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You're NOT Your Mother

I had an appointment with Dr. S yesterday. Over the past five years, my OBGYN has seen me through a lot- my very first surgery, infertility, a somewhat complicated pregnancy, another bought of infertility and a gambit of other general health concerns. During that time, before I was pregnant, he talked me into having the genetic testing for breast cancer- something I never thought I would do. But, in the end, when the result came back negative, I was relieved and grateful for his advice.

     Yesterday, I went in for a run-of-the-mill kind of appointment. Nothing too out of the ordinary. It's kind of strange. Dr. S is the first doctor who has consistently been my doctor for any real length of time since I was a kid. So, as strange as this might sound, as much as he's seen me over the last five years, he and his nurse, Kim,  have become friends as well as my medical professionals.

    He always asks how things are going, but he was already aware of the failed IUIs. I told h…

A NOT Pregnant Pause

Well... the day is here. We waited the requisite two-ish weeks to find out if the IUI was successful and once again, we are left with nothing but negatives. So, no sibling for Evan, at least at the present. It is what it is and I have accepted it with sadness, resignation, and a glass of wine.

     So, what's next for Team One Tough Egg you might ask?  Good question.

     You see, delving back into fertility treatments has been hard.

     No, that's not true.

     It has been soul-crushingly, paralyzing difficult at times.

     Don't roll your eyes. That's not hyperbole. Every failure shakes my confidence and takes a bit of hope from an already low reserve. If you've never walked this path, then you might think this sounds absurd. But, if you have unfortunately been where I am, then you know exactly what I am feeling.

     But, you've been there and done that, you might say.

     But, see, I thought having Evan would make the disappointment of failure easi…

Accountable to Whom?

I wrote this post in the spring and never got around to publishing it. As I get ready to start back to school tomorrow, I think this one is definitely worth sharing. It's not about infertility, but about something that is just as much a part of me: teaching and the students in my classroom. 

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I know lots of you out there are ready for summer break, but  I have to share one little, tawdry truth: I hate the end of the school year.

The beginning of the school year always brings promise and excitement, not knowing what the next 180 days will hold as I get to know my students. What new things will we discover together? There's just so much possibility!
As we move into fall, we establish routines. We get to the business of learning and we get to know one another. I start to customize my lessons to the students I have instead of "typical seventh grader." 
As winter takes hold, we get into the meaty part of our year: big novels, Shakespeare, research and more. I al…

Life Between the Tenses

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June 2nd is my mother's birthday.

Or... wait.

June 2nd was my mother's birthday.

No, that doesn't feel right.

Tomorrow, June 2, is the day my mother was born. Tomorrow will mark 61 years since she entered this world.

I guess that's the best way to put it, but I still don't like it.

I'm an English teacher. I should know which one works best.

It's hard to believe that there have been twelve birthdays without her here. It's also hard to believe she would be 61.  In my mind, she is eternally young, forever frozen in that perfect smile with just enough age to have wisdom, but still enough youth to make her laugh echo with whimsy.


There isn't a day which goes by that I don't say "I miss my mom." This isn't hyperbole. I literally wrestle with this every single day. Sometimes, it's just a fleeting thought in my mind, somewhere in the background when I make one of her favorite recipes or hear a story I would love to share with her. Ofte…

Enough

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A few weeks ago, I was at my breaking point. The to-do list was long and my patience was short.

I was summoned for jury duty. I always talk up doing your civic responsibility, so I thought it might be time to put my money where my mouth was. The summons came to my old address, and I sent the paperwork back saying we had moved across county lines, but I didn't hear back from the court and I have a phobia of anything that might land me in jail.

About a month or more ago, I also found out Evan's sitter would be on a field trip and unable to watch him one single day.  She is great and she has every right in this world to go on a field trip with her child. Typically it would be no big deal. But, the universe collided and made Jury Duty Day that day.

It was ostensibly fine... Jeremy took the day off (which required a LOT of figuring things out by his colleagues) and I planned the day off from school quite a while ago.  I was even released from jury duty after they figured out that I…

Don't Call It A Comeback

As the great poet L.L. Cool J once said-- "Don't call it a comeback. I've been here before."
Perhaps you thought I fell off the face of the earth entirely.

Not true. I'm still here. Teaching seventh graders. Grading papers. Snuggling on my boy. Doing the Hot Dog dance. You know, the usual.
But, over the last year, I learned being a working mama is H-A-R-D! I wouldn't trade either of my jobs, but doing them both at a level approaching passable is a tough gig. So, the blog went to the wayside in lieu of things like designing lessons and doing laundry.
But, I have always regarded this blog as my original catharsis, where I put my feelings into print when I'm most nervous. So, I guess it's time to come back home, so to speak.
J and I just had our "consultation" with Dr. D once again. 
That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Negotiations for baby #2 have commenced.
Let me stop you right there and wave off all those folks who said having a baby c…

Rocking My Baby

Tonight, my son pushed my hand away.

No big deal, right?

I was rocking him, giving him a bottle after a late-night sheet changing, clothes changing incident. We were snuggling under the fuzzy blanket and I was singing (horribly) as he cooed along. I was soothing my little one like I've done for the last seven plus months.

Then he pushed my hand away and repositioned his little fingers on the bottle, deftly keeping it in his mouth, right where he wanted it.

It's a natural progression, right?

I should be proud he is showing increased manual dexterity and progressing with his motor skills, right?

But... but... my baby pushed my hand away.

My perfect little boy will be eight months old on Saturday. I still haven't wrapped my mind around that-- not really.  He's so big and so tiny, all at the same time.

We've been sleep training and working on sleeping in his crib instead of the bassinet which once rested beside my side of the bed. For the first week of this transition,…