I feel like I did better on my 2014 goals than I had done on my 2013 goals, though I still didn't do as well as I could have or wanted to do.

Do something that scares me. I did do something that scares me (though it's not that impressive of a feat) when I attended a Meetup in my area; while this isn't a big deal to many people, I get social anxiety around strangers (though once I;m comfortable around you, I never shut up).

Lose two sizes. That didn't happen, but in the past few months, I have lost 2/3 of the weight that I put on last year, so I've definitely made and improvement, and I'm getting closer to the weight I was after winning the Diet Bet I co-hosted with Jess back when I still blogged at Operation Skinny Jeans.

Create more. I didn't create nearly as much as I would have liked, but I did create more than I did in 2013. I took a lot of photographs, sewed my first dress, wrote, and learned how to crochet (though crocheting is still a work in progress).

Cut ties with the negative parts of my life. I ended up being better about this than I thought I would. I defriended people on Facebook who were nothing but negative, was open about how I feel out of place in my family, and I've been better about surrounding myself with people and things that make me happy.

Learn new things. As previously mentioned, I learned how to crochet. I learned more about website building. I learned things at school. I probably learned a lot more, but my brain is overloaded at the moment.

Read more. Mostly school stuff, unfortunately, though I was able to read some books for pleasure. Not nearly as many as I'd like though.

Do more. I put myself out there a little more socially, I took up volunteer work, and I worked hard to get good grades.

Love more. I'd like to think I accomplished this.

As to how my year went...

January

-I began a year-long project to document as much of my dad's genealogy as I could. My mom had already done this for me a decade ago, but I wanted to do it on my own, because I find genealogy fascinating. I ended up giving it to my grandparents for Christmas. It's still a work in progress, and it was pretty exhausting (especially in the past couple of weeks!), but it was all worth it.

February

-My little brother Ian left for boot camp.

-Tom went to New York for a week, while I complained about the weather and took a gazillion Zimbio quizzes. February was not terribly exciting.


March

-We finally got health insurance, though we weren't able to use it for several more months.

-I had to write an autobiography for a school assignment. It was thirty-one pages long (and that was fairly condensed).

April

-I began creating Game of Thrones Youtube video recaps.

May

-I had an article published on Thought Catalog (also Game of Thrones-related), which was a lot of fun to write.

-We celebrated our third wedding anniversary with an awesome dinner at our favorite local fancy place, Adelino's.

-I left my job as a preschool teacher.

-I turned 26.

-Archie turned three.

-I made the Dean's List!

June

-Father's Day really bummed me out.

-Tom and I started a Full House podcast together, Everywhere You Look, which has been an absolute blast.

July

-I was honest about how disjointed I feel from my family.

-Ian came home from boot camp and AIT.

August

-I was diagnosed with PCOS. I also began fertility medication.

September

-I found out that I hadn't ovulated even with medication.

-Tom and I got the closest thing we've ever had to a vacation when we spent 24 hours in northern Ohio, and I actually got Tom to enjoy the beach :)

October

-We welcomed a new member to our family when we adopted our kitten, Egg.

-Tom spent another week in New York, and I got to spend several hours dealing with Chicago traffic in order to get him to and from O'Hare. However, I also got to go to IKEA, which is always a good thing.

-I admitted the extent of my struggles with weight and talked about how I learned to become more comfortable with myself after years of self-shaming.


November

-Medication continued to not work.

-I began volunteering at a local animal shelter taking photos of dogs available for adoption.


-I lost my beloved grandmother.

December

-I ended the toughest semester I've had since I went back to school with straight A's (which means I've made the Dean's List again).

-We celebrated the holidays together and with our families.

I am really looking forward to 2015. I feel like it's going to be a year of great opportunities, and I can't wait to see what it holds!

Like many of you, I'm sure, Christmas is generally a pretty hectic time for us. Thankfully, I don't think it will ever be as hectic as it was last year (we had seven Christmas gatherings last year, and five were within 24 hours. Since we had to drop off/pick up Archie, crisscrossing the state to get everywhere led to about six hours of driving and 300 miles to cover -- which doesn't sound like a lot, I know, but this was all in an extremely short amount of time).

This year, we had six places places to go, but they were a little more spread out: Tom's grandparents' (the Sunday before Christmas), my best friend's (Christmas day), my mom's (Saturday), my dad's (Sunday morning), my grandparents' (Sunday afternoon), and Tom's parents' (which we actually haven't done yet -- we do it on New Year's Day). Normally we also would have stopped by my grandma's and Tom's aunt's, but Tom's aunt has been ill and didn't feel up to hosting this year, and obviously, I can only celebrate with my grandmother's memory now.

That said, this was probably my favorite actual Christmas experience that I've had. Normally, we're rushing around on Christmas Eve and don't really get a chance to just be together and focus on the traditions that we've cultivated in our years together (this was our fifth Christmas together, which is crazy!). This year, however, we were able to do that.

It might sound weird, but we eat burritos on Christmas Eve. I don't remember the exact reason, but I think it was probably because we were both working until after 9pm on Christmas Eve our first year together, and burritos were quick to throw together. After that, it just kind of stuck. So this year, we began with burritos. After dinner, we opened up our Christmas pajamas, put them on, and watched The Muppet Christmas Carol. After the movie, I had to work briefly (the family I nanny for is Catholic, and they asked me to come stay with the sleeping kids while they went to Midnight Mass), but after I came home, we decided to go ahead and open gifts.

And I got something I've been wanting for quite some time:


I haven't had a lot of time to read it yet with all the rushing around we've done, but what I have read so far has been awesome.

The next morning, we made cinnamon rolls and sausage for breakfast, and then spent the day with our second family eating good food, playing games, and enjoying one another's company.

My mom's was full of good talking, my dad's was full of Scattergories, and I was able to give my grandparents the gift I am the most proud of -- their genealogies. My granny told me I couldn't have given her anything better, and I cannot even begin to describe how happy that made me.

All in all, it was a wonderful Christmas.

I hope you enjoyed the holidays as much as I did!

But when I got the results of my progesterone check back, and my levels on 100mg Clomid and Metformin were .6 (which was actually lower than Metformin alone), I knew that I wasn't going to be getting two pink lines for Christmas.


 I was walking around the house singing "All I Want For Christmas Is My BFP" (to the tune of "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Left Teeth, of course"), but it just wasn't meant to be this month. Side note: I often make up weird little parody songs. After we watched The Lego Movie, I turned "Everything is Awesome" into "Everyone is Pregnant" while at the grocery store, and also "(Insert Name of Person Who is Kind of Awful) is Awful". On a road trip years ago, I made up songs about a guy my friend Hannah liked to the tune of whatever came on the radio, and they were actually kind of great. It's my weird little secret talent.

But getting the bad news? It was definitely disheartening. I had felt really strongly that I had ovulated (which just goes to show that, at least in the case of reproductive matters, my gut can't be trusted). It felt like I was taking two steps back when the combination of both meds combined was supposed to be MORE helpful. However, as my friend Missie often reminds me when I'm discouraged, it can take a few cycles for Clomid to actually help you ovulate, and this was only my second actual cycle with Clomid.

My doctor did go ahead and up my dosage for this cycle -- 150mg, which I started last night. If I don't ovulate this cycle, he wants to talk about injectables (which carry a much higher price tag) and having my tubes thoroughly checked. However, if I don't ovulate this cycle, I'm going to see if he could/would be willing to give me Femara, a breast cancer drug that is used off-label to promote ovary stimulation; many women who are Clomid-resistant respond well to Femara. It also has fewer side effects, though I have not really had any major issues with Clomid (it affects my appetite, makes me extra weepy, gives me hot flashes, and makes me occasionally dizzy).

I'm really hoping that 150mg will do the work, and my ovaries will respond appropriately. I don't even need to get pregnant this cycle (though of course, that would be amazing); I just want to know that my body is actually capable of getting pregnant.

A couple of weeks ago on Facebook, I alluded to some family issues that would be keeping me occupied. What I was referring to was that my grandmother (who I was extremely close with) had become very sick, and her medicine was no longer working. Less than an hour after I posted that, I got the call that she had passed.

This has been a really difficult time for me.

My grandma and I have always had a special bond that transcended that of just your regular grandparent-grandchild relationship.

In my somewhat tumultuous life, my grandma was the one constant. She was always there for me, and always made me feel like I was a priority. She was always supportive, and she was always proud of me.

She was my best friend.

She had a difficult life full of abuse and hardship, but even so, she was still one of the most giving people I'd ever met. She would keep things on hand in case someone needed it down the road. She gave to many charities, and volunteered her time keeping dying people company when they were in hospice care.

She was always beyond generous with me, offering me a home when I didn't have one. Not only was she the first person to hold me, but my mother and I lived with her for the first year of my life. When I needed somewhere to stay a couple of years later, I went to live with my grandparents. When I found myself suddenly homeless shortly before I turned 20, my grandma was there, and she gave me a home for the next two years until I moved in with Tom. She let me use her car to get to work (even though I accidentally smacked the back into a telephone pole) before I had my own. She loaned us money to help cover the deposit on our current apartment. She's done so much more for me than she needed to.

Normally, a post like this would be accompanied by pictures, but if there was one thing my grandma hated, it was having attention called to herself, and that included photographs. My cousin found ONE picture of her smiling (on accident!) when he was looking for a picture for the obituary. I used to tease her and tell her that when we'd be eating out, I'd tell them it was her birthday; she would then threaten to disown me. It makes me kind of sad to think that I no longer even have the opportunity.

(ETA: After cleaning out her house a bit a few months after her death, my cousin and I found some of her childhood pictures, so I wanted to put my favorite in. It's been my lock screen since I found it.)



I can't help but feel a little guilty though, because I feel like she kept holding out for me. Her health had really declined considerably since I moved to Lafayette, and there were several times in the past few years where she told me she didn't think she'd be around much longer. I would always tell her that she had to stick around because I needed her, and because she needed to be around to see my kids (which obviously will never happen now, and that breaks my heart).

In the last couple of months when we would talk, she would always tell me that she felt bad, because she thought that me worrying about her was adding unnecessary stress and adding to my fertility issues (she did know about the PCOS, and she was probably the biggest supporter of my desire to have a child, because she knew it was important to me). I told her I didn't care, and that she was more of a priority to me, because she was (plus worrying is one of the things I do best; I get that from her). When she called me the Friday before she passed to let me know that she was not responding to medicine and that they didn't think she had much longer, she actually apologized to me because she didn't think she'd be there to see my kids.  It made me realize that I had basically been guilting her into sticking around, because there were times when she definitely felt ready to die, but I wasn't ready for her to die. I'm still not ready, and she's been gone two weeks now.

The funny thing is, I think that I'm going to get pregnant soon now. Tom and I went to see her a couple of days before she died, and after we left, I looked at him and said, "You know what's going to happen? She's going to die, and I'm going to get pregnant." Obviously, I would LOVE to be pregnant, but I wish more than anything that she could be here for that. But maybe she wanted to hand-pick our baby or something (silly, maybe, but you never know). Although a psychic once told my mom that I was my grandma's beloved grandma reincarnated (nobody believes that), so maybe my first child will be my grandma reincarnated (I don't actually believe that either, but it's funny to think about). And strangely enough, I think I may have actually ovulated this cycle; it's still a little early to know (I'm on CD 16), but my temperatures seem to support the idea.

Unfortunately, the night before we went to see her, she took a turn for the worse, so we weren't really able to talk (she could hear us, but she couldn't communicate back very well, and she spent a lot of the time sleeping), but it was still nice to be there. I told her it was okay if she needed to go, and that I was sorry if  she felt like she needed to stay because of me. Best of all, my mom came to see her too (they had an estranged relationship, and hadn't seen one another in years), and that meant so much to me, and I'm sure it meant a  lot to my grandma too. As upsetting as it was to see my grandma like that, I'm very glad I got to see her one last time.

I just really hate that she's not here anymore. She's been such a major part of my life from the moment I was born, and I don't know how to not have her. I just love her so much.

Rest in peace, grandma. You are greatly missed.

Yesterday, I went in to have my blood drawn for my second progesterone test. Last month's didn't go well (my levels came back at .5), and this month's wasn't much better; my levels were .7, which is still post-menopausal (seriously, MEN have higher progesterone levels than I do).

a graph of my progesterone levels over the past two months

When I went to sleep last night, I knew there was a chance that I wouldn't ovulate, so I hadn't gotten my hopes up. But then last night, I had a dream where I took a digital pregnancy test (one of those new digital ones that tells you how far along you are), and it was positive. Thinking it was a fluke (this is me we're talking about here), I took another test, and got the same positive result, that I was 1-2 weeks along after ovulation, which is 3-4 weeks pregnant. Even though I knew better, when I woke up and saw the email saying that my test results are in, I felt a little flicker of hope.

Since that hope was quickly extinguished, we're on to our next round treatment. I will be continuing to take Metformin, and I'll be starting on Provera again tomorrow (I'm not looking forward to that), and then once my next cycle begins, we'll be adding Clomid back in at a higher dosage of 150mg.

Here's hoping the next round goes better.

As I sit here with tears welling in my eyes just from listening to the emotion in a Taylor Swift song (not exactly an uncommon occurrence...), I am left wondering one thing: why me? (Well, and why does Gary Lightbody's voice tear my heart apart, so I guess it's actually two things).

Because I can tell that this isn't just my normal emotional self. This is my fake ovulation self. See, even though I don't ovulate on my own, occasionally my body will do things to make me think that it's ovulating, usually a combination of any of the following: fertile-looking cervical mucous, ovary twinges, light spotting and getting MEGA weepy.

Of course, it's entirely possible that I am actually ovulating, though experience lends itself to the contrary.

But please don't mistake this for the pity party I throw for my ovaries on the regular. Because I absolutely do. It's bad, I know, but my empty uterus often leads to feeling sorry for myself. This time, however, it's not a "woe is me" why me, but instead, I'm thinking of it from a more objective standpoint.
 Why did I, Alexandra Green, end up like this?

PCOS affects 6-10% of women, so why did I end up being one of those 6-10%, instead of the other 90-94%?

Why is it that in my extremely fertile family, I am the one who has trouble conceiving?

Why does my body insist on pretending to work without actually doing the work?

These are things I wonder about, but I know I'll likely never have an answer for any of them. Strangely enough, I'm kind of okay with that.

Maybe God thought I was strong enough to handle it (which some days, I really start to doubt, but obviously I am handling it, in one way or another). Maybe I have PCOS to serve as an example or something. Maybe someday, someone in a similar boat is going to need someone to talk to, and that's why.

That thought is also why I'm not apologizing for the fact that my blog has kind of turned into one giant ovarian pity party (because I had certainly thought about it -- I have quite the guilt complex). I know I tend to whine a lot about my infertility and how sucky I think my situation is, and I'm sure there are people who don't want to read about it. But these are my real feelings, and I know that somewhere out there, there are other women who feel the same way I do. If one day, one of those women happens to stumble across this blog, read my posts, and feel a wave of relief wash over her as she realizes that someone else feels the same way that she does, I'll be very glad that I did write all these whiny posts. PCOS can feel very isolating. I've joined several PCOS-related Facebook groups, and just having a place to talk, vent, and ask questions with other women who know what I am going through has been a sanity saver.

There have been times in the past where I have blogged with very specific intentions in mind, because for some insane reason, I had it in my head that I could become blog famous, but that's not how it is anymore. I'm not trying to carefully craft an image of who I think you want me to be. I'm not trying to be someone I'm not. To quote Demi Lovato in Camp Rock (yes, I still watch DCOMs, and I have seen almost every one ever made), "this is real, this is me", and what I am going through with my PCOS and infertility is a big part of that. I can't pretend it's not there, and I don't want to. I might dwell on it a little too much, but I'm still learning more about what PCOS is and how it affects me. I process things by discussing them, and since a lot of people in my life give zero craps about listening to me talk about it, the blog has really become my way to get my feelings out. They're not always pleasant feelings, but they're MY feelings, and they're valid.

I really appreciate those of you who actually still read this blog. I know my posting is inconsistent (which turns a lot of people away) and sometimes it takes me awhile to reply to comments, not to mention all the previously mentioned issues people might have with the content. It means a lot that you care enough to sift through all the word vomit and deal with how emo I tend to get. It's nice to know that people care :)

I'm not quite sure how I got from point A to point B just then (hurrah for stream-of-consciousness!), but being all over the place is just part of my charm, I suppose :)

In my last post, I was pretty open about my weight and the struggles I had with managing it effectively, but I didn't really get into the emotional aspect of being so heavy.

I was thinking earlier about how I felt about my body at 13. I was overweight then (I've pretty much always been at least a little overweight), and I was really paranoid about my body. We spent a lot of time at the ball field, because my sister and I both played fast pitch softball, and my brother played baseball, so between the three of us, we were there several times a week. Obviously, I had a uniform I wore when I played, but I also had a uniform I wore when they played: flared jeans, a tee shirt or tank top, and an Aeropostale zip-up hoodie that I refused to take off, no matter how hot it got. I was so paranoid about what people might say about the extra jiggle in my thighs or my upper arms that I would rather just be a walking sauna than expose skin (and also, in my mind, expose myself to criticism).

What really saddens me about that looking back is that I actually had a pretty decent body. I was heavy for my age, but I can't even imagine what having a body like that would be like now as an adult. I wore size 13 jeans (though I could also still squeeze into some of my girls' size 16 shorts). I can't even remember the last time I fit comfortably into an 18, let alone a 13/14 (I emphasize comfortably, because I was squeezing myself into some 18s just a few years ago, because even though they were tight to the point of being uncomfortable, I was more concerned with what the tag said than with how I looked). It was probably middle school, because I remember being into a 16 by the time my freshman year ended.

Unfortunately, that insecurity followed me into adulthood (shocking, I know).

But it didn't only affect my body image. It began to creep into other areas of my life as well. I began to doubt my intelligence. I doubted my worth. I doubted my abilities. And frankly, it sucked. My confidence was quickly replaced with false cockiness, used as a coping mechanism because I didn't know how to be somebody who wasn't sure of herself. I've worked my way through a lot of those feelings with the help of therapy and maturity, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't still struggle with those feelings regularly.

It wasn't until I met Tom that I actually started to feel comfortable, but even then, it was only with him. I still continued to wear jeans in the summer, though I had lost the hoodie by then. However, over the past couple of years, I have been making slow progress in being okay with myself. A couple of years ago, I bought a couple of pairs of bermuda shorts to wear to work. This summer, I started wearing tank tops by themselves, arm fat and all (that was a HUGE step for me). But perhaps one of the biggest impacts on my self-confidence occurred this summer at a wedding.

Our friends Isaac and Erica were getting married, and Tom was in the wedding. I don't really have a lot of "nice" clothes (in fact, most of my clothes are older than my relationship), so I decided to splurge a bit (and by splurge, I mean $25 -- I seem to have a problem spending money on myself) and I got this really cute Cynthia Rowley dress at TJ Maxx. I had been LBD-less for several years, and it fit the bill well. It's an XL, and I didn't expect it to fit, but it did. That said, it is a *little* tight on top, but I still loved it and bought it anyway. It's sleeveless, and the hem is a couple of inches above my knees.

Shockingly, I wore that dress to that wedding not only without a cardigan or anything over it, but without any leggings, which is the really shocking part (because if my thighs are exposed, I'm wearing leggings, but I didn't that night).

And you know what?

I didn't wonder once that night if people were judging my thighs. I didn't wonder if people were offended my arm flab. I just felt good. More than good, even; I felt HOT. I even got a couple of compliments from people I didn't even know. I really wish I had a picture of myself from that night. Or maybe I don't. Maybe it's better if I just remember how I looked as I saw it, not as seen through someone else's eyes (or a mirror selfie).

I haven't bared my thighs in public since then, but that night, and how it made me feel, has done so much for how I feel about myself. While I am still dissatisfied with my body, I no longer hate my body, and I think that's a really big step for me.

And after a lifetime of self-loathing and fat shaming (both from myself and those around me), it's really nice to feel that way.

And I'm finally being honest with myself.


The thing is, I have been in denial about my weight for a long time. I had lost some weight at the beginning of last year, but then quickly gained all of it (and then some) back. Putting on 30 pounds last year was actually what first made me suspect that I had PCOS (granted, I had several pieces of the puzzle before, but I just hadn't put them together in the right way).

I have mentioned wanting to lose weight before, but obviously, nothing ever really stuck. I think part of this is that I've generally been pretty careful about concealing just how bad things are, so I need to lay it all out: at my highest, I weighed 327.5 pounds.

It was mortifying.

Not that anyone knew the number, of course. And thankfully, the way my fat settles is fairly proportionate, so I usually don't look like I weigh quite as much as I actually do. But still, knowing that it had gotten that bad broke my heart. I remember when I was about 12 or 13 (overweight, of course, but not as badly as I was as I got older), and looking at the scale and thinking I will kill myself if I hit 200 pounds.

I often wonder what that girl would think about the woman I've become.

Thankfully, I have lost some weight since then; as of Sunday night, I was 316.8. Still far from where I need to be, obviously, but it is encouraging to see the number go down. Obviously, this isn't all about the number on the scale, but considering that I am morbidly obese (the fact that it's true doesn't make it any easier to admit), the number is pretty important for me.

I have needed and wanted to lose weight for quite some time, but for some reason, even my main motivation (having a baby) just hasn't seemed to be enough for me to stick with it.

So what changed?

Honestly, I think that it was learning that I didn't ovulate at all, even with the help of fertility drugs. I knew that losing weight could help with my reproductive system, but it was heartbreaking to learn that my ovaries were doing that badly, and it kind of woke me up. If I want a baby, I need to lose weight, plain and simple.

However, things will need to change if I am going to actually be successful in losing weight this time. Unfortunately, I think I unintentionally self-sabotage by trying to do too much, too soon. I try to go cold turkey on "bad" foods, and throw myself into exercises that are above my fitness level. But I'm not doing that this time.

My nutrition goals are to cut back on processed carbs cut down on gluten (my OB/GYN said that it might help lessen my PCOS symptoms), and I want to incorporate a lot more produce into my diet (which will hopefully be eventually mostly plant-based). I'm not going full-blown low carb, because even though too many carbs can be problematic, not getting enough carbs can screw up my blood sugar; I'll be aiming for 100-150g per day. However, I will be easing into things a bit. Normally, when I start trying to lose weight, I throw out all the bad stuff (like I mentioned, I tend to be a going cold turkey kind of girl); that's really wasteful though, and I think that it will be better for me to eat some of the "bad" stuff and some of the "good" stuff at the same time. So that half-eaten box of Reese's Puffs in the cabinet? I'm going to finish it.

I'm also going to be tracking my food, ALL of my food, on My Fitness Pal. If you're on MFP, please, by all means add me; I'm going to need all the support and accountability that I can get -- you can find me as OperationBabyGreen (similar to Operation Skinny Jeans, where I used to blog, I know, but a baby is my end goal, and it seemed appropriate. Besides, when my bestie Katie and I were in high school, we started referring to our weight loss efforts as Operation: Anti-Walrus, so it's kind of a tradition at this point to have weight loss "operations").

I have also made a goal to work out at least 3 1/2 hours per week. That breaks down into seven 30-minute sessions. I figure that's doable. My biggest issue with workouts (and even with some aspects of nutrition) is that I am SO lazy; I could spend all day on the couch and not bat an eyelash. Obviously, that needs to change. I figure that by incorporating a 30-minute walk (or yoga or zumba videos if it's cold out) every day, I can get in at least some activity, and that's a great place to start.

I also had a good talk with Tom about how it's hard for me to stick with eating well when he's not eating the same things I am. Like, when I see him eating pizza, it makes me want to eat pizza, and then I tell myself I can have some pizza, and then things just start spiraling out of control. He was really cool about it, and he's willing to eat better with me as long as it tastes good (unfortunately, we often have very different views as to what constitutes "good"); we're going to work together to try to make this work, and I think that's going to make such a difference for me.

I'm putting this all on the internet, even though admitting how much I weigh is almost physically painful, because I need to hold myself more accountable. Once I press publish, that's it. Even if I chose to go back and edit it out or delete this post (which I won't do), my weight is out there on the internet, and people will see it. I'm hopeful that this will help motivate me to lower that number.

I need to be firm with myself, but I also need to be forgiving, and I need to remember that one stumble doesn't have to unravel all of my progress.

I want a baby, and I think I am finally truly ready to commit to losing weight to make that dream come true.

So the Clomid? It didn't work.

I had my CD 22 blood work drawn last Thursday, and the nurse told me that the results would appear in my chart (which I can access online) the next morning. I kept checking back throughout the day, and they still weren't there, so when I finally got all three kids to sleep at the same time, I called the office to get my results.

That wasn't a good idea.

It turned out that my results weren't published yet, because my doctor had wanted the chance to discuss them with me since they were so bad. My progesterone levels, after the Clomid, were .5. That's the kind of level a post-menopausal woman would have (which means ovulation did not occur, at least not by then). The nurse told me that the doctor would be calling me Monday (he's in another town from Wednesday afternoon to Friday), and that he would discuss what our next steps would be then (I mentioned this on the Facebook page, but it seems like only a fraction of the people who have liked it are actually getting my posts, since Facebook just wants me to pay them oodles and caboodles of money to have people see what I have to say).

I was devastated.

I hadn't expected to get pregnant the first time, but I had (naively) thought that I would ovulate. I tried not to, but I did cry a bit while on the phone (and then I think I accidentally hung up on the nurse). I was attending my first meetup that evening, and Tom and I were heading to Ohio the next day, and it completely threw me off. Thankfully, I was able to enjoy myself that night (we were at the local pottery painting studio -- I dragged my BFF Dominique into coming too, and we met a couple of new friends and were out talking with them until midnight), but as we were driving to Ohio the next day (well, I was driving; Tom was playing on his phone), it hit me all over again. We arrived at our hotel in Norwalk, Ohio, a few hours ahead of our friends, and since we were so close to Lake Erie, I was bound and determined to find a beach.

Now, Tom is not exactly what you'd call a "beach person". He's not really an outdoor person in general, but he has always expressed immense disinterest in the beach. However, considering that I was having a rough weekend, he agreed, and we drove up to Nickel Plate Beach, about fifteen minutes north, in Huron.


It was exactly what I needed.

It had been a LONG time since I'd been to a beach, and it was my first trip to Lake Erie. It was really purifying for my heart, and I felt like every time the waves came in, they grabbed my worries and pulled them out into the blue.

And best of all? Tom had a great time :)


I was anxious to talk to my doctor, and he called when I was picking up Little J from preschool on Monday. He decided he was going to put me on Metformin (it's a drug usually used for diabetes -- I'm not diabetic, but I am insulin resistant), because the Metformin would hopefully make my ovaries more sensitive to the Clomid, which would hopefully help me to ovulate on my own. As a bonus, it might help me lose weight. However, it apparently has some very unpleasant side effects. He says that the first month is usually the worst of it, but the first couple of weeks are the most harsh (TMI alert, but apparently diarrhea is all too common -- my sweet husband was nice enough to pick me up some grape Powerade Zero when he picked up my pills). After a month of just Metformin, I'm going to be back on the Clomid (while still taking Metformin, I think), but I'm getting bumped up to a 150mg/day dose (I was on 100mg). Hopefully, I will at least ovulate that way.

I don't know what the future holds. Maybe the Metformin will work, maybe it won't. Maybe we'll have to try yet another, more intensive course of treatment, but hopefully we won't.

But what I do know is that I hope there are more beaches in our future :)

That's how my house feels most of the time, anyway.

It doesn't look like a place where adults live; it looks more like a bunch of frat boys live here.

yup, pretty much (not our actual apartment, but a reasonable facsimile)

We gave away the majority of our house things (dishes, appliances, furniture, etc.) when we though we were moving to Florida, so we've been slowly trying to re-accumulate the things we no longer have (but would really benefit from). I'm tired of feeling like I'm just temporarily staying in someone else's home, because it certainly doesn't feel very "me" (Tom gives zero craps about how our place is decorated or furnished, so it's pretty much all falling on me). There are several things on my to-do list, and I will blog about them (with before and afters, when possible and applicable) as I go (just a warning, though -- it might be a bit of a slow process).

When I started writing this, I was just going to list everything that I wanted to tackle, but it ended up being really long, so I ended up splitting it into multiple posts so I don't bore you to death all at once.

Living Room

-We need a new couch. We didn't even have one when we moved in; we slept in the living room for the first couple of months that we lived here so that our bed could function as seating as well. We had a friend stay with us for a few weeks after that, and he gave us his old couch. It's served its purpose, but one of the legs keeps coming off, it's pretty dirty by now, and it's in a floral print that doesn't really go with anything. I'm still trying to determine what "look" I'm going for (I'm so indecisive), but I'm thinking something neutral (though I'm not opposed to bright furniture at all).

-I want to recover our wingback chair. It was the first piece of furniture that we actually bought (from Goodwill last year), other than an IKEA coffee table a few years ago. It's a good chair, but I don't like the fabric; I'd love to find a fun print for it.

-I'd like to get a new TV stand or entertainment center. We currently have a small TV stand that Tom had in college, but between the TV, modem, router, blu-ray player, and cable box, it's a bit crowded. I'd like to have something with more storage, and something that will help conceal cords better. Once we have a new solution, I could move the current stand into the bedroom, and use the coffee table that the bedroom TV is on elsewhere (such as, I don't know, the living room?).

-I really need to give the walls a fresh coat of paint. The color we used is fab (Mermaid Treasure by Behr, though I may go with another color if I can ever figure out what I want), but I used really cheap paint, and that was a big mistake. The walls seemed to sweat at times, the paint got splotchy, and it's just a hot mess.

-I'd like to create a bit of an entry area. We have a wall next to the door that's perfect. We currently have a little storage bench there, but it's broken, and I'm not sure how fixable it is. I'd like to make sure we have dedicated places for things like keys, Tom's wallet, and Luna's laser pointer (which we use multiple times a day to distract her whenever we leave the house).

-I want to get all of our DVDs, blu-rays, and video games organized into binders, so they take up less space.

-The room really needs some finishing touches, like curtains, photographs, maybe a rug, etc.

Bathroom

-We need more towels, washcloths, etc. We also need a bath mat, because I'm tired of just throwing a towel on the floor.

-We need a new shower curtain, and I think I might make it myself. When we first moved in two years ago, I grabbed one of those cheapie curtains at Dollar Tree, and that's what we still have up (though since Luna enjoys scratching on it, it's looking a little rough).

-I want to get one of those over-the-toilet storage rack things. There is actually a linen cupboard in the bathroom, but it's really deep and the top shelf is above my head, so it's not terribly convenient. Our counter is also really small (basically just big enough for the sink), so having more room readily available would be fantastic.

Seriously, our place is a hot mess. My life needs so much more organization.

Well, I'm going to be that jerk who poses a question they aren't going to answer immediately.

Instead, I'm going to start with an update because I like to set things out chronologically (when I'm not organizing things alphabetically, that is).

Today is cycle day 19. I took my last dose of Clomid on September 11. I was lucky enough to not really have any symptoms while I was actually taking the Clomid. I managed to avoid the Clomid crazies, thankfully. While on it, I was a little dizzy at times and I didn't have much of an appetite, but that was pretty much it. After my last dose, however, more symptoms came. I had a few hot flashes, I was hit by nausea HARD on CD 13, and (TMI ALERT) it's been making me REALLY dry in areas that it's not terribly convenient to be dry in when trying to conceive; if this cycle doesn't work, I think I'm going to have to get some Pre-Seed.

If I ovulated, my doctor suggested that it would probably happen between CD 12-15. If that's the case, I could be anywhere from 4-7 DPO. I've been a little congested, and my throat has been really dry and itchy, but that's really all that's going on right now (and that could probably be attributed to allergies). I'm trying not to obsess over every little thing, because that has brought nothing but heartache in the past.

And now, to the question at hand. What if I'm pregnant?

If I am, I'm not going to wait until I'm 12 weeks along to announce it. I know that's a controversial choice, but it's my choice, and I think that's what's going to be right for me. I've been blogging about my fertility issues and this journey to motherhood for three years now, and it would be weird if I just suddenly stopped. Plus, if (God forbid) something does go wrong, and I lose the baby, I'm going to need to talk about it.

However...

I'm not going to tell you guys right away. If I'm pregnant after all this time, I want to be able to share the news with Tom and our families in a special way, and that might take a little time, depending (I'm having trouble deciding what I want to do).

I didn't create this -- if I did, there would be an apostrophe where there should be one.

So whether or not I'm pregnant, I'm not going to say anything one way or the other for probably a few weeks, because if I don't say anything, everyone will know I'm pregnant. By just not saying anything, I can deliver the news, whatever it may be, on my own terms. I'm going for my blood work on Thursday to see if I ovulated; when I get the results, I will share those (and if I didn't ovulate, I obviously won't be pregnant, and all of this thinking would have been for naught), probably on the blog's Facebook page (which I will FINALLY get updated picture-wise after I get my laptop back from being repaired -- I'm trying not to put much on the loaner I'm using).

I know my blog readership has dwindled, but for those of you who are still around, I want to say thank you. I know that reading about my reproductive system might be weird and probably gets kind of repetitive, but I really appreciate the support I've gotten from you over the past few years. It really means a lot to me.

Happy Labor Day, everyone!

Today is my last day of taking Provera, and I'm pretty relieved. It hasn't been too bad, but I have been having some symptoms I don't remember having the last time I took it (after my hysterical pregnancy three years ago -- I think I only took it for a week then) .

-I've been really crampy

I've been very thankful that cramps aren't something I've had to deal with often, but they've been happening a lot in the past week, and it hasn't been very pleasant. I have one now as I type this. To all the ladies who, unfortunately, have cramps regularly, I am SO sorry that you have to go through this.

-I've been very emotional
I've been a little snappy, and I've been very prone to being upset. I posted Thursday on the Facebook page that I was sobbing to Taylor Swift.

Yup, pretty much. Friday, I had an absolutely awful day, and I ended up being really moody until around 11:30, when I decided to watch cartoons (such a grownup, I know, but I was catching up on the new season of Gravity Falls, which is FANTASTIC). -I've been insanely hungry That sums it up pretty well. I was a little concerned, because I started a period on Thursday (it's thankfully fading away now), and I didn't know if it would affect the clomid (I was able to speak to a very rude nurse Friday, so that helped clear things up). That could have contributed to some of the symptoms too, of course, though they were appearing before the period started. My body's so whack I don't know what to think about anything anymore. Anyway, my period should be starting Wednesday or Thursday, so I'd start the clomid Friday or Saturday (I'm on a CD3-8 schedule). I'd go in the 24th or 25th for my progesterone check, and *fingers crossed* hopefully find out I'm pregnant by October. If I do end up pregnant, I've been thinking a lot about what will happen to the blog. I've always felt like I didn't want to just become a mommy blogger once I'm pregnant, because there would be so many other aspects of me that aren't defined by the state of my uterus. I think I'd like to limit pregnancy posts to once a week, but I also can't say definitively what will happen until I'm actually in that situation. I'm not even pregnant yet, and with the publishing of this post, the majority of the posts on the front page of the blog involve pregnancy and/or my reproductive system, and that might be a little much. I know not many people still read my blog, but I totally understand if too much talk of babies and uteri gets to be too much and you need to take a break from me and my blog (I've taken plenty of breaks from the blog myself). I feel like I had a  lot more to say about this when I set out to write this post, but then Taylor Swift gifs happened.

In many parts of the United States, this past winter was absolutely terrible (thanks for that, polar vortex). This coming winter is expected to be just as bad, if not worse (particularly in regards to the cold temperatures). With that in mind, I've decided that this is the perfect time to get serious about prepping.

Prepping is something I've done a lot of research on in the past year, because it's something I'd like to do anyway, regardless of temperature. I like to be prepared for any situation (but I figure that's probably pretty normal when you grow up in a scouting family). Prepping for this winter particularly would be smart; there were several days last year when it was so cold that work was cancelled, and on those days, we certainly didn't feel like going out to the store. There could potentially be several days in a row when the temperatures are dangerously low, so having necessities on hand would be incredibly helpful.

A few things I'm going to begin trying to stock up on are:
     -food and water, including boxed almond milk, because powdered and canned milk is just gross
     -toilet paper, because butts will need to be wiped
     -pet supplies, including food, hay, puppy pads, litter, and necessary medications
     -medications, vitamins, supplements, and first aid supplies
     -BLANKETS!!!
     -flashlights, candles, and matches
     -large buckets, just in case (a couple of years ago, we had no plumbing for two days because the neighbors let the pipes freeze)
   
Any tips are GREATLY  appreciated!

Since my PCOS diagnosis, I've been thinking a lot about pregnancy.

Today is the Day of Hope. It's a day to remember children whose lives were gone too soon, including those who never got to experience life outside the womb. The loss community has been kind enough to include the infertility community as well, and I can't help but think it's not a coincidence that the Day of Hope was the same day I had my appointment.

Because for the first time in a LONG time, I have real hope that having a baby is attainable for me.

The news wasn't all good, of course. My suspicions were confirmed, and I was diagnosed with PCOS. My doctor said that he doesn't think the Depo was really a factor in that, and from the way my periods were as a teenager, I've probably always had it. It would have been nice if one of my doctors had bothered to think that PCOS could have been an issue sometime in the past decade and a half, but I'm just happy to have an answer now. The diagnosis also helps explain a lot of other things -- my weight gain and trouble losing, the unfortunate neckbeard that develops if I forget to be extremely diligent about hair removal, my wonky periods, etc.

However, despite the fact that it's more difficult to fall pregnant with PCOS, my doctor feels pretty confident that he can help me achieve that goal. He says that my age and general good health (I could stand to lose weight, of course, but he says overall, I seem pretty healthy) work in my favor, and he thinks that the only thing standing in my way is the PCOS.

I'm going to be on Provera to induce a period for the next two weeks. For six days, from CD3 to CD8, I'll be taking Clomid (so if I know you in real life, and I seem like a raging hosebeast, that's why, and I'm sorry in advance); apparently five days is the norm, because the pharmacist was surprised that I was prescribed six. On CD22, I go in for progesterone screening to find out whether or not I've ovulated. If I haven't ovulated, they'll do additional testing, but if everything looks good, we'll hopefully be pregnant (but if not, the doc may up my Clomid dosage).

Even though I cried like three times today (on the way there, when he told me I had PCOS, and then again on my way to the pharmacy), I really feel great about what the future holds. If this first round goes well, we could be holding our baby in June.

That's crazy.

I'm trying not to get too wrapped up in the excitement, but I feel really hopeful that I'll be pregnant by Christmas.

It's nice to actually feel GOOD about TTC again.

I can't remember if I've mentioned this or not, but Tom and I finally have health insurance. And let me tell you, it was a headache and a half. Neither of us are offered insurance through work, so we signed up through the health insurance marketplace. We did this on March 12, which would qualify us to be covered starting in April. I knew it would probably take a few weeks to get anything in the mail, so when April came without having heard from the insurance company, I just let it go. When May came and I STILL hadn't heard anything, I had a problem.

I ended up spending hours on the phone going back and forth between Marketplace representatives and Anthem. Apparently, our information had gotten lost in the shuffle and had never made it to Anthem for some reason. The next week, we finally got our initial information packet, saying we'd be getting our cards soon. After waiting weeks for cards that never came, I called Anthem and though the representative didn't seem to care that we hadn't received our cards, she did finally give me my member ID, so I was able to get online and access everything.

This was in June, and I JUST made an OB/GYN appointment last week. I've obviously been needing to go (hello, reproductive issues!), but we hadn't been able to afford it without insurance. If I would have gotten pregnant, our plan was to pay for everything out-of-pocket, because you can usually get a discount that way. Insurance was simply too expensive to pay for ourselves, particularly when Tom wasn't working (although given our current deductible, if I fell pregnant now, I'd still end up paying for most -- if not all -- of it out-of-pocket).

Why the wait?

Honestly, I'm afraid of what the doctor will say.

I KNOW I need to go. I KNOW it could help me have a baby. I KNOW it could help me finally put a label on what's been going haywire in my reproductive system.

And that's the part that scares me.

I'm afraid that I'm going to go in there, and I'm going to be told that I can't have children, or that I won't be able to have children without IVF, or that having a baby is going to be immensely harder than it already has been, and I just don't know if I can handle it.

Not the most mature reason for avoiding the doctor, sure, but it's a major concern that I've been having. I'm already kind of emotionally fragile where my empty uterus is concerned, and I'm just afraid that hearing something like that will push me back into the very dark place I was in the summer after my hysterical pregnancy, where I didn't want to leave the house, didn't want to have sex, didn't even really want to get out of bed. It was like my last semester at IU all over again. I'm not sure I'll be able to deal with bad news.

Of course, I could be jumping the gun. For all I know, I could be able to get pregnant without issue once my cycles are straightened out (I thought they were straightened out for a few months, but now I'm having two a month, so clearly that was wrong), but it seems like Murphy's Law always tends to apply itself to my lady bits (anything that CAN go wrong WILL go wrong).

My appointment's not for three more weeks (he's only in office here Monday and Tuesday, as well as Wednesday mornings). They didn't offer any Tuesday or Wednesday appointments before 2pm until that week (Mondays are out because I work, and since we share a car, I'd need an earlier appointment in order to be able to pick Tom up from work at 4), so the 19th it is.

I'm really nervous, but I know that I need to go. Maybe (hopefully), I can get some answers, and they won't all be terrifying and heartbreaking.

I'd like to preface this by saying that the following post doesn't apply to everyone in my family, but there are several members who make me feel this way.

If you asked most people who know me, they'd say that I generally have no trouble speaking my mind. While this is often true, there are a few occasions where I generally keep my mouth shut, usually because confrontation and conflict tend to make me feel uneasy. This is especially true where my family is concerned. I acknowledge that it would be better for me to actually TALK to my family about this, but I don't necessarily feel comfortable doing it, and I know it would just end with me crying everywhere. If anyone in my family reads this, and I do think there are a few people who do, this post might not go over very well. However, I need to get all this off my chest, because it REALLY bothers me, and this is the only way I can think of doing it without turning into a complete mess.

A lot of the time, I don't really feel like I'm part of my family.

I realize that communication is a two-way street, and that I could definitely call more than I do, but I am always the last to hear things. My mom, who hasn't been involved in my dad's family since before I was born, called me to ask why I didn't tell her that my uncle was getting divorced. I didn't tell her because I didn't know (kind of like how I didn't know my aunt was getting divorced until I came to Thanksgiving -- Christmas maybe? A big holiday get-together, anyway -- and awkwardly asked where my uncle was).

With the exception of my older sister, who has lived in Texas for over a decade now, and my new brother, who lives in a suburb of Indy, I'm the only person who doesn't live within like fifteen minutes of everyone else. I think this is part of the problem, but it's a lot bigger than that. I've lived in the Lafayette area for four years now, and my mom has visited me once (with my stepdad and brother), and my dad has visited twice (with my stepmom and brother). Nobody else in my family has ever come to see me. The last time anyone in my family came to visit me was January 2011. Before I was married. This bothers me, so much, in fact, that I did actually bring this up with my dad. His reasoning is that I'm the one who moved away, and it's just more convenient for me to come visit everyone else since they're all there. While I can kind of understand where he's coming from, it doesn't make it hurt any less. It makes me feel like I'm not worth the effort.

What really makes me feel weird around my family, however, is how they treat me. It's not that they treat me badly, per se, but they make it quite obvious that they think I'm weird. I've always been "the smart one"; my nose was always in a book, and I always had an answer for everything. While I get that my attitude growing up (and even sometimes now) can be a little off-putting (I DO generally always think I'm right, and I have a tendency to correct people without even really thinking about it -- that's definitely my dad's favorite trait, lol), I always got the feeling that they felt like my intelligence was something I was supposed to keep quiet about for some reason (I could be totally off-base, but that's just the vibe I've gotten). However, since I refuse to dumb myself down for anyone, I can sometimes come off like a cocky know-it-all (I might sound that way now, actually -- sorry). I have an excellent long-term memory, and I can recall many events from my childhood that many of them can't; because they can't, they act like I'm crazy and making it up. Whenever I mention a childhood memory, right on cue, someone will chime in, "When I was two...", which is code for "There goes Alex talking about crap that nobody remembers and she probably made up."

My little sister is generally the worst about this. Of course, she can't make it through a family gathering without making at least one snarky comment to me or about me, so that's to be expected. I have always wanted to be closer with my sister, but the last time I tried to mend fences a bit, she told me that she thought our relationship was fine the way it was, and I stopped trying. Maybe I shouldn't have, and maybe I'll regret it one day, but putting in the effort with someone who only seems to put effort into putting me down just wasn't worth it anymore.

I also tend to have different views on things, particularly in regards to politics (which I try to keep my mouth shut about most of the time, because I really don't feel like getting into it with anyone), and I've always enjoyed learning more about other cultures and stepping outside of my comfort zone. When I was in boarding school, one family member told me that I tried to be different on purpose when I mentioned liking sushi, and another admonished me for going to Catholic Mass instead of a Protestant church service, and I was accused of turning my back on Jesus. My dad's family has been Protestant for several generations at minimum, but my maternal grandmother's paternal grandmother's family was Catholic, and I had long been fascinated by Catholicism; there was a Catholic church a block away from our dorm, and some of my Catholic friends let me tag along. I didn't think anything of it, but you'd think I was Hester freaking Prynne from the reaction I got (and it wasn't like I mentioned it in passing -- I had been asked if I had been attending church services). This was especially weird for me at 16 -- I was tasting freedom for the first time, I was surrounded by other students who I felt actually understood me, and I was just trying to figure out who I was; I feel like exploration and self-discovery should be encouraged, not quashed.

I don't think my family takes me seriously, and I don't know why. Granted, I'm sure most of them don't know half the crap I've dealt with in my life, but I still don't think that I've necessarily done anything that should illicit that kind of reaction. Sure, I've made some mistakes (like getting kicked out of school twice), but I think that all things considered, I've grown into a mature (enough), responsible adult. I don't know if it's because I haven't accomplished anything or something, but it seems like I'm seen more like my cousins who are still in high school than as one of the oldest kids in the family. I also get the impression that many family members didn't really approve of my marriage (and by that, I mean the fact that we got married when we did, not that I think they all hate Tom), and I think a lot of them are surprised that we're still together.

I think perhaps my biggest problem, however, is something that I'm (hopefully) just projecting on myself -- that I'm a disappointment, especially to my parents. No matter how many times I try to convince myself that I don't need their pride and approval, that I should focus on how I feel about myself, I feel a need to make my parents proud of me, and I feel like I haven't really done anything to earn it (this has been especially fresh in my mind with my brother's recent graduation from boot camp and my little sister being the first to graduate college -- which would have been me if I hadn't gotten myself kicked out of IU). I'm about 1/3 of the way done with an Associate's degree at 26 (which I'm proud of myself for, don't get me wrong, but I also often kick myself for putting myself in that situation anyway), I don't have an "important" job (even when I was actually teaching preschool, most people just saw me as a glorified babysitter), I can't give them grandkids (although I get the impression that I have family members who think I'm not ready for kids anyway) -- what do I have for them to be proud of?

I was the only one who was an oops baby. I was also the only one that hadn't been intended to be for keeps (that's always a fun thing to find out when you're 14). I don't know if that subconsciously contributes to these feelings, but I have always felt like I am not enough, like I'm just the sucky consolation prize. Even if it's not true to my parents, it's always lurking in my mind, and I don't know if I'll be able to remove that mental block.

And yes, I know I could use some therapy.

I said a couple of months ago that I would be blogging more, but that hasn't quite gone the way I'd hoped. I have more time, yes, but I also haven't had much to blog about. As such, I didn't feel right just throwing something together for the sake of having content. Somehow, I ended up going almost all of July without blogging.

I received all products complementary from Influenster for testing purposes. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

Influenster sent me their go VoxBox, and it ended up maybe being my favorite box I've received so far, just because of how cool some of the stuff in there was.



I received Playtex Sport Fresh Balance tampons (which had also been in my last box as well, so score!), which I was really excited about. Playtex is the only brand I will use, despite my mom always insisting that I'm a "Pearl girl" (I'm not -- I tried them once when they first came out, and it didn't hold my flow for anything). Playtex tampons are comfortable and absorbent, and I won't use anything else anymore. I attempted to save money and get some Target Up & Up tampons last year, and it was a disaster. The way the applicators are designed made it difficult for me to even get the tampon in. No thank you. Playtex all the way, baby!



I also received three Vitamin Shoppe Next Step Fit N Full Protein Shakes, along with a Jaxx shaker cup. The shaker cup is actually pretty cool; it's like a blender bottle, but instead of a little ball, it uses a large plastic jack to mix up the shake. It did a lot better than I expected it to do, and had no issues with lumps of powder in my shake while using it. I received samples of the Swiss Chocolate (which I liked), French Vanilla (which was okay), and the Fresh Berries (which I haven't tried yet) shakes. There is definitely that protein shake taste with the first couple of sips, but it goes away. I didn't necessarily feel full after drinking one, but I wasn't nearly as hungry as I had been before. They seem like a better snack than a meal, but maybe that's just because I'm a fatty who wants food.






I was a little hesitant to try Blue Diamond Blueberry Flavored Almonds, just because in my experience, things that are supposed to taste like fruit usually just taste gross, but I ended up LOVING these. They're so tasty and easy to eat. I love almonds, and I love blueberries, and the combination was so much better than I expected it to be. They might be just a little too sweet, but they're delicious.





Like The Vitamin Shoppe, Profoot provided more than one sample, the Triad Orthotic inserts, and the Pedi-Rock. I broke in the inserts while shooting a wedding last month, because when you're on your feet for the bulk of 10 hours, orthotics are a major help. They provided enough cushioning and support to keep my feet from being totally worn out at the end of the day.

I actually haven't used the Pedi-Rock yet, because I always feel like I want to vomit when things touch the bottom of my foot, and I just haven't braved it yet.


From Aqua Spa, I received some lavender Body Creme. The scent is really relaxing, but I wasn't that impressed with the actual lotion itself. Compared to the Deep Steep Body Butter I've been using over the past month (a gift from a student -- so awesome!), it just didn't retain moisture as well, and it felt greasier.


Finally, there was a coupon for Muller yogurt. Since the Greek Corner with caramelized almonds is one of my favorite yogurts, that's what I got. And it was delicious. I love having a little crunch with my yogurt, and it fits the bill nicely.

Overall, I was really happy with the Go VoxBox!

When you're struggling with infertility, a lot of days can be hard: the anniversary of beginning TTC, Mother's Day, any holiday where you'll likely be around a lot of little kids (I'm looking at you, Christmas), and for those who have had to deal with losses, your due date, loss date, and the day you found out you were pregnant can be excruciating.

But for me, I think Father's Day might be the worst.



I want a baby more than anything, but I almost want it for Tom a little more. He would be SUCH an amazing father, and I feel terrible every time Father's Day comes and we don't even have as much as two pink lines. I was so upset last night that I ended up sobbing in bed, wracked with guilt, while he held me and insisted that I stop beating myself up over it. However, that's much easier said than done.

Little kids absolutely ADORE him. Little J and Baby Z will wait by the window for him to come pick me up from work, then yell, "Tom's here! Tom's here!" until he walks inside, at which point they fling themselves at him and excitedly tell him about their day (I'm not exaggerating -- they love him so much that losing Tom Time is WAY more effective than a time out). When we go to my best friend's for game night, he often gets distracted from the games because her two-year-old wants him to play cars with him; when we go to her mom's for Sunday lunch, her nephew, who was our ring bearer, insists that Tom always sit by him and wants him to play with him the whole time we're there. He loves kids, and they love him right back.

Every time I see him with someone else's child, it both warms and breaks my heart, because I love seeing him with these kids who are important to us, but I want so badly for him to be able to push our child on the swings, to chase our child through the yard, to have our child clinging to his leg. And it's hard to deal with the fact that he can't.

It was hard scrolling through the Father's Day wishes for new dads, expectant dads, and TTC dads hopeful that this is their last year without a little one. As much as he tells me not to worry about it, it's really hard for me (Queen of the Worrywarts) to let it go.

On a related note, we've finally gotten our insurance mess sorted out (it was an extremely irritating process that took much longer than it should have), and when I go to the doctor, I'm going to see if he'll put me on Clomid. I've been really hesitant, because synthetic hormones were seemingly what started this whole mess, but I'm at the point where I will do anything.

Last night I did something I probably shouldn't have done.

I read the UCSB shooter's manifesto.

I say I shouldn't have done this, because it's just giving unnecessary attention to the shooter, but I felt like I needed to know what was going on inside his head.

After reading it, there were definitely thoughts swimming around my head about guns, mental illness, his ridiculous sense of entitlement, and misogyny, but I am going to leave those things out for now. There was something else that really stood out to me.

He tied his self-worth to the state of his virginity (and please don't think I'm trying to excuse what he did, because I'm not -- what he did is reprehensible).

It turns out that Elliot Rodger and I actually had some things in common. Like most children, we both wanted to be considered "cool" in middle school, and as teenagers, we both wanted the attention of the sex we found attractive (which, again, is pretty standard). However, where we deviate somewhat from the social norm is that we did not date in high school. We both graduated as "kissless virgins" (to use Rodger's own term). And we were both annoyed by that, though obviously, one of us was bothered much more than the other (I wasn't actually annoyed by being a virgin -- actually, the thought of sex was kind of terrifying for me -- but I did want a boyfriend, and I was embarrassed that I hadn't yet been kissed by anyone). I had plenty of friends who were guys, but none of them were ever interested in me sexually (I did have a friend who sexually assaulted me while on a field trip once, but I assumed it was because he thought I was an easy target, and not because he was actually attracted to me).

It turned out that I wouldn't be kissed by anyone until I was in my 20s, and I wouldn't lose my virginity until I was 22.

Which is how old Elliot Rodger was when he went on his shooting spree.

The thing is, I was okay with being a 22-year-old virgin. He was not. Yes, we were both virgins by circumstance, but that is where the similarities end, because I was also a virgin by choice.

Virginity is a really weird thing in America.

Generally speaking, Americans are raised to think of sex as a shameful act. It's something you don't do unless you're married (regardless of what your parents did, because, of course, "do as I say, not as I do"). This idea is especially reinforced if you are a woman, because despite the "shame" attached to sex, men are actually subtly (or not-so-subtly, depending) encouraged to have a lot of sex with a  lot of women. While men are heralded for their sexual prowess, women who have multiple sexual partners are "sluts" and "whores". Heck, I was once basically called a whore (by an adult -- I was 13 at the time) because I wanted to wear fake eyelashes with my Halloween costume. And I'm not meaning for this to get into a huge tirade about slut shaming, because that's not really my point, but it is something that needs to be touched on.

Why is virginity so highly valued in our society?

For men, it is viewed as more valuable to lose it. Guys brag to one another about their conquests, or how young they were when they lost their v-cards, or how many women they've slept with (and obviously, this is not EVERY guy -- all of this is a generalization). Teenage boys get pats on the back from dad when they bring home a "hot" girlfriend.

For women, virginity has a higher value if it's left intact. There are even purity balls where girls pledge their purity and their fathers pledge to protect it (this whole thing gives me the creeps, but that's a rant for another day). Girls seem to go down in society's eyes once they have sex. We're told that even though boys like sex, they don't like girls who have sex; that they'll have sex with them, but not love them.

What kind of crap is this?

I get religious reasons for staying a virgin. I was raised with those ideals and held them for many years (to clarify, I am a Christian, but I don't think you'll go to Hell if you have premarital sex), and though it was not the reason I didn't have sex as a teenager, it did contribute to why I waited as an adult. Before that, I just wanted to wait until I found the right person. I will say that I didn't wait until marriage to have sex, though I have only had sex with my husband. And for quite some time, I honestly believed that my infertility was God's punishment for having premarital sex. I no longer believe this, because I believe that God, unlike society, thinks I'm worth more than my hymen, but the fact that I EVER felt this way disturbs me.

I firmly believe that you should only have sex with people that you love, but not everyone feels that way, and that's okay. The fact that I've only had sex with one person doesn't make me any better or worse than someone who has had sex with five people (or ten, or twenty, or even a hundred), and we, as a society, need to stop spreading the idea that it does (in either direction).

We need to stop putting pressure so much pressure on losing or keeping one's virginity. Period.

There has been a big movement lately trying to end slut shaming and letting the world know that women are sexual beings too, and that we are more than our virginity, which is great. But I think we also need to let guys know that it's okay to NOT have sex, and that it doesn't make them "less of a man" if they're a virgin, or haven't had multiple partners. Your sexual history should be YOURS alone (and any partners you have, of course).

If you asked me to describe myself, I would tell you that I'm smart and sarcastic. I talk too much, but I have a good heart. I like to help others, and I always have my nose in a book. "Sexually active" would definitely not be on the list, because I don't define myself by whether or not I am having sex.

My worth as a person is tied to who I am, not whether or not I'm a virgin; that's something that's true for everyone, and we need to start recognizing it. I don't want my children growing up thinking that what they're doing with their genitals is more important that what they're doing with their brains.

YOU ARE WORTH MORE THAN THE STATE OF YOUR SEXUAL ACTIVITY.

Maybe if Elliot Rodger had recognized that, there would be seven more people alive in Santa Barbara right now.