Angry.

There I said it.
I'm angry.

Michael is leaving tomorrow for a mission. We found out last night. During German class, at about 8pm.  Which means we had one evening and a day to get ready.
He is spending today running around tying up loose ends. I cleaned our apartment, because well...there's nothing else I can do.
And what's worse? He was volunteered for this. Not that he himself volunteered. Nay. Some brainiac decided "Mike could do it! Michael could fill the slot! Get on the horn with him now and share the joyous news!"
 None of the other 3 guys who are going are married. They didn't want married soldiers to go, I guess since they'd have to pay extra for them. I dunno how this crap works. All I know is they chose my husband because they needed one more person. Or something like that. Nice of them to do?
Tell him he's going, and leaving the in about 29 hours.... then tell him nothing else. Inform me of nothing. Which lets me know exactly how much they 'care' about spouses.

I saw Jill Biden on an AFN commercial. Oh she was talking about the sacrifices of military families, and how wonderful they were. I looked at the TV snarled then said "oh SHUT up, already." Out loud. To the tv.

My surliness is unstoppable.

Anyway, they won't even tell us how long he'll be gone. A month? 2 Months? 6 Months? He was told "It will at least be 30 days but it could be 6 months."

All of this fell right at the time we were REALLY trying to have a baby. I would've started the 100mg of clomid in just a couple weeks.
Now, well...clearly that isn't happening. The prescription is still sticking on our fridge, once a hopeful promise, now it's just a mockery.

All I can think is "So, you mean we won't be having a baby, AND my consolation prize is that I probably WON'T spend the holidays with my husband?  Oh wait, he may be back by St. Patrick's day...but don't hold my breath? Oh whew. Ok, I was worried there for a minute that we'd miss spending mother's day together, since clearly that's a biggie...for us."

I'm angry that my husband is leaving.
I'm angry that I don't know for how long.
I'm angry that other wives in this unit/company whatever it's called don't have to say goodbye to their husbands for some idiotic mission.
I'm angry that I cannot get pregnant.
I'm angry that every person I see has a baby and a couple of children in tow.
I'm angry that we just got the chance to use clomid, and the first round wasn't strong enough, so we missed our chance.
I'm angry that I'm expected to be happy for every fucking person who gets knocked up or just gave birth AND buy them a gift!
I'm angry that it wouldn't be nice to kick a baby carriage. I'm talking hauling off and kicking the shit out of a baby carriage.
I'm angry at people who say 'just adopt' or 'G-d has another plan for you." I want to say "Oh yeah, are you going to foot the bill for our adoption costs???? AND, since when have you personally seen G-d's blueprint/spreadsheet/power point for my life?"
And mostly, I'm angry that I have no particular person to be angry at except myself. I'm the one who is defective. I'm the one who can't reproduce.
I am the failure.

This, my friend, is exactly what Waylon Jennings was singing about when he belted out "Lonesome On'ry & Mean."
So, I am blasting it loud and proud in this apartment, just to treat the neighbors to my hostility.

Clomifen? Wasn't that the name of a Wicked Stepsister?

So, here it is. In our journey to attempt to become parents, I took Clomifen...you probably call it Clomid.
I read horror stories of moodiness.
Hot flashes waking people up in the middle of the night, and the bloatedness that accompanies this little white tablet.
But, I thought, it's only 5 days sacrifice, and then....Maybe Baby! Lots of people have luck out the wazoo with clomid. Heck, some even have such good luck they have 2 babies instead of just one. It's a wonder drug! Right?

Day 2 of the medicine, there I was, in my favorite grey loungies, hair in a half fallen ponytail. Feeling fat. Like the kind of fat that requires you to wash with a cloth tied to a stick.
 I wanted to cry over everything. Literally. People in love, People out of love, People who are deliriously happy. People making fun of the Pope's Ring, The smell of the brewery whafting it's initial chocolatey scent into our apartment...
Which lead to the ravenous search for chocolate, and the sheer tears of joy at finding my husbands hershey bar chilled in the crisper of our fridge. I tore into it like it was a letter from Ed McMahon from the great beyond telling me that I was a big winner of a bajillion dollars.
Then I proceeded to eat it as though I'd been starved for days, no make that months, and it was the first food I'd discovered.(Sorry Honey, it was the last in the pack, and, well, it was fair game)


Then I wanted to lick the salt of some plain lays and toss the chip to the side like a castaway.
It was not pretty in this apartment.

Day 3 dawned bringing with it the shrill sounds of the neighbor's kid in the courtyard, mingling with the other neighbor who believes in allowing her infant to self sooth (Thus letting her/him cry...no scratch that scream bloody murder for half hours at a time all day long. It annoyed me. It made me want to act juvenile and throw something out the window in the general direction hopefully hitting the rambunctious child, and scream at the self soother's mom.
 So, I took a walk downtown. Oh and let me just say, it was gorgeous out. 70 degrees (F), sunny, wonderful. Absolutely WONDERFUL.
That was when the hotness decided to flash. Not in the middle of the night, in the privacy of my own bedroom where I could stand in front of the fan butt naked if I so desired.
No, of course not.
It happened right there in the outdoor market. I felt the huge drops of sweat start to form and fall off my forehead. My deodorant decided to skip town on me, my arm pits started stinking, and I grew a sweat bead moustache.
No. One. Else. was sweating.  Even the furriest dog wasn't panting.

Day 4. Nothing. No side effects. No desire to cry. No desire to roundhouse kick anyone. In fact, I felt...great. Amazing. NEVER better. I danced around the apartment. I used the swiffer sweeper as a microphone.  I was lovin' life.

Day 5, Awesome day. Even the overcast yucky day didn't dampen my mood of glee.

So, Dr. Rosin told me to come to her office today at noon. Specifically she need to see me at Noon. For an ultrasound to see if the Clomifen actually did what it was supposed to, which is to produce follicles.

 I got there 10 minutes early. They now know me by name. The receptionist happily greeted me "Hallo! Frau Suman! How are you dis day?"
Then I sat on the white couch and waited. While sitting there, waiting for Dr. Rosin, even though I was looking at my Country Living Magazine, I got nervous.
Not so much about the sonogram. I mean, I'm kind of a veteran at this point.

But it was kind of like...the S.A.Ts for Ovaries....and what if mine didn't study hard enough? What if instead of prepping for their exam,  they were lounging on the sofa watching reruns of Good Times, laughing at J.J.'s antics, when they SHOULD'VE been studying analogies.

She came up to me and bent down "Hi! Ready?"
I, looking up from my magazine, shrugged. "I guess so."
We chatted a bit, she asked me some routine questions, then she gave me the gown to put on.
Dr. Rosin got to work right away looking for the follicles.  She furrowed her brow and said "Ok, so if you try to be smooth, it vill be...maybe vee can see dee...ovaries better, na?"
I tried to relax, but seriously? relaxing isn't easy, even with Snoopy looking at me from my socks.
She said 'Vell, deer is nossing on dee right sides, so I look at dee leff ones.'
I saw my right ovary up on the projector and I swear it looked at me and sang
"Keepin' ya head above water, makin' a wave when ya can! Temporary Lay offs! Good Times! Easy Credit Rip offs!"
 I could almost smell the doritos on my right ovary's breath.

Dr. Rosin said "Veeeeell...dee leff one is..." she sighed "Maybe dis time vee try you for 2 tabletten of dee clomifen per day. More is better for you. Dee leff one, is nossing. Maybe some little fo-leek-ulls, but dey is not big enough to..." she moved her hand around.
I said "Oh." I got what she was trying to say "Ok. Uhm. Is that normal?"
Dr. Rosin bobbed her head side-to-side to indicated she was thinking "Yeah, dis is a little bit normal. So, remember dat clomifen is only dee furrs steps in dee process. Is alvays dee furrs steps."
I smiled weakly.
My ovaries failed their S.A.T.s. Lazy Eggs. No sperm would accept them.
She said "So, I checks dee prolactine again for you, just to make sure dee....levels is good, na? If dey are not so good, I call you. If dey are good, I see you next month for again dee sonograms."

So...my ovaries were duds AND I had to get stuck with a needle? How was this fun?
My needle stick was quick. I like the way Germans stick you with a needle. Quick and to the point. Yes, it still makes me light headed, but I am handling it much better. I only break out in a small sweat now, and I still get light headed but it's more manageable.
I'm pretty sure they don't make a tshirt that says 'Hey, I can't have a baby, but I no longer faint from needles." But you know what? They should.

I stepped out into the sunshine. Immediately dodging 2 (yes 2) pregnant ladies. Side by side. Like attack of the Fruitful and Fertile. I let them and their crowded bellies pass by.
The day was too gorgeous to sit on a bus, I decided to walk to Tegut to get Michael's chicken for tomorrow.
 By the time I made it from Dr. Rosin's to the ZOB, I had dodged a total of 4 expectant moms, and countless new parents pushing their cute little Euro strollers.
 I decided to call Mike.
He answered on the second ring.
"Hey Baby!" he answered cheerfully. He knew where I was going today.
"Hi!" I said back cheerfully. I decided it was like ripping off a band aid. Just tell him. No frills no tears. "Well, I just got out of Dr. Rosin's. The Clomid didn't work."
He didn't answer right away "Wait, it did NOT work?"
I said "Yeah, but, I mean...it's ok."
He said "Oh. I'm so...sorry."
I said "Don't apologize to me. I mean, it's ok. It's not the end of the world. And she wants to...you know, she wants me to take more next time to see if...well, to see if it works, and plus, I mean my left ovary, it made some..whatever they are..but they were too small. So, I mean she said, there are other options if this doesn't work, but I don't want to do them."
He said "Ok. But...."
I said "To be honest, I don't know if I want to, even continue, this."
He said "Yes. Continue. Just a little longer."
I said "Well, It's just it's NOT the end of the world if we don't have a baby. It's not. I mean there is a lot of stuff we could do instead. Right? I mean...right?"
He said "Yeah. I guess, but What? I mean I want one, too. I want to try."
I standing at a cross walk waiting for the little man to turn green so I could cross Luitpold Strasse I looked beside me, in the stroller was a fat baby sleeping.
I said "But I mean think of what else we could do without a child. Like...travel. We could and...we wouldn't have to clean up...fecal matter...off of another human."
He laughed and said "Not yet anyway, not until we are old."
Which made me laugh.
Then he said "Hey. How bout when I get home the 2nd night I'm home, we go out to eat?" (the 2nd night because the 1st night, well, he doesn't know how late it could be when he walks through the door)
And right then...that was the moment I wanted to cry.
Only because I knew he was trying to do something nice for me.
I could hear it in his voice.
So, I cheerfully said "Sure! that sounds really good actually."

Then I went to Tegut and bought a chicken.

Kittens, Avocado Stoves and not a Pot Roast to be Found.

When Michael goes to the field, even if it's just for 10 days (like this time), I always like to have something special for him when he comes home. I will make a special dinner and a dessert. I figure he's sick of eating whatever they feed them when they go do whatever it is they do.
Plus, it's my way of saying I love you.

I learned it from my Mom and Grandma, who learned it from the women they came from.
If I feed you, I love you. Rest assured on that.

Typically, Michael puts his two cents in, making requests during his nightly calls home. Sometimes being out in the field brings out the little bit of Southern I've managed to instill in his belly, and he will ask for Skillet Corn (You may call it Fried Corn.)
He's been known to ask for Lasagna, Chicken Pot Pie, whatever.

Two days ago the phone rang. We chatted, he ranted, we laughed, I asked what dinner he'd like when he gets home.
Michael paused, obviously thinking, then said "Hmmm...could you surprise me?"
I said "Uhm...sure. No idea of what you'd like?"
He said no, and I shrugged.

I decided late last night I'd make chicken & dumplins. He loves it, grinning the entire time he's eating them.
The chill in the air, the acorns on the ground, the yellowing of the leaves...the weather is perfect for them. Plus it's been a year since we had the simple deliciousness of Chicken & Dumplins.

Michael called today. For a wonderfully mundane conversation of kittens. Inspired by an ad in a magazine I was looking at while we chatted. It was the cutest little grey kitten going grocery shopping.
I mean, REALLY how cute IS that? A kitty grocery shopping.
It's off the cuteness meter, that's how cute it is. Which absolutely makes me crazy cat lady, to admit it to you, but even describing it to Mike, made him chuckle. (There it is for you to enjoy the cuteness)

I said "So, I figured out what I'm going to make for dinner."
He said "Yeah? What's that?"
I said "Weeeell, you love it."

He said "Ok."
I said "AND we haven't had it in a YEAR at least."

He blurted out "POT ROAST?"
I could almost hear him salivate.
I said "Uhm, honey, it's not been a year since we had pot roast. It's been since June."

"Oh." He said "So, it's not Pot Roast?"

"Uh-uh. Something you love AND it takes all day to make." (well, not really ALL day long...but..He doesn't know that...)
Michael said "Well....I'm not sure what that is."
I said "Chicken and Dumplins!"

Trying to make it sound as glamorous and as Elvis-Glittery as a hunk of beef sweating in the slow cooker with carrots and potatoes as the back-up singers.

I have to admit, I felt like I was the model for the consolation prize on The Price is Right, when the contestant was going for the win of an all expense paid trip to Hawaii, but Plinko had other plans. Plans that let him down and gave him the Avocado green stove top range, instead.

"Oh! Yum!" He sounded excited enough.
So I threw in for extra measure "Since I make them from scratch, and it takes ALL DAY LONG, it will be extra special."
He said "Sounds really good actually. Good choice, baby! I can't wait to be home with you."
I smiled and closed my eyes and said "I can't wait, either."

So, maybe my Chicken & Dumplins aren't an avocado green stove, after all.