I had a random conversation with an acquaintance recently, someone that I know to talk about general “stuff” but not ever connected on a personal level. Actually, two people but I need to explain each in its own context.

I somehow knew this person and I would see eye to eye. Kind of that “feeling” that there is more under the surface. I’ve become very guarded in my conversations lately, I don’t know how to explain except to say that I have found a peacefulness in quiet. Maybe reflective is a better word.  What’s different for me is I’ve spent a lot more time listening than talking to family, friends, and strangers.

So it was an odd occurrence when this person asked me, simply, “you look deep in thought, how are things?” And the conversation ebbed and flowed right to the heart. Somehow in 10 minutes we went from talking about our sons to infertility to adoption. She is me. Her life story is a reflection of shared pain and relief.  Forty minutes of talking to someone who not only “gets it” but sees (outside of the job related stress) the part of me that no one notices. She saw through the hardship and saw peace.

How cool is that??

Ironically, acquaintance number two was a mom I met at a sports practice. We sat next to each other watching our sons and started to chit chat. Her son ran over to sip a bottle of Gatorade and I immediately noticed he looked much different from her. I must have smiled a certain way, because as our two boys ran back to the field, she turned and gave the knowing look. For those in the ALI community you get it too… she knew. “Are you an adoptive Mom?”

The answer, “well, not yet…” .. and the conversation ensued.  I smiled driving home the two miles from there to here.

There is goodness in quiet.

And I am thankful that the universe knows it too.

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Failure is not an option

I was extremely efficient last week.

Remember that list of a million things I talked about? I was knocking them off one by one.

Here’s the thing about lists that is no surprise to anyone- after one list is done another one takes its place. I used to be a woman of few lists. I was so adept at getting crap done, by the time I sat down to make a list I didn’t need to write it down.

Then, over the last few years, I started to morph into a person with multiple lists and post-it notes. It is maddening. Especially when I know I used to be good at it.

I was watching a show on cable not long ago… well, let me digress for a little background… I upgraded my cable at home and now I get e-v-e-r-y channel on earth- even all the pay channels (for a promotional period of course). So when I am wide awake and stressed at night I watch TV, specifically movies and reruns of “Top Chef” and “Say Yes to the Dress”… ummm, yeah…don’t ask about that second one. I got married 15 years ago and yet I still love looking at wedding dresses. Don’t judge me.

Anyway..I had been watching a movie (can’t remember which) and one of the lines from a character in it resonated with me:

“I don’t try anymore, because I am afraid. It is much easier to not try at all. If I don’t bother, I don’t have to worry about being a failure.”


It was as if a giant arrow virtually appeared above my head pointing down at me… THIS IS YOU STUPID.

…Well, damn! No wonder I am procrastinating lately. It was as if that one line was written expressly to me.

(mental note, mention this to Dr. Anne)

The next day I was wandering around the house and looked at projects that were unfinished or never started at all. And it dawned on me that I am my own roadblock to ever being that person from years ago that went missing during infertility treatment. I am letting my failures beat me every single day.  Still.

I won’t try because I am afraid. Every friggin’ day.

Therefore, nothing gets done. And the list grows longer.  And I get mad at myself.

The cycle is never-ending.

Hell, I have a project (related to my biggest failure) that I am not even blogging about here. Why? Because if I commit to it here, in THIS place, it’s as if I am setting myself up to fail.

Finally, it all becomes clear. The tragic part?  My greatest relief, writing, has been a victim of my own crazy neuroses. Somehow I have grown to expect that bad luck is hiding in the shadows, just lurking and waiting to jump out and tear my heart to pieces.

The monster that I blogged about during my egg donor cycle has exacted its final blow.

It seems that I myself have become the monster I always dreaded.

How’s that for self-realization???

I had a dream last night, like many of the ones before it, but this one was different. In this dream I wasn’t running or hiding. I was happy. A person I’ve never met told me a secret, and it was the best news ever. It felt real. I woke up feeling elated. Positive, and with new purpose. Determined to make my dream a reality.

If I can change, I can stop making lists and start focusing on today.

Perhaps I can escape the sense that I am a victim, and start acting victorious.

It’s a tall order, but something I need to do.

I’m adding it to my list, pronto.

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Friday Fragmentary Thinking

So much to say.

I just haven’t been in the mood to write it down. Or have the time, really. It’s been a crazy month, and June looks like it will be equally as crazy.

So this post is just a mish-mash of what’s been going on in my head lately.

Yesterday, we went to the zoo for David’s first grade class trip. It was great. Great weather, great time.

The coolest thing? The prairie dogs, the bears, the otters, the turtles, the cheetahs!… oh heck, just everything!  We’ll be going back soon to see everything we missed.  It’s hard to fit it all in with just a few hour window.

Pictures courtesy of my main man, S. who basically just followed the pack of Moms, Dads, and kids with my new camera.

Last week was David’s 7th birthday party. This was the first party I had at a party “place” instead of at home. He had a great time. We had family and friends from school. I must admit I liked not having to cook or clean up. lol.

Can I express my frustation at that 47 year old “celebrity” who is pregnant? Should I comment that I am a little PO’ed that by not disclosing HOW she got pregnant is merely giving a bad education to women out there that think they can pop out babies into their late 40’s? With their own body parts?  Who freakin’ knows…maybe she is in the lucky .00005%.  I certainly made that percentage on the flip side of unluckiness.

Perhaps I should convert to scien.tology. There’s one thing I haven’t tried yet.

Lastly, but not leastly… who watched Grey’s last night on the edge of their freaking seats?

And who’s with me on Sunday watching THE LAST episode of LOST??? I am beyond sad to see this show end.  Prepare for some live tweeting and lots of tears on Sunday.

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Dreaming of me

I’ve always been a vivid dreamer.

My dreams are in color, I can remember small details, I always “know” when I am dreaming, and most of all… I’ve become very perficient at knowing how to wake myself up from a dream I don’t like.

I’m not sure how I figured out that last part. As a kid, I had a lot of nightmares, and my trick (back then) to waking up was first realizing I was dreaming, and then closing my eyes in the dream and pressing my belly button.

Viola! My bad dream cure.

Except sometimes it backfired (and still does), when I manage to think I woke myself up but realizing I just forced myself into a parallel dream state. Even when I wake from a horrifying dream, I need to stay awake for at least 10 minutes, because I can easily slip back into the same awful dream.  Great, right?

Last night I had a particularly bad dream. I was stuck in some sort of pit, and snakes were chomping on my limbs. You see, I hate snakes. Like Indiana Jones, when I see a snake in my dreams I think: “Snakes! Why does it always have to be snakes?!” It’s my anxiety dream of choice.

So I manage to wake myself up (or so I thought). I sat up in bed, breathed a sign of relief, and just when I thought I was home free, a snake appeared under my covers. Argh! Worse- I had a heck of a time waking myself up. When I did finally, I jumped out of bed and stood in the middle of the room praying that I was really awake. ala Paranormal State without the demon in the house.

I was awake… but the fear of lying back down was too much. So I rocked back and forth and willed the nightmare away before I slipped back into bed.

I’m not sure how I was blessed with such a jabberwocky brain. Or if there are many people like me, or if I am a class unto myself. I’ve pinpointed that my dreams are stress relief for me. It’s a way of my working out the cobwebs nestled in the far corners of my head.

I just wish I dreamed more about good things than bad.

The irony is my dreams have gotten a little more nightmarish in the last 5 years (oh, duh!) no doubt due to the constant state of stress I’ve managed to wrap myself into.

I had always liked to blame the infertility medications on my active imagination, but now that it’s been 6 months without any artifical substances in my bloodstream, I guess I can’t.

The key now is to channel the negative energy away from my sleep ritual.

The problem… I’m not sure if that ever will change.

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