Life After the Second Line

Sunday, October 09, 2005


Today was the fertility clinic's annual reunion picnic, or as I told G, Oz's annual opportunity to stand amid an adoring mass of grateful women and think, "I got every last one of these chicks knocked up." I said as much to him. Well, almost as much. What I actually said was, "So, it must be a real trip to look around and know you're personally responsible for every single one of these kids, huh?" To which he replied, "Honestly I try not to think about it. It's daunting." Then he told me that his oldest success story just turned 19 and graduated high school last year. He attended the ceremony. I thought that was nice. Aside from that, it was great to see all the nurse practitioners I got to know so well and to have an opporutnity to tell them all how much they kick ass. It was also great to hang out with both babies among all those people and know that not a single one of them was going to ask, "So, do twins run in your family?"

The funny thing, though, was how much time we spent today talking about whether we'd have any more kids. Now, it kind of annoys me when most people ask that question, given what we went through to have these two and also the fact that they are only five months old in the first place. Um, hello? A little time to breathe, maybe? But it was different with the crowd today, because they've all been in the same place. They all know it's never going to be as easy as throwing away our box of condoms and fucking like bunnies for a month or two. That if we ever want to have another, we will have to REALLY want to have another. And the answer, in case you're wondering, is that we don't know. It's still way too soon to decide. Besides, we know better than most people that, even if we were to decide we'd like another, it certainly doesn't mean we'll have another. For now we're just thankful -- so very, very thankful -- to have P & E that it seems almost greedy to even consider trying for any more.

Speaking of which, however -- my best friend called today to tell me she is pregnant with #2. Ugh. Does it say something awful about me that I really wasn't all that thrilled for her? I mean, logically speaking, yes, I'm happy for her. I know she wants a houseful of kids, and I certainly wouldn't wish infertility on her. It's just that, well. . . why does it have to be so damn easy for her when it was so damn hard for me? This was her I think second (maybe third) month of trying. She never even figured out how to use her OPKs, but it doesn't matter because bam! She's already pregnant. I guess I just wish there was some way to make things more fair. Say, EVERYONE has to try for six months, but that's it. At the six month mark, everyone gets pregnant. That way, everyone tries long enough to be thankful rather than an insensitive whiny asshole when it happens, but nobody has to endure two, three, four (or more!) years of misery.
What do you think, God? Do we have a deal?

Saturday, October 08, 2005


That's what I'd call a supposed "blogger" who has let nearly a month go by without so much as one solitary new post. There's not even a good excuse for it. I'm lazy, plain and simple, and I cannot so much as breathe a word about my lack of readers/commenters, because who the hell would even bother to keep checking a blog updated as infrequently as this one? Argh.

Well. I feel like I've been so busy and there's been so much going on, but I guess most of it has been that day to day stuff that just keeps me running in circles. The babies are doing great, although I should report that we've all officially survived our first illness and non-well baby doctor visit. Just a head cold, he said, and the only one who required antibiotics was me. I was dismayed to learn, though, that the babies do not qualify for the RSV vaccine. Seriously -- what the fuck? They were born 7 weeks early, weighed in at less than 3 and 4 lbs., and still weigh less than 13. P was on oxygen for 2 1/2 months. And NONE of that qualifies them? Apparently not. The doctor says I should be happy. "They're doing too well!" he says. Yes, and I'd like to KEEP them doing well, thank you very much! Unfortunately there's not a damn thing I can do about it though, so it seems they will be vaccineless after all.

Also, I got them baptized last weekend. This was something I'd been putting off, primarily because I had no earthly idea who to ask to be their godparents. Finally got that problem solved, so about a month ago I called the church to schedule it. I requested October 2, but then I said, "I am flexible on the date; I'd just like to do it when Pastor W is available." (There are three pastors at our church, so if you don't specify who you want, it's a roll of the dice). Pastor W handled G and I's premarital counseling, officiated at our wedding, baptized G, and taught the class we had to take to join the church. He is wonderful. We've had no dealings with the other two pastors whatsoever. Anyway, the person I spoke to said that Pastor W would, in fact, be preaching that day, but he would not be at the church's main location. Rather, he would be at the outreach location at the community college across town. Did we mind the baptism taking place there? "No, that's totally fine," I said. "In fact, that is preferable for us because that's where we usually go."

So last Sunday rolls around. The four of us, along with the FOURTEEN other people in five different cars, haul our happy asses to the community college and sit down. The babies are breathtakingly adorable in their white christening outfits. We sing a couple opening songs, shake hands with everyone around us, and then the pastor walks out. Only it's not Pastor W. It's Pastor T. And I only know that it's Pastor T because 1) he has begun preaching; and 2) I asked P & E's godmother-to-be. I'd only ever seen him once before.

So I'm sitting there thinking, "Huh?" What happened to Pastor W? At first I assume he's sick, and Pastor T is filling in. But then I realize that Pastor T is yammering on and on, and he hasn't once mentioned that there would be a baptism that day. And yet, there it is announced in the church bulletin for all the world to see. I start to get a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Long story cut very, very, very short, it turned out that they were, in fact, expecting us across town at the main church. Waaaaaaay across town, where church had already begun and the three front pews that had been reserved for all of us had since been filled by stragglers. So all 18 of us pile back in our cars and show up there, way beyond late, and have to be squeezed into whatever random spots here, there, and everywhere that the ushers can come up with. By the time we made it up front for the ceremony, I must admit that I was thinking some extremely unholy thoughts. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's looking like a disorganized ass, and though none of this was even remotely my fault, that's exactly what it looked like. Is it a big deal in the grand scheme of things? No. Did the baptism finally get accomplished in spite of it all? Yes. Yet here I sit, 6 days later, still pissy. I need to get over it, I think.

Other than that, though, things have been pretty good around here. Funny how frequently I used to update One Pink Line, where I was generally pissed off, versus this blog, where I'm generally pretty content. G tells me sometimes that I like to bitch -- do you think this means he's right?