The hair on the mole on the wart on the frog...

on the lump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea. That's what I feel like today.

Have you ever had a week where everything you did seemed to turn to shit -- that no matter how carefully you chose your words, people took them the wrong way -- that no matter how hard you worked, the results you sought eluded you -- that no matter how hard you TRIED, you just kept getting nowhere? If you have then you understand why, today, I'm wondering what the hell I got out of bed for. I feel like a complete and utter failure and the turn of events this week could, quite possibly, spell financial disaster for us. I know there has to be some deep well of resolve that will get me through this -- I've been through much worse -- I just can't seem to tap in to it at the moment and I find myself in the midst of a full-blown pity-party... care to join me for a drink!

Facing Forty

Today is my fortieth birthday. Today is the official end of my TTC journey (we called it quits after my miscarriage in July - but forty was always my self-imposed cut-off). It seems that Mother Nature wanted to toy with me one last time before the big day, so for the past five days I have been spotting. My period was due on Saturday and by Monday, she was still a no-show... so I took a test... it was positive, although weakly so. Rather than bore you with all of the panty-liner checks and progesterone suppository details, I'll simply cut to the chase -- today is the first day of my first cycle of my fortieth year. Yep - you guessed it -- another loss.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would face forty as a childless woman. Never did I think that I would face forty without ever having experienced morning sickness or stretch marks or lamazze classes... breast feeding, colic or diaper rash. Never did I imagine that I would go through my life without hearing the sweet word "mommy" addressed to me... never did I imagine facing forty as I'm facing it today.

Quite frankly, it sucks... in a major way... and try as I might, I simply cannot find it in me to celebrate this day. Today, I'm facing forty and the tears just won't stop.

Spot...

to spot... meaning a small area visibly different in color... but what does small mean? Dime-sized, nickel-sized, quarter-sized? At what point does it cease to be a spot? The reason I ask is that for the past four days now, I've been "spotting". My largest "spot" has been about the size of the half-dollar over the course of about 6 hours. The quality of the spotting seems to change as well. When I move from supine to upright, I get a small amount of red flow - which switches back to brown within the hour. Now, conventional wisdom states that anything that is not red does not count as "normal flow" - but how much red is really red? Does a "spot" of red count? Does that automatically mean that the fat lady is singing?

I know that the likelihood of a viable pregnancy at this point is pretty unlikely... but grasping at straws is something we do... we women who have struggled with infertility... I sometimes think that we would argue with God about whether or not there was a chance we're pg. Ahhhh... the insanity of it all.

So, back to this spot thing... do you think that if I only need a pantyliner, when normally I would need three tampons and a super-absorbent pad means anything (voice trailing off into inaudible muttering)

Just when you think it's safe to go back in the water...

WARNING: THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART
You know, I was getting pretty used to not thinking about trying to conceive. I knew we were in the "zone" this month, but since we've tried unsuccessfully for over 6 years, I didn't really give it a second thought. Then came 6 & 7 days past ovulation - I spotted. There have only been three occasions for which I have documentation of mid-cycle spotting... all three were followed by extended spotting and a late period... one of them with a +HPT thrown in for good measure.

So, my body picks the weekend before my 40th birthday to screw with me... spotting started on Friday - which should have been right on time... but no period yesterday... just more spotting... then today - same thing... just more spotting... the spots got a little larger in the early afternoon, but now this evening, we're back to just plain old brown spotting. I realize this is not a subject most folks discuss in polite company... but I'm tired of being polite about this particular subject.

Come on -- either show up, or stop -- one or the other. If the former, so be it, if the latter, I will go to the pharmacy for a test to confirm it. Just DECIDE what you're going to do, you fickle uterus, you!!! Stop messing with a poor, soon-to-be-over-the-hill woman!!!!!

Conflicted

You know, I've always wanted a daughter... a son, not so much, but a daughter, definitely. This was once again brought front and center a couple of weeks ago at church. The youth worship dance team performed a gorgeous dance and there was this one girl who drew my eye -- and I couldn't stop watching her. She was a beautiful dancer and I saw so much potential in her. When they were done with their dance, my heart was just so full of longing for a daughter -- one who might take after me with her talents, but not my fears.

When I was a young girl, I took dance lessons... I was pretty good at it... I LOVED it... and eventually, my dance teacher recommended that I move on to a more advanced studio. I did... and then moved again through an audition to THE best school in the area -- what is now the Virginia Academy of Ballet. I started in a class with girls my age and within the first two months, was advanced to another class -- with girls much older than I was. I didn't know all of the French words for the steps, so I watched others and imitated what they did. My mom was also bedridden at the time due to a serious back surgery... and my poor dad just couldn't get my hair into the requisite bun every Saturday morning. I recall being so embarrassed because my hair wasn't properly done... I was a very sensitive child.

At any rate, my instructor -- a former professional ballet dancer, who had turned to eating and was now a rotund, pernicious troll -- would walk the barre and kick, demean and embarrass dancer after dancer, attempting to get the best from them. I simply did not have the strength to endure this kind of punishment and so began to feign illness to escape. I was such a shy and timid child... I simply did not recognize my own abilities. To this very day, I have the spirit of a dancer inside me... the feeling of moving the body through space with grace and elegance draws me... even more than my love of music...

But I digress... back to the longing for a daughter. Perhaps it's best that I don't have one... poor dear would be the unwitting recipient of a stage mom who dares to live out her own dreams through her daughter... not to mention the fact that I've just started a new career where the paychecks are few and far between and the fact that my marriage is on a pendulous journey between two extremes. I suppose that Kahlil Gibran's statement about children rings true... that they are "life's longing for itself."

Methinks that forty will be a year of acceptance of dreams unrealized and hopes set free.