I’m thinking about it. Hasty decision to move to blogger. Regretting. Hmm…
In an effort to both save money and eat more healthily (eat healthier? eat healthy? stupid English language) I’m trying to cook more often. I can cook, I’ve done it a lot, I’ve just been mostly too lazy for a while. And I live 90 seconds from a Taco Bell. I blame my weight problem on them – because I’m an American, see. Never take responsibility for your problems, blame them on somebody else. Moving on. I sort of taught myself how to cook when I was a teenager. My mom cooked dinner pretty much every night when she and dad were still married, but after that things went a little south. I love my dad, but cooking is not his forte. We had Hamburger Helper and dried out baked chicken a lot. Luckily, pizza Fridays made up for it. So one day I just thought “huh, I bet I could make something for dinner” and I found a recipe for apricot chicken. And made it. It was all right, I think. Tonight I am making skillet chicken and rice. It’s a recipe from the Campbell’s cream o’chicken label, I’ve made it many times and it’s super easy, but oddly enough it’s pretty tasty. Something about creamy, chickeny stuff is comfort food to me. I’m using peas instead of broccoli, because that’s what I have. Anybody want to come over for dinner?
Jason is convinced that I’m already pregnant. As I have yet to ovulate since removing the IUD, I’m pretty sure I’m not, but it is quite amusing the way he keeps saying “oh, you’re pregnant, I’ve got powerful swimmers.” Now, I know he’s mostly joking, but isn’t there a little bit of that in every man? That tendency to think everything about them is super-humanly strong – better and faster than everyone else? Women don’t share this trait, most women I know tend to go on and on about how much they suck, how ugly and fat they are, what’s wrong with their faces and their horrible personalities etc, but men? They usually don’t have that problem. Anyway, not pregnant yet I’m sure, but I know this month’s window is coming up, so if we keep, er, practicing, something good might come of it. I’m not officially keeping track of my cycle as of yet, I’m hoping to just get knocked up without going through all of that hoopla, but since I’ve been menstruating (man I hate that word, it totally takes me straight back to junior high and those hideous maturation clinics they forced us to sit through) for roughly 21 years now (holy shit!) I have a general idea when things are happening. Which is good, because I can’t be pregnant before Thursday, but after Thursday it’s totally fine. Scratching your head? I’ve decided to participate in a research study at OHSU, and I have to get an MRI on Thursday. They give you a pregnancy test beforehand and if you’re pregnant, you can’t get the MRI and are therefore ineligible for the study. I don’t know what kind of confidentiality is involved with research studies so I’ll spare you all of the details, but they were looking for women who have never had a child before and are planning to in the next year. I get some tests done now, and some more after giving birth, and then they give me $710. That isn’t a gigantic sum of money, but I have a feeling it’ll come in handy when they hand me that check 6 months after the baby arrives and we’re knee deep in onesies, diapers and bills. If I do happen to be one of those freakishly lucky people who gets pregnant the first month they’re trying, Baby Carter will be born this year! In December, which sucks because their birthday will always be overshadowed by Christmas, but would be handy for mommy and daddy because of the tax refund. WINNING!
My heart goes out to the many people of Japan who will be affected by such a catastrophic act of nature for many days, weeks, months- possibly years to come. The pictures and videos are heartbreaking.
Well, the crushing anxiety is back. And I can feel the depression creeping up as well. I know, I KNOW, it’s not my fault, I have a disease, but it’s hard sometimes not to be angry at myself, to feel ridiculous in general, and like I’m not a real person. Sometimes I feel like a robot impostor, standing on the sidelines, observing the humans, taking notes so as to better imitate them and try to pass myself off as one. I guess that despite the fact that the stigma surrounding mental disorders has lessened greatly, I still feel like I should just be able to slap myself and snap out of it, you know? Or maybe you don’t. Do you suffer from depression? Anxiety? Any type of anything that makes you feel like there’s a monster living inside of you? I don’t respond to normal life stressors in a normal way. I worry excessively, I take things personally, I often get angry at inappropriate times. I feel numb – I don’t (can’t) cry a lot, which seems odd, right? Depression = sadness = crying, but for me depression = anger and hopelessness = worrying excessively about everything until every situation ends in something catastrophic. I’m not kidding – I can extrapolate anything until it eventually becomes the end of the world and me and/or my family dying unhappily. I used to think it was my fault, like something I had done or something about the way I’ve lived my life was causing the sinking despair and the lying awake in the middle of the night worrying, but I’ve come to realize it’s nothing I’ve done to myself – this, unfortunately, IS JUST HOW I AM. The other day when I was chatting with my doctor about all things pre-pregnancy and going over my medical history she asked how I’ve been doing since going off the crazy pills and I told her the truth, mostly fine, sometimes not. The motivation behind quitting the Wellbutrin is the motivation behind pretty much everything else I’m doing right now, pregnancy. I want to get pregnant. I want to be pregnant. I want to have a baby. Maybe more than one. So I stopped taking my medication (there were other reasons as well, but the main motivator was the impending baby). There are different schools of thought on anti-depressants during pregnancy ranging from rabidly anti (you’re harming your baby! who cares about you? suck it up sister and stop being a wuss!) to rabidly pro (what about mom’s health? the baby can’t be healthy if the mom isn’t healthy! you need to take care of you so you’ll be able to take care of a baby!). Apparently there are some anti-depressants that are okay to take before, during and after pregnancy – even during boob feeding. And I mean, I guess I get that. If you’re suffering from such severe depression that you’re thinking of drowning your kids in the bathtub, isn’t Prozac in the boob milk a better option? And besides, our water supply is totally tainted with all of that crap anyway – no really, I heard it on the radio this morning (and the radio, like the internet, never lies). All of those antibiotics, antidepressants, illicit drugs, vitamins etc etc that we’re pumping into our bodies and pissing into the toilet? They’re in the water supply. So, I guess what I’m saying is, what’s your opinion? How nutty should I get before I give up? And by give up I mean put a stop to the crazy train and start taking meds again, not chase a bottle of Xanax with a bottle of Jack and end it all, so don’t freak out. The point is, sometimes it’s just so hard wrestling the demons – and when they don’t behave, I’m miserable. Like today. Like yesterday. Some days are okay, but the bad days are bad. And demon wrestling is hard fucking work, man. I’m sick of writing about all of this. I’m sick of feeling all of it. Mostly I just wish I was a normal person, with normal emotions – sure, we all get sad and mad sometimes, but wouldn’t it be nice not to be ruled by it? Not to be constantly talking myself down? Not to have to check in with myself at least once a day to make sure I’m coping. If wishes were fishes…
Today I called my father on the phone to tell him that Jason and I are trying to conceive. I happen to know that he was already privy to this information because my sister, who went to visit him just last weekend, let it slip. She thought I had already told everyone, and just happened to mention it in conversation – whoops. It’s not like I was trying to keep it a secret from Dear Old Dad – after all, we’ve spilled the beans to pretty much everyone else, it’s just that he and I don’t talk often enough. We’re both horrible about calling, and he’s not a texter like my mom. I didn’t bother prefacing the announcement with “I know you already know this…” because, who cares? Better to pretend that I don’t know that he knows – why? Family dynamics are complicated. Like the good little secret keeper that he is, he feigned surprise, not wanting me to know that he already knew. The excitement, however, was genuine. He immediately started calculating when I would give birth if I got knocked up this month – which is possible but not probable (unless, of course, I have the Mormon pioneer fertility of my mother and aunt. I believe I’ve mentioned the genetic trait of having two babies in two years? They both used to joke that all they had to do was wash their underwear with their husbands’ and they’d be on the nest), and how often they’ll be able to see us once the baby comes. So, soon-to-be (fingers crossed) Grandpa Dave is just as excited as my mom is (who, by the way, texted me yesterday to ask if I was pregnant yet and to inform me that she has already made a quilt for the baby), which makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Both of my parents technically have grandchildren already because my step-siblings have procreated (and/or married someone who already had a kid – does that make it a step-step-grandchild? See what happens when you divorce?), but I know they’re both itching for a biological grandbaby to spoil rotten. My dad and stepmom are photographers – they don’t do it professionally (though they could and should), but are good enough that all of my cousins (and me, of course) called on them to shoot their engagement and wedding photos. He does most of the photography, she is the assistant who poses everyone and tells us what faces to pull, and will often dream the perfect photo the night before a shoot. She also puts together slide shows and photo albums. What does all of this mean for me (and why the hell am I telling you)? They apparently do a photo album spectacular for all of the grandkids, complete with pregnant, ginormous belly pics and yearly updates of growing kid. Meaning – as my father put it, this FORCES HIS HAND and now he will have to come to Portland if for no other reason than the photo op. Baby Carter is already bringing us closer together.
In other news, my Dave Ramsey approved, money misering ways have convinced me that I am going to try to go through this whole baby thing as cheaply as possible. I checked out a book at the library yesterday called The Eco-nomical Baby Guide. It’s written for eco-conscious, cheap skate moms, because eco-friendly often means pocket friendly too (buying things used or getting them from friends, using cloth diapers instead of disposables, boob feeding versus bottle feeding – all of which I plan to do). So, for a fun project I’m going to keep track of every cent I spend (and how much I save) and see how little I can shell out, and obviously share it with y’all on my blog. Here’s my spending so far:
$1.95 on a book, Beyond Jennifer & Jason, Madison & Montana – what to name your baby now, found used at Powell’s.
$7.98 on two books, 1000 Questions About Your Pregnancy and The Girlfriend’s Guide To Pregnancy, both found used at Goodwill.
The other five books I’m reading about all things pregnancy, conception and baby related (and the three I already finished) I checked out of the library. The only ones I’m buying are ones I think I will read more than once, and ones that I find heavily discounted. Have I mentioned that I like books?
In honor of Saturday I slept in until 5:42 this morning. Yeah. It’s early. But, in my defense, I’ve been waking up at 4 in the morning all week and just lying in bed until the alarm goes off at 5:30. Like I’m defending my weekend sleeping habits. I’ve never been much of a sleeper, I’m more of a get-up-and-go/morning person. Anyway, The Husband is still asleep (because he can apparently sleep through the meowwwwwling and scratching of the cats at the door. Guess we know who’ll be up with the baby and who’ll be snoring through it? Though, I think that’s a typical female vs male thing. Women are wired to wake up when cute things cry. Men? Not so much). A while ago, The Husband gave me permission to use his name and likeness on my blog – you know, dispensing with the whole “The Husband” thing and telling you his name is Jason Wayne Carter. Since then I’ve been meaning to introduce you to the Carter family, complete with pictures, but I’m a lazy fuck and haven’t gotten around to it. Until NOW! Are you clapping?
This is me, Anjeanette (my last name is technically still Alldredge because I keep spending all of my money on things other than getting a copy of my marriage license and changing my name, but eventually it will be Carter):
That’s a very glamorous photo from my wedding. Normally, this is what I look like:
Yes, those are the AC/DC pajama pants, and a wii controller. Moving on, here’s The Husband, Jason:
That’s a very glamorous photo from his wedding. Normally this is what he looks like:
That guitar? That’s his true love. But, I come in at a close second. Here’s us together at our wedding:
and smooching on our honeymoon:
Okay, moving on. This here is Carl:
and just to prove that there are indeed two black cats in this house and not just one that call two different names (I mean, I know I’m crazy, but I’m not THAT crazy) here are Lenny and Carl together:
Who wouldn’t love those faces? Don’t you just want to hug ’em and squeeze ’em and call ’em squishy? That’s why they’re forgiven for the 5 am scratches on the door.
Okay, that’s all folks, the Carter household. For now, anyway. Hopefully soon there will be fetus pictures, and ginormous belly pictures. Did I mention we’re trying to get pregnant? Only a hundred thousand times? It’s so weird, having spent the past 16 years trying to prevent pregnancy, to now wander around thinking I could be pregnant soon and hoping that it happens. Aunt Flo should be arriving any second now, but maybe next month is my month? By the way, how juvenile am I? I can’t just say period on my blog? Especially now that the name Flo conjures up THIS image:
Ladies and gentlemen, the IUD is officially out, or as The Husband put it “the safety is off” – I didn’t know he thought of me as a loaded weapon, but it seems appropriate. I guess this means we’re officially trying to get pregnant. Not right this second, obviously, because I’m writing, but, you know, we’ll be doing it an awful lot in the near future. I know, just what you wanted to hear. YOU’RE WELCOME. Also, I’m healthy and everything looks good. Unless of course the… um… pap comes back abnormal. I know, I said it, I did. Sorry about it. Wait ’til I get pregnant and I describe all of the accompanying bodily processes in great detail. Bwah ha ha!
In other news, that place that sent me a rejection email (excuse me, TWO IDENTICAL rejection emails) called yesterday to offer me a job. Luckily I had already reconciled with The Universe how I felt about it and I called him back to say “no thanks”. I didn’t even lie! I was totally going to make up that I was already pregnant and didn’t think now was a good time to change jobs and then suddenly I realized, duh, I don’t have to take a job just because it’s offered. It is perfectly fine for me to call and say “sorry dude”. I don’t know how many times I’ve made something up just to save somebody’s feelings. “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t come to your wedding reception, I’m having a kidney transplant that day”. What is my problem? Is it the Mormon thing that causes the guilt and suffering every time I feel like I’m disappointing somebody else? Or is just an Anjeanette thing?