Best Laid Plans of Mice and Women
So, while I've been ovulating fairly regularly and still not getting pregnant, I've also been doing a lot of sit-ups and crunches.
I've consoled myself with this one thought: "My stomach is great. It is so lean and flat and flawless. So smooth and beautiful. I may have three pelvic exams in ten days, I may have an angry red zit on my cheek, I may have trouble stuffing my calves into tall boots, I may have The Ass That Ate Manhattan, but, oh, my stomach!"
Each month, when my period comes, I say to myself, "At least I have a great stomach."
Whenever I hear news about my friends' or relatives' adorable children, I think, "My abs are perfect."
The doctor has recommended laparoscopic surgery.
Guess where they make the incisions???
Now, I understand that abs are not forever, that these are the best years of my abs and that their appearance will probably suffer anyway when I have a baby and all that, but, here's the thing:
I DON'T HAVE A BABY.
I could just keep spinning my wheels or start getting injections and see if they help. I could keep my flawless abs and make myself crazy. Or, I can suck it up, bear the scars like a woman, and move forward.
Oh, incidentally, why am I going through all this shit? What am I striving for???
This.
I'm 28, in good health, have normal menstrual cycles, and my husband's 40 and I'm not getting pregnant. I suspected the problem might not be me.
I was wrong. Dead wrong.
So our meeting was basically, "We did this test. Everything was normal. You're young; your eggs are fine. We did this test. Everything was normal. Your hormone levels are fine. We did this other test for this really serious thing that sucks. You don't have it."
Repeat for 40 minutes.
Then, "Here's the results of this other test."
(Second doctor looks at test.)
"I recommend laparoscopic surgery."
Then I had conversations with both parents about parts of my body that they haven't seen in 27 years, and about parts of my body that no human should ever see while I am still living.
On the bright side, my apartment will be serviced next week by the Einstein of exterminators. I have hopefully seen my last piece of mouse poop for quite a while. Those little fuckers manage to reproduce just fine.
About an hour before the doctor appointment, I admired a pair of shoes, but didn't buy them because they were a little bit expensive.
Guess what I'm going to do when I finish posting and eating my French toast.
I've consoled myself with this one thought: "My stomach is great. It is so lean and flat and flawless. So smooth and beautiful. I may have three pelvic exams in ten days, I may have an angry red zit on my cheek, I may have trouble stuffing my calves into tall boots, I may have The Ass That Ate Manhattan, but, oh, my stomach!"
Each month, when my period comes, I say to myself, "At least I have a great stomach."
Whenever I hear news about my friends' or relatives' adorable children, I think, "My abs are perfect."
The doctor has recommended laparoscopic surgery.
Guess where they make the incisions???
Now, I understand that abs are not forever, that these are the best years of my abs and that their appearance will probably suffer anyway when I have a baby and all that, but, here's the thing:
I DON'T HAVE A BABY.
I could just keep spinning my wheels or start getting injections and see if they help. I could keep my flawless abs and make myself crazy. Or, I can suck it up, bear the scars like a woman, and move forward.
Oh, incidentally, why am I going through all this shit? What am I striving for???
This.
I'm 28, in good health, have normal menstrual cycles, and my husband's 40 and I'm not getting pregnant. I suspected the problem might not be me.
I was wrong. Dead wrong.
So our meeting was basically, "We did this test. Everything was normal. You're young; your eggs are fine. We did this test. Everything was normal. Your hormone levels are fine. We did this other test for this really serious thing that sucks. You don't have it."
Repeat for 40 minutes.
Then, "Here's the results of this other test."
(Second doctor looks at test.)
"I recommend laparoscopic surgery."
Then I had conversations with both parents about parts of my body that they haven't seen in 27 years, and about parts of my body that no human should ever see while I am still living.
On the bright side, my apartment will be serviced next week by the Einstein of exterminators. I have hopefully seen my last piece of mouse poop for quite a while. Those little fuckers manage to reproduce just fine.
About an hour before the doctor appointment, I admired a pair of shoes, but didn't buy them because they were a little bit expensive.
Guess what I'm going to do when I finish posting and eating my French toast.
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 12:05 PM
10 Comments:
You should buy two pairs.
Hang in there Arabella. I know it's not easy some days. Sending peace and love your way.
Do you have any half-shirts left from the eighties? Wear one when the hunky exterminator comes over. Show those flawless abs off while you've got them!
He IS hunky, right? I thought last week you said he was hunky. 'Cause if he's not, if he really does look like Einstein, DO NOT wear the half-shirt. Just don't.
Sending you a hug!
At least your stomach will be prepped to bounce back to washboard status after the babies. And I have every bit of faith that you WILL have babies. Hang in there.
I'd be lying if I said that when I post stories about my children I didn't think of you and wonder if it was difficult for you to read.
I'm sorry. There's a part of me that feels like I'm rubbing what I have and you don't (yet) in your face.
(((hugs)))
I really believe you will have it.
Mama_Tulip, I'm genuinely touched that you would think of me when you post stories of your children, but please don't apologize. We're essentially both doing the same thing--writing about the difficulties of our daily lives. I think about you when I talk about sleeping late or when I have some quiet time just to go shopping without the rugrats in tow. Plus, you're a really good writer, and I really enjoy your stories about your children. You often make me laugh. I'm sorry if I upset you by linking to your site in that context; I only wanted to underscore that having kids is no piece of cake, either.
Thanks for all your good wishes, everyone.
So I looked it up and the first site was laparoscopy.com. Which had pictures and videos. Now my brain is scarred way more than your abs will ever be. They also called it "keyhole" surgery, which indicates something small. (And this should probably go in my list of things about myself, but I LOVE scars, and I'm just the teensiest bit sad I didn't have C-sections for that reason).
Arabella, you are handling all of this way better than I would, and I respect and admire you for that. xx
You didn't upset me at all. :)
I'll send you a picture of my saggy bag of a stomach and then you can really appreciate what having nice abs mean.
Mice are disgusting, I scream like the girl I am, when I see the things.
Hey Arabella,
Sorry you are going through all of this sadness and frustration.
Enjoy your abs, try to enjoy the sex despite the reproductive anxiety, and most of all BUY THE SHOES.
Most interesting. My first wife took off after 5 fruitless years. That was nearly 40 years ago and I haven't forgotten.
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