First of all, thanks - I guess - the many readers who assured me that yes, I will be able to walk the prego/non-prego line. I say "I guess" because now that I'm actually HERE, sitting reluctantly before my laptop with a bowl of milk-soaked Flax Flakes in my lap, after having made all those lofty campaign promises, I find myself wondering with great nervousness what I should actually write about today. Blogging is supposed to be a cathartic and joyful experience (isn't it?), and yet this somehow feels like what Obama must be going through right now: I said I'd fix this wacked-out country, but where on earth to I begin? I think I'll just put the U.S. economy on hold for a while, put my feet up on this ancient presidential desk, and order a whiskey on the rocks from the White House servants.
That's what I'd do, anyway (too bad Flax Flakes are nowhere near as exciting as whiskey on the rocks).
I want to begin my journey along the tightrope by sending a shout-out over to Chicket, who called me a bitch, and is therefore a PERFECT infertility-fighting candidate to meet me halfway along that tightrope.
A bit of background, and then you'll understand how beautiful and perfect her bitch-calling move was. Chicklet is one of those true TTC warriors who has been through the reproductive ringer, so to speak. Or non-reproductive, to put it more accurately. Check out her list of battles, or battle wounds, or failed battle tactics, which I personally think she ought to wear like medals of honor, or tattoo to her forearms:
"01-02/2009: IVF#3 (Menopur) cancelled and converted to IUI#4... still TBD if it's BFN or BFP. 12/2008: Hysteroscopy. 08/2008: FET#1 (Estrace). 04-05/2008: IVF#2 (Repronex & Gonal-F). 11-12/2007: IVF#1 (Bravelle & Repronex). 09/2007: Clomid + IUI#3. 08/2007: Clomid + IUI#2. 07/2007: Clomid + IUI#1. 05/2007: Switch RE's. 04/2007: Clomid#4. 03/2007: Clomid#3. 02/2007: Clomid#2. 01/2007: Clomid#1. 11/2006: Laparoscopy. 10/2006: First (of many) Blood Tests. 09/2006: HSG & Sperm Analysis. 05/2006: Started becoming certifiable. 11/2005: Pulled the Goalie."
All of this, and still no kid. I don't know what half this stuff means (and I'm not saying this in a "lucky me" kind of way), but I do know enough to sense the badness and frustration of it all, the emotional and financial expense. At times, the urgent anger and disappointment in her blog is palpable, which isn't a surprise.
What IS a surprise is how - even in the face of her own reproductive woes, Chicklet manages to maintain a wicked sense of humor, as evidenced in her response to my knocked-up news:
*I will continue to read your blog, "regardless how annoyingly whiny you become:-) Congrats. Really. You bitch;-)"
When I read her remarks, a great epiphany sank down into my brain like a the cloudy top of a lemon meringue pie: THAT'S IT! Right there, what Chicklet just said and the precise tone that she used, is EXACTLY how pregnant women and wannabe pregnant women should talk to one another! Affectionate, yet not sugar-coated. Kinda-sorta-happy. And yet, with cutting edge sarcasm that indicates a deeper closeness and mutual respect, clearly conveying truth of which both parties are painfully aware, not denying it for a second:
You're pregnant and I'm not, bee-yatch.
I only have one potentially similar experience to compare this to. It was when N (who, for those of you who haven't been on this blog since the beginning, was my best-prego-buddy-due-the-same-week-that-Zach-was-due-but-went-on-to-have-her-baby-and-left-me-behind, that-lucky-ass-bitch), announced to me that she was pregnant AGAIN. This announcement came during a weak moment when I myself was semi-attempting, without success, to get knocked up. Not knowing what to say, I sent her an e-mail that read something like this:
"Congrats, I guess. Still two to zero, for now. Don't let it get to your head, dude - I'll catch up eventually!"
This isn't as profoundly cool as Chicklet's remark, though. Absolutely, positively perfect.
Chicklet, you have taught all of us a bit more about the value of humor and profanity when there simply isn't anything else to say.