LMAO. Love, God

This post will be one that I look back on and regret. I am now officially living proof that infertiles are as crazy as CSI and bad made-for-TV movies make us out to be.

My SIL just E-mailed me with the “top secret” name choice for our niece to be born via c-section tomorrow. We are the only ones they are telling ahead of time. Maybe it’s some kind of token consolation prize for the infertile aunt and uncle?? Well, it’s the name I’ve been calling my unborn child for over two years now. I even remember saying to C. months ago when they announced it was going to be a girl . . . I said what if they pick our name? He said “what are the chances?” Funny you should ask . . .

This feels like such a cruel joke. Some small sane part of me understands a name is just a name. But it feels more like my baby is being born tomorrow to someone else and because of that mix-up by the gods, I will never have her. C. even said to me that we can still name our child that same name. ??? Two first cousins with the same name? In a family of a total of less than 6 cousins?

I was truly looking forward to meeting this new niece, despite the pain of holding a newborn that is not mine, again. But I am so afraid I will burst into tears every time I look at her, every time I hear her name. The thing is my SIL would not hurt me in any way, if she knew what this represented in my mixed up mind, but there is no way to tell her this now.

So I will now have a permanent reminder of what could have been but will never be. I can’t believe I am so upset about this but it’s like God took the child set aside for us and handed it to someone else and said, oh sorry, did you want that?? Why does the name matter so much? It feels like my last scrap of hope just blew away. Why does life have to be so very unfair??

Why, oh why . . . dear God why??

God must be laughing his ass off while I sit here crying so hard I can’t see to type.

TCOYL

TCOYL is a play on the title of my first (in)fertility book. TCOYF – Taking Charge of Your Fertility. It’s actually a good book for learning more about your cycle, etc. Unfortunately, tracking temperatures and CM will not help anyone get pregnant if there are real fertility issues. So, looking back, the title is a bit ironic for our scenario. All my obsessive temperature taking did not achieve one thing towards the antisperm antibody problems that we did not even know we had back then. It did, however, get us to an RE sooner than we might have. I read the part about if you’re not pregnant in 6 months and are over 35, get a check up. Did it. Right Away! Also, I still wake up at 6:30 am without an alarm, though now I can snooze a few extra minutes without fumbling in the dark for my BBT thermometer . . . so I guess that’s something!

So, the book is history, relegated to the back of the closet along with the even earlier purchase of (gasp) pregnancy books!!! (If I ever need THOSE, I will have to go on a serious search for them.)

I would like to have taken charge of my fertility, of our fertility, but beyond what we have done so far, there is not much to add, except to try, try gain.

So, I am taking charge of my life instead. I have been so miserable. I have lost myself in all this infertility crap. I have literally lost my body. (Maybe it’s more accurate to say I’ve gained one I don’t want). The version of me that is looking back from the mirror these days scares me a bit. I can blame some of the weight gain on hormone injections, but the rest goes to stress eating and lack of exercise. I used to play racquetball three times a week and teach scuba weekly (which involved swimming and lugging heavy equipment). At the very least, I always walked regularly. One by one I dropped those activities until I was watching way too much Oprah and CSI and buying new (bigger) jeans!

I did a quick inventory of my life: What is good, what is bad. What I can change, what I cannot change, etc. So here is what I plan to do: I will focus on one or two things that are making me unhappy, that I CAN change. Having a baby is not one of the things I can control right now. I can, however, control whether I lose weight, whether I get fit, whether I improve my overall health. (Which will come in handy when I am pregnant, and eventually have a toddler to chase). I don’t like my job a whole lot right now, but it does have some perks . . . so that one is on my optional list for the moment, but may be added to the plan soon. I can change jobs if I choose to. Right now, just realizing I have a choice about that is helpful. I sent away for the paperwork to reinstate the nursing license I let expire. (Oops!) So I will be ready for that change when I choose as well.

So, Wednesday I checked out the fitness center options in my area. I cannot afford the racquet club right now. Also my playing partner, C. is now doing a very physical job every day and does not have a burning desire to workout when he gets home! (Nor does he need to). So, Thursday I used my free pass to the club that felt like the best fit for the most reasonable price. After 20 minutes on an elliptical trainer and an additional 45 minutes in the interval training class . . . I was sweating and in pain but feeling oddly great and proud of myself. The instructor was great and the other members seemed friendly. I joined on the spot. I am hooked. I have a bad track record of not sticking with a fitness regime, but I know I can do this. My goal is to lose 15 pounds before the next IVF cycle in May. I think that is a reasonable goal. If I lose more, then great . . . but I do not want to set an unrealistic goal. I think this will make up for some of the social isolation of my current job. The fitness center is women only and that seems more comfortable to me right now. I am glad there are still “real” gyms for women only. The Curves places are just not my thing. So, even if I don’t make a single actual friend, it feels good to be in a room full of people with a common goal.

I don’t know why this feels right right now, but I am quite excited to have something positive to focus on. I know that if I put as much effort into this project as I have into ttc, then I WILL get results from this. I may not end up a swimsuit model body (HA HA HA HA . . . falling over laughing at the thought!) but I WILL end up healthier, more energetic, and happier. While I think this can’t hurt our ttc efforts, my goal is not to increase our chances of a successful future IVF. My goal is to get my “self” back so that if this fail again I won’t have the double whammy of being childless and fat and frumpy and if this succeeds . . . I will be on my way to being healthy and fit which will only be a good thing for me and baby.

I am so sore today and I am actually quite pleased with myself. It’s been a while since I’ve felt proud of myself. I wish I could figure out what made this possible right now. There are times when I really need to push myself and I just can’t. And those times when I can, I want to capture whatever it is that made the difference. Sadly, all I can think of is that with this last BFN, I hit bottom and had nowhere to go from there but up. Sometimes hitting bottom gives you just enough bounce to move forward again. Is that crazy??

Love / Hate

(Long post: and mainly a boring, complaining, sort of post with a few interesting bits thrown in. Feel free to skim or skip!)

Today has been an odd day, mood-wise. Overall it’s been much better than the previous three days.

Though I should add here that yesterday ended pretty well. It was pretty sad overall and the evening was lonely because C. was stuck at work late. But when he came home at 8pm, he insisted on taking me out for a nice dinner (maybe because I was too paralyzed by moping to cook anything?) At any rate we had a nice dinner and a nice chat and exchanged cards and small gifts. So it was a pretty good anniversary in the end.

Back to today: I had a haircut in the morning. That helped in that I felt not quite so bedraggled. If you look better you feel better and all that.

Then I had an appointment with our counselor/therapist who specializes in infertility. It’s officially couples counseling but C. can’t come as often now that his hours have picked up at work. I go because it helps.

In the middle of that session, Dr. P called to check on how I was doing emotionally. I thought that was very nice since my follow-up “failed IVF” consult is not until March 17th. I told him I was having a counseling session and with whom (he recommended her) and so he offered to call me later. That leads me to the Love part of this post. He is a gem. Or at least I feel more like I am getting my money’s worth here when the doctor actually cares that you might be feeling shitty after a failed IVF. Sadly he did not call between 2 and 3 pm as promised, but he did have a crazy schedule today. He has yet to call but I know he will even if it is not until tomorrow. (Please Dr. P. do not make me regret singing your praises.)

It was also a bit of a stroke of luck that he called because I was kind of pissed at his newest nurse and hence his practice in general. (The Hate part of my post). I rarely dislike people. But when I do, look out . . . it is rare that I ever get around to changing my mind. This nurse has no warmth, no capacity for empathy. Her clinical skills aren’t impressing me either. This is the same nurse who needed the lights way up during my retrieval because she couldn’t see, the same nurse who dared scowl at me for doing an HPT the morning of my beta, the same nurse who had no sympathy that the HPT was negative and the same nurse who blamed my veins for the fact that she couldn’t strike red gold. (I could have done it better myself, left-handed). I have been having blood drawn quite regularly for more than two years and the only other person who had trouble was a nursing student spending the day at the RE’s who I agreed to let practice on me (not on a negative beta day obviously). Not to mention that when the nice nurse who rescued me from NN tried, she hit a vein with no problem in no time at all. So there NN!

NN is also the same nurse that I had the misfortune of getting on the phone when I called yesterday to make my consult appointment and ask for a few dates and details about the May IVF schedule so I can begin to arrange my life accordingly. I told her that it was cd1 (That is RE code for AF) and that I need to know for sure whether Dr. P wanted me to just be on BCP between now and May so that my cycle didn’t have a chance to screw me up with an annovulatory 56 day stretch or something equally annoying that would just have me panicking about missing the May deadlines for suppression etc. So Nurse Nasty just kept saying “well I can jot that down in your chart if you think that will help”. WTF??? Not really, I don’t guess that will help unless you imagine Dr. P is so bored that he just reads random charts for fun in his spare time? Luckily, I said something more diplomatic. I kept telling her that I need an Rx for the BCP. So I asked her if someone would get back to me and she made a noise that I hoped was assent. No one called yesterday.

I was still peeved and debating how to handle it without calling up and saying I’d like to talk to someone, anyone other than Nurse Nasty, when Dr. P. called. He says yes to BCP. Kind of depressing while ttc, but lets face it: The sperm did not penetrate the eggs when placed together in close proximity in a petri dish, so the likelihood of an urban legend “on a break from IVF” pregnancy is pretty slim for C. and I. So, I’d rather keep AF in line with the help of BCP. I know that B*tch would love to screw up my May IVF if I give her a chance (AF that is, not Nurse Nasty.) I keep hoping NN will quit. Is that mean? I also keep wondering if I should tell Dr. P. that he should have hired me instead. Too bad I’ll be pregnant this summer and that is bad in an RE’s office. I’d make a kick ass RE’s nurse. I am nice, even when it kills me. C. might disagree occasionally, but most of my past patients would confirm this for you. I promise.

Two more bits:

One, to clarify about my job. In one post I say I work for my parents then I say I am a nurse. Confusing? OK. I am a registered nurse. Once a nurse, always a nurse. I’m Canadian and landed here due to the job shortage in Canada (back in ‘92 anyway) and the nurse shortage here in USA. So, compliments of the Free Trade aggreement I came to live in the USA. My parents had previously emmigrated for reasons of their own. (Canadian beer is cheaper in the USA per Dad.) I am currently managing my father’s business, selling German machinery. (Is this confusing yet?) It’s not my thing really but I felt the pull of family obligation and the lure of the freedom to do some other fun things like teach scuba diving, make pottery and do an occasional studio tour/craft show to sell the pottery. Oh yes, and it allows me to keep up with an Infertile’s schedules of appointments I now live and breathe.

I was an O.R. Nurse: Blood and Guts. My favorite. I loved that job but it does have a burn-out factor. So while I miss it in many ways, I enjoy having a life without beeper call. While it’s very exciting to rush into the hospital at 2 am for a nice gunshot wound, I prefer to sleep eight hours straight through these days. I also worked in P.A.C.U. (recovery room) which was fun too. I got a few marriage proposals from cute young men on morphine. Always good for the ego even if you know they’re drugged senseless.

Second bit: One big topic in my counseling sessions is how infertility gives me stress due to the lack of control over my own life. I have also stated that I hate my job (sorry Mom and Dad, but it’s boring.) So Ms. Counselor suggests I go back to nursing part time. Hmmmm . . . I HAVE thought of this. And I think I would like it but then the thought of adding interviewing and new job stress to my current load may or may not outweigh the benefits of increased job satisfaction. I will have to mull this one over a bit. I need change and I fear change. I’d rather just get pregnant and experience the job satisfaction of motherhood. (OK, quit laughing, those of you who are there already . . . I know Elmo is annoying and diapers smell bad . . . ) I’d rather fantasize for a while . . .

So, back to Love / Hate:

I love my husband. I love Dr. P (even though he has yet to make good on his promise to call me.) I love the idea of being too large for my summer clothes for a good reason this year (ie: being pregnant, finally!)

I hate AF. I hate failed cycles. I hate taking BCP when I want to get pregnant. I hate waiting. I hate Nurse Nasty.

Blogger is SO ANNOYING!

I can’t believe it. I wrote this long lovely post about loving my husband after all and saved it as a draft. Then I opened it up to add a photo and blogger came up with an error message and now it’s all gone. No draft, no nothing! And I am too aggravated to write a happy post now!

Rewrites are never the same. My memory is not THAT good.

Ughh . . . How frustrating. This will teach me. In the future . . . I need to create my post in MS Word then cut and paste to blogger. Grrrr . . . .

To add an element of total weirdness . . . when I tried to recover the post, part of it showed up but had this bit of french tacked on to the end. Now how can that happen? I do not blog in French, talented as I am , ha, ha . . . my four years of French did not make me THAT clever.

How freaking weird is that? Do you suppose some french language blogger has the rest of my post? Return it . . . si vous plait!

For your multicultural amusement . . . here is the French bit:

“pchements mais je suis bien de retour et je compte sur vous pour laissez des commentaires et me dire ce que vous pensez de mes photos.

Bisous à tous.
“

The calm before the storm

I knew yesterday was not real. Well, it was real enough I guess. But it is not like me to be all calm and together in the face of really shitty stuff, not on the inside anyway. On the outside I have built a pretty convincing facade. But yesterday I even fooled myself into thinking I was OK.

This morning I woke up and I knew it was going to be a bad day. When I turned to C. for some comfort he was an ass. He can get like that. He doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, he doesn’t want to deal with emotions, and so he has this really aggravating way of just avoiding anything to do with emotions. He pretends he has none and that mine are all over the top. He puts bad feelings in a “box” to quote him and then gets on with things. Well let me tell you, I do not take well to begin in a box. This approach *might* work for him when it comes to deaths in the family, or his first wife that walked out. It *might* work because those people are gone. They’re not banging on the inside of the box asking to be let out. But this wife is right here. I can’t be in a box and live a life with him at the same time. But he handles it the same way as he does the other boxed folks. He shuts me out. And when that gets bad enough, it just makes me want be the second wife to leave. Then he can put me in his f*cking box. And I am afraid that it may come to that one day if he keeps slamming the lid down on me and my emotions.

So don’t give me too much credit for my togetherness. I am good at forcing a smile on. It’s how I was raised. You don’t cry. Period. (Or I’ll give you something to cry about). I still can’t cry when I need to until it builds up so much that I am, all of a sudden, a complete uncontrollable sobbing mess. I’ve learned (a little bit) to let the tears out in smaller doses but I have to be alone: like in my car or in the shower, or maybe the office bathroom with the water running. But it did not work this time. I still crashed. And it hurts so bad to crash.

Right now the pain is just so intense. I hate that I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to soothe myself. I can’t call anyone either. My “loving” husband is not answering his cell phone in the spirit of shutting me out. C. knows how to plunk down $40 for roses or heat up a can of soup when I’m sick, but don’t ask him to say something soothing or just hold me while I sob. My parents love me, I know they do, but they are not equipped for this. They have not comforted me once in my 37 years on earth, I doubt that today would be a good day to ask them to try again. They provided for me, they kept me safe, they put bandaids on my physical scrapes but they’ve never known what to do with emotions either. (Funny, huh, I would marry exactly that!) Most of my friends are unsure what you say to someone in this situation. I am someone who is in this situation and don’t really know what to say when one of you internets suffers another loss.

This is so fucking hard. That is all there is to say. Whoever put this little slide show thing together captured the pain of infertility pretty well, in a pretty way. I’m sure everyone has seen it before. I think I would have made it much more graphic like maybe hearts being sledge hammered to a pulp with screeching rock music as a back drop. Nonetheless, this version is nice too. I feel like sending it to my parents and my assvice fertile friends. But I don’t think it will help them “get it” anymore than anything I’ve already said. It is beyond what they can or want to understand. And when you get right down to it, if they could “get it” I would still be sitting here with nothing to show for my 2 months of injections, poking, prodding, my lost hope, my wasted money and so on. I may want them to get it, it would be nice, but what I really want is a baby.

Empty Arms

9dp5dt . . . Officially Negative

Well, that’s that then.

I was not surprised to get the call. I had taken another HPT this morning before going for the bloodwork. I wanted to ward off the office staff’s usual “good luck” greetings. I think it might have made me cry to have them handle me in a chipper fashion.

I wore my lucky socks anyway. They did not even save me from the awful nurse (the same one who was training and too blind to see for my retrieval). There is only one person in that entire practice that I don’t like. She has no warmth. She does not belong in that setting. JMHO. She made a mess of my hand. She could not find a vein and after much poking and digging, did not get a drop of blood. It only added insult to the injury of having to get blood drawn to tell me what I already knew. I “behaved”, I did not say a word, did not complain . . . though when nurse M walked past I threw her a desperate look and she stepped in and saved me. And, no surprise, found a vein fast and painlessly! And I pay money for this torment.

Dr. P called personally and gave me the official word. I did appreciate that. He really sounded sincerely sorry for us. He also sounded very hopeful that this will still work. (The cynic in my head says . . . sure . . . he has to make his next luxury car payment!) But we will try again. I can’t get in for March and be properly suppressed, etc. Plus, as impatient as I am, that really would be too soon for me, physically. I will cycle again in May. Dr. P’s week for retrievals is the first week in May, so technically I will be starting in April. That sounds not quite so awful to me.

So, I teared up several times today, but I have yet to really cry. I cried several times earlier this week. Maybe that dispersed the pain a bit. I doubt I’m done, but it’s not happening right now.

I had a nice day with a good friend, art museum, yummy lunch, some shopping. So it was not an awful day for such an awful day.

I thank you all for your support. It softens the blow to sign on here and see your kind comments.

This will work. I need to believe it will work in the near future. Maybe this was just a practice run and practice makes perfect? I don’t know . . . I think it is asking too much of myself to put a positive spin on it right now. But I am not giving up. We are not at the end of the road. We’ve just hit another annoying detour.

8dp5dt . . . Waiting speeds the aging process

I want to say, again, thank you for all your support. Truly.

I posted in yesterdsay’s comment section about my plan for dealing with tomorrow. I took the day off to spend it with a friend. I did not think I could manage a day at work waiting for the phone call, even if I think I know what the result of that phone call will be in advance. So instead, tomorrow I am meeting with a friend for lunch and an art museum excursion. She is a fellow ceramic artist. (I make pottery, she makes tiles.) She also has a degree in psychology (though she does not work in that field) so she is not prone to dishing out assvice or platitudes. Thankfully I have a select few “in person” friends who “get it,” (as well as they can anyway, and that is all I ask).

I did test again this morning. (Now really, you did not think I would suddenly become sensible at this juncture?) Well, guess what . . . still only one line. So tomorrow is my last chance . . . then it’s time to move on and rally the troops for another try. We will do this again if needed. The thought if waiting until May already kills me. For some reason the fact that I will be 38 by then really has me bothered. Logic tells me that my body, my eggs, our chances, will be no different in May than they are right now, but it’s the symbolism of yet another year passing that seems so sad. I think my statistical chances even stay the same, but I’ve forgotten where they draw the lines for old, older, oldest.

I get really irritated about the maternal age thing. Not because I am in denial that without C.’s MF issues, I would still have more trouble than a 27 year old getting pregnant. I am fully aware of that. Truly. But what is equally true is that if I were to magically be 27 again, it would not increase our chances (naturally) given C.’s MF issues. Now combined, my age and his MF make our overall IVF chances lower than ideal, but in the end the focus at every appointment seems to be on my advanced maternal age. This pisses me off! I get it: I’m no spring chick! But give me a break . . . we don’t have functional sperm to work with here unless we force them into my aging eggs with . . . ummm . . . microsurgery . . . cutely known as ICSI . . . so could we at least give that equal mention?? Huh . . . huh . . . just maybe?? I mean I get to suffer, strike that . . . endure 100% of the treatment, so would it be OK to at least assign 50% of the cause for that treatment where it belongs?

Please understand, (and C., if you ever figure out what blogging is and that your wife “does it” . . . I love you absolutely and truly!) I am not asking for them to start “blaming” my husband . . . I just want them to lay off of me. I have enough shit to deal with, without being reminded at every fucking turn that I am aging. No kidding . . . thank you world for stating the obvious!

I did not delay childbearing by choice, I just did what I thought was right for myself and my (assumed) future child. I waited until I had a partner who would make a truly great parent and husband. I waited until I was married. I waited until the child would be born into a financially secure situation. I waited for all the “right” reasons. And in all fairness . . . the same medical establishment that is now telling me that I am a bad age based statistic was then telling my generation of women that it was OK to wait. Just ten years ago they told us this lie . . . when we were oh . . . about 27.

Being forewarned may or may not have changed the course of my life. I don’t think I would have married Mr. Right-now instead of Mr. Right, but can’t they at least see that they perpetuated the myth that having children into your early 40’s would be a piece of cake? Can’t they cut us unfortunate oldies but goodies a break?? How about an IVF discount for senior ttc’ers? Instead they deny us the few financial breaks that exist like “shared risk” programs. How are they sharing any risk at all if they only allow perfect and young patients to share said risk?? I would consider donating a few spare eggs or embryos in exchange for free IVF, but they don’t want my eggs. If I were younger, I’d consider moving to a state that mandates coverage, but that would waste more time which . . . you guessed it . . . I don’t have to spare. Well, . . . you get the picture.

OK . . . I think I am done now. I hope no one minded that rant. But it’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to! It made me feel better so that makes it OK, right??

I did have a good cry on my lunch break today. I needed to let some of the sadness out. I tend to bottle it up and then it’s ugly when I finally just can’t hold it in anymore. Better to let small, manageable portions of grief out at a time.

I am grieving somewhat prematurely for this particular cycle, I do realize that. But I think the reason, in part, is that I am still grieving a bigger loss: the reality of facing infertility in the first place.

I really have to admire people who fully and wholly embrace childfree living after all this. (And really mean it.) I cannot imagine getting there. I worry that I would be so bitter deep down inside. Forever. That scares me most of all: What if this never works . . . what if we use up all three of our “tries” at IVF and still no baby. What if I/we have to change my/our whole idea of life around to make it work without a child or children at the center of it.

What if . . . my “question of the day”. What is your biggest “what if”?

7dp5dt . . . Damn!

Well, now it’s starting to look bad. Really bad. Still only one line and I can’t really tell myself that it’s too early any more. Can I?

FRER HPT detects HCG levels of 25. So in order for this to be a false negative I would have to have a beta HCG of less than 50 on Friday. That is unlikely and also would not be a great beta, would it? Five day blasts implant within 48 hours according to everything I’ve read. So there should be HCG floating around by now.

The only thing I can dig up to summon a little bit of hope is that with trying to stay super hydrated, maybe even my FMU is pretty diluted. (Dream on, I know . . . ) Also if my blast was half a day behind at transfer, then maybe everything else is too. But that’s not exactly “good”. Oh what the hell, I may as well get used to the idea sooner than later that this didn’t work either and now I am out of ideas as to how to achieve a pregnancy before I am older than the hills themselves.

I think we will try again. It’s just that from reading blogs and reading boards, most people seem to have success on the first try. It’s kind of like if it’s gonna work, it works right away. I know there are all kinds of stories, etc. But I am not Brooke Shields, I do not have a billion bucks saved up to do this 5, 6, etc. times, especially not since we don’t have FET to fall back on. I’m also turning 38 in May. I will be 38 before I can cycle again. That double sucks!

Damn.

6dp5dt . . . Still only one line

What a bummer . . . It would have been so great to see two. C. gave me two dozen roses this morning, you’d think I could at least give him two lines.

I did ‘fess up to C. that I tested. He was very sweet about it, being his usual optimistic self. He’s still sure it worked, I am a little doubtful at this point. He also reminded me that his genes were involved here so I should expect things to be a bit behind schedule. (I can’t think of a clever way to explain his slowness, but be assured that it’s not the mental capacity kind).

So, not much to tell here . . .

The roses are beautiful. The card was very sweet. Hallmark manages to say what most men can’t put into words. There was also a Toblerone. For breakfast! Ha! He knows me so well. Mopey as I am, I may just eat the whole thing in the course of the day!

5dp5dt . . . Getting antsy already!

Friday seems so far away. I would love to test tomorrow. I am still undecided. But, between my weak resolve and the three pack of FRER tests under the bathroom sink . . . I’m not sure how good I can be.

C. does not want me to test at all. I rarely obey him though. As a matter of fact, I had “obey” stricken from our wedding vows. Literally.

I am having no symptoms per se. I have the usual Gee . . . Hmmmmm . . . I wonder symptoms, but I’m sure they can all be attributed to Progesterone. The only symptom that worries me is cramps. I had no cramps the day of the transfer but every day since I have had varying degrees of cramping. Nothing earth shattering but enough to make me feel like she is knocking at the door already and the only thing holding her at bay is an artificially sustained P3 level.

Sigh . . . in the end all a girl can do is hope and wait and wait and hope.

Six years ago today I met my husband. After a different kind of waiting and hoping . . . I was pretty sure I had finally come across a guy that made marriage look like a good idea. I remember going to my Mom’s later that evening and just feeling like I’d burst with the news that I had just met my future husband. But I did not tell her. I was afraid it would break the spell. I guess I’ve always been prone to superstition and magical thinking!

Three years and seven days later we said “I do”. Sometimes hoping and waiting works. I’d love for it to work again!

So, does the fact that I had an inexplicable draw to check out the pack and plays today at Target mean anything? I was there to buy some shampoo and a vase. I should not have even noticed the pack and plays.

Well . . . we’ll see I guess. “Signs” generally make more sense in retrospect.