100th Post!

I am not one for counting or caring, but I just looked at my archives and noticed that "Are You My Mother?" from a few days ago was my 100th post on Owner of the Band. I just wanted to take this milestone to check in with all of you about my blog tag line and then share some very deep and rather ironic thoughts that I am still too scared to mention to my midwives.

So first of all here is a status on what I claim to be. A lady who:

• loves babies -- In spite of the constant complaining, I assure you that I am still completely in love with make children. I love children as a whole, love my own "children," and while I hate infertility with a bloody (literally) passion, I love what it has taught me and who it has helped me become. I plan to make babies for as long as humanly possible. I even love babies when they skipped their nap, went to bed early with hot chocolate milk in a bottle and are currently screaming at my to "get out" a 6 p.m. at night. (Love them and will ignore them...)
  
• sustains womanhood -- Obviously, I love the part of womanhood that makes babies. But I am also so passion about the part of womanhood that nurtures the world in and outside of the family unit. I believe women naturally have a sensitivity that we can use and harness to bring peace and happiness to the world. We are powerful, we are strong, and we are getting more powerful and strong as we gain the support of governments, laws, and each other. So cool. This is a sisterhood and a divine role that I would not give up for anything.
  
• believes in yoga -- As I said earlier this week, I love it and need more of it. My most coveted getaway is a yoga-themed cruise to anywhere. I would love to spend a week basking in the power and peace of yoga and communing with all the crazies who love it too. Can't afford a cruise? I'll settle for a yoga wilderness retreat, a day-long seminar, or on a busy week even just a crappy Gold's Gym class. I love a downward facing dog with or without a baby pulling my hair out while I do it. Yoga helps me become the baby-raising woman I know I can be.
  
• USED to own a rock band -- Yes, we owned a rock band, and it was fun. Then we gave it away in exchange for both temporal and spiritual peace of life and mind. We lost $100,000 and never looked back. We are a couple who follows our dreams. We're doers, not talkers, and I love it. I'd do it again and again. And if we switch careers yet again in two years, so be it. Oh the stories I'll have to tell as I continue to strongly and passionately OWN my live for all it can be. ROCK on!
  

Happy 100th Anniversary to Me!!

Now for the "deep and rather ironic thoughts that I am still too scared to mention to my midwives" as I promised above:

I want my Clomid! When will you give it to me?

Yes, you heard it here folks, in the middle of all the aches and pains, I am family planning. When will they give me the clomid, so I can keep this baby train going? Cho-Cho! I have not made any official plans yet because I really do have some important questions for my "Health Care Provider," and part of those questions involve finding the doc who will give me what I want when I want it.

So first I am waiting for a doctors appointment where I am not recovering from bleeding or depression or something horrible that will make them look at me and say, "Up her dosage."

I plan to reasonably and responsibly find out what my midwives think is too soon to have #3, when I would have to stop nursing to get on Clomid, how the Zoloft and other complications factor in to the next pregnancy and all that Jazz. But I am not messing around.

When I decided to start insemination, I emailed a good friend of mine who was living in Mexico for the summer, I declared to her as I will to you now, that I believe the happiest things in my life will come from baring and raising my children. I want lots. I want them now, and I plan to be pregnant or trying for the next 10 years. I love it. I want it to be who I am because, again, it makes me happy.

So, if Clomid makes this possible: Cho-Cho!! I am on board. I am not going to "sort of try" to get prognant for the next 10 years. I think that will make me miserable like it did in rounds one and two. Now, it is very possible that after I have McKenna, I will want a break, and if I do, I will take one. But the truth is, I wanted to be pregnant again 2 days after I got home with Quinn. I am only preparing for what I know is in my heart.

As for timeline details, if I get pregnant again in September, the babies would be 1 year apart, and my UVU insurance would pay 100% of baby #3 just in time for me to retire as planned in July 2010. That is the earliest I would consider getting knocked up again. There are plenty of down sides to that nearly impossible plan, but lots of upsides too. The other end of my window is March 2010. If I am not pregnant my then, I'd be very sad.

So, wish me luck as I either convince someone to write me a prescription or knock someone over the head and steel it. There is me owning my life again. Ha! Love it!

Thanks for reading and following me on my wild ride. Hold on to your hats and glasses folks, it is only going to get better.





P.S. Sorry I don't have a cool giveaway for this big occasion, but I gave most everything I have to the band, and what is left is reserved for this chocolate-faced 2 year old with no pants who is now out of bed and playing with my "nice" jewelry.

A Women's Waiting Room

A detailed rant about all my tears today and the ups and downs of womanhood.

So I sort of had a break down today, but I got to share it with some strangers that gave me some perspective. I went in for my second IUI procedure. I left the house in a bad mood with a seemingly horrible, unfix-able and unfair problem AND very mad at my husband. I got halfway to the freeway when I realized I forgot both my phone and my book. I couldn't turn around because of the nature of an IUI, and I couldn't call Tim to say I was sorry as I had planned to do moments after leaving the house. I also couldn't call any of my sisters or girlfriends to help me work through my issues. And, to top if off, I knew I didn't have a good book to read while I would wait at the doctor's office for over an hour.

When I got to the appointment, the receptionist sent me straight to the business office to pay my bill in full. This was a shock since I had voluntarily called two days before and payed last months bill, and when I called they asked how much of my bill I wanted to pay. I had payed it all, of course. I kindly explained to the horrible person at the counter that I just pain this same amount two days ago, and I had not planned on paying it again right away. I started to tear up and she started to argue and bring a neighbor in on the action. I told her to forget it. I paid the bill while she continued to give me attitude. I still didn't have my phone, and I really needed to talk to Tim to complained about this big mean woman and to tell him how much I love him.

I found a seat in the waiting room and surrendered to a Parenting Magazine (although I am a die-hard Parents Magazine reader.) Within minutes a very happy woman walked in with her 7 week old, her 1-year-old son and her mother. I wanted to puke on them. I tried to focus on my magazine, but I welled up a few times if I thought about the woman at the counter, the woman next to me, my unsolved sadness at home or my overall crazy stress.

A few minutes later a girl my age walked in and tried to explain something to the receptionist. She stopped to cry a few times, and I realized she was having a miscarriage. I started to bawl. I just cried right there in the waiting room. I had to. It was just too sad. There was just too much sadness in the room. I could feel her energy, and it overwhelmed me. I tried to clear myself up, but I just kept remembering her pain. I'd look at her, and I'd start to cry all over again.

So, to try to distract myself, I looked up to another corner of the waiting room. I noticed another woman my age sitting 7 seats away from her husband. They were trying to quietly talk out a fight they were having. She was clearly out of her mind with anger and grief at whatever he did. I heard her say, "But you knew I was upset, and you didn't even try to make me feel better." It was like a script of mine. I wanted to hug her. I understood. But I could feel her tension. It made me cry. I just wanted to tell her that nothing is that bad. He'll understand later and say sorry so she should just enjoy her ultrasound.

I tred to focus on my magazine, but I keep looking at the miscarrying girl, the anger girl, the happy new mom, the wonderful Grandmother. I thought about the horrible woman in the business office, the nice receptionists, the woman who wheeled in her brand new stroller while staring endlessly at her new born. And in that moment we all represented womanhood at various stages of life (or on any given day.) It is intense to be a woman. We're everywhere. We're a little crazy. We're that Garth Brooks song, "She's Fire and Ice." We go through everything. We endure. We overcome. We cry. We laugh. We try. We learn. And Sometimes we just wait. So I just let my tears pour out every few minutes, and when I finally got to the procedure room and the nurse asked me, "How are you today?", I just said "fine" in a not so fine voice like Eeyore because that is truly how I felt.

When it was all over, I rushed home to apologize to my husband who I love so much. I sped all the way, and I when I threw open the front door, he said, "Hey, Mommy's home, Quinn. How did it go, babe?" And he had no I idea I'd left in a huff or that I had not taken my phone.

Oh, Ladies. It is just exhausting sometimes.