Parenthood as to exactly what services are provided by Planned Parenthood.

And mail them to:
Karen Handel
Susan G Komen
5005 LBJ Freeway, Suite 250
Dallas, TX 75244

I am mailing mine today!

But I am going to take this one further and ask you to take note of those in Congress who are trying to do the same to women's health and those who stood by us. The next time you are at the polls make a conscious effort to vote for: "ensuring quality care for all"

Democrats who voted to defund Planned Parenthood:

Dan Boren, Okla.
Jerry Costello, Ill.
Joe Donnelly
Dan Lipinski, Ill.
Mike McIntyre, N.C.
Collin Peterson, Minn.
Nick Rahall, W.Va.
Silvestre Reyes, Tex.
Mike Ross, Ark.
Heath Shuler, N.C.

Republicans who voted to preserve Planned Parenthood funding:

Charlie Bass, N.H.
Judy Biggert, Ill.
Mary Bono-Mack, Calif.
Charlie Dent, Pa.
Robert Dold, Ill.
Richard Hanna, N.Y.
Rodney Frelinghuysen, N.J.

This is for every woman who needs a place to go and get quality healthcare!

And this could be why I am single....

I had left the dating scene a long time ago. It was absolutely too much to take. I tried all the online dating sites and it proved to be a case of "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" with it mostly being the latter. As a matter a fact I met very few "almost" good.

I went on dates where the guy would show up in sweat pants looking like he just mowed his lawn. Or talking on his cell phone the whole time. Or looking about 10 years older or 5 inches shorter than what was on his profile. Or trying to get "some action" on the first date (really fellas that needs to stop! Show some respect!). Or an ex convict who went to jail for 7 (no you are not reading that wrong), yes 7 years for armed robbery. I think once I was done lifting my chin off the ground my exact response was: "You're not planning on doing that tonight are you?".

And on and on and on...The Bad and the Ugly.

So I gave up. Closed my profile never to return.

And it's a good thing because I am pretty sure trying to have a baby would scare away any potential "Good" that might come my way and put a damper on any blossoming romance.

So I decided to pull out (ha! there might be a pun intended there!)

I decided early on in this journey that I was done with dating even though I still dream about the guy I would someday hopefully find. I even sat down and wrote on a piece of paper all of the qualities I am looking for in a man and sent it off into the universe. A ritual I know many women have done. S.I.F. and her friends did it on New Year's Eve over a year ago and some had some success. And my mother did it and she has been living with her boyfriend now for over a year.

I would write on my list things like: Just the right height for me, just the right age, handsome, funny, politically neutral (I need someone who sees both sides), loyal, faithful, active, open, honest, not allergic to cats (NYPD was allergic to cats and I chose the cats!), my best friend, loves me warts and all, and many other wonderful qualities I was looking for in a man.

And I would also put "walks through my front door" somewhat as a joke because I have no idea how I am ever going to meet a man unless he walks through my front door!

But alas... I have now used alas in a sentence on three posts! I think I need to work on the word "hence" next!...anyway...

But alas I have been writing about my ideal guy for over 2 years now and he's still a no show!

To be honest my exit from the dating world really hasn't been that bad. I mean after all for quite some time, I did have FB (aka the Itch Scratcher) and we let's just say having your itch scratched on a regular basis does take the edge off!

But as my journey progressed, the Itch Scratcher and I went our separate ways. I felt that if I was going to be with someone it should be something more. And now well, it's been quite some time since then and I am feeling well, let's say, a little more "itchy" than I anticipated. Definitely craving some male attention and a relationship. But I can't bring myself to subject myself to the online Freak Show.

So how is a gal supposed to meet someone.

Well, as I have said, I have no idea.

But I do know how not to meet someone and I do that with perfection...

About a year ago there was a gentleman doing a workshop at a school on retirement savings. I happen to be at that school that day on business. I overheard some of what he was presenting and afterwards I asked for his business card. I really didn't think much about it or take much notice of him. I just wanted information on retirement savings and what not. After all I was trying to have a baby and this was something I should have in place.

So I had contacted him via email but then never pursued it.

I ended up dumping my life saving into fertility treatments so focusing on IRAs went out the window.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago, I contacted him again to set up a meeting to go over some financial planning. I'm trying to get my head back above water.

I certainly couldn't take off of work for this meeting especially since I used to have all those fertility RE appointments that had me coming in late or leaving early. I figured now that I have given up my $50 + a week ultrasound habit and my $200 + a month meds habit that I could start saving and definitely wanted a meeting but taking off work was out.

He said he did meet with people after work at their homes so, I was meeting him Thursday at 5:00pm at my condo.

Now the day before I straightened up a little bit but I really could have done more. And in hindsight I really should have.

The day of the meeting I left work right on time so I could get home a little early but instead of rushing home to make sure my condo didn't look a mess, I decided to stop at the store and pick up a bottle of wine. You know, priorities!

So I was home maybe 2 minutes before the door bell rang and he was here.

Right away I noticed that he was cute and I thought "Wow, I don't remember Finance Guy being cute. He's probably married anyway."

I welcomed him in.

He was also greeted by these two:

Meet Calvin

Meet Runt

Calvin had decided to go off and hide like he does every time company arrives but Runt...no Runt has to be noticed.

The first thing Runt did was jump up on the chair that Finance Guy was going to sit in and sprawled out!

Laughing I said: "He likes to be the center of attention. I hope you're not allergic."

Finance Guy said he wasn't and sat down after I vacated Runt.

It was then that I noticed that one of two kitty culprits had kicked a ton of cat litter out of the box. It was driving me crazy sitting there looking at it. To the point that I got up and grabbed a broom and dust pan.

I said: "I'm sorry I just have to do something real quick." And I went over and swept up the litter sprinkled all over the floor and admitted to my embarrassment.

Now I was pretty sure I looked like the crazy cat lady who talks about her cats like they are people and doesn't clean their box. For the record I had cleaned their box the night before but somehow this day of all days one of them decided to do a jig inside the box!

But as I said I was pretty sure this guy was married (even though no ring) so I was really just concerned about looking "unclean".

As the meeting progressed Runt decide to come over and lay on the Finance Guy's feet and lick his shoe.

I have no idea why! To make me look even worse.

Finance Guy says: "Ummm your cat is licking my shoe."

I just shook my head, laughed and said: "He must really like you". Which in fact is a lie. Runt pretty much cozies up to anyone he thinks might feed him. I mean look at the size of this cat. Food is his only motive.

This is Runt's "Woes is me...I'm hungry!" pose

And then the Finance Guy reached down and started petting Runt and I thought that was nice and awkward.

So the meeting continued.

He was going over 401Ks, IRAs, Life Insurance and the difference between Term and Permanent.

He mentioned that for Life Insurance they would be going over all my medical records which prompted me to announce my infertility treatments.

Really? Why? Why would I mention such a thing. But I did.

And that wasn't all.

I talked about wanting a baby and on the counter was a basket of baby things I left out.

I think at one point there was a small mention of politics and I even mentioned Stockbroker boy who I dated many moons ago when the topic of stocks came up.

Once again WHY? I guess I was just trying to be funny or looking for something to say! Something stupid and embarrassing? I don't know but I couldn't stop.

He asked to use my bathroom. I should have run in there first to make sure there wasn't anything "unmentionable" just hanging out and to check the toilet for any undesirable marks (oh come on you know what I mean!) because once again I chose wine over a quick clean up. And there was of course unmentionables out on display! And I should have made sure Runt wasn't in the sink and he was!

So Finance Guy walks into this:

Runt's in the sink!

He's like: "Ummm...your cat is in here."

Now he was gracious when my cat was licking his shoe but I am pretty sure he didn't want my cat watching him pee!

So I go in there and try to hide shit as I am "oh so conspicuously" shoving the box of tampons under my sink and getting my cat out of the sink.

I'm like: "Oh, he likes water"

Which Runt does but there I go again talking about my cat like he's a person.

Finance Guy pees and then the meeting commences....

At one point the conversation turned to taxes and I said that because I am single I get completely raped with how much I pay in taxes. I have no deductibles. I was going on about how it would be nice for the government to give singles a tax break. A "Thank you for not clogging up the divorce courts" tax break.

Finance Guy was laughing and then said: "I know what you mean. I'm single too."

What What What!!

It was then that I noticed how cute Finance Guy really is and how not cute I was looking. No make-up (which I rarely have on but still)! I have gained what I call my undesirable "non baby" weight and since going through this journey due to non-stop meds that alter your shape and your appearance well, I have been feeling like I've lost my pretty . And in this moment of realization I knew I was not sporting my pretty.

It was then that I also realized all of the stupid things I said that I would have never said if I had known he was single....And it was then that I realized that he is pretty much everything I wrote down on my little list of what I was looking for in a man including "Walking through my front door".

But I am pretty sure that even if let's say for one second Finance Guy did find me attractive (which I highly doubt)...I rapidly put the kabosh on that as soon as he walked in the door with the antics of my cat, the litter, the tampons and then made sure of it throughout the rest of the conversation about babies, politics, guys I've dated, fertility, the money I've spent on it...I think at one point my comment was: "If you knew how much I'd spent you'd jump out that window".

So let's go over what you shouldn't do when a single man does magically walk through your front door.

Don't:

1. Assume they are married.
2. Not clean up! Litter and bathroom!
3. Stop for wine - Okay that's just crazy! Make sure you are stocked up ahead of time!
4. Clean up in front of them.
5. Look like the crazy cat lady.
6. Talk politics.
7. Talk about men you've dated.
8. Talk about your infertility.
9. Talk about babies.

I will say this though, when Finance Guy was walking out, he said goodbye to Runt and then said: "A friendly cat that likes water. Interesting."

And he was gone and I was so glad I had that bottle of wine!

So we know this much...Runt knows how to make a good impression. I only wish I did.

Notice Runt's Heart Shaped Marking

Me trying to be silly at Thanksgiving

A better place...

When I walked into Saint Clair's Hospital at 6am on November 17th 2011, I was not in a good place.

As I sat there being registered for my Out Patient surgery, I was not in a good place.

Each question the staff member asked I answered without thought, without emotion, without truly being present. I was not there. I was somewhere else and it was not a good place.

And then he asked me "Religion?".

I think for the first time I looked up. I looked at him. I really didn't want to look at anyone. I thought if I looked at someone, if I caught their eye, then they would know. They would know that I lost my baby and I was there for a D&C.

When my sister drove me there and dropped me off, I know for the whole car ride I didn't look at her.

I walked the halls with my head down and I didn't look up as sat there answering this man's questions:

"Name?"

"Address?"

"Birth date?"

Until...until he said: "Religion?"

Then I looked up. I looked at him and I said: "What?"

He said: "Religion?"

"Oh"

Pause...

"Yeah"

Pause... as if I was really thinking about it. Or as if he asked me that question in a foreign language and I was still somehow trying to translate it.

Looking away. Looking down again. Then looking up.

I said as almost an afterthought: "None."

Even though I knew it was a lie. Even though I knew that just a week and a half ago I sat in church beaming, smiling from ear to ear and thanking God for the wonderful gift growing inside of me. Even though only 4 days ago I sat in church praying to God to be able to keep my baby. And even though I knew I would be back in church the following Sunday trying to come to terms with this.

At that moment, in that place, I didn't feel any of it. I felt strangely numb. I felt nothing so I said:

"None."

And I watched him type it in.

I walked down the hall to the elevator. Went to the 2nd floor, proceeded left towards the nurse's station for Out Patient surgery the whole time clinging to my piece of paper that declared "Religion: None".

I even stopped and took a picture of it on my phone. I don't know why. As a reminder? In case I forgot or in case I wanted proof that at that moment, in that place, in that bad place, I declared "None".

Because I had nothing left inside. My baby had stopped growing and I was walking down the hall to be admitted for a surgery that was going to remove what was left.

I was in a bad place and I wanted God to know that in this bad place I said: "None".

The rest of the day was as if I was in a dream.

I was in some faraway place when they put my IV in. Some far off place when they wheeled me to the "holding area" where I waited for Dr. O to come in and take me to the OR.

I was trying not to look at anyone. Trying not to cry and trying to pretend I wasn't in that place.

And then Dr. O came in and walked up to me.

That's when I looked at him. I looked at him with the tears starting to fill my eyes and I begged him to perform every test he could think of because I never wanted to be in that place again.

He took his thumb and wiped away that one tear that somehow got away and rolled down my cheek as he promised to do the tests.

Then everything went back into this dream like state as Dr. O wheeled me into the OR...as they moved me to the operating table and started "plugging me in"...as they placed my legs in the stirrups and strapped them down...as the anesthesiologist was getting ready to put me to sleep and as one overly sympathetic and somewhat annoying nurse kept rubbing my arm and trying to look directly into my eyes.

I kept trying to look away from her and all I kept thinking was "Okay, I get it. Your compassionate!"

"Damn I wish this anesthesia would kick in!"

And it did. And I was off to another place. A place of forgetting. Even if it was only for a little while.

The very next day I went back to work. I had to be in a place where I wasn't thinking about it. Where things were I guess you could say "normal". I need to be in a normal place.

But as the day progressed I could feel the pain of the surgery I had less than 24 hours ago. It was a constant reminder of the place I was really in.

I went through the holidays in a very emotional place but trying to show the world I was in a strong place.

And I tried to avoid any place where there was talk of babies or pregnancy.

I couldn't take it. It hurt too much.

But it didn't matter because the news of babies and pregnancies followed me everywhere like a ghost.

A ghost of my pregnancies past that never ended with a baby where everyone else's did.

And I wasn't even in a place to say "Congratulations" or support friends who were finally in the place I so longed to be.

I was angry and hurt and shocked. I was in disbelief and in constant emotional and spiritual pain.

I was not in a good place and I knew it.

But I didn't care.

I pushed forward in an attempt to move on.

I pushed forward in an attempt to ignore the pain.

I pushed forward because I didn't know what else to do.

And I just so desperately wanted to get back to a better place. Back to the place where I was beaming in church.

So I pushed to do my FET right away.

I had 3 frozen embryos from my IVF cycle.

I also have 5 frozen donor embryos which became available just days after my miscarriage. I was so afraid (and so certain) that my FET with my 3 frozen embryos wasn't going to work that I panicked and grabbed the 5 right away. I had to make sure I was in a place to cycle again when my FET would inevitably fail.

I put myself in a place of contempt for my FET.

I was so down that I had convinced myself there was no way my FET could work.

I am a numbers gal and sided on the law of averages and statistics. I figured there was no way I could "hit it out of the park" after just getting pregnant on my last cycle. I figured I was bound to strike out.

I kept telling myself that when the FET doesn't work I can always try again with the 5 frozen donor embryos.

I was just going through the motions. I wanted to get it over with.

I wasn't in a place of excitement and possibility as I had been just 3 months earlier.

But what I really wanted more than anything was for it work and put me back in the place where I was going to be mom.

But just like I predicted my FET did not work. I transferred 3 beautiful embryos and I am not pregnant.

And then I found myself in a place I never thought I would be in...a place of giving up. A place where I can't imagine cycling again and putting myself through it all again.

It could be because I'm not ready. It could be because I am still in a place of mourning.

I need to be in a better place in order to move forward. I know that. But I'm not sure how to get there.

And then out of a place where friendships and camaraderie are born from struggle something amazing happened...

Some absolutely, beyond incredible women contacted me offering to donate their remaining embryos to me.

Their offer has touched a very deep place in my heart and in my soul.

Knowing that there are people in this world that are so willing to open themselves up to help another already puts me in a better place.

It puts me in their world and I am honored.

And suddenly, I'm feeling my fight coming back. I slowly feel myself moving into a place a hope.

I feel myself finding a better place.

Mother fffer....

Around the time of my first miscarriage, a dear friend of my Chi Chi also had a miscarriage. We were both devastated and took solace in each other. We knew we could express all of the hurt to someone who understood. I mean completely understood.

Although it was her first miscarriage Chi Chi insisted on getting as much testing done as she could.

My miscarriage was automatically written off as a "bad" eggs due to Advanced Maternal Age. It never occurred to anyone, myself included, that it could be anything else but...

Meanwhile Chi Chi (who is 8 years younger than me) found out she had the MTHFR gene mutation.

MTHFR

Now I don't know what y'all (and yes I have to use a y'all here)...Now I don't know what y'all see when you look at MTHFR but I but you can guess what I see...

Mother Fucker.

And if it's a gene mutation that causes miscarriages then it really is a Mother Fucker!

So Chi Chi and I started referring to it as the Mother Fucker gene.

Chi Chi has the Mother Fucker gene.

Now I am sure that most of you will know where I am going with this but I have to give you some background first...

The clinic I went to for my last cycle is in NY about a 3 1/2 hour drive north from me. Actually a beautiful, scenic drive that I had the pleasure of seeing in all its autumn glory when I went for my ET in October.

But due to the distance of my new clinic, during this last cycle, I would go to Dr. Wow for my monitoring. And since I have such high affections for Dr. Wow, even though he did not get me pregnant (hmm does that sentence seem odd to you?), I was happy that he was doing my monitoring.

After my positive pregnancy test, I contacted Dr. Wow's office requesting a prenatal ultrasound. The office manager said that they could not perform my prenatal ultrasound because I wasn't technically their patient.

I thought it was weird and I was a little upset because I always envisioned that it would be Dr. Wow who would the doctor in my dream, the one I had right before my first miscarriage, that turned the ultrasound machine towards me so I could see my baby's heartbeat.

But alas (I've always wanted to use alas in sentence)...but alas it was not meant to be. I ended up going to my OB for that fateful ultrasound that did not yield a heartbeat and ultimately resulted in my 2nd miscarriage.

2 days later I started bleeding and they scheduled a D&C.

While my OB was wheeling me into the operating room to perform my D&C, I tearfully asked him to please run an RPL (Reoccurring Pregnancy Loss) panel on me and to test the fetal tissue. He respectfully obliged.

The results of my RPL panel....MTHFR...Mother Fucker...I have the Mother Fucker gene. Plus my Thyroid levels were high and my C-Reactive Protein levels were also high.

The meaning: clotting and immune issues which can cause repeated early pregnancy losses.

The results of the chromosome testing on the fetal tissue...a perfectly healthy baby girl...

The meaning: Mother Fucker!

An Inconvenient Truth:

No, I am not going to start a debate on Global Warming, Al Gore, Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law or Rock and Roller cola wars (for those of you that don't know that is from Billy Joel).

That's a flame that can be fanned at another time on another blog.

What I am going to do is express my thoughts on a recent blog post that I put up for discussion.

I opened up my last post with an invitation to discuss Megan's post on:

Millions of Miles: Raising Human Beings and Life Lessons from the Duggars

There are many issues brought up in this post. Issues that resonate with all that I have been going through and thinking.

Here is what Megan's thought provoking post brought up for me:

...when did we get to the point where we feel like we get to tell a mother that her child deserves to die and secretly rejoice a little bit when someone goes through a tragedy.

I am truly grateful that no one posted anything but heartfelt sympathy for Michelle Duggar and her miscarriage.

I am blessed to be surrounded by like minded people but that wasn't always the case.

The idea that it would even cross someone's mind to say that she "deserved this" is unthinkable but I am not sure I always thought this way.

I am pretty sure I can hear the me I was long ago saying things like: " She's an idiot for having 19 children" or " What did she expect? " etc...

And I can hear my friends of days gone past echoing the same sentiments.

I don't think I ever truly understood what a gift creating a life was.

The me of days gone by, that person I don't even remember being, looked at as "getting knocked up". Something you didn't want to do.

And if someone miscarried, I can vaguely remember phrases like: "It's for the best." "It's a blessing in disguise".

A blessing to miscarry?

I do remember the attitudes and thoughts on getting pregnant and miscarrying when I was growing up and those attitudes and thoughts fell more along the lines of "accident" and "thank God".

And if someone got "knocked up" at a young age there was one solution that pretty much everyone agreed was the "best" solution. If the "best" solution wasn't chosen, then the consensus was the unfortunate girl that got herself knocked up just ruined her life.

There was never really the sense of the miracle or the magic.

I am sure if Michelle Duggar was around in my lifetime past, the characters of that time, myself included would have echoed hateful sentiments out of what I can only conclude would be entitlement.

God forbid you ever have to wake up and hear the news. Then you really might know what it's like to have to lose ~ Everlast....

I know for a fact I didn't understand the pain of a miscarriage until I had one.

I remember a woman I worked with, she had gotten pregnant at an inconvenient time.

She said her and her boyfriend were planning on getting married but I wasn't sure how true that was and her career had kind of stalled. She was only working part time with me at the time.

Sometime in her 1st trimester she miscarried. I remember actually telling her that it was probably "for the best".

I told her now she could wait until she got married. There was no rush. It was a "blessing in disguise."

A few months later she was pregnant again.

I asked her why, why would she go and get herself pregnant again (that phrase alone shows how arrogant and entitled my thoughts were at the time) when she could wait (once again entitlement) until she was in a better position to have a child.

And in case anyone missed it, that whole sentence above is filled with arrogance and entitlement. But those were the attitudes and thoughts I was raised with on getting pregnant.

She told me that the pain from her miscarriage was just too unbearable and that all she wanted was to get pregnant again and have a baby.

I didn't comprehend.

I think I might have called her an idiot under my breathe.

I just couldn't understand.

I understand now.

That is a pain I now know all too well and it is unbearable.

...and hurt so deep that you wonder if you will ever feel normal again.

I often wonder if I will ever feel normal again.

My mother said to me on the phone after my second miscarriage: "I just want you to be happy again."

But I was happy. I was over the moon happy. Rejoicing in the fact that I was going to be a mom. I was going to be blessed with this miracle.

I had never been happier in my entire life.

Until it all fell apart.

And I try to think back to who I was 20 years ago, 10 years ago, 5 years ago, 1 year ago or even yesterday and I don't know that person. I am not that person anymore.

I remember about a year ago, sometime after my 1st miscarriage, I somehow pulled myself together, that's when I started blogging and I found the courage to cycle again. My BFF during one of our daily phone conversations, we were talking about all I had been through and how I had changed and she casually said to me: "I am proud that you are my friend."

That has always stuck with me. I want to be someone my friends are proud of and I am proud that she is my friend.

I have changed. Some changes are for the good. I would never think any women would "deserve" to lose their child or that a miscarriage was "for the best".

I now have a true understanding of the gift of life.

My child will be wanted, love and cherished.

I strive to be a better person.

But some changes are not for the good. I am broken, permanently damaged and forever mourning. I will never have that sheer joy of announcing a pregnancy and I will always feel the pain of loss.

I pray that I will be able to rejoice again in the knowledge that I am going to be a mom.

"I just want you to be a happy again"

Me too mom....me too!

I would think that no matter if it was your first baby or your 20th baby that loss is loss. Who are we to diminish someone's pain?

I sometimes feel that I did something to "deserve" my miscarriages.

That my cavalier attitudes toward pregnancy lead me to this place.

I have thoughts that it's payback for a time when I was so insensitive or a time when I might have utter the words like "deserve it".

Or a time when I would callously diminish someone's pain with worthless platitudes like:

"Well it could be worse, at least you weren't in your second trimester."

OR

"You could have had a disable child, which would be worse than a miscarriage."

OR

"At least you have other children"

OR

"It wasn't meant to be."

OR

"You could be homeless or starving or in a wheelchair..."

OR one of a million other "worst case" scenarios that people bring up meant to somehow make someone "count their blessings" instead of acknowledging the horrible thing that just happened to them.

We need to acknowledge, support and love. We need to show and feel compassion.

...but I also think that our society has shifted the way that we think about children. They are no longer viewed as blessings. They are seen as something we "do" for 18 years. We have lost out on the magic of what it means to care for someone.

And now here is where the Inconvenient Truth comes in because I do think people treat their kids as an inconvenience without even realizing it.

There is a reason I waited so long before starting my journey towards motherhood and that reason is because I wanted to be the kind of mother that took joy in her children. The kind of mother that saw them as a blessing not a burden.

There are so many people who say things like: "I was stuck with the kids."

"Stuck with the kids" like it's a death sentence. I can't go out and enjoy my life because I am "stuck with the kids".

Or they need to get their kids out of their hair.

They can't go out and have fun anymore.

Just before the summer started there was an article that got posted on Facebook:

"Parents Survival Guide for the Summer" with the introductory line of:

"Parents, are you secretly dreading a long, hot summer with the kids?"

A friend of mine responded to the article on Facebook with...

"This just pissed me off. Why have kids if you hate having them around?!?! I love when my kids are home for the summer...most of our best family bonding days are spent during the summer. Every year I cry the last day of summer vacation and begin the countdown to the next beginning of summer vacation. Love my kids and love spending time with them !!!!!"

I couldn't agree with her more. Imagine knowing that you are in your parent's hair, they are stuck with you and they can't have fun anymore...

Why did you have kids in the first place?

And why can't your children be your fun?

That's what I hope to do...

Have fun with my children.

Treasure every day.

Make every moment count.

My same Facebook friend eloquently posted another sentiment along the same lines:

"I think that some parents really need to lighten up a bit and remember that their kids will only be kids for such a short amount of time. If they could grasp this notion they'd have a whole different perspective on how they treat them. I am one of those people that never want my kids to grow up...I love every minute of them!!!!!"

They will be grown and gone before you know it.

I guess then you can start having fun.

...We are so tied to our technology and our careers and our pettiness that we forget that there are actual children wanting us to delight in them.

I was bartending one evening and a regular couple and their kids came in. I figured they would go into the dining room and have dinner.

No, the couple had to sit at the bar, so the plopped themselves down at the bar and put their children at a high top table behind them.

The mother then called me over and gave me a cake. It was her daughter's 10th birthday. She would tell me when to bring out the cake.

The whole night the parents sat at the bar and barely interacted with their children. The mother spent most of her time texting.

When everyone had finished eating the father, as almost an afterthought, said something to the mother about the cake.

She looked up from her phone and was like "Oh yeah...I guess you should bring the cake now."

Me and the other bartender went and got the cake, lit all the candles and walked out singing Happy Birthday.

The mother sitting at the bar with her back to her children continued to text.

The mother did not even get up from the bar and go to the table.

The daughter kept saying: "Mom! Mom! Come look! Come here!"

The mother didn't move.

I remember being appalled. I remember swearing that would never be me.

But what if I didn't wait to have children? What if this journey had been easy? If I had not miscarried? If I had easily "gotten myself pregnant"? Would I have in turn become a mother who is more interested in texting, drinking and getting her children out of her hair rather than one that cries when summer ends?

I posted to my friend on Facebook that she is the kind of mother that I dream of becoming. And she wrote back:

"And you will be because I know what kind of person you are! ♥"

No, it's the kind of person I've become...the kind of person I am.

But more importantly the kind of person I am not.

Then you really might know what it's like:

I thought I would share this with you.

This is an amazing post by an amazing woman and writer.

I am so glad I found her blog. She is honest and raw.

Thank you Megan!

This post has brought up a lot of emotions and truths.


Millions of Miles:
Raising Human Beings and Life Lessons from the Duggars

I think I am going to make this post interactive!

Let's discuss!

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

Unless of course you just had a miscarriage.

Then it doesn't matter what time of the year it is. Nothing matters.

Actually it darkens the whole holiday season. It is now shrouded.

And you, your life, your daily routines never mind the feasts and celebrations...every moment feels like you are walking through quicksand.

The days fly by at such an alarmingly slow pace but they will be here and gone before you know it.

Even in your daze, in your daily clouded haze, time keeps moving but you feel stuck in time.

Because you are in the same exact place you were a year ago while everyone else has moved on.

It feels like some kind of dream you are suppose to wake up from but you never do.

And then out of the haze comes that feeling. When everything starts to hurt and it's becoming hard to breathe.

When that moment comes, the one that is always just under the surface. That moment that wakes you from your daze, you know you must find a quite place by yourself. You must lay down because at any moment the tears will start to flow, uncontrollably. They consume your whole body and no one is supposed to see that.

They are only supposed to see your strength and how well you are handling everything.

And how thankful you are.

And hey: "You look good!".

But what they don't see is when you excuse yourself from the Thanksgiving dinner table, make your way to the bedroom just in time. Shut the door, fall onto the bed into a fetal position and stick a pillow in your mouth so no one can hear you crying.

Because everything hurts and your heart is as empty as your womb.

But no. No one is supposed to see that.

You should be celebrating. You should be thankful.

After all it is Thanksgiving. The day of thanks!

And no matter what, you should be thankful.

And I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to be thankful. Every night I thank the Lord for all the things I do have.

I am thankful for my family, my friends, my home, my job. I thankful for my furbabies who always find a way to make me smile; even if it's a smile through pain.

But here's the truth:

Being thankful doesn't take away the pain.

Being thankful doesn't make the darkness turn to light and being thankful doesn't fill the emptiness that consumes my being.

I don't know if I ever told you this before. Those of you that know me will know this...

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It always has been. Kinda funny right!

Next up...

The fat man and the magic of Christmas! Great!! I swear if I had a Santa suit, a little dog and a sled I might just try to steal Christmas or at least cancel it!

Jinxed? Fate? Cursed? Bad Luck? Karma?

Jinxed?

I think the feeling that you could jinx a cycle is a direct result of PTIVF disorder.

“If I talk about my cycle I will jinx it!”

“If I get excited about good results I will jinx it!”

“If I blog or post about my cycle I will jinx it!”

There have been too many times in the past where everything looked like it was going to be so perfect and then you talked about it, got excited, told the world and the BOOM you “jinxed” it. And it would all go bad. Devastatingly bad.

So, believe me, after all my setbacks and then finally being able to cycle again I did everything I could think of not to jinx this last cycle.

I told very few people about my cycle. As a matter of fact one person had full disclosure and another was on a need to know basis.

I didn’t even tell my family. I just knew if I did that I would jinx it. If any of you are reading this, it was not done to hurt your feelings. It was done to protect mine.

Even my girls on Fertile Thoughts were pretty much kept out of the loop.

If I told people, if I chronicled its progress I just knew I would jinx it.

That’s why I didn’t blog about it.

I’ve spent the last 4 months blogging about past loves and how they might have led me to where I am now. And I almost wanted to continue on that path, blogging about the past so I wouldn’t have to face the future.

It was a nice distraction.

It made me feel like I wasn’t going to jinx this cycle.

I actually snuck away so I could go alone to my transfer. I didn’t want anyone “jinxing” it.

And finally, finally, I felt like I could have a successful cycle.

We transferred two perfect blasts and I have 3 frozen blasts.

My baby had to be in that batch somewhere. Right?

There was no way I could jinx this now…

But ahhh, even just thinking that could probably jinx it….

Fate? Cursed?

I really don’t know if I believe in fate.

I certainly have a more bitter outlook on it than others.

I am not one who actually believes everything happens for a reason.

I think that it is random events that happen.

Some amazingly good and some devastatingly bad.

And people use the “everything happens for a reason” to try to tie together some connection to help ease the pain of the devastating events.

Because if it was really meant to be, it could have happened and would have happened regardless. It doesn’t need the bad events preceding it.

I do think it is nice that people grab these ribbons and bows and tie together this pretty picture that makes all the bad seem necessary.

They make this pretty, little package.

But I think it’s harder for those of us that don’t have any of good that supposedly comes out of the bad.

It’s harder for those of us when it’s just one endless stream of bad luck and without that good at the end, how do you tie together the connections? Where are our ribbons and bows? How do you make that pretty, little package?

What could possibly be the reason?

You have bad luck?

You’re cursed?

Or maybe it’s your fate to be doomed?

Could there finally be something good that could make even a naysayer like myself believe…

Believe in Fate?

After my 1st failed IVF cycle over a year ago, I went to an Arabian Nights party at my friend V’s house.

At the party there was a fortune teller. This fortune teller told me that I would find out that I am pregnant on October 18th and it would be a boy.

Remember this was not this summer that just passed but the summer before.

I knew that what the fortune teller had told me couldn’t work out because I was cycling in August.

And let’s face it, when you are single the chances of a natural miracle are severely diminished.

But due to circumstances beyond my control my 2nd IVF cycle got pushed back and the day of my beta, the day I would find out if it worked or not, the day I would find out if I was pregnant fell exactly on October 18th.

I thought it was destiny. I thought it was fate. But on October 18th of last year instead of finding out I was pregnant; I found out that my 2nd IVF cycle had failed. I was not pregnant.

But I was so sure. How could this happen? Did I jinx it?

Flash forward to this year and this summer...

Could the fates be off a year?

I was supposed to cycle in June.

It got cancelled.

I was supposed to cycle in July.

It got cancelled.

I finally started my cycle in September and I was damned if I was going to jinx it this time.

I quietly went for my transfer on October 13th.

The looming date of October 18th was not unnoticed by me but really, it would only be 5 days after my transfer.

Surely if I tested that early I would jinx it.

But unable to stop myself from testing fate, I woke up at 5am and took a pregnancy test.

There was a faint line.

The next day that line was darker and then next day even darker.

I was supposed to go in for my beta on Monday. I requested my RE let me go in on Friday so I wouldn’t have to wait the weekend.

My beta was 86! 2 days early!

It had to be fate.

The fortune teller was right. I did find out I was pregnant on October 18th. Just one year later.

Could I start getting out the ribbons and the bows to make my pretty package?

To explain away all the bad because now finally, finally I was going to be a mom?

Wrapping it all up and finally finding out the reason?

Or did I just jinx it by testing early…

Cursed? Bad Luck? Karma?

My tests came back good and I was waiting for my 1st ultrasound.

I was still hesitant of telling people. I was going to wait until after my 1st ultrasound to then shout it from the roof tops.

I actually couldn’t wait!

But I was being careful. I was cautious. I didn’t want to jinx this pregnancy.

And in all honestly I didn’t really think that I could. My numbers were strong.

And then I did the one thing that was sure to jinx it.

Two days before my 1st ultrasound, I bought something for the nursery…

On the day of my ultrasound, less than 1 week ago, I was told that the baby isn’t growing and I would probably miscarry again.

I am shocked. I am sad. I am angry.

How could this be happening to me again?

Is this my fate?

Am I cursed?

Is this bad luck?

Or is this karma?

But I kept holding out hope.

You’ve heard the stories. Women who have been told they are going to miscarry only to go in for another ultrasound and there’s a perfect baby with a perfect heartbeat.

I had more bloodwork done. My numbers came back good again.

I woke up this morning feeling some cramps and I thought: “Maybe…maybe that’s my baby growing. Maybe that’s my uterus stretching like it should.”

“Maybe this is a good sign”

Maybe this…

And that’s when I felt it. Something wet running down the side of my leg.

Blood.

It is blood.

Today I’ve started my 2nd miscarriage.

I am no longer pregnant. I am no longer going to be a mom.

Did I jinx it?

Is it fate?

Am I cursed?

Is it bad luck?

Or is it karma?

Because right now I feel like everything I have done in my life. Good or bad. Every decision I have every made. Good or bad. Has brought me to a place where babies don’t grow inside of me.

And I don’t think there’s a bow big enough to tie this one together…

A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing…

This is a cautionary tale…

The Fast and the Furious!

While I was perfecting my mountain climbing skills, the Breadman was also doing some climbing himself.

He was trying to climb his way into my heart very fast and very furiously.

A little too fast.

A little too furious.

So much so that instead of falling head over heels, I started seeing flags. And not the kinda of flags that indicates the start of a race. No this was the kinda of flag that screamed hit the brakes. A red flag!

But seriously what was wrong with me.

It was truly “love at first sight” with my sailor.

And never once with my sailor did it ever feel wrong or “off”.

So, why was I having these feelings with the Breadman?

It could happen again right?

But before I even started my mountain climbing excursions with the Breadman, he was on the fast track.

He would show up at my apartment with thoughtful “gifts”.

Things like “I noticed you were out of juice so I brought some with me.”

He would make me breakfast (in his undies I might add which was totally hot!).

I would come home and there would be flowers in my foyer.

Or get to work and there would be flowers waiting there for me.

And I know you are all thinking “Ahhhh!” “That’s so sweet!” “So romantic!”

And it was…

All so sweet!

All so wonderful!

All so romantic!

And it felt all “too good to be true”.

And it was too fast. This was happening at lightning speed.

After about 2 weeks the Breadman was professing his love for me.

But here is the thing…

Where it all felt wrong…

Where it all felt too pretty, too neat, too packaged, too wrapped up and too fast…

Even though it was love at first sight for me and my sailor. It was months and months before we said “I love you!” to each other.

I remember the 1st time my sailor let me know he loved me.

He didn’t tell me.

He circled it on a card and then pointed to me.

So this much I do know…I know that my sailor loved me so much that it was hard for him to say it. He didn’t just throw the words “I love you!” around. They were only used when he truly meant it.

But the Breadman…

The Breadman was waxing love within 2 weeks.

I think I tried to convince myself that it was going to happen again with the Breadman.

I tried to convince myself it was sincere. I wanted so desperately to be in love. In love the way I was with my sailor.

I allowed myself to “fall” for the Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing.

I pushed my fears aside. I fell for the disguise and then I got swept away.

Swept away by every “I love you!”

Swept away by every flower, every breakfast and every mountain climbing excursion.

So swept away that I couldn’t even tell that he was pulling the wool over my eyes.

And when the mask did finally get pulled off, I was in shock by what I saw.

There is a part of me that wants to end the post here. Leave you with another cliff hanger in the Tale of the Breadman.

But here’s the thing. The Breadman does NOT deserve anymore billing.

It will end here.

And so the story goes…

Remember this is a cautionary tale.

Beware of the Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing...

There were other things about the Breadman that should have given me a glimpse behind the disguise but I looked the other way…

You know that beautiful, thick brown hair that flips so perfectly to one side that I mentioned…

Yeah well that took him over an hour to achieve. I would be sitting, dressed, ready to go out and he would be in the bathroom blow drying his hair.

Now I know that Metro-Sexuals have hit the scene and I am a big fan of the guy that does proper maintenance.

BIG FAN (Really guys make sure you’re “maintaining”. I say a good trim from head to toe is always in order!).

But, no guy should take longer to get ready than you do.

So take caution: It shows that underneath it all there might be a little too much vanity and a little too much self absorption.

And also, I found out that the Breadman wasn’t divorced like he said he was. He was in the process of getting divorced.

It is very important to make sure that they are free and clear and have been for some time.

So take caution: Those that are still tangled up, well, they will get you caught in the web too. Divorce is messy and if it’s not yours you really shouldn’t be a part of it.

And after all the “I love you’s”…

When the Breadman and I were planning on moving in together, ironically is was around Halloween when his mask came off, I found out that I was not the only woman he was making these plans with.

The Breadman was truly a Wolf. He had another girlfriend. Maybe more than one. I do not know.

It amazes me how he pulled this off since we spent so much time together.

And it seemed to all correlate with when his divorce finally became final.

Because as soon as his divorce became final things started to change.

So take caution – When someone is so quick to say “I love you” it might be a sign that they don’t hold the same meaning to those words that you do.

And lastly, trust your instincts. My initial instincts were to hit the brakes. But I ignored all the red flags and sped ahead blindly.

It really is all too cliché and predictable.

I am sure there are many of you who have come across this Wolf.

They do share similar traits.

So, I will leave you with this cautionary tale and the warning signs.

Take heed and beware!

The Truth About Trying

Redbook is partnering with RESOLVE to spread the word on The Truth About Trying.

We all know lately what trying has done to me.

Know that your are not alone!

Urban Myths & Mountain Climbing 101

*For those of you that don’t want to know what it’s like to get down and dirty with the Breadman, I suggest you skip this post. There is a part of me that can’t believe that I am writing this but I am a girl that likes to tell the full story…from the big moments down to the smallest details. You’ve been warned.*

This is for the ladies…

There are a lot of myths out there regarding the anatomy of a man.

And all across the world there are women and their girlfriends giving validity or squashing these myths because women talk. They talk about everything.

I think that’s why a lot guys didn’t like Sex in the City. They didn’t want to admit that women tell all. The long and the short of it, right into the thick of it…Women tell all!

And we have all heard these myths and we can debunk most of them.

“You know what it means if a guy has big feet right?” Wink Wink!– Yeah it means they have big socks and big shoes. The size of a man’s foot has nothing to do with the size of their “et…et…hmmm’s”.

Definitely a myth.

Now the size of their hands is another story and I have a whole theory on that which I will share with you later.

“Black men are hung.” - Black men are like any other group of men. Some got it and some don’t. It might have something to do with the size of their hands.

“If he’s tall and skinny he has been blessed” – Myth busters (my fellow female friends and I) have determined that this one is mostly true but there are exceptions to every rule.

“It’s not the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean.” – Okay on this one I definitely have a theory…or should I say a “tell it like it is” breakdown.

Here it goes…

When you are dealing with a “manhood” that is bordering on the average (slightly larger, slightly smaller) than it is most certainly the motion of the ocean. Technique plays a big, big role but…

But…if you are dealing with a “manhood” that’s let’s just say is very short on the man and maybe a little too much on the hood…well, he can have all the technique in the world…he can go down til Christmas and sooner or later you gonna want him to come up “boom” in the “boom boom room” and he’s got nothing to “boom” with.

And…if you are dealing with a “manhood” that over-floweth with MAN!! He doesn’t need to know how to use it…you do.

Which bring me to another myth out there that was really bothering me and that was the Urban Myth that says that bodybuilders (due to excessive steroid use) have a “tiny manhood”.

And the Breadman was a bodybuilder. He no longer competed so he wasn’t adding any “extra assistance” when I met him and hadn’t for years but when he was competing he used to get a lot of extra assistance.

And the myth was not in his (or my) favor.

I even had a girlfriend give confirmation to the myth.

My girlfriend as soon as I told her my guy was a bodybuilder gave me that face …you know that “ohh…yikes…poor you” face…So I said: “What! What’s with the face?” and she said:

“You know what they say about bodybuilders…” and then she holds up her pinky in demonstration.

Of course I said: “That’s just a myth.”

And then she launches into this story about how she was dying to hook up with this guy who was a bodybuilder and he had the most perfect body. She finally started dating him and well when the time came for her to move in on the downtown area…well…and then she shook her head and held up her pinky again…

This can’t not be. I mean the Breadman was magnificent. There couldn’t be anything “small” about the Breadman.

Which brings me to the foot myth and the hand theory. We already know that foot size is a myth and does not in any way indicate what’s “packing” but here is my theory on hand size…I figure God is not going to give a man this teeny, tiny, little thing and these giant hands to jerk it off with and vice versa…a guy is not going to have this great big “manhood” and these teeny, tiny, little hands to do the deed with…

So in theory (once again there are always exceptions to the rule) the look, size and feel of a man’s hands matches their other appendage. If a guy has long skinny hands and fingers he probably has a long skinny you know what. If his hands are small…yikes…and so on…and so on…

The Breadman was a myth of epic proportions. Everything was bulging on him. He had the biggest and meatiest hands I’d ever seen. He was a mountain. A mountain of muscle. My mountain. My mountain that I wanted so desperately to climb.

But…ahhh… then that probably meant there had to be something wrong…right…isn’t that another myth…that if they got it going on in some places others areas would be lacking.

I had to push this myth out of my mind…because there was nothing more disappointing than getting to that moment…that moment of the great reveal and…whomp, whomp, whomp…let’s just leave it at DIS-A-PPOINTING.

And the Breadman and I were at that point. At the point of the great reveal. There was no turning back, I was going to be a myth buster whether I wanted to or not.

So…

So, we are in his truck and things are getting very hot and heavy. The outer clothing caresses are now going to be permitted…

I gently brush my hand in the area…hmmm…no bulging.

I go in again…I’m having a hard time locating it…oh no!!

All I can picture in my head is my girlfriend holding up her pinky…IT CAN’T BE!!

And then the Breadman gently takes my hand in his giant, meaty hand and moves it to the left and…

Holy mother of…

Oh…my oh my…it was there and it was bulging…bulging all the way out the left side and up to his ribcage! His ribcage!!

From now on ladies if you want a secret signal to denote a man’s WELL “endowedness”, you can just tap your ribcage. We will make that the international symbol for Holy Crap!!

And all of the sudden I became a little leery of my mountain climbing expedition because right in the middle of the mountain was a giant tree that I was not so sure I was ready to climb.

I told you that the Breadman was a myth of epic proportions.

But there was that other myth…the myth that’s says that if they got it going on in some places others areas would be lacking…

For some reason at that moment and for some time to come after that, I really didn’t care. I had opted to let that myth fly…to hell with myths…I am no longer the myth buster!!

But what I was forgetting to consider was the age old adage…

“If it seems too good to be true…”