scar stories

Sid and I were watching tv last night when this stupid commercial for some scar lightening cream came on. The woman in the commercial was "so ashamed" of her scars, and this cream was able to make her feel good about herself again. You know, the typical gimmicky line of BS.

Why be ashamed of a scar? Why try to hide it, or lie about it? I don't understand.

My mother got burned pretty badly on her arm about ten years ago, and it got infected, and left a pretty funky scar. It's barely noticeable, but if you know what to look for, it's a patch of slightly lighter, bumpy skin on her forearm. And she was so ashamed of it, it bothered her so much. One day I walked in on her complaining about it, how it was going to "mark her for the rest of her life." And I was gobsmacked. I'd never considered it like that.

When I was four, I fell off a swing and broke my arm. Really badly. We're talking bones sticking out, arm twisted around broke my arm. Where the bones stuck out, where the doctors cut it open to try and repair the damage, I have a pretty spectacular zig-zag scar on my forearm, about five inches long. Stupid people have seen it and asked appropriately stupid questions (DID YOU TRY TO CUT YOUR WRIST?). But I have never been ashamed of it. I don't try to hide it, and therefore, people don't really notice it. It is just part of who I am, and most people will not mention it, indeed, will not even see it until I specifically point it out.

I told my mother that scars were nothing to be ashamed of, that it was merely something that meant we have healed from physical trauma. If anything, we should be proud of our scars, because if you believe they "mark us for life" they mark us as people who have hurt, who have been scared, who bled and cried. They are testaments to pain, and to healing.

She looked at me cockeyed, but she never really complained about her scars again. Maybe she just thought I was crazy.

a rant and some schadenfreude

FYI: You lose weight. You lose a child. You do not loose these things. Loose is another word entirely.

Is it just me, or is this particular misspelling becoming more and more common? It seems like I see it everywhere, and it makes me crazy. I've even seen it misspelled on some poor child's grave marker, which just about made me sick: did no one proof-read that thing before permanently etching it onto this poor dead kid's memorial stone?

I know that some people simply aren't good at spelling, that I am one of the lucky ones that intuitively knows the difference between "effect" and "affect" and never have to think hard about it. The thing I suck at is math. Numbers are like a foreign language to me. I seriously could not grok the concept of making change until I was halfway through the fourth grade, the coins were so totally intimidating. And I still suck at making change, to this day it isn't something that I can easily do in my head.

I accept that limitation. There are probably people who are thinking evil thoughts about my inability to understand numbers, just like I rage against shitty spelling. I accept that, too.

But HOLY SHIT, at least my fail isn't plastered out there everywhere on the internet. Schadenfreude!

and so it begins

Sid is fascinated by my boobs. They just keep inflating. It's alarming, really, because I'm bloated all over anyway, and then there's these huge porn-queen boobies topping it all off and they HURT. And he wants to touch them. SQUEEZE them. Okay, one, my boobs are not squeaky toys. Two, IT FUCKING HURTS.

I've got a doctor's appointment this afternoon, the standard thyroid check, and I made the appointment before I knew there was a sprog in the works. So it should be interesting to tell her and get that particular ball rolling. I'm operating under the assumption that I need a referral from my primary care provider to see a specialist, in this case an obstetrician or certified nurse midwife. I know for sure that I'll need to have my routine thyroid checks done more frequently now. I wonder if she'll finally be amenable to upping my levothyroxine like I wanted her to when I first started trying to conceive?

And in other, weirder, news... I think Sid is having a sympathy pregnancy. Seriously, I've been weeing like a fiend, and having crazy dreams and waking up at all hours of the night, and he's doing the same damn thing. He's eating everything in the house (which I'm NOT doing, but sorely want to!) and conking out on the couch for a nap at precisely the same time I crash and want a snooze. He's even having hormonal hot flashes. It's maddening, because he's complaining so much, and I'm just taking it all in stride and reminding myself that what I'm feeling is A GOOD THING, these symptoms are GOOD THINGS. And Mr Couvade over there is bitching and moaning and complaining he's tired. BITCH BE STEALING MY GLORY.

wow

Every morning this week I've taken a pregnancy test, unable to believe my eyes. I kept thinking that I was dreaming, that I was hallucinating the second pink line that kept growing steadily darker. I thought I've finally cracked.





This brought it home a little.

not taking it for granted

The line is darker today. Sid could see it without squinting.

I want so much to believe that this is it, and it will all work out, and nine months from now, we'll have our baby. But I know that it doesn't always work like that. God, do I know it.

I probably won't really believe this until I get a positive on a digital test, until Miss P goes missing, until I get the blood test from my doctor.

But for now, this is the best I could have hoped for. I am not taking it for granted.

confession

Confession: I peed on a stick.

I got good and burned in August, and ever since, I've sworn off early testing. I WOULD NOT TEST UNTIL MISS P WAS A NO-SHOW. At least, that was the plan... Sometimes I'd get impatient, if I'd been having wonky symptoms, something that was not normally a thing I associated with an impending bloodletting. Only that one time, that ONE TIME, did I ever see something that could have passed for a positive test.

Well, now I have another.

I've been feeling...off. Weird lotiony discharge (am I grossing you out, hoor?), major cramping since 5 dpo, you know, the standard, oh, geez, is this finally it? thing. And I wasn't going to use a piss test, no sir, I was not. So when I got up this morning, I DIDN'T USE A PISS TEST. No, that came later on, when I was about to take a shower, and I thought "oh what the hell, I've only got two left anyway, and if this month isn't it, I'm gonna order some OPK strips anyway, might as well just go ahead and get some more pregnancy tests while I'm at it, so why not?" and I PEED ON A STICK.

Five minutes later I came back to check it and there was a faint, faint second pink line. There is no mistaking it. I'm not imagining it, this thing is ghostly faint, BUT IT'S THERE.



I PEED ON A STICK. AND IT WAS GLORIOUS.

Now I'm just hoping that that little-pink-ghosty-line gets darker.

a little happy

Sid received his orders yesterday: it looks like we're headed for Flori-duh! Even though I really, really am not looking forward to the palmetto bugs, or the love bugs (FISTSHAKE AT YOU, LOVE BUGS, FISTSHAKE OF DOOM!), or the rabid mosquitoes... I'm very much looking forward to being able to see my sisters pretty much any time I want. That makes up for the bugs, in my mind.

Unfortunately, the re-enlistment bonus we were expecting is not coming. This is a bit of a sticky wicket, but not the end of the world. So yeah, taking it in stride. It could be worse. It could be BETTER, but it could be worse.