The Cat Turns Around

In a typical turn of events, lovely Michaela did an about face half way through my drawing.

Baby and I have often talked about how weird it is that we share our lives with this completely other species. What do they think of us, anyway?

Sunday Dinner

I'm back from the conference, which was mainly a test of conversational endurance with my boss. This morning Baby and I went to buy a new scanner at B&H, my old one having died a premature death. Later we wandered around the botanic garden looking at blooming things. And then Baby cooked awesomely crunchy and salty/sweet faux chinese food. Here she is at the stove:



Dinner was delicious.

Saturday

I woke intermittently this morning, beeped awake by my dying cellphone, but not awake enough to want to go put it out of its misery. (Confidential to Motorola: What is it with you and the insistent beepery? One death-beep would be enough of a courtesy announcement for my taste. And your insistence on beeping every minute for eternity after a missed call? Friend, it borders on the pathetically needy. This is the kind of behavior that pushes people away. I missed that call because I am busy, not because I don't esteem you highly. I'll check the message when I am next at liberty to pick up the phone, okay?) From this, you can tell that Sugar is not home, as she thinks clearly enough even in the morning to know the phone won't stop on its own. She would have tracked it down, turned it off, and returned to bed after the first beep.

Alas, she rose even before the beeping began, graciously only half-waking me for a kiss, and rode off to a conference in a near-enough city that she'll be home late tonight, her department sparing the cost of a hotel and sparing me the wakefulness of a night alone.

I would make a terrible single person. On Sugar's longer trips (She is sent to Africa from time to time, which is very glamorous in principle and sometimes in fact.), I start out well enough. I decide that living alone is no reason not to live well. I keep the house clean. I assemble fresh food and make a first dinner worthy of serving to guests, just for me. This state lasts for one day, maybe two. After that, it's Annie's Mac and Cheese, late night cereal, books and computer strewn across the bed. I always sleep on her side to pretend she's here and I'm gone.

A Saturday alone is not much better, it seems. Already I've burnt the toast and my fingers. I should be vigorously striding home from the farmers' market or pottering about our community garden bed or at least beginning my Great American Novel, but instead I am in slippers, my braid still rough from sleep.

I love her, that's all, and I'm not myself without her.

Memeage

The sweet (and eminently blog-stalkable) Nicole has tagged us for a meme! I do love getting tagged, must say. It's one of those one-word-only dealios. So here I am, in uncharacteristic brevity.


Hair: admired

Your Mother: all-knowing

Your Father: gentle

Fav Food: meat*

Dream Last Night: lost

Fav Drink: iced

What room are you in?: bedroom

Hobby: what?

Fear: consumes

Where were you last night?: safe

Something that you aren’t: certain

Muffins: homemade

Wish List Item: tree

Where you grew up: Carolina

What you are wearing: soft

Your Pet: warm

Friends: surprising

Something you’re not wearing: underpants

Fav Store: Here

Fav Color: singular?

Last time you laughed: asleep**

Your Best Friend: laughs

Best Place you go over and over: garden

Person who you email regularly: Dada

Fav Place to Eat: outside


*Apologies to the Committee for Lesbian Standards and Practices.
**Creepy.


And now I suppose I should do some taggery of my own, eh? Do you want to be tagged? Please be tagged, then. I mean it. Let me know if you do it, and I'll come read.

Also, how about good ol' starhillgirl, since tagging prompts her to post and I live for her posting? And familyo, if she can fit it in between Golden Girls episodes?

On Twins

Love 'em. Meant no offense to any of y'all with my previous post. Rock on with your twin-havin'/wantin' selves.

Fear 'em, though. Two things:

1. From a financial (let alone emotional) standpoint, having a baby at all right now is a pretty big leap of faith. If the universe wants to split an embyro in two and we end up with twins, that's one thing, but it seems more than a little foolhardy to try for a two-fer on purpose.

2. Sugar and I are both only children. In many ways, we like the idea of siblings, but it's foreign to us both. We may well end up wanting more than one child, and our conversations about future plans include that idea. But for right now we're thinking: one at a time.

So that's what that's all about.

Red Light, Green Light

I thought it might help to sort out what about IVF I am and am not scared of. Something's gotta help soon, because I'm sick of waking up at 4:30. (Good news: I found a sliding-scale acupuncture clinic! Gonna call next week, for reals. We'll deal with what about acupuncture I am and am not afraid of another day....)


What I am scared of:

- Big needles. Dr. Baby Factory prefers to use progesterone in oil, but he said he’s okay with coochie bullets. So I don’t need to worry about that one (except for the part of me that’s like “but shouldn’t I use THE VERY BEST THING? WHY DON’T I WANT A BABY???”)


What I am not scared of:

- Small needles. I’m a tiny bit weirded out by the thought of the follistim injections, but not in an unmanagable way. I used to watch my dad give himself allergy shots. I think this is one of those times that being a doctors' kid helps — I don’t have the feeling that medical care is something that doesn’t happen at home, and I’m basically into science experiments. And if it gets that bad, I have a friend with a medical degree who’s already offered to give me the shots. (And if that doesn’t work out, I can always have her 2.5 year old daughter do it. That kid gives me “medicine” with my bbt thermometer every time she’s over, which is often. She has a great bedside manner — comforting but very firm.)


- That follistim and friends will make my ovaries hurt unbearably, given that Cysty Lefty hurts an awful lot of the time as it is. Oh well. I suppose childbearing is a weird goal if I’m interested in avoiding discomfort, huh?

- Two-week follicular phase. That sounds like a big improvement over my usual twenty-odd days. I can do anything for two weeks, right?


- Egg retrieval. That’s normal, right? How could I not be scared of giant needles in my vagina, right? And how the hell are they going to get around my big-ass cysts? (According to my dream life, I am also afraid of crazy infections that enlarge the lining surrounding my heart. Awake, I am afraid that the Terrible Metaphor part of my mind is taking over. IVF leads to heartache? Real original, brain. MFA in Writing = money well spent.)

- IVs. Dr. Baby Factory said he’d want to do my ER with anesthesia — and he thought I’d object! Ha! I’m a big wimp and am all for being knocked out. So I’m telling myself that all I will have to do on ER day is show up and get an IV. Everything that comes afterward…well, I’ll be down for the count. (I hope. Last time I had twilight anesthesia — when I had my wisdom teeth out — I woke up in the middle. On the bright side, I was still too blissed out to be bothered. I remember lying there thinking, “Oh, that crunching sound must mean they’re having to break my tooth to get it out. La la la!”)


- Not having any eggs/embryos. Dr. Baby Factory doesn’t think the no-egg thing is likely (since I had a bunch of follicles on the last scan), but really, I suppose there’s only one way to find out.


- Twins.

- Single Embryo Transfer. Dr. BF thinks this is a great idea for me, given my age and all the rest (like my fear of twins). He thinks it lowers my odds only a little bit, and since my insurance is paying….
But then again, my insurance company wouldn’t be the ones climbing back into the stirrups, not to mention dealing with the emotional fallout not getting pregnant. Okay, it turns out I am a little afraid of this. But I am more afraid of twins in our New York apartment and our loosey-goosey financial situation.


- Believing this is a sure thing; losing my mind if it doesn’t work, even if only on the first try.

- Never having a child. Always being the-adult-kids-love, with none of my own to sometimes love and sometimes loathe me. Again, only one way to find out.

Michaela in the Morning

For the record, this cat was white when we went to bed last night.



Ah, Spring: when the aloes move to the outside windowsill, happy to have survived the winter's marauding.