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Life. Falling. Apart.

2009 has sucked.  Royally.  Everytime it gets bad, it gets worse.  I have so many blessings and joys in my life and I know this and I'm not ungrateful for any of them, so please don't suggest that I am.  But honestly?  2009?  Sucks. 

I thought maybe getting past March would make things a little less stressful, but April?  Has been even worse.   Sam went to the ER because he got a cut above his eye that the pediatrician said was open too much to heal by itself.  It wasn't a huge deal, but it cost me a few hours of work, made for one unhappy Sammy. 

That same day, we found out what we'd be owing in Federal taxes.  It wasn't pretty.

This is my busy season at work.  When isn't?

I've been sick for two weeks with a "cold or something" that I haven't been able to shake.  In fact, it's only been getting worse.  I'm beyond exhausted and it's far more than my usual "I don't sleep much" kind of exhausted.  It's a beaten down with a stick kind of exhausted.  Small wonder… I've got a sinus infection and I'm now the proud owner of 40 Augmentin XR tablets.

My cleaning lady broke the inner glass on my oven door, then lied to me about it.  She also did a piss poor job of cleaning my house that day (and for the three years prior).  I couldn't care less about the oven door breaking – she did something stupid that caused it to break (no matter what her story is, my nanny was standing there watching it happen, and she doesn't have any reason to lie about it), but anyone can make an honest mistake.  What makes my blood boil is that she lied to me about it even after being confronted about it.  Then she had the audacity to tell me that I've been mistreating her for years.  This, coming from the woman who was only even in my house that day because she called me and asked me if she could please come that day so that she could do my Pesach kitchen cleaning "at no charge" to me because I've been so good to her for the last 4 1/2 years  and she knows how much I'm struggling right now.  Mistreating, indeed.

I didn't handle myself well that day, that's for sure.  I yelled at her more than I should have and told her to get out of my house.  I don't want people in my house who lie to my face.  I don't trust people around my children who lie to me.  Ever.  I'm sorry that I yelled.  I'm sorry that I lost my temper.  I ended up a sobbing ridiculous mess in my kitchen as she was leaving (calling me a drama queen, mind you, she can bite me). 

My nanny took me to my bedroom and laid me down on my bed and gave me a glass of water, told me I'm the best boss in the world and that D will never find a better boss and that it's she who should be apologizing for stealing my money without doing the job right.  I love my nanny.  Seth came home from work early because I was clearly in no state of mind to … um… function. 

We ordered a new piece of glass for the stove.  My handyman promised to come as soon as the glass arrived to install it for me.  The glass was scheduled to arrive Monday.  Tuesday at the latest.  We paid $50 in expedited shipping to ensure this.  Pesach is coming, after all. 

Monday came and went.  No glass.  At 3:30 today, the glass arrived.  I paged my handyman and he said he'd be over as soon as he finished the job he was working on.  He and I arrived at my house around the same time (5:30ish).  We opened the package with the glass and… 

It was the wrong piece of glass.  They sent the outermost piece of glass, not the innermost.

Fan.  Freakin'.  Tastic. 

(they've refunded the expedited shipping cost, they're picking up the wrong part, and reordered the correct part, waived the cost of shipping the new part…expedited of course… and it'll be here on Thursday.  My handyman will come Saturday night or Sunday morning to install it)

Am going to make this a private blog for a while. I’ll explain after I do so. If you want an invite, please email me directly.

chezperky [at] gmail [dot] com

I know it’s a HUGE pain in the neck to deal with checking private blogs. This is why I have an email subscription option on the right sidebar of my blog. Please feel free to use that as an option to receive reminders that I’ve updated my blog. I will be checking the email subscription list to ensure that only people who have permission to read my blog are receiving email updates, so please don’t sign up for email updates without also emailing me for an invite to the blog.

Thanks,
The Management.

Reverse Psychology

Well, it turns out reverse psychology works! What the heck? I have never, ever in my entire life had a period without at least one day of completely debilitating cramps the day before, and typically for the six-to-eight hours before it appears I am in total agony. So I knew with absolute certainty when I typed my post at 1:30am that there was no possibility that my period was going to arrive any time soon. Right? Of course right.

Except that she arrived at 7am.

Ooooooooookay.

So I shouldn’t be complaining, right? Of course right. I’ll make my CD2 appt. for tomorrow. (CRAP, my kids have appointments at 7:30 tomorrow morning. DAMMIT! Sigh. Whatever. We’ll work it out.) And that will mean they’ll want me back… (let’s see, Wed … plus three, carry the two divide by the square root of 17…) Saturday. FANTASTIC. They’ll probably let me hold off until Sunday. I hope.

Which will still probably mean me being back in the clinic on the last days of Passover, but it can’t be helped and I just… don’t care right now.

Edited to add: Hey, the lack of cramps could be related to the copious amounts of pain medicine I’ve been taking… except that pain medicine usually doesn’t help anyway. Hmmm. Anyway, it’s now 8am and the cramps are here to make up for lost time. This is going to be a *fun* day. Whee!

No Sign of AF

So per my tentative cycle schedule given to me by my nurse, I should have been expecting my period around, oh… today. (er, wait, it’s now tomorrow… so what I meant by today was Monday, just so I’m clear) And if not Monday, then definitely Tuesday. But I’m not having any of the telltale signs that my period is imminent, so I’m thinking Tuesday’s out, also.

It’s weird. Because the one thing that’s been very, very predictable since my pregnancy has been my period. And now? Nothing. Despite having most definitely ovulated two weeks ago. And I must say, this delay is putting quite the wrench in my plans. This is most definitely going to mean a trip to Ye Olde Fertility Clinic during Pesach and/or Shabbos, which is not thrilling. I am not pleased. This does not make me happy.

Of course, it will only mean a trip to YOFC if it ever shows up at all. Which, you know, maybe it won’t. Becaue this is ME.

Everything else is going wrong right now. Why shoudn’t this go wrong?

Oh, right. Someone asked what the deal is with Passover and kitchens. Right. I don’t really have time to explain, because mine is in dissarray and I only have a matter of hours left until it needs to be totally in order again… but… for Passover, we turn over our entire kitchen… we use entirely different dishes, pots, sponges, etc. We cover all of our cooking and eating and preparation surfaces. We clean our sinks thoroughly and even pour boiling water in them to ensure any traces of chometz (leavened food) are gone. We kasher our ovens by bringing them up to extreme temperatures (either by running them on self clean cycles after leaving them empty for at least 24 hours, or by using a blow torch (literally). We lock up all of our normal every-day utensils and bring out utensils that we only use for this week of the year. We close all of our pantries and pack away all of the chometz. We buy special food. We clear our refrigerators and clean them thoroughly and fill them with only kosher-for-passover foods. We don’t eat any leavened foods (chometz) or any foods that have come in contact with leavened foods.

In short? We are insane.

Lupron Day three. On Day 2 we found out what we owe in taxes. Not a good day. I’ve never seen so many zeros in my life. I’m not

Day three? Glass door on my oven shattered. And my cleaning lady (yes, the fired one) lied about it.

Yeah.

And I’m on Lupron.

And I had a complete, total, utter, nervous breakdown.

God bless my husband for not saying, “Maybe now’s not the time for IVF.”

Because that? Would have broken me.

The first one of you to say that maybe now’s not the time? Gets banned for life. Yes I’m stressed. Cancelling this cycle? Would kill me.

2009 Can Suck It

And you thought March sucked?

Sam's been to the ER this month.  Pictures will follow in subsequent post.  He's fine.  He cut his face above his eye and the pediatrician felt like it needed to be closed.  It didn't even need stitches.  It's glued.  Glued!  They accidentally glued his eye shut, but they fixed that. That may have been the worst part.  He's totally fine. 

My oven door?  The glass part?  Shattered.  Five days before Pesach.

Our tax bill?  About the size of the National Debt.

Me?  Thinking about taking up drinking for sport.

I am a dork

I am such a nerd that I have created a separate twitter just for IF-related updates. My twitter username for said updates is, predictably, notaclowncar, so feel free to add me there if you wish (I haven’t changed it in the sidebar, and I have the clowncar twitters protected).

Anyway, I keep wanting to tweet IF related things, but I can’t because my chezperky twitter acct. is followed by too many real life friends and links to my facebook status… so… I made a separate account.

Because I’m a nerd.

But I’m a 21st century girl and I believe in taking full advantage of the Web 2.0 culture, so there you go!

Off to bed with me.

Oh, by the way, my cleaning lady? Or, ex-cleaning lady, I should say, left me a message saying she’d still like to clean my kitchen for Pesach (at no charge to me) this week. One thing she IS very good at is turning things over for Pesach. Tempting…

Good to Go

SuperNurse called. 

I said, “Please tell me my P4 doesn’t say anything stupid today.”

“It was 3.8, which”
“Thank G-d!”
“-which means that you ovulated.”

“Right.  ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’ve been acting all kinds of irrationally the last few days.”

“uh huh.  And so… I’m supposed to say this is… different than usual?”

“Hey now!”

 

Yep, I love my nurse.  She rocks.

 

By the way, there still isn’t a mobile in Room One.  I have to figure out what to do about this.  My current strategy of humor and cookie withholding is clearly not working.

 

Also, I peaked in on a bunch of cyclesista blogs from the list of when my IVF#2 started… and realized that right about now?  I should have been going to transfer.  And I’m not.  I’m starting all over.  It made my heart sink a little bit, for the first time.  I hadn’t realized that I was a bit bummed about having this whole shebang get benched for a while.  Turns out?  I can’t cover *everything* up with my sarcastic wit.

 

I am wishing all of you the best of luck with your retrievals, transfers, IUIs, and two week waits.  I hope every one of you gets a positive result and that I’m the only one left standing.

And Here We Go Again

So.

Here we are again. I have to be up in six hours to have bloodwork drawn to find out if I can start Lupron again for IVF#2 (Take 2) aka IVF 2.1 or whatever you want to call it.

So the bloodwork is simply a P4 check. To see if I ovulated. Because, you know, after all that, and after injecting my buttock with 10,000 units of hCG I just might not have ovulated, right? But I can tell you with absolute certainty that I ovulated. Why? Because I’ve been snapping at my husband for no good reason since Thursday. My saint of a husband who can literally do no wrong except for about 10 days before my period. Because I’ve been all sniffly and teary-eyed over the stupidest stuff.

Because I fired my cleaning lady 12 days before Pesach in a fit of rage at her inability to clean my house properly. Which, I should add, is nothing new. She hasn’t been actually cleaning my house for about 2 years now (she’s been working for me for four). Oh, but Friday morning she asked me for the nine-bazillionth time whether I’m pregnant yet. And I lost it. But I didn’t fire her. No sirree. Because that would be stupid. But then I came home to discover that the outside of my oven was filthy and clearly hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. So I called and fired her.

Twelve days before Passover.

Yeah. Because that’s rational, right?

So I have little doubt that tomorrow Ye Olde Fertility Clinic will call and tell me that I have most definitely ovulated and that I am set to start the evil drug (Lupron) on Wednesday. And I should expect my period on, oh, about the most stressful day in the universe (next Monday or Tuesday). You know, right before Passover.

Did I mention that I fired my cleaning lady?

Twelve days before Passover?

And right before starting IVF #2 Take 2?

Yeah. If Ye Olde Fertility Clinic even tries to suggest to me tomorrow that I have not, in fact, ovulated yet, well, let’s just say that heads will roll!

Easy?

I never expected parenting triplets +1 to be easy.   And not so long after I had the triplets, my +1 was diagnosed with severe ADHD and dyslexia, so the not so easy pictures I had in my head became even less easy.  In fact, the picture I had in my head of the challenges of parenting triplets +1 were downright frightening.  I was petrified of what lay ahead.  I thought I would never sleep again (not entirely untrue, but I can't blame that entirely on the children…).  I thought my life was pretty much over.  I oculdn't envision ever leaving my house again, ever talking to another adult human being again.   Ever taking a deep breath again. 

Eighteen months later, as I look back…  the truth is, it hasn't been anywhere near as difficult as I expected it to be.  The early months really just weren't nearly as hard as I thought they would be.  Now, I had a horrifically bad picture in my head, so maybe it's just the comparative nature of things that make it seem easy, but honestly?  It just wasn't that hard!  I thought it was because I had easy babies, but when I read back on my journals from that time… well, I had pretty challenging times with babies who didn't want to be put down, and on-demand feeding, growth spurts, mastitis, thrush,  an apnea monitor, a failure to thrive baby, more mastitis, more thrush, more screaming babies who wouldn't be put down, two babies who took a long time to sleep through the night (one who still doesn't)… 

But… really?  It's nothing compared to what I EXPECTED!  So I really thought it was easy.  Truly.   I didn't have much help in the beginning.  Until I went back to work, I didn't have a nanny.  And we made it work and continually amazed each other at how things just fell into place day after day.  Something that HOM parents do is just make things work.  That's how we survive. 

Yesterday, though, yesterday was tougher.  Sam was reacting to the vaccines he'd been given the day before.  He's always the one that reacts to the vaccines.  He had a fever, and he was completely miserable when I got home from work.  I gave him Ibuprofen and held him for a long time while he cried and snuggled.  Finally, I put him down in his crib to sleep for a while, even though it was super early.  This worked until the ibuprofen took his fever down enough that he woke up ready for action.  Meanwhile, the girls were feeling just fine and were into everything.  But Mommy was tired!  I took Sam out of his crib and went into the kitchen to figure out dinner for myself because I had a program to go to for my multiples club that night. 

Though Sam was feeling better, he was still super-clingy and fussy and wouldn't let me put him down. 

Except in the kitchen.

But of course, if he was in the kitchen, the girls wanted to be in the kitchen.  (Do I need to mention that our fearless protagonist – me – already had a pounding headache at the start of this narrative?  No, I didn't think I needed to mention that…)  And then I realized I needed to ask my client a question I hadn't been able to ask while in the office, so since the kids were all quietly amusing themselves by dumping out popcorn and tunafish cans from the cabinets, I thought I was safe.  But, of course, once I got on the phone, Abby wanted Ellie's tuna can, and Sam wanted the broom (which he couldn't reach) and all hell broke loose.  Scream-fest in my kitchen.  Then they started dumping out the other cabinets.  And this one wanted that measuring cup and that one wanted the other one's bowl.  And he wanted the tupperware on his head, but when it got stuck, the screaming got louder.  Then he whirled around and hit both of his sisters with the broom handle.  Accidentally, of course.  And more screaming ensued.

Getting out of the kitchen became my Prime Directive.  But they were having None of That.  No Way, Mommy.  The kitchen, while full of hazards, is way too fun!

Soon I called Michelle, who has nearly-three-year-old triplets:

"You know?  This parenting triplets thing?  It's not so easy!"
"Finally figuring that out, are you?"
"Well it was easy until today!"
"It could be worse!  You could have had a day like mine!"

Great.  You mean it doesn't get easier in a year and a half?  Faaaabulous.

I twittered away my frustration, which updated my Facebook status.  "This parenting triplets thing isn't so easy!" I said (or something like that).  Later I clarified that in fact, it's not so much the triplets thing that's challenging, but the toddler thing that's challenging.  Tripled. 

And then?  Someone commented and said, "You could give them away. They're still young, they'll forget you. ;("

*Gasp*

And now I remember why it is that I don't blog so often anymore.  Because people just don't take my posts for what they really are … a tiny little snapshot of my life.  A little sliver of my reality, but never, ever, a real look at the whole thing.  That moment in time was not easy.  And I know that by saying it out loud I opened myself up to people thinking that I meant that parenting in general is hard.  And I know that person was joking.  But… seriously?  Who says such a horrible thing?  It just sliced right through me.  I literally had the breath knocked out of me when I read that.

I wonder, sometimes, what people must think of me… because I don't try to sugarcoat things in my blog.  I write about when I'm frustrated, just as much as I write about when I'm joyful.  If I didn't, this would be a disingenuous account of life as a mom of four (so far).  But maybe by doing so… maybe I give the wrong impression.  Because you should know… I'm always joyful.  I am always joyful to be the mother to these four miracles.  They are so amazing.

More to come soon…  the trio turned 18 months and had their 18 mo. check up this week, so I've got stats to come.  Haven't taken any recent pictures, but I'm sure I can figure that out soon enough!