WTF? Where do these people come from?

This actually just happened to me a few hours ago and it’s too good to pass up.

Walking into my apartment tonight. My neighbor, a mom of two (kids are probably 2 and 4 months). Here’s the conversation as I can remember it:

Her: Do you know what you’re having?
Me: (Looks at lunch bag. Is quite confused as dinner was eaten hours ago.)
Her: The baby. Do you know what you’re having yet? You’re pregnant, aren’t you?
Me: No. Not yet. Hopefully soon. (using far more grace than I have ever had in total in my life up until this point — I have now used all allotted grace until year 2016) We’re being treated for infertility.
Her: Oh. Cause I heard someone in the building was pregnant and I thought it had to be you.

Editor’s note: Okay, thanks. I just friggin told you that we’re a) not pregnant, and b) infertile. And you basically just called me fat. Thanks for that. I hope we have more chats like this.

Me: Yeah, it’s not us. But thanks. I’ll let you know if it becomes us (with a smile).
Her: Cause if you get pregnant, I have a lot of nearly new stuff that you can have.
Me: Thanks. I’ll, uh, let you know.

Which makes me feel bad, cause that’s actually a nice gesture. But I still hate you a little and I hope your new baby poops in your bed tonight.

And then my muskrat pelt fell off. Into a puddle of melty snow. And I went inside and cried.

The following remarks would make the FCC shit a brick. Consider yourself warned.

What I wanted to say:

Me: Listen, you cruel fat bitch. Mind your own fucking business. My father is on his death bed and is in the midst of having an epiphany that I am actually his daughter and that maybe treating me like absolute shit for the first 21 years of my life might have been a misstep. So now he gives a shit. And frankly, I am having a tough time caring. And I already feel really bad about it and I don’t know what to do. And my brother is putting me through the wringer about it. And work has been really hard lately.

And I don’t have any kids. But you’re pretty much a crackwhore, and you have two. And I’m trying to move overseas — and, here’s the kicker — having no family there might get me stuck here, but, wait for it, I don’t have any family here either. And I could leave this country tomorrow and very few people would notice. And I will make friends there because I make friends everywhere. And I found out tonight during my 4 p.m. to midnight shift that I now work 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Tuesdays, effective Feb. 27. And I am. Not. Real. Amused.

So leave me the fuck alone. And take your grimey poop-stained kids’ crap and shove it.

Stomps on muskrat pelt and exits stage left.

Then it’s back to the Big City

For those of you keeping score at home, we’re on CD10 here folks.

Not much news in the nether regions. But I have got a couple questions here. In all seriousness, despite the ickiness of them. Any advice is more than welcome.

Our IUI will likely fall right around Purim. Which means that, God willing, I will be good and pregnant around Pesach.

Now, I’m trying to prepare for pregnancy like a good girl should — prenatals and all. I am also one of those people who already get a good dose of daily fiber, neatly split between insoluble and soluble. And I am already having “issues” dispensing with the solidified paving tar that has taken control of my intestines.

See where this is going?

I am scared shitless (pun very much intended) that I will not be able to make No. 2 during Passover. So if anyone has high-fiber Pesach recipes, I’d really like to hear them. Or is there a kosher l’pesach fiber supplement?*

Next question: How long after an IUI do you test for pregnancy? I’m guessing the usual 2ww, but I’d love to hear other stories or notes on this. Does anyone just wait to see if they get their period? And if you are preggo, does that mean you’re already at four weeks?

* Funny Pesach joke: The Metamucil company and Manischewitz have gotten together to create a high-fiber supplement to prevent constipation during Passover.

It’s called “Let my people go.”

In the event I don’t post beforehand, what with the muskrat pelt attacks and all, a very happy Purim to all and a good Shabbos.

If we didn’t laugh, we’d cry

I have done my fair share of crying today and I need an outlet.

It may seem in poor taste given my last post, but a funny thing did happen Monday.

I ordered a new sheitel and it arrived Monday. I am not much of a sheitel wearer, or a Chabadnik, but the Rebbe said women were to wear sheitels and I’m going to give it a shot. May it be a merit for us, that we may be blessed with a baby.

For those of you not of Jewish background, this is roughly the equivalent of using egg white or taking cough syrup when you’re ovulating. Not likely to make a difference, but try to tell that to a baby-crazy woman.

Anyhoo. The sheitel arrived. I’m not usually a wig wearer, so I tried to keep it economical.

Suffice it to say, you get what you pay for. I paid just over $40. And my new wig bears a striking resemblance, both in form and odor, to a muskrat pelt.

I just washed it and it tried to bite me. I am fearful of putting my head in it.

In other news, we’re meeting with our JAFI shaliach in Philadelphia this week and spending Purim there as well. So if you see me around town, I’ll be the one with the makeshift muskrat pelt on my head.

My costume? If I keep the wig, I can likely pass as Davy Crockett.

Please daven

My father has been in the hospital for several weeks. He took a turn for the worse Monday. He was supposed to have surgery to remove his left lung, but during surgery it was found that he has cancer, that it is advanced, and that there was little reason to remove the lung since the cancer has spread. We will receive more information from the oncologist either Tuesday or Wednesday.

My father and I are not close — indeed, I’ve seen him only three times in 10 years: my mother’s funeral, z”l, my college graduation and my wedding. In that order. I will not turn this into a sob story, but it is times like these when I feel justified to note that life has not always been easy for me.

That said, he is my only surviving parent. And he is an excellent grandfather to my niece and nephews, having never been a good father to me or my brother. And I cannot imagine myself being without any parents or grandparents at the age of 28.

Please daven for Moshe Ari ben Avigayil.

Seven Mile Market anyone?

At the risk of giving away where we live — do me a favor, and if you know, please don’t say anything or post anything in the comments — does anyone know when the Seven Mile Market in Baltimore gets all of the Pesach stuff ready?

I’d like to plan a road trip to get Pesach ready, but I don’t want to go to early.

Shavua tov all.

You’re not alone. I’m an unfit parent too.

I have no idea if stealing from another blog is kosher (which actually means fit or proper, not okay to eat) or not in the blogosphere, but I’m giving it a shot. You can scold me in the comments if I’ve made a faux pas.

Stolen from ProjGen’s latest post:

“I kept thinking, “I can’t even take care of myself, how the hell am I supposed to take care of a child? Maybe this is why we haven’t been able to come up with the money. Maybe we’re [wait for it...] not meant to have children.”

Thank God I am not the only one who feels this way.

As I spend time online motzi shabbos, here’s what I should be doing:

Four loads of laundry, give or take: How does one girl have four loads of laundry to do (I don’t do the hubby’s, he doesn’t do mine — we’re very particular)? Yeah well, that’s largely because I haven’t done any laundry since … wait for it … early November.

For the record, yes I have a lot of clothing. No, you don’t have to wash sweaters in between wearings if you steal your husband’s undershirts, and yes he washes his laundry with great frequency. And yes, I’ve since bought a great deal of new bras and skivvies.

My bathroom could use a good cleaning. I haven’t really deep cleaned it (as in, washed the tub with anything other than my own arse) since I moved in. Which was in … oh yeah baby, here’s a good one … July.

I shit you not. And while I’ve enough moral fiber to feel good and guilty about it, it sure isn’t enough to motivate me to get my butt off the sofa and fix it.

My kitchen is a mess. The k’deirah blech is still full of water. And don’t even remind me of the Pesach planning and cleaning I have yet to begin. And something in the fridge is quickly taking on the appearance of a nice velvety Shabbos robe.

And all of this makes me ask: Is this why we haven’t been blessed with children? Will I finally get my shit together when I have a child to raise? Will you actually be able to find the carpeting in our living room in time for someone to be able to crawl on it?

We’ve all heard that having children changes people — but can you turn a slacker into a real, live adult in as little as 38 weeks? Should I try to reform my evil ways now?

I share many of ProjGen’s concerns. Mine aren’t for money — B’H we’re doing alright and have excellent insurance. But I could win an award for worst mother of the year and I don’t even have children yet.

I would really like to hear from anyone who’s been there, done that and learned from it. Does it start to matter more when someone else is learning from you?

Anyone see "Nightline" on Thursday?

So I’ve got some friggin angst and want to discuss it with someone.

In the event you didn’t see “Nightline: Designer Babies,” you can see the article here.

The gist of it is that someone is selling embryos. Said embryos are made up of sperm and egg from smart, pretty people (in theory) and are selling for $2500 a blob.

A main part of the criticism is that these embies are from privileged stock. So just to get the comments ball rolling, I’m going to throw this one out there.

Is it innately wrong to try and get a “better” embryo? This is going to sound horrible, but really, if I’m paying to get sperm and egg as an embie from someone else, you better believe I’d like to know that they aren’t carriers for horrific illnesses. Point blank: I want to know that everything possible was done to ensure my child will not have Tay Sachs. I’d like to think they came from someone who was educated — mind you, I’m not saying I need a Nobel prize winner, but I’d like to know they had an average IQ. And while I’m no looker myself, I’d like to know they came from someone without congenital defects.

Yup. I actually said it. And you can hate me for it. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that if you’re offered the choice, you’d prefer to have a healthy, intelligent baby with a reduced risk of horrific illness.

I understand these things are in Hashem’s hands, but you wouldn’t drink and smoke during your pregnancy and say “Well, if God wants me to have a healthy baby, I still will.” The fact is that God is there to help up, but we gotta do our part.

And, not suprisingly, the bioethicists are up in arms on selling a full embryo. Yes, I get that some people will use this to get a genetically-superior (again, in theory) baby and that perhaps they don’t really need the infertility treatment at all. And some people will use it to have children they would not have been able to create themselves. The example used in the show was an African-American family having a Caucasian child since they would face fewer challenges in life.

But $2500 sounds like a very fair price for an embyo. And it’s much more affordable than domestic or international adoption, assuming you can get your embies to stick. Frankly, if this was a designer baby gig, I think she’d be selling them for a hell of a lot more than $2500.

And though some people will always take advantage of such efforts, I can’t help but think this is some negative publicity for an amazing opportunity for so many families.

As someone who has been advised to get genetically screened for both Tay Sachs and Cystic Fibrosis, I can say that I would seek out a service such as this one if I had a need for it.

What does everyone else think? Where should we draw the line on helping people have kids? And frankly, if someone was selling these embryos for $30K a piece, would that in and of itself be wrong? Do we expect the doctors and researchers to be above making a profit?

I’m pretty sure the companies selling us our fertility drugs are making a pretty penny.

No comment

Okay, so I’m totally new to this and need a bit of help.

Am I supposed to respond to comments in a new post (the way I have been) or should I just join the commenters in the trenches of my comments?

Any comments on that?

But wait! There’s more!

I missed a couple good dumb things.

Not sure exactly when I posted it, but I managed to post the following facts and to fear their impact on our infertility:

I’m 5′7ish. And I weigh roughly 214. Which works out to a BMI of 33.5. Word on the street is that they prefer you to be at 30 or less when you cycle.

Except that in my first post about it, I said I was 118 and desperately trying to lose weight.

Ah, what a difference a 100 pounds makes. Thanks ProjGen to bringing it to my attention.

And when I said in my previous post that something was good with salmon, I meant the hummus, not the sperm.

Dumb things I’ve done lately, abridged

1. Discussed my IUI in front of a hummus display at the local market.

“I’ve heard the Sabra Luscious Lemon is especially good with sperm. Think of it like blinis.” *

2. Discussed my potential aliyah in my work cafeteria — in the event it is not immediately apparent why this lacks intelligence, suffice it to say my employer is not “in the know” about our potential move.

3. And my favorite which I’ve hitherto not admitted: When asked/forced to have a photo taken of me for my RE’s office, I returned the favor and insisted on being allowed to take photos of everyone who is treating me.

After the initial awkward silence, I was assured it would actually be okay for me to take said photos. I don’t think they knew I actually had my digital camera with me.

And so I did. I have pics of both docs, most of the nurses, the receptionists, the financial consultants and a nice group shot of the lab techs. I did not suggest I be allowed to photograph their cervixes. Especially not the men.

Moral of the story: never trust a woman that carries a large purse. You never know what’s in there.

*****

More comments fun:

Projgen said:

“nononononononono! No! Never think of Pesach until AFTER Purim. In fact, I like to double torture myself and while I’m waiting for the hangover to wear off, I start thinking about Pesach. Sort of punishment for over-indulging at the Purim party

Would the Chabad Rabbi not invite you and your husband for a seder? Or do you prefer hosting? And no, you wouldn’t have to eat matzah for two. But Gd willing, you’ll be eating everything else for two!”

Ahh. So true. Should have just enjoyed my Adarness.

And of course, the Chabad in town would gladly have us for a seder or two. I just enjoy hosting and like to make it my own little annual kiruv effort. If I can get 18 friends who would never eat kosher to eat kosher for just one night, I’d say I’ve made a difference.

We’re actually considering recruiting from the Reform synagogue.

* Of course I didn’t say that. Although I most certainly thought it. And it is good with salmon.