Vacation?

We are leaving for the mountains tomorrow. I was looking forward to the trip until I realized that my in-laws would be with us slightly over half of the time we will be there. Now, this is their new mountain house and I can't very well say, "no, we want to be alone," but at the same time, my mother-in-law told us that we could have the house to ourselves whenever we wanted so I was looking forward to some downtime. Somehow one night with them present has become three.

So J and I are having a disagreement. I say it isn't a vacation if in-laws are present. My reasoning: I can't wander around in my pjs, I have to be on guard as to what I say, and I have to plan meals and mealtimes around them. NOT a vacation. J says it is a vacation because we are away. If we invited my parents, I am guessing he would feel differently.

Time for sightseeing

I finished interviewing candidates a little while ago. In all, we met with 23 new or soon-to-be Ph.Ds. A few were very, very good. A few were very, very bad*. Most fell somewhere in the middle.

Now it is time for a little sightseeing. I just came back to my hotel, changed into shorts and walking shoes, and . . . .watched as clouds enveloped the city and rain began to fall. Shoot. Hopefully, this will be a short lasting downpour.

In the meantime, I'll look through my Boston guide and try to decide what sort of small gifts to get the girls. E, who is nearly four, is VERY aware that the departure of a parent means a gift upon return. In fact, rather than get upset that I would be gone for four days, she grinned as I left the house and called out, "I want a present, Mommy."

Ha! The sun is breaking through the clouds. Time to be a tourist.



*One candidate would not look me in the eye. Each time I would address him, his would turn his body away from me and stare across the interview hall. The other two interviewers from my institution noticed, too. Very, very strange.

Wheels up

I’m sitting in the airport waiting to board the first of my two flights to Boston. The woman on the PA just helpfully informed us that we are on “orange alert.” Whatever.

I resisted this trip. I really didn’t want to leave my girls for a conference. But as program director, I was told, “you have to be there,” so I dutifully packed, filled out my TA and now I’m nearly on my way. I’m not presenting my work on this trip. Instead, I am interviewing 24 people for an assistant professor position. I think 20-24 is obscene, but that is what the committee decided and who am I to argue? It will be like speed dating. With nerds. We already have their vitas, but this will tell us if candidates have necessary social skills to be a colleague who won’t drive us to despair and infighting and gnashing of teeth and wailing and backstabbing and all the other behaviors that we frequently witness from less couth departments. After the meetings, we’ll invite the candidates we liked to apply for the position and hope that the money we spend screening pays off.

Our decision to pour resources into these screening interviews stems from one interview a few years ago in which the candidate wore a Breathe Right nasal strip the entire interview and snorted loudly at odd times. During his teaching demonstration, he made a comment about a colleague’s ass. Later, at a department social gathering held at the home of a colleague, he railed against the evils of tract housing, in her tract house. For his job “talk” he picked up a local rag and just started blabbering nonsensically. We did not hire him, but his interview made us much more sensitive to the fact that while you can study society, you don’t necessarily belong in it. We also learned that a nice vita and good letters mean nothing.

So, here I go. Three days. 24 candidates and no idea how I will tell them apart. They all look alike-- so new and sparkly. I’ve been a professor for ten years, and I am far enough removed from my grad school days that I now find grad students to be kind of cute in that earnest, untested and as of yet unembittered-by-politics-and-the-realization-that-you-are-never-ever-going-to-get-rich-doing-this kind of way.

I’m hoping I’ll find ten minutes here and there for sightseeing. I miss my girls already.

Reconsideration

Remember when I said that my recent pregnancy would be my last pregnancy no matter what happened? Am I crazy for reconsidering?

Even as I was coming out of anesthesia, I was telling the nurse that I just didn't feel like we were done. In the five days since the D&C, I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm not sure if I am quite ready to throw in the towel. I posted a message about this on SIRM's bulletin boards, and Dr. S replied that back to back anembryonic pregnancies were bad luck and reflected declining egg quality, but were seldom due to other conditions. He said that 1 in 6 eggs is good in the typical 39 year old so conception is often a matter of catching a golden egg. If that 39 year old ovulates regularly, then she should ovulate a good egg twice a year if she falls on the good side of the odds.

I'm not much of a gambler, but I think we are going to roll the dice a few more times.

Then and Now

When I miscarried in February, I felt surprise and dismay.

This week, I had steeled myself for the worst, but still had that moment of stomach sinking horror when I saw the empty orb on the screen.

Then, I had allowed myself to start planning. . . the girls would have to move into the same room. We would need a trundle bed. We would probably need a van. I called and put our name on the daycare list. I freaked about money. I imagined what a good big sister M would be and what a great helper E would be.

This time, I tried not to think ahead. I had a few moments, of course, like when I googled about car and booster seat combos and Honda Civics, but I tried not to go there yet.

Then, I didn't want to disrupt my school schedule or my children's schedules by taking a whole weekday for a surgical procedure and opted, instead, for an office procedure. Of course, I paid for that by hemorrhaging and requiring emergency surgery.

This time, I opted for the next surgical appointment available and figured we would work something out for J's work and the children's care. It worked out.

Then, I felt like it was just a genetic fluke and that I would certainly end up on the right side of the statistics the next time.

This time, I feel defective. Something is wrong with me. I don't make babies anymore, I make sacs. Beautiful empty sacs. It sends me right back to the high FSH diagnosis with the less than one percent chance of conception prognosis.

Then, I felt empty and sad. Now. . . I guess some things don't change.

Thanks for your lovely messages to my last post. They've been a source of comfort.

Another blighted ovum

I think my eggs must be cooked. This morning's ultrasound showed a beautiful sac measuring right on target, but no baby. D&C is tomorrow morning.

Blah

Last night I dreamed that J had been offered a great new job, one that pays almost $40k more than his current one. I was so, so, so happy! I spent that dream money on childcare, home improvements and a visit to the Mouse.

Then I woke up. Bummer.

I got out of bed (there was a certain almost-4-year-old poking me, saying " Mommy I'm hungry, Mommy, I'm hungry, Mommy, I'm hungry," over and over and over again until I had no choice but to bolt from the bed lest I start bashing my head on the headboard). I walked into the kitchen only to realize that J had not lifted a finger to clean the kitchen before he went to bed last night. Normally, I am the one who stays up late, sweeps the floors, clears the counters and otherwise makes things look inviting for the next day, but I was very tired last night and went to bed early. Plus, J had come home late and created a new mess after I had cleared the dinner mess from the girls and myself. I expected that he would be the one to straighten up. Bastard. Waking to a messy kitchen just sets the wrong tone for the day.

Next came the phone call from J at 8:45 as he was being pulled over by the police. Apparently, we neglected to pay his car taxes when they were due back in, oh . . . April. I quickly paid them on-line during the traffic stop, but now he has a court date to see if the judge will dismiss or reduce the fine.

As I was leaving the house, my summer nanny* looked at me and said, "I need to talk to you about picking up more hours when you get home this afternoon." When I hired her, we agreed on 20-25 hours a week this summer, but I guess she wants closer to 25 hours (I have been doing 20 hours now that I am out of summer school). I was hoping to save the extra $300 or so a month, but I guess I'll be rethinking that now. Must keep her happy.

Finally, I am having serious nagging doubts about this pregnancy. I want more symptoms, damn it. Except for the fatigue and cramps, I don't have any pregnancy symptoms. I suppose that is normal for 5.5 weeks, but I don't know how I am going to make it to the first ultrasound.

So, my day is not off to a good start. I am tempted to ditch the office and take a long walk by the waterfront to see if it improves my mood. The weather report said that the humidity is way down to 71% today so it might even be pleasant out there.



*E's school is on break until the end of August so I took M out of daycare and they are both home for the summer. Their nanny is with them part-time so I can work.

126

My beta went from 13.5 to 126 in 90 hours. I think that is still a little low for 16 dpo, but it was better than I had hoped for. First ultrasound is in three weeks.

Beta Hell

My beta on Friday was a whopping 13.5. Ugh. On the bright side, we know that First Response is VERY sensitive. The nurse called today and sounded skeptical that this pregnancy will be viable. The doctor (who I have never met) wants another beta and a progesterone tomorrow to see what is happening. I've been doing my own pee-on-a-stick beta monitoring and while the lines are darker than they were on Friday, they aren't all that impressive. Whatever happens, I'll be OK, but I hate having to wait until Wednesday for my next beta results.

What? I can't booze it up anymore?

Last night I attended a divorce party for a friend I work with. We had been looking forward to this for months as it was a nasty divorce and it had taken its toll on my friend who lost her entire retirement to her intermittently employed slack-ass ex-husband. She had carefully planned the party--penis pasta*, a divorce cake complete with the bride pushing the groom off the cake, disco ball, and alcohol, lots of alcohol. It was a good time, a celebration of a milestone, that, while sad, marks the passage to what has to be a happier time.

J knew I was looking forward to this, but last night as I was walking to my car he stopped me. "Promise me you won't drink. I know there will be a lot of alcohol flowing."

I should be offended, right? I mean, I am not an idiot. Plus, I'm hardly a boozer, even when not pregnant. A glass of wine a couple of times a month is my speed. I didn't have as much as a sip of wine while pregnant with E and I think I may have had a sip of champagne for a toast at a wedding while pregnant with M. So, obviously, his suspicions were well-founded.

I'm tempted to pour all of J's beer down the drain tonight and then act guilty about my "bender" tomorrow. Or make some penis pasta for tonight's meal.

*Delicious!

The last pregnancy

I didn't realize that I hadn't posted in more than a month. I think it will take a month's worth of daily posting to catch up with everything, but tonight, I bring to you the most important news:
I seem to be pregnant again. I tested this morning and, while the line is light, it is there, and I don't even need my glasses to see it.*

Poor J. I am not one of those wives who wraps the stick in a box and presents it lovingly for a memorable gift over a beautiful dinner. Nor am I the clever wife who buys two onesies, one pink and one blue, and allows my husband to find out gently and memorably. Oh no, I am the wife who stands over her still sleeping husband insisting, "I need you to see something NOW," and thrusts a test stick in his hands with a "How many lines do you see?"

This will be my last pregnancy no matter how it turns out. I'm just getting too old for it.** Of course, I am hoping for the best and trying to get my ducks in a row. First duck: beta. My obstetrician moved away earlier this month, so I am on the hunt for someone new. Calling for a beta when you are not an established patient is no easy task. That didn't stop me from pissing off a nurse in his old practice and pestering her until she ordered a beta for me. Of course, she didn't call me back with the result, so I won't know that until Monday. This means that I will be studying hpts very carefully for the next few days to be sure the test line is getting darker.

Let the games begin. . .




*Somewhere in the last month or two I have become VERY dependent on my reading glasses. Aging is a bitch.
**I don't think 40 is too old for a baby, but I'm feeling old. And blind.

My Six Quirks

I took the plunge and answered OvaGirl's plea for readers to sign up for this meme.

I'm not sure that it was entirely wise for me to volunteer. The more I think on it, the more I realize that there is a fine line between "quirky" behavior and pathological behavior.

1. Lists
I can't function without lists. Sure, everyone uses a list for the grocery store, but I use lists to structure my day. I hesitate to call myself hopeless, but I do not accomplish much without lists. As an example, I offer today's list:

--Go to gym (take girls to jump castle after workout)
--Buy new stamps at post office
--Buy bananas/ strawberries at Food Lion
--Make lunch for girls (pb&j? peas and chicken?)
--Early naps for girls
--Wrap birthday present
--Take girls to party
--Go to furniture store to order new chairs (don't forget coupon!)
--Clean pantry
--Plan grocery list for Sunday shopping

This list was fairly tame since it is a weekend. My weekday lists are insane because they combine domestic and professional items (e.g. clean bathtub; write executive summary of needs assessment findings; look up things that turn toddler poop purple*) . The sad thing is that, without my list, I probably would not be very productive. I'm certain that without my list I would not have gotten stamps, shopped for fruit or remembered the big furniture sale. I do think I would have made it to the gym (free babysitting!) and the birthday party though.


2. Love Hotels; Hate Staying in Homes
We don't travel as much as we did before the girls arrived, but when we do, I much prefer staying in hotels to staying in the homes of friends or family (no matter how lovely they are). Staying in someone's home is always a disaster for me. I can't relax; the bed or air mattress is uncomfortable; the room is too hot, too cold, too stuffy, too light, too loud, or some combination; the room comes with a cat and a stinky litter box; the room comes with a dog**, etc. We nearly always stay in a hotel now. It helps that we have a gazillion Hilton Honors points because we charge everything to that credit card and pay off the balance each month.


3. I Won't Eat What I Can't or Won't Kill
In 1990 or 1991, I was cooking chicken for J (yes we have been together 18 years this summer) and I was suddenly repulsed by the dead flesh I was handling. For the first time, it hit me that this was a formerly alive chicken. I served it to J, but did not partake. I haven't had chicken since. Nor have I had beef or pork. I set one simple rule for myself: I would not eat what I was not willing to kill. I could never kill a chicken, or cow, or pig. Fortunately, given my location on the coast, I have learned that I am willing to kill shrimp or at least pull off their heads after they have expired. I have also been able to collect and cook oysters.

4. I Could Get Lost in a Bathtub
I have almost no sense of direction. Once, when planning a seven mile run, I ended up running 12-13 miles because I turned onto a wrong street and did not notice my mistake for several miles. Another time, I got lost in southeast Washington, DC, which, if you know anything about DC, was not a good thing at all. Although we have lived in this city for nearly ten years, I still manage to get well and truly lost at least once a month.

As it turns out, I do have an excellent memory and can remember birthdays and phone numbers of childhood friends that I haven't seen in 25 years. J has no such memory and barely remembers my birthday and anniversary though they both fall on or near major holidays. If our daughters get his sense of direction and my ability to remember dates, they will be oriented in time and space and will go far. If they get my sense of direction and his sense of time, they will be lost and stupid. It gives us pause.

5. I Can't Sleep without White Noise
I have to have a fan running in order to sleep. It can't be just any fan. It has to be loud enough and the pitch and frequency have to be just right. If not, I toss and turn and experience terrible insomnia. White noise machines generally don't do it for me, but I did find this little gem for my recent conference. Positioned about 10 inches from my head, it worked perfectly.

6. I Buy a Lottery Ticket Each Week
I know it is wrong! wrong! wrong!*** that my dream home, dream retirement, and dream life plans are based upon receiving a huge inheritance from a wealthy mystery relative or from being the lucky owner of the winning Powerball ticket. That doesn't stop me from plunking down $2 each week (one for each drawing) to keep the dream alive.


Hoorah! I found six quirks and J assures me that there are more, many more. Have to run. Powerball drawing is in twenty minutes, after all.

*Crayola
**Who snores.
***I teach statistics, afterall!

Mother's Day

I'm not a big fan of Mother's Day (which I would not be at all surprised to learn is the evil invention of Hallmark and the floral industry). The holiday--and others like it (don't get me started on administrative assistant's day)--are just sappy over-commercialized stress generators, particularly for J who invariably seems stricken in the days preceding any given holiday.

Of course, my distaste for manufactured holidays did not stop me from taking J up on his offer of letting me sleep past 6:30. Nor did it stop me from enjoying the card he presented that had been me "signed" by both girls.

The Front: Motherhood summarized
The Inside: It's hard

And motherhood is hard. It is a slog--much tougher than anything I could have imagined six years ago when the ticking of my biological clock was too loud to ignore any longer.

But, of course, I can't imagine it any other way. I was reminded of that this week when E made a picture of the family that touched me more than any Hallmark card ever could. In her picture, the four of us are are standing in the sun. "This is my family," she tells me proudly, "This is Daddy and Mama and me and M."*





*Notice she has put a frowny face on her little sister for extra authenticity. Also notice that she proudly signed it (the last letter is a "Y").

Conflicted no more

On Friday, I tested with one of my cheap, internet pregnancy tests. To my surprise, there was a faint second girly-pinky-purplish line. I was, of course, wary of the cheap test, so I went to Target and bought expensive tests. Saturday morning, I tested again, this time with the expensive brand. It was negative. Very negative. No amount of squinting, holding it to the light, turning it just so, or retrieving it from the trashcan just to take another look was going to make a second line appear. I repeated the exercise with another internet cheapie and it was equally negative. My period started in the wee hours of the next morning.

So, I'm not pregnant, but judging from how many times I dug through the trash to fish out the faintly positive test and then the very negative tests, I'm not ready to give up on it just yet. Despite the fears about finances and energy, I still feel like our little family could do with one more. And J seems to agree. Last week, when I suggested that we might be at the end of our family expansion, he looked pained and said, "I hear that adding a third isn't nearly as hard as adding a second." Tell that to my ovaries, buddy.

The last six years of my life have been centered around trying to conceive. RE visits, Clomid, Femara, injections, suppositories, IUIs, FSH from hell, the frantic search for cm during natural cycles, charting, analyzing every twinge, sex during LH surges, worrying, and worrying more. I'm done with that.

So, yes, we will continue to try, but I think we are also going to live a little. It is time for a kinder gentler trying, one that includes wine, soft cheese and caffeine, all in moderation, even through the dreadful two-week-wait. I'll still use ovulation kits and probably chart to confirm ovulation since my RE and OB have agreed that I need progesterone support, but that is it.

I'll probably be a madwoman in a few weeks, but right now I feel pretty peaceful about our new approach.

Conflicted

I tested this morning and it was negative. I suppose I should feel relieved after last night's second thoughts, but I felt the way I always do when faced with the snowy white test: disappointed and sad. I'm not entirely sure of what I want right now. When did I become this indecisive?

Second thoughts

9 days past ovulation on a textbook cycle probably isn't the best time to be second-guessing whether one wants another child. Yet that is exactly what I am doing.

I'm thinking that having two is already lively.
I'm thinking that with three we would be outnumbered. And need a mini-van. That guzzles gas.
I'm thinking that we are already feeling the financial pinch of stagnant wages, high childcare costs, and inflation. How on earth can we be thinking about adding more expenses to the equation?
I'm thinking that botox/ microdermabrasion/ line filler might be a good fortieth birthday gift to self.
I'm thinking that my colleagues will not be pleased to have me working part-time for another semester.
I'm thinking that if we add a third child, my environmental studies students won't take me seriously.
I'm thinking that I've just started running again and I'm enjoying it. Maybe it is time to train for a marathon or half marathon.
I'm thinking that maybe this should be our last cycle trying to create my ideal family of five.

It isn't as if these second thoughts are completely new. . . when the second line appeared on my pregnancy test in January, my initial "two lines!" thrill was followed, without pause, by "Oh my god, oh my god." And this wasn't an "Oh my god, this is wonderful!" It was more of an "Oh my god, what have I done?"

Still, for four weeks, until I knew the sac was empty, I calculated and plotted and planned and decided that yes! we could definitely handle this. So when the pregnancy ended, I ordered ovulation tests and preseed and waited anxiously for my next cycle to start.

Here I am two cycles later with a major case of cold feet. Suddenly, I'm wondering if my push to have a third child had more to do with my infertility history than with what is best for my family. [Fuck you infertility! I can reproduce if I damn-well please.]


I had a pregnancy dream two nights ago that was similar to the dreams I had before discovering I was pregnant with Baby M and then with The Sac. I'm having major cramps that are similar to my early pregnancy cramping (in all fairness, these are also similar to menstrual cramps).

I'll probably test tomorrow morning. It is a bit early, but I feel the need to pee on a stick (which I have lots of because I ordered in bulk after my D&C).

34.5

That is how many hours I've been away from my girls. I miss them, but waking up at 8 a.m. was a dream. A dream I say! Still, I'll be glad to get home Saturday night.

Here is what I am missing:

Writing from a remote location

I've been too busy to post or read blogs, plus my iBook had to go back to the good folks at Apple, so it has been a while.

I don't have anything exciting to report. I seem to have recovered, from my two D & C procedures, but my hormones seem to be out of whack and I'm far from confident that we'll be able to conceive again. I started wheat grass pills this week (supposed to be good for fertility) and I ordered preseed*, but otherwise my health habits have been crap. I haven't been getting enough sleep, and my stress levels have been up there and I gained back all the weight I lost in the Fall.**

I took a train to Richmond, Va. today to attend a conference. I hate driving and found it to be a mostly pleasant way to travel, especially since it gave me time to finish the paper I will be presenting Friday morning. As we were boarding in Charleston, I noticed that several people had little coolers with them. I thought it odd since there is a dining car on the train. However, when I visited the dining car, I realized that the cooler bearers were veteran train passengers who are already familiar with the generally crappy dining car menu. Still, going hungry was a small price to pay for not having to drive and for finding time to finish the paper.

This is my first time away from Baby M and the longest time I've been away from Little E. I must confess that I shed a few tears at the train station as I kissed them goodbye. And yet, it was time. I know it was. Though I have been trying to get Baby M completely weaned since her first birthday in August, she is still nursing for about a minute--right boob only thank you very much--just before bed. This extended absence should spell the end of that. If this goes as I have planned, then last night should go down in history as our last nursing session. I am sad about it, but relieved at the same time.

The nicest thing about being away is that I will get to sleep in tonight. Actual sleep. No little one crawling into bed at 4 a.m. and stealing my covers, no dogs scratching at the back door, no 4 a.m. early wake-ups. I am about to get some honest to goodness sleep. If my hotel neighbors get loud, there is going to be trouble. Big trouble.




*We used it the cycle we conceived Baby M.
**I have A PLAN to deal with this. More on that next post.

What I don't like about daycare

Overall, we have been very happy with daycare/preschool. There are no nanny dramas, it is relatively affordable* and the socialization is good. With daycare, I don't worry that a caretaker is going to have a bad day and take it out on my child, and I don't worry about what to do when a nanny gets sick, has a personal crisis, or decides it is time to move on.

However, the last month (known hereafter as THE-MONTH-OF-SNOT-FEVER-AND-BARF-AND-MULTIPLE-D&Cs) has illustrated the one important shortcoming of group care: there is no care when the child is too sick for school. Until now, this has occasionally been inconvenient, but not devastating. The last four weeks have changed things, though.

Baby M has been sick a lot. First, it was the flu for a week. Shortly thereafter it was a stomach virus. She and her sister (who had by this time caught the flu) were home another week and a half. Then, after returning to school for only three days, Baby M caught another flu-like illness that had her out an additional three days.

If you are trying to do the math, we have had one or both children home for most of the last four weeks and the results have not been pretty. I'm behind at work, J is behind at work, the house is a mess (because we have been trying to work while tending to sick children), and tempers are short. I only missed one day of classes during all this, but I missed some rather important committee meetings and my students haven't had much access to me. My conference presentation on the 15th was rather so-so and I've not started my paper for my April conference (though the data analysis is mostly complete).

Tonight, I came close to a meltdown upon realizing that Baby M was running a fever of 101 again. However, her crankiness through much of the day left me suspicious that this might be an earache, and sure enough, her ear started draining tonight. The beauty of tubes is that we can just treat her with Motrin and antibiotic ear drops and she is usually fine within 12 hours. Hopefully, we will all go to work and school tomorrow and make it until Friday, the start of Spring Break.

One thing I am going to work on during Spring Break is coming up with a much better system for handling sick children and work. We have no family here so we don't have that sort of backup system. I wonder how other parents manage?


*If I could have afforded it, we would have started Baby M in group care a bit later, at 18-24 months like her big sister, but we had been through our savings for nanny care by the time she was born.

Best Laid Plans

Monday

The Plan: D&C at OB's office ; Recover at home while watching The Wire

Reality: D&C at OB's office ; Recover at home while watching The Wire


Tuesday

The Plan: Teach courses, write tests and quizzes for week, take a mid afternoon walk to deliver books and stretch legs.

Reality: Teach courses, write tests and quizzes for week, have walk interrupted by call from Baby M's center. Baby M is vomiting. Run back to car. Leave frantic messages on J's cell in case he is closer. Get Baby M. Take home. Get vomited on twice (it is me or the rugs and I am easier to clean). Take shower twice. Trail Baby M with towels and catch next five retching episodes. Rugs OK. Watch J walk in door with Little E. Inform him that Baby M is in bad shape. Watch in disbelief as J leaves to go to the the track because his Tuesday run is "very important" to him. Stew.

Wednesday

The Plan: Go to office and work on conference presentation; contact caterers for undergraduate conference I am chairing; go to gym.

Reality: Stay home with Baby M who is no longer vomiting, but who is having issues at the other end. Attempt to entertain Baby M and work on aforementioned presentation. Get call from Little E's teacher. Little E is lethargic, running a temperature of 104 and complaining of headache. Call J who is able to get her. Go downtown after hours to pick up tests and quizzes. Realize that student worker only copied ten tests because I neglected to tell her how many to copy. Curse. Loudly. Copy 80 tests and quizzes. Go home. Bathe children. Stay up all night with Little E who is miserable.

Thursday

The Plan: Give tests and quizzes; present research to my faculty committee; meet with independent studies student.

Reality: Take Little E to doctor where she tests positive for flu (despite having had the flu shot). Hand her off to J who had stayed home with M who is vomiting again. Get to school late for first quiz. Give test to second class. Get very annoyed because one idiot freshman takes an extra 15 minutes on test. Call chair of committee and tell her to put me on the agenda for the next meeting. Go fill Little E's prescription for Tamiflu. Tell J to give her the Tamiflu before he leaves for work. Watch J force liquid down her throat. Watch E vomit on him. Laugh. Am treated with silent treatment for the rest of the day.

Friday

The Plan: Arrive at office early, polish conference presentation; finish travel grant; clean deask; have lunch with friends; grade quizzes and tests.

Reality: Stay home with sick children AND sick husband (who has caught the stomach thing). Change diapers too foul to discuss. Listen to children and husband whine. Contemplate running away. Notice that own post D&C cramping is getting uncomfortable.

Saturday

The Plan: Go shopping for fabulous boots; clean house; declutter 15 minutes; relax

Reality: Children and husband still ill. Own cramps becoming nearly unbearable. Light bleeding turns heavy, turns to near hemorrhage. Pass golf ball to fist size clots. Call doctor and am told to go to Labor and Delivery. Am dropped at hospital by J and sick children. Call L, my oldest friend, and ask for a ride home for later. Sudden gush of blood gets me to front of line and I am admitted. Call L to tell her to take her time as I will probably need surgery. Ultrasound confirms "junk" in uterus. Am prepped for proper D&C. L arrives and we laugh and catch up as we wait for OR. Best time I have had in a week. Finally wheeled into OR. South American doctor with lovely accent gives me "medicine so you won't care." Informed after surgery that the pregnancy was possibly molar. Too blissed out from drugs to be concerned. L finally takes me home 7.5 hours after I was admitted. Realize this was the first night that I haven't nursed Baby M at bedtime. Too medicated to care.

Sunday

The Plan: Screw it. I'm over planning.