Wordless Wednesday: Going the distance

The aftermath

Yesterday was a tough day of recovery, as my IT band (one of my training injuries) was really bothering me. I ended up staying home for the first half of the day so I could keep it iced and elevated, then went into the office for the second half of the day. I have to go up two floors to get to my part of the building, and I always (always) take the stairs, but my knee was bad enough yesterday that I had to take the elevator. I honestly don’t remember the last time I took the elevator at the office. It’s been years. (And I couldn’t bring myself to also take the elevator down when I left, so I slowly hobbled down the stairs on my own.)

Today I am feeling much more normal. My knee has a better range of motion, and while I have to walk slowly and deliberately, I don’t have to limp like I did yesterday. (Which I’m very happy about because I HATE drawing attention to myself, and naturally limping elicits questions from others.) I’ve got a bit of general ache, but nothing too bad really. In fact, I’d say that overall I’m feeling pretty good two days post-race. Not too bad considering second-day sore is often the worst.

Last week before my race, Serenity asked me an interesting question: How has completing a half marathon (now two) changed me? It’s something I’ve thought about but never really put into written words.

*First of all, I now have almost no patience for people who are lazy and make every excuse in the book to avoid physical activity. If I can do it, almost anyone else can. And I’m not talking distance races. Just any physical activity.

*I’m more willing to try something hard.

*I’m more willing to follow through when that something hard becomes more difficult than expected. I’ve said many times, “I’ve run a half marathon, SURELY I can do THIS.”

*It has reinforced the importance to making time to do something for myself.

*It has given me something of my own that I can truly be proud of.

*I’ve learned that just getting out there to take on such a big challenge is half the battle — and much more than most people will ever do.

*I’ve learned to balance my drive to complete a task with understanding and respecting my physical limitations.

But the most important thing I’ve gotten out of my race training? I’ve learned that Baby B knows that regular physical activity is a big part of our life as a family. Recently she has started asking about running in races with me and The Husband– and she specifically asked if she could run the half marathon with me. While she’s not going to be completing a half anytime soon — though I’m pretty sure she runs at least that much each day — I do think it’s time we start to get her involved in one-mile family runs soon. We’ll start near the back of the pack so she has more room, but I think it’s something she’d have fun with. She’s excited to wear her own race bib number. 🙂

Several people have asked me what I’m doing next. While I won’t say I’m never doing another half marathon, I think it’s something I’m not necessarily pursuing for a while. I’ve thought about — very long term — running a full marathon as my achievement after having Mythical Child #2, but I’ve seen the physical limitations I might come up against, and so I’m not sure running a marathon is realistic or smart for me. But after reading this article, I’m more inspired to run-walk the New York City Marathon at some point in the not-near future. This time my goal was to run about 80% of the time and walk 20%, but I think I could manage a marathon if I switched that ratio and aimed for running 20% and walking 80%, taking the physical pressure off myself so I can complete the distance. Even walking a marathon is more than most people do ona typical weekend day.

The NYC Marathon is pretty walker friendly, closing the finish line about 8 1/2 hours after the race begins. I’ve never been to NYC — that is one of my dream destinations — and what better way to see the city? I’ve always said that if I did a marathon, I’d want it to be BIG — not just some small-town race. My supervisor ran the NYC race a couple years ago, and he said it was an amazing experience, with spectators lining nearly the entire course and cheering you on. I would love to embrace my slowness like the writer of the article did, and even take a camera with me on the course to capture the great moments and great people you encounter. Just really find a way to ENJOY the race atmosphere and experience. What a great place to do that.

Now, this is not currently realistic for a variety of reasons — it’s held during our busiest weekend of the year at work (though that event is often held in late October instead of during race weekend…it just depends on the year). We’d have to figure out something to do with Baby B because she’ll start kindergarten in fall 2012 (wow, so soon?!), so she’ll be in school whenever I’d do it, and I’m not taking her out of school for something like that. I do not run fast enough to qualify for entry into the race, so I’d have to rely on the lottery system to get in. If you’re denied three years in a row, you get automatic entry the next year, but it’s possible to take up to four years to even get in the race. So it would take the stars aligning just right to make it happen, but it’s something to put on the radar as a very long-term goal. (Have I made that clear? NOT soon!)

Even if race training takes a back seat for a while, I’m still planning to remain physically active, both for myself and as an example for my daughter. I’ll return to the gym tomorrow to resume cardio and strength work, with a goal of running maybe once a week. I can see running some 5Ks for fun, but my serious training is done for now. Back to recreational running for me.

So what? I’m still a rock star

Kentucky rain keeps pouring down,
And up ahead’s another town
That I’ll go walking through
With the rain in my shoes, searching for you
In the cold Kentucky rain, in the cold Kentucky rain.

–“Kentucky Rain,” Elvis Presley

The day did not start off well (aside from the flowers given to me by The Husband before we left the house). Of course, I entered the Lexington Half Marathon with a head cold, and though it was waning by race day, I could still feel its effects. The race started and finished at a Thoroughbred auction house, with only one road in and a promise to close that road at 7:15 a.m. since the race route went through the entrance at 8 a.m. A drive that should have taken us 10 to 15 minutes from our house ended up taking us an hour. And it’s a good thing they did not close the road at 7:15 as promised because we didn’t make it on the grounds until after 7:50 a.m. To say I was stressed about it is an understatement. I tried to remain calm and patient, but with the standstill traffic and time running out, I faced making the decision of whether I needed to get out of the car and walk the final 2 miles, hoping that The Husband and Baby B would make it in time to see me, or just stay in the car and hope for the best. Affecting this decision was the fact that it was starting to rain — and, you know, the fact that I didn’t need to add an additional 2 miles tacked onto my already daunting task ahead.

In tears and threatening to just skip the whole thing because it wasn’t worth it, I made the decision to stay in the car until a certain time, then we were able to get onto the grounds before that time came. The Husband still had to drop me off because there wasn’t time to park and then get to the starting line, but once I made it there, I found out that they were delaying the race and it would start at 8:10 a.m. That was a definite relief, as I still needed to stand in line for the bathroom.

The Husband and Baby B parked and made it to the starting line, so I was able to see them one more time before the race started. By gun time, the rain was more than just a little sprinkle and seemed like it would stick around for a while. I was right about that; it rained for the entire length of the race except for the last mile. Most of the time it was a steady rain, but often it was a driving rain blowing in sideways. I was soaked within the first two miles. I was able to see The Husband and Baby B at three different points during the first mile, as we circled the auction house grounds before hitting the roads, and I was glad to see them several times then because they were unable to leave and see me at any other points on the course with the road closed. (Well, they could have left through a back way, but they would not have been able to go back in until they reopened the road, after I’d already finished.)

It’s hard to remember some of the specifics of the race because we went through a couple of backroads to the Kentucky Horse Park, so the scenery was quite static throughout the route. I mean, it was pretty, but it doesn’t make it very easy to recall what happened when, whereas in Indianapolis, I could remember that something happened going through this neighborhood, or when going by that monument. I didn’t really have that with this race.

I do remember that when I was at the four-mile mark, the leaders were already backtracking to the starting line. Yikes.

Because of the rain, I was never really able to get into the zone that I found in Indy. Despite wearing clothing that wicks away moisture, it was just too much rain (definitely more than just “moisture”) and I felt like I was carrying 30 extra pounds at time with each squishy step. And oh the squishy shoes! Pure misery.

I had projected a finish time of 2:45, and I wrote my splits for 3, 6, 9, and 12 miles on my arm. I was actually 2 minutes ahead of my pace for 3 and 6 miles, then was right on target at the 9-mile point. However, by the time I reached 12 miles, the rain had gotten the best of me and I was a couple minutes behind, so I knew I couldn’t make up the time in the final mile and I “slacked” a bit. Well, as much as anyone can slack after running 12 miles. A welcome sight was seeing the 13-mile marker, and just around the corner from that was the finish line with The Husband and Baby B cheering me home. Once again I was pretty emotional at the finish, but mostly felt relief at completing the task. I finished 4 minutes slower than my goal time, but considering everything I went through to get to the finish — both during training and on race day — I really felt no disappointment in not meeting the time goal. (Okay, maybe a little, but not really.)

I got some food and water after the race, then we went back to the car to head home. In the car, I was greeted with a very nice congratulatorycard from The Husband, and he said there was some chablis at home. (I’ll probably just have a few sips until I find out if this IUI worked, but I love the thought behind it.) I had the support of many people during this journey, but especially from The Husband and Serenity. I couldn’t have gotten through this without them.

The thing that struck me the most this time was the support from the other runners and from the spectators along the course. Because The Husband and Baby B were at the start/finish line, that meant I had no other people I knew cheering for me along the route, so hearing the other people encouraging me was a huge help. It’s amazing how far a few claps and a, “Great job! Keep it up!” can go for motivation.

The damage: My left knee hurts a lot, and I’ve been icing it all afternoon. Thankfully it didn’t hurt during the race, just after. For the last probably two miles, I had some chafing on my left inner thigh from my soaked pants rubbing. I had some sore places on my feet from my wet (and very dirty) socks after I took off my shoes, but nothing that’s too bad (and nothing that bothered me during the race).

But despite everything — the various training injuries, the rain, the wind (how was it in our faces going BOTH ways??), a head cold, a much hillier course than Indy — Pink said it best: “Well, so what? I’m still a rock star.”

Running on empty

I stood up from my desk on Wednesday to meet The Husband for lunch when it happened.

That moment where I felt the first twinge of maybe, possibly getting a cold.

I accepted that it might go that way, but I was hopeful that it would not go any further. Sometimes it does, sometimes it does not. By the end of the workday, however, I knew that it was going into a cold. No problem normally, except for the fact that my half marathon is on Sunday.

Um, not the best timing.

It’s about right, though. My training hasn’t gone nearly as well this time, as I’ve had issues with my shins and knees at different times in my training, to the point that I had to significantly alter my schedule and switch two of my runs to cross-training while keeping my long runs. So to have a head cold — that I feel possibly going into my chest now — well, that just figures, doesn’t it?

Oh, and the forecast for Sunday calls for rain. I think I’ve mentioned how much I dislike running in the cold. But I despise running in the rain. It means I have to run with a baseball cap to keep the rain out of my face, which bothers me, and I cannot stand when my shoes get squishy — and remain that way with each subsequent step.

I’m taking care of myself in order to be in good shape for Sunday. On Wednesday night I went to bed at 7 p.m. and slept for 11 1/2 hours. Last night I went to bed by 10, but I had to get up early to take my car to the mechanic, so I’m planning an afternoon nap assuming the car doesn’t take all day. I’m trying to avoid cold medicines and other things that might dry me out because I don’t need to be dehydrated before the race, but I will use something on Sunday if needed. I actually think I’ll be okay if it’s just a head cold; I’ve run with plenty of those before. When it gets into my chest is when things get a little more complicated, especially with my asthma.

But I keep telling myself that I hadn’t planned to improve my time from Indy anyway, and the whole reason I’m even doing this is so I can be a part of our city’s first half marathon. Just getting to the finish line will complete that goal. Part of me thinks that’s lame, but I remind myself that even getting to the starting line is more than most people ever do.

And by Sunday, I will have done it twice. I have a lot to be proud of, especially in light of the extra challenges this time.

Wordless Wednesday: Spring in the air

ENT-ertaining ourselves at the doctor

Baby B had another follow-up for her tubes this morning, and overall the visit went really well. Baby B did GREAT there. Usually I come out of the ENT feeling pretty tense because we generally have a lot of waiting (well, a lot for her age) and she always gets impatient wants to leave the room, but she did awesome with the waiting this time and didn’t try to escape once. In fact, we had quite a bit of fun while waiting. She was on the exam chair and kept pretending that she was on a bridge and had to climb over to me without getting in the water (aka put her feet on the floor). She also brought over the doctor’s spinny stool and sat on it pretending to be him. That was funny when she kept saying, “Okay, Nurse, I’ll be right back.”

Her right tube looks good, but her left one is starting to extrude a little, probably from a growth spurt that caused her ear structure to also grow. He said he was a little surprised it was doing that so soon, but he didn’t have a guess when it might come out. It could be a day, or it could be months. He did say the eardrum behind there looked very good, so that’s something, at least.

Speaking of the growth spurt…we suspected she’d had another one recently because some of her pants were starting to get too short. At her 3-year check-up less than two months ago, she was 37.5 inches tall, and when she was measured today, she came in at 39 inches. She weighed 32 pounds, up from 31 at the 3-year check.

Great expectations

If you have made the decision to procreate and further the over population of our world, please keep your small things under control when you decide to let them out in public and inflict their existence upon me.

The above statement was the Facebook status update of one of my friends, who is also a former co-worker. Obviously the statement was written by someone without kids — and therefore it is an opinion formed without having been there herself.

But sadly, the reality is that it this is not an uncommon line of thinking for many people in our society, especially those without kids (or more specifically, without the desire to have kids of their own). Anyone who thinks we are removed from the “kids should be seen and not heard” way of thinking has clearly never been stared down for taking their kids to a (family-appropriate) restaurant.

I do understand that kids are not for everyone. And I do understand that others don’t want, for example, to listen to loud children while they’re trying to enjoy their meal (heck, I don’t, either). There are some rotten-acting children out there. And I do understand that there are parents out there who take their children to inappropriate places and probably should have made a better decision about that beforehand.

But what I don’t understand is why our society finds it acceptable to expect adult behavior out of very young children. Should children be running haywire around the table? No, of course they should not. But they also cannot be expected to sit properly in a chair for the entire meal and speak only when spoken to, hands folded properly on their laps except when they’re dabbing the corner of their mouths with a cloth napkin.

I suppose one option is to keep your child at home all the time until they can behave like adults. But first of all, how realistic is that? And how better do we learn how to act in certain situations than by trying  out the specific situations themselves? How are children ever really going to learn socially appropriate behavior by being forced to stay home until they’re 10? It’s one thing to tell them at home, “This is how we act at a restaurant” and another thing for children to experience it for themselves. If your child is going through a particularly trying phase of testing limits, then maybe it’s time to skip Saturday lunch with friends, but to expect children to stay out of public is a ridiculous idea.

There’s a popular notion held by parents that we can and should “control” our children in public. And while I agree with that to a point — it does bother me sometimes when a child is misbehaving and the parent seemingly ignores it — those of us who do try to take action when public behavior gets out of control should not be lumped into the Bad Parent Club. That’s not to say we should let our children run wild or get right in the face of the person sitting in the booth behind us.

But give us a little bit of a break. Parenting is hard, and parenting in public is especially hard, as you have all eyes on you and apparently everyone else knows the “right” thing to do to end the situation and is scowling at you until you subdue your child like a newly trained puppy. Perhaps I shouldn’t “inflict” my children on other people, but I shouldn’t have such a judgmental attitude inflicted on me. A little support goes a long way to make things better and easier for everyone. Believe me, if parents could flip a switch and “control” their children instantly, don’t you think we’d do it?? It’s probably more difficult for the parents to deal with than for anyone else. It’s not as though we like it when our children misbehave around others. We don’t get a special thrill from it.

Thankfully not all childless adults have this attitude, but a recent IM exchange between The Husband and a good friend of his drives home exactly why so many friendships are put on the back burner when one friend has a child and the other has a hatred for children:

Yeah, I really can’t stand being around little kids 98% of the time. And I haven’t wanted to come to your place since you guys had [Baby B], because I know there’d be no real escape from a “rampaging engine of chaos and destruction” (just how I view all pre-teen kids) running around.

I’m definitely not one of these people who’s like, “Ooh, ahh…such a cute baby/kid.” When kids get to about the age Harry Potter is in the first book, that’s the point where they start to become potentially interesting little sapient beings, to me, that I might have some interest in interacting with.

I do commend him for his honesty, but wow is that not a very nice thing to say to one of your good friends who does have a kid.

In one sense, I wish such people would have children of their own so they’d eventually learn how unrealistic these expectations of children can be. But overall, I really hope these people don’t ever “inflict” the world with their children, as I really don’t want this closed-minded attitude to spread to subsequent generations.

Happy Turkey Baster Day!

Today was the day. Turkey Baster Day.

I got up super-early this morning and hit the grocery store at 7 a.m. since it’s my week to do the shopping and I wanted to get it over with to free up the rest of my day to do absolutely nothing but rest. Plus I figured it’d give me something else to focus on while I waited for my appointment. I got home around 9, put away the groceries, and talked to The Husband after he left the clinic for his part of things, which went well.

I got to the clinic a little early for my 10 o’clock appointment and was called back at 9:55 a.m. I was taken to the room, undressed from the waist down, and waited for The RE. He came with another doctor in training, who was initially the one who tried to insert the speculum. She was having trouble doing it herself, saying she couldn’t get things lined up right. She asked if they should try the tenaculum, which, from what I’ve been told, is more painful than the speculum as it opens up the cervix. He said he’d give it a try before going for the tenaculum, which I was relieved to hear. He had a bit of trouble himself, but he finally got it in place. They got the cannula that had The Husband’s sample (which had a count of 28 million, which he was happy with. I forgot to ask about morphology and motility but The Husband will call later to find out) and inserted it into place, then he removed everything and it was done. I had to lay there for five minutes, then I could get dressed and leave.  I checked out, then left the office at 10:10, just 15 minutes after I’d been called back. Not too bad.

During my five-minute waiting time, my uterus felt pretty crampy and I’ve had a little bit of very minor pink spotting, both a result of the difficulty in getting the speculum in at first, but it’s fine now. I will start progesterone supplements in three days, and soon I will test out the hCG so I will know it’s out of my system. If I don’t do that and ended up getting a positive pregnancy test in a couple of weeks, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t believe it was real, so knowing when the shot is out of my system will help me.

I decided that I really like the staff at the RE’s office. The primary nurse is very friendly, personable, helpful, and knowledgeable. The receptionist is awesome — even just with my few visits there so far, she knows my name and how to pronounce it (I have an easily mispronounced first and last name) without me saying anything first. In my three visits there, the waiting room has had maybe one or two other patients at a time, and I’ve always been called back within five or ten minutes at the most. I’ve also been impressed that The RE was the one who did my ultrasound earlier this week (I assumed it would be a tech doing it and then giving a report to The RE) and also the IUI today. Obviously I know I’m not their only patient, but it’s nice to have experiences that make me feel like I’m not just a number. There are not many REs in town, so I fully expected them to keep a pretty full schedule, but I’m glad to see that at least so far, this has not been true.

So now it’s time for the waiting. What was it Tom Petty said about waiting?? (And Marcie — I know I at least got this artist right! 🙂 )

C&C Music Factory would be proud

I absolutely hate running. I have weak shins, I have exercise-induced asthma, I have stress incontinence after my first pregnancy, and I’m so slow that I’m passed by many a 70-year-old grandma in my races. But I still do it and, in fact, am training for my second half marathon.

I despise getting up early before work to exercise. I am sleepy, my contacts burn when I put them in, and I’m generally just an uncoordinated mess at first. And did I mention I’m sleepy? But I still do it because it’s nice to get it over with early, and it frees up my evenings to do other, more fun things.

So why do I do these things if I dislike them so much?

The answer is pretty simple, actually. I generally get annoyed when people use any number of reasons as an excuse to avoid doing something that is fully within their capability. They just don’t even try, declaring, “I can’t do it” or “I’m too lazy,” not even allowing themselves to see the potential within.  So I find it very empowering to push through the obstacles and excuses and do these types of things anyway, allowing me to be in a position to say, “You know what? I hate it too, but it has good benefits and so I do it anyway. If I can do this, anyone can.”

It’s also why I walk up the stairs  (two floors) at work every single time and never take the elevator, even though most of my co-workers do. I especially loved the sense of accomplishment I got when I did that every single day I was pregnant — albeit a little more slowly toward the end! — all the while my able-bodied co-workers were taking the elevator up and down two floors solely to pay tribute to the vending machine gods. At that time, I had several people comment on the fact that I was doing that while pregnant and making everyone else look bad for taking the elevator such a short distance. It’s not that I want others to look bad, but it’s very empowering for me to conquer challenges that others refuse to even attempt, even though they could if they wanted. I sometimes hope that people see me doing some of these things I hate so much and think, “Hrm, why don’t I do that to? Maybe I should give it a try.”

So that explains why I did the hCG injection all by myself this morning! When I first found out I’d be doing the trigger shot at home, I’d planned to have The Husband do it for me because I am very uncomfortable with needles. I couldn’t imagine sticking myself with the needle and then remaining conscious enough to be able to push the medicine in.

As it was just another mental hurdle with me, I started thinking about it more. I’ve run a half marathon, surely I can stick myself with a tiny needle for ten seconds (if that). I hate running, and I hate needles. But I push through and still run, so why shouldn’t I push through to conquer the needle thing too? So I publicly declared my fear of needles in an effort to motivate me to do it myself.

So I took my shower this morning, then grabbed the supplies. After receiving some good advice to ice it beforehand, I did just that, then swabbed the area on my lower left belly with alcohol. I pinched the fat (finally — a good reason for belly fat! Take THAT, skinny bitches!), took a deep breath, and didn’t let myself stall or think too much. With a quick — but painless — jab, I stuck the needle in place and then realized it wasn’t as bad as I thought. In fact, I hadn’t felt a thing. I injected the medicine slowly, and I didn’t feel that, either. Pulled the needle out, and I was done within ten seconds, as expected.

Intense relief set in first, followed quickly by that familiar feeling of empowerment that I’d been hoping to experience. For me to do this myself was a huge hurdle to overcome, and I’m so glad I didn’t chicken out like I could have.

I’ve got the power!

(IUI tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. Will update during my self-imposed “be lazy and don’t get out of bed” day.)

Wordless Wednesday: Getting the double stink eye

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I’ve got a hankering for some eggs

I went to my monitoring appointment this afternoon, and things look good so far. I’ve got no follicles on the right side, but three on the left: 15.3 mm, 14.7 m, and 14.4 mm. My RE does only one ultrasound for IUI, so I’m now scheduled to do my hCG injection on Thursday morning between 6 and 8 a.m. The Husband either has to go to the office on Friday at 9 a.m. or have his sample (he can do at-home collection, if he wants) to the office by that time, and I’m to go at 10 a.m. for the procedure. Looks like I’ll be skipping my scheduled ten-mile run for that day, but otherwise it’s perfect since I’m already off work then.

I’m feeling good about everything except the injection. I know it’s not a big deal, and it’s only one shot (and a small needle), but I’ve always been very afraid of needles. Well, afraid isn’t the right word. But I despise them — and that’s when someone else is doing it. The thought of doing it to myself makes me weak in the knees. It’s the piercing that gets me. Like, if I watch a surgery on TV, I can stand all the blood and gore once you’re inside the body — but watching the actual incision being made? It pretty much makes me want to throw up.  So I know I’ll get through it just fine — probably with The Husband doing it for me — but the anticipation is driving me batty in the meantime.

Brain dump

Just some updates/follow-ups from recent posts:

*I’m not ready to declare bedtime issues solved quite yet, but the past three nights have been MUCH better in that department. On Friday night, she came out of her room twice, both to ask for legitimate things (including socks since her feet were cold). Saturday night she went to sleep while The Husband was still in her room. (We thought she was getting sick, but at least as of this morning, she seems to have fought it off.) Then last night, she didn’t leave her room once. Since I couldn’t see her on the video monitor, I took a peek a little while later, after I knew she was asleep, and found her sleeping on the floor at the foot of her bed, right next to The Dog. This was the first night in probably a couple months (at least) that she hasn’t left her room at least once. We’ll continue to take our same approach and hopefully it’ll reinforce her boundaries, though I have no doubts that she’ll continue to test them.

*Big Buddy’s last day at daycare was on Wednesday, and I was glad to see her that evening when I picked up Baby B. I sat down on the floor and she sat in my lap, and I just wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. I stayed probably 15 minutes, then when it was time to go, Big Buddy didn’t want to get off my lap or let me get up, then she started clinging to my legs to keep me from walking to the door, which made me start tearing up a little. We’ll miss her.

*Looks like we’ve got another trip planned, this time for Memorial Day weekend in St. Louis. I’ve only driven through St. Louis once, so I’m looking forward to the chance to see and do some of what the city has to offer. I love playing tourist.

*At least in our presence, we haven’t had problems with Baby B using foul language learned from Potty Mouth. I’ve not been told of anything by her teachers, either, so here’s hoping that issue is on the back burner for now.

*Less than two weeks until my half marathon. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Bring it on.

Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the Baby B bite

Age 3 is exactly like age 2. Except on steroids. And not in the good way.

Actually, overall, age 3 really isn’t that bad (though I know we have a long way to go). Probably 98% of the time she is super sweet, funny, cooperative, helpful, and everything else you could want in a three-year-old.

Then bedtime hits and she turns into a completely different child.

I should note that we’ve always been fortunate with sleeping. She slept through the night very early and always went to bed with ease. We’re very thankful that she still sleeps through the night (except those nights she wakes up to use the potty, but it takes approximately 2 minutes to take care of that and then she’s right back to sleep, if she even really woke up in the first place, so it’s a non-issue).

But, as three-year-olds are inclined to do, Baby B has decided to start testing us with bedtime, a time of day I used to look forward to, but now the thought of it fills me with dread. On a good night, she zonks out an hour after her bedtime, and on a bad night, up to three hours.

We take the general Positive Discipline approach of returning her to her room, attempting to do it without saying a word. I’ve since learned this is also a Supernanny technique, but I’ve never seen that show so I can’t really comment further on that. The thinking is to kindly and firmly (and calmly) return them to their rooms — even if it takes hundreds of times — so they can see the boundary you’ve set and that you’re going to stick to enforcing it.

Which all sounds good in theory, and for the most part we follow that. But it’s hard to ignore some of the stunts that she pulls (“No, you cannot hit The Dog in the head with your ball.”)

Some recent highlights:

*Two nights ago she took her two canvas totes, which are filled to the brim with stuffed animals, and emptied them, scattering the animals across nearly all of her floor. Then she came out of her room to say, “Come look at this! It’s a mess! YOU clean it up!” Um, no. I’m not cleaning it up. You messed it up, you can clean it up. Needless to say, a fit ensued at that bit of information. (I never did give in and clean it up for her, and she didn’t clean it that night. She did, however, help clean it up the next night.)

*The goal is to get her to walk back to bed on her own, but sometimes she fights this, so I have to pick her up and carry her. And I now have to carry her at arm’s length or else she will bite me.

*When I’m carrying her back to her room, I place her on the bed. Just as she’s about to touch the bed, she thrusts herself backwards to where she lands hard on the bed, sometimes even bonking her head on the wall. She then accuses me of either throwing her or pushing her onto the bed, neither of which is true, of course. Fit ensues because I “threw’ her.

*She’ll talk to herself, proclaiming how bad I am. “She’s not even listening to me! Is she going to listen to me? NOOOOO!” “I thought you were my FRIEND. I don’t want to be friends anymore!“ I swear I get visions of the kinds of things she’ll be crying in her room when she’s 12 or 13.

*My favorite is that she’s now locked me out of her room multiple times each night, which is unacceptable. I’ve tried to avoid doing it, but I think we may have to end up turning around the lock so she can’t lock us out. My hesitation is that I know I would then lock the door from the outside to prevent her from getting out, but I hate the idea of doing that because it’s just not very respectful of her.

*Last night she insisted on having her door open, which I did not want (as I knew it would provide more distractions for her). So we spent 15 minutes with her opening her door all the way and me standing there and closing it. And 15 minutes doesn’t sound like a lot of time for that, but when each cycle of actions takes about 5 to 10 seconds, that’s a long time.

So far what seems to work best (most of the time, at least) is to use The Dog. We normally let him stay in her room as she goes to sleep. Having The Dog in her room is not a right, but a privilege, so I have no problems taking that away when necessary. When we’ve had enough of the delay tactics, we give her one warning and the next time he has to come out of her room. (We’ve tried doing that from the beginning, but it’s not nearly as effective and she tends to blow her second chance very quickly.) Seeing as how she and The Dog are inseparable, this is not acceptable to her and she’s got more motivation to do as we say. We set a timer, usually for 5 minutes (but I’ve started increasing the time a little), and the rule is that she has to stay in her room until the timer buzzes, after which we let The Dog back in her room. If, at any point, she comes out of her room, the timer is adjusted and she has to start her waiting period all over again.

Last night, she asked for a snack out of the blue. I should mention that we have never given her a bedtime snack; since starting solids, she’s never eaten anything between dinner and breakfast. Never even milk. (Though she does have a cup of water available in her room.) Naturally, I assumed it was a new delay tactic and did not give her the snack. But she kept asking every once in a while and starting asking in a way that didn’t seem like she was trying to be manipulative. Then I reminded myself of what I’ve always said about her picky eating: If she’s hungry enough, she’ll let us know. So I reconsidered and got her some cheddar bunnies, which she ate pretty quickly. She asked for more, but I did put my foot down about that and told her that her belly might hurt when she was sleeping if she had too much to eat. She seemed satisfied with that answer, closed the door, and pretty much immediately went to sleep on the floor with The Dog. Oh, hrm. I guess she was hungry. (Or just needed to feel in control, and she was satisfied after I got her what she wanted. But I’m going to ignore that and pretend she was really just hungry and not manipulative.)

So, even though it’s still endlessly frustrating, I think it’s getting a little better. (Maybe?) Last night took her an hour to finally stop stalling and get to sleep, which is much better than the three hours she pulled one night last week. And honestly, I don’t even really care what time she goes to sleep. She can read in her room until midnight. Heck, she can play with her toys until midnight. I just don’t like the whole coming out of her room thing. After she goes to bed is my time. It’s my time to finish chores. It’s my time to catch up with friends on the computer. It’s my time to spend with The Husband. It’s my time to read. We don’t have that time anymore on the weekends now that she doesn’t nap, so bedtime is the time to myself that I don’t want to lose. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I get up at 4:15 a.m. to run or go to the gym. I HATE getting up that early, but now I don’t have to work out in the evenings, so I get that time back for doing other things.

And chasing a three-year-old back to her room for the 547th time is not one of those things I’d like to be doing.

It’s a good thing the other 98% of the time is beyond awesome.

Wordless Wednesday: Inducing a heart attack

For more Wordless Wednesday participants, click here.

Bee-yoo-tee-FUL!

Thanks to Serenity for nominating me for the Beautiful Blogger Award, as it now gives me a post for today. (I feel like I’ve got both nothing to say and everything to say, and I’ve been getting overwhelmed when trying to sit down and write lately.)

My task is to share seven interesting things about myself:

1. I wanted to become a journalist after I read The Diary of Anne Frank. The fact that someone could have such an influence on so many people simply by the words she wrote — it changed my life. While I no longer do the writing part (professionally, at least), I’ve found another area of journalism I love: copy editing. I think I have a natural talent for it, as I’m quite a detail-oriented person — yet can also see the big picture.

2. My dream job would be an editor for a movie or TV show. I want to be the person who detects anachronisms in the script. Or who watches the film footage and notice that a cut between angles reveals that in one shot a cup was on the table and in the next shot the cup was mysteriously gone. I’m constantly on the lookout for those kinds of things, and I think this is a job I would be very good at.

3. Growing up, my sister and I had basically no restrictions on TV watching, either with content or with amount of time we were allowed to watch. Don’t get me wrong — we watched plenty of TV (and some very age-inappropriate things [can you say Best Little Whorehouse in Texas?]), but I don’t feel like we were glued to the TV. We played outside a ton, and those are the moments I always think about when remembering my childhood. I watch almost no TV now.

4. I almost never wear “real” clothes around the house and by far prefer to wear more comfortable clothes such as yoga pants and a T-shirt. The very first thing I do when I come home from work is change clothes, often before Baby B has even taken her coat off. I go home on my lunch break, and I change into more comfy pants for the 45 minutes I’m there. Basically I just wear real clothes around the house if we have company  (and even then, depending on who it is, I might change into my comfy pants toward the end of the evening when we’re just relaxing).

5. I’m addicted to e-mail. I have my e-mail program up on my browser all day long at work and immediately read any messages I see come through. I may not be able to respond right away, but I like being caught up on my messages. I check my e-mail before I go to the gym early each morning. First thing I do when I come home (well, after changing clothes) is check my e-mail. Last thing I do before going to bed is check my e-mail. It just takes a few minutes, so it really doesn’t take away from other things I do.

6. As much as I love e-mail, I refuse to pay (at least) three times what I currently pay to add a data plan to my cell phone. I’m not that addicted to my e-mail.

7. When I was little, I used to think that babies came from moms drinking milk. I don’t know if someone told me this or if I came up with it myself, but it made sense to me because my mom never drank milk, and I thought it was just because she didn’t want more kids. So now as an adult, I do not drink milk. I want to like it, and try it again occasionally, but I don’t like the taste. I do use milk on my cereal (just the barest amount) and am fine with using it in recipes, but drinking it straight disgusts me.

I’m going to tag these ladies (all public blogs):

1. Life and All Its Possibilities

2. Life in the Soupbowl

3. The Dew Baby

4. What Has Possessed Me?

5. Not Afraid to Use It

6. Life With Luca

7. Morgan-Boo and Piper, Too!

The rules:

Thank the blogger who nominated you.

Post the badge.

Write seven interesting things about yourself.

Tag seven other bloggers.

Moving forward

I started cycle 15 on Saturday, giving me a 24-day cycle last month (so I don’t really know what’s up with that, but I’m glad things weren’t delayed).

I began 100 mg Clomid this morning and will continue through Friday.

I called the RE this morning and set up my ultrasound for next Tuesday afternoon, the 16th. This will determine the state of my follicles and when I’ll do the hCG shot and the IUI, but I’m guessing it should be mid- to late next week.

I’m glad I started the cycle early because that helps ensure the IUI will not be too close to my half-marathon on March 28. Not that running would mess it up, but I know I’d be less likely to put forth a full effort if, say, I’d had the IUI the day before or something. It’ll likely mess with my last training run, but I’d planned to make that an easy one anyway.

Back to the waiting game.

What a doll!

This week is Big Buddy’s last week at daycare, so we finally broke the news to Baby B. She took it well, though I’m sure she doesn’t fully understand the finality of the situation and that it means she will not be seeing her best friend every day as she does now.

In order to ease the transition (and also give Big Buddy a going-away present from Baby B), I bought two bath baby dolls — exactly the same except for the colors they are wearing. I let Baby B pick which doll she wanted (yellow clothes) and Big Buddy gets the other one (purple). I told her that each of them would have a baby doll, and when she sees her doll, she can think of Big Buddy, and when Big Buddy sees her doll, she can think of Baby B.

Baby B smothered her baby doll — whom she named Baby [Big Buddy] — with love and attention this weekend, and I can only hope that continues and Big Buddy does the same with her doll. I know that for adults it’s nice to have a tangible reminder of someone who is important to you, so I hope this helps both of them.

I also wrote a nice note to her mom and offered up our e-mail address in case she would like to keep in contact and swap updates of the girls. I honestly don’t expect her to follow through — I’ve never gotten a good social vibe from her mom when we’ve been together, and holding a conversation with her is like pulling teeth — but at least I put it out there and I won’t later wish I’d done it.

We’ll miss you, Big Buddy! Hope your new friends enjoy playing with you as much as Baby B has!

Wordless Wednesday: Fluttering fairy

Groping and coping

(The Husband, who almost never blushes, said he blushed when I told him the title of my post today. But he’s great and has a wonderful sense of humor, so he gave the thumbs up to use it. I love him!)

The Husband had his appointment with The Urologist this morning. I haven’t had a chance to interrogate talk to him in person yet, but from my chat update, this is what I know.

He has a varicocele on the left side, though the doctor said it was pretty common and not always an indicator of problems. It was not characterized as either “minor” or “bad.”

He will have two more semen analyses done, the first one on Monday and the second two weeks later. He will meet with the urologist again in 7 weeks for a follow-up.

So basically more not-knowing and more waiting, but I’m glad he still went to the appointment in case there is something that needs to be corrected. Hopefully it won’t be necessary, though (either because the analyses come back fine or because I’m pregnant before that happens).

**********

I recently wrote about my coping mechanisms and mentioned that one of mine is to plan trips. I like that it gives me something to focus on and also something to look forward to. I’m glad to report that two sets of plans came together today! I am booked on a flight to go see my good friend in Milwaukee (she started as my pen pal in 1992, but she’s become so much more than that over the past almost 18 years) over the 4th of July weekend. I’ll be making that trip by myself, without The Husband or Baby B, and I’m looking forward to a little trip away to spend some time with my friend and her husband (and their dog that I’ve not yet met).

I also had the paperwork signed today requesting my first week-long vacation since our honeymoon nearly five years ago! (I’ve been trying to save my vacation time for a future maternity leave, but taking longer to conceive gained me an extra year’s worth of vacation time built up.) My aunt and uncle live in Cape Coral, Florida, (near Ft. Myers), so we’re going down to spend a week with them, also in July. We see them maybe once or twice a year, and every time we see them, they invite us down, so we’re finally taking them up on it. Apparently they have half of their house as a guest suite, so we’ll have that available, as well as the pool at their house. Their house is on the canal, but they’re just minutes from the beach, so I’m sure we’ll take advantage of that quite a bit. They’ve said in the past that we can either plan to do stuff with them, or venture off on our own, so we’ll probably do a little bit of both. We will be there during the week of our anniversary, so my aunt has volunteered to watch Baby B so we can have a nice evening out. It will help us to save money to stay with them, plus we’ve decided to drive the 15 hours instead of fly (we’ll split it into 6- and 9-hour days both ways) since I can’t find flights for a decent price. But to me, a big part of traveling to Florida is the drive there (we always did it that way growing up), so it’ll still be fun.

Of course, with two trips planned for July, we may need to skip a treatment cycle or two if I’m still not expecting by then since I won’t be available to go to the doctor, but that’s okay. I can work things around treatments to a point, but when it comes down to it, I’ve got to continue living my life. This is what gets me through the difficult times and gives me something to look forward to, so I need to make that a priority at times too.

You’ve got a friend

“If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you.”

–Winnie the Pooh

Back in August, Baby B’s triumvirate was broken up when her friend Curly switched to another daycare, but she still had her BFF Big Buddy in class with her. If they are both at school, they are basically inseparable. They swish their dresses together. They like to cook in the play kitchen together. They like to try to convince The Husband that he’s actually a girl together. Baby B has fun with Big Buddy in a way that is unlike the relationships she has with the other kids in her class.

So it can be understood why, upon hearing the news of Big Buddy’s upcoming departure, I felt like my heart had been deflated and then crumpled up. It turns out her parents have divorced, and her mom really has no one left here, so she’s finally sold her house and is returning to Chicago to be closer to her family. I certainly understand the reasoning there, but I’m so sad for Baby B losing this great friend.

I know they probably would have parted ways anyway in a few years when they both started school since we did not live in the same school district, and perhaps it’s better that it happens now when it’ll most likely be easier for Baby B. Kids are so adaptable and at this age they make friends quite easily, but it’s a shame to see their special bond come to an end.