Tests, More Tests, and Avoiding Becoming the Next Octo-Mom

I realized something last Monday at my fertility consultation. Those charts, diagrams and explanations of bodily functions displayed on the wall of the OBGYN's office don't make you feel awkward until you spend 45 minutes in that room with your husband waiting to talk to the doctor. I think that by the end of the experience, BJ was more informed about the internal structure of the baby-making woman parts than he could have ever wanted to be. He was a total trooper though, especially because cute Dr. Laine spent 90% of the time really only talking to me while he sat in the chair next to the paper-covered exam and rubbed my knee while we talked strategy for Operation Baby. Oh, and the appointment was the day before our two-year anniversary...what a great way to celebrate!

This was my first time actually meeting my OB (I have worked with her Nurse Practitioner and Medical Assistant) . She is incredibly nice, down to earth, and best of all, pretty realistic and conservative in her approach to maximizing my fertility. Going on Clomid scares the crud out of me. My mom is a fraternal twin, and my risk of having twins is pretty high as it is without blitzing my follicles with Clomid. Dr. Laine said something to the effect of, "when you want a baby so badly, twins sound wonderful. The reality of a twin pregnancy and the first years of parenting twins is a really different story." I would prefer to achieve pregnancy as conservatively as possible, and it makes me feel a lot better to have a doctor that didn't just bust out the prescription pad for fertility drugs five minutes after meeting me. I feel good about sticking with Dr. Laine through these next few months as we figure out what is going on with me, and confident that she will refer me to any needed specialists when the time is appropriate.

So the long and short of our appointment was that my basal body temperature charting seems to be indicating irregular ovulation, and likely periods of anovulation. It looks like I am ovulating every other month, and irregularly at that, so there may be an issue with my Fallopian tubes. I had my progesterone tested two weeks in a row, and I am definitely not ovulating this month. We also broached that oh-so-lovely and tender conversation about weight again, but Dr. Laine was so gentle and kind. After sharing her own experiences with struggling with her weight, she said I was down 10 pounds from my last appointment, and over the next 8 weeks or so, would like to see that downward trend continue. No "you must reach this weight for me to help you" ultimatum, no criticism of the fact that two years of unemployment and emotional stress have helped me to pack on some very unwanted pounds. Just some simple suggestions to help me continue to be successful, and an absolute insistence on small, meaningful changes and not a ridiculous crash diet.

The next step, beyond continuing to chart each day and continue testing my progesterone through my next cycle, is to have a Hysterosalpingography at the start of my next cycle in August. Basically, they will insert a catheter into my uterus, flood the uterus with contrast dye, and x-ray me to see if the dye flows normally through my Fallopian tubes. If the dye does, then we know that there isn't a blockage. If it doesn't, then we need to resolve the blockage, or come up with another plan. The test isn't terribly pleasant, is danged expensive, and may end up being inconclusive, but it is the next logical step, so we will be scheduling that soon. The silver lining is that woman have an increased rate of conception the month after the test is performed, so here's hoping. After the test, we will reconvene in September to go over everything and reevaluate our approach. It is likely that I will go on Clomid in September, but will be tracked by an endocrinologist to study my egg follicle development to be sure I am not going to end up as the next Octo-Mom. Shudder.

Overall, it was a positive experience, but definitely emotional. It doesn't matter what happens with Operation Baby, I end up in tears. I feel like I have what I need in place to move forward now-a wonderful husband, an army of people that I know pray for us, a Heavenly Father who loves us and will bless us for our righteous desires, and a medical specialist that can use her gifts to help us have a baby. But it doesn't make things easier, and I am really at peace with admitting openly that I am not okay with the fact that my reproductive system is on the fritz. In a world full of covering up hurt and struggle for the sake of appearance, I am getting more and more comfortable with just being okay with not being okay. 

Over the past few months, I feel like I have also had a lot of time to reflect on the inevitable question that all couples dealing with infertility must face, "How far will we go to make this happen?" Everyone has their own answer to that question, and that answer is one that is only arrived at with a lot of serious consideration. I know that for BJ and me, we are only willing to go so far. I will do the testing. I will do some fixes for internal problems I may have. I will take Clomid or it's equivalent. I will pursue intrauterine insemination. That is it for me. I will not do fertility shots. I will not undergo major surgery. I do not want to do invitro. If we cannot get to pregnancy on our own within those parameters, we will take the money we would be spending on fertility treatments, and move forward with the adoption process. If we are not successful by June of next year, we will go ahead with a home study and begin looking into our options. For me, the $10,000 I would spend on invitro would be better spent working with LDS family services to bring a darling baby that desperately needs a home into a family full of love, desire and acceptance. 

In my heart, I think our journey may take us down the path of both pregnancy and adoption. I am not sure at all how this will work out, and I am not all fine and dandy with the way things are, but I am grateful to be on a path and walking toward positive and productive action. I can't do this all on my own, but I can do it one step at a time, one day at a time, and with a mustard seed of faith. 

Expectations and Extremity

In my heart, I always believed that my I would be pregnant at the same time as my best friend, Aly, and Meredith Grey. Yes, Meredith Grey from "Grey's Anatomy."

It sounds totally nutters, but I am completely serious. Best friend and I have this intense soul-mateish relationship, a lot like Cristina and Meredith on Grey's Anatomy. She is my person. When one of us is having a hard day, the other can kick our butt out of bed and get us motivated. Or we can just watch endless hours of Netflix on the couch and be completely satisfied by just being. It is a special bond that can never be replicated. So, naturally, in my mind, Aly, Meredith and I would all be having babies together.

Imagine my disappointment when stupid Meredith Grey got pregnant before I did. I wanted to hit the TV and tell her that she has too many unresolved emotional issues to be bringing a child into the world. For heaven's sake, the girl was almost blown up by a bomb in a body cavity, quasi-committed suicide and died and came back to life, and messed with a clinical drug trial that could have cured Alzheimer's. It is not fair that she gets an adopted baby, a biological baby, and Patrick Dempsey. Ugh. 

Then, back in March, on my birthday, best friend calls me to tell me she is pregnant, and expecting her little bundle of cafe con leche joy (the baby of lily-white best friend and caramel Mexican husband is sure to be beautiful) in November. I was genuinely, completely, and absolutely thrilled for her. In every possible way. She will be an incredible mother, and her husband will be a wonderful father. I had none of the Meredith Grey-induced rage when Aly told me she was pregnant. We talked for a good hour about how important it was for her to tell me, because it would have been far worse not to tell out of fear of hurting me. So naturally, when we hung up the phone, and I looked down at my 9 month old niece that I was babysitting, I burst into tears. It is incredible how something so joyful, beautiful and incredibly happy can reduce me to a blubbering, bawling mess of a woman. I am not jealous. I am not angry. But I am aching inside and beyond disappointed that I am not part of this great fantasy of a pregnancy triumvirate that I have dreamed about for so long. 

Best friend and I talked today about them finding out the gender of baby Jimenez next week. I am thrilled for them. And I spent the better part of tonight wiping away tears as I mourned what feels like an incredible loss to me. I don't know how it is possible to mourn the loss of something you never had. Perhaps I am mourning what feels like the loss of a dream. I may never know exactly what this feeling is, but I know that it is all tangled up with feelings of happiness and joy for the person I am closest to in this life besides my husband. There must be something absolutely exquisite and wonderful on the other side of this personal hell, because I cannot see any other reason behind having to experience this gut-wrenching back and forth of emotions. 

Several years ago, before I met my husband, I experienced what was absolutely the most horrendous break-up of my life. I felt like my soul had been ripped from my body and that I was wrecked beyond all repair. There are really no words that can adequately describe how horrible things were. I know that there was some serious divine intervention that lifted my burden of anguish and pain to help prepare me to meet my husband six weeks later. Some valuable counsel that I received at the time was this statement: "We come to know God in our extremity." I thought I understood what that meant at the time-in terms of love lost and earth-shattering disappointment, I suppose that I did. But extremity is a far deeper and more complex idea that I could have ever realized. 

Extremity is the maximum extent of joy, and in it's opposite, pain. It is the highest high and the deepest low. The brightest day and the darkest night. I believe we experience extremity relative to our current path in life. Three years ago, my extremity was having my heart broken by the person I believed I would spend forever with. Two years ago, it was the palpable elation of marrying the most kind, gentle and wonderful man in the world for time and all eternity. Today, it is feeling a consistent sense of loss and emptiness as I yearn for a child that will fit perfectly in our arms and be bound to our hearts for eternity. It is feeling the most exultant and pure joy for my best friend as she prepares to welcome a perfect, heaven-sent soul into her life. It is weeping over the room that sits empty in my house, waiting to welcome our baby home. 

I do not know God yet, but He is revealing himself to me slowly in my extremity. And maybe that is what this struggle is all about. But for right now, I still hate Meredith Grey. 

A Trial of Faith

Normally, I don't write about deeply personal experiences of faith. I share them with people in my life through conversation, but sometimes sharing them online to a potentially wide audience seems strange and almost disrespectful. But I know that I need to share this, for all of the other women and men who may read this who are struggling with fertility, or perhaps any other crisis of faith or timing in their lives. I took a break from blogging over the past six weeks or so. Sometimes, baring your soul and struggles can be really difficult and very tiring. So I went on a blog-cation and then, today, I felt like I needed to write again.

On the positive front of Operation Baby-cute husband's testing all came back normal, and our fertility consultation is scheduled for July 17, a day after our second anniversary. That day feels like a light on the horizon for me, and I am remaining nervously optimistic for that meeting. 

But to be totally honest, I am struggling hard right now. As I have been temperature charting for a long period of time, I have felt like maybe, just maybe, I had pinpointed the optimal time for baby creation. I was so optimistic this month, even after taking three pregnancy tests that all came back negative. I left for a four day camp-out with the young women from my church, hopeful that I would return home and another test would be positive. Then, BAM, the need to take that test disappeared. I stood in the bathroom, crushed (but cognizant enough to resist the urge to curl up on the floor of the scary state park campground bathroom), then retreated to my tent to cry for a while. After I used every tissue I had to soak up the tears, I prayed. 

I have been struggling with praying for help with my fertility. Part of me feels like it is silly to pray about it-my body is my body, and it is going to do what it is going to do. The part of me that knows better, knows that I must pray about this. Prayer will bring comfort, guidance, peace, and purpose. But sometimes I am afraid of the knowledge that can come from prayer, because I have learned from experience that sometimes, prayer gives us God's answer, and not the answer we want for ourselves. And God's answer is always the right answer, but it can be a hard answer and a painful answer. My prayer (and it is a constant prayer that lives in my heart), did not give me the answer that I wanted. I did not feel like, "you will get pregnant," or, "this is the date that you will have your baby." I did feel something else.

After I prayed, I sat and reflected for a long time. I recorded some thoughts in my journal, and others were etched upon my heart. I thought about Abraham and Sarah. If Heavenly Father can help Sarah conceive, he will help me conceive. I thought about Isaac and Rebekah, and that she was "barren," and Isaac pleaded for their children, and they were blessed with twins. I thought about Rachel, and God "opening" her womb. I thought about Elisabeth and Zachariah, and how in old age, they were blessed with John the Baptist, who prepared the way for the work of the Savior. All of these women were righteous, dedicated, and covenant-keeping women. All of them were blessed. For some of them, it took many years.

In my journal, I wrote, "Even if my faith in my ability to conceive is weak, my faith in Christ can be strong."  We are asked to have faith as small as a mustard seed, and Heavenly Father will create miracles out of that faith. I may not be able to create a baby out of sheer will. My husband and I may need to be patient. We may need to seek more medical assistance. We may need to explore adoption. There are any number of possibilities. But I received, as an answer to my prayer, an assurance that, if I can exercise my faith in Christ,  Heavenly Father will work a miracle in my life. 

In the Bible Dictionary that comes as a reference in my scriptures (as part of the LDS canon of scripture-it references the Old and New Testaments), it says "Faith carries an assurance of the fulfillment of things hoped for...when there is true faith, there are miracles, visions, dreams and healings." I cannot describe the comfort that has come from reading those words. Faith, no matter how small, can bring miracles. 

Sometimes I feel that my faith may not even be that of a mustard seed. As I prayed, I remembered the account of the apostles in Luke 17. As the Savior teaches them about repentance and forgiveness, the apostles ask, "Lord, increase our faith." The apostles asked for an increase in their faith. Christ gave them the parable of the unprofitable servant and taught them greater lessons than they could have ever hoped for. If the apostles can ask for an increase in their faith and be taught and guided, any of His children can ask for an increase in their faith. I am praying for an increase in faith. I am praying for guidance. I am praying for understanding. I am praying for peace. In the midst of confusion, of turmoil, of deep anxiety and pain, I will stretch forth my hand to walk on the water to Him, my Savior, and when I feel as if I am to sink or be lost, He will reach for me and help me the rest of the way, as he did with Peter. " And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid, and he began to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth His hand, and caught him." If I reach, He will take me by the hand. Whatever happens will be His will, and I will walk His path in faith.

After I finished praying and reflecting, I flipped back to an earlier entry in my journal. This entry contained only a scripture that I had written down on August 26, 2012. It spoke peace to my soul as I read it. The scripture is from the Book of Alma, from the Book of Mormon. For those who read this who are not of my faith, I ask you to examine the meaning and teaching of this scripture for yourself-it teaches a powerful truth consistent with the truths of the Bible, and testifies powerfully of Christ.

"And thou didst bear all these things with patience because the Lord was with thee, and thou knowest that the Lord did deliver thee...I would that ye would remember, that as much as ye shall put your trust in God, even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day." (Alma 38: 3-5). 

I do not know exactly what is going to happen. I do not know the direction that our journey along the path of infertility will take us. But I am blessed to know and be reassured that if I have faith of even the smallest amount, that Christ will help me to be patient, understanding, and comforted. He will guide me and hold my hand as the storms rage around me. He will not take my trials and opportunities for growth and progression from me, but He will help me to walk through them with an open heart. He will help me to be like Rebekah and Elisabeth and Rachel and Sarah. He will open the way for us to have a family. And when I feel like I can't go on any longer, he will increase my faith. 

I don't know that I am much further along the path of understanding and progress than I was on Friday night when my period started and I wanted to lay on the floor of a scary state park campground bathroom and cry my eyes out, but I do know that I have felt Christ's companionship and love in these past few days that I haven't felt for a long time. I know that He was there with me in my tent as I cried, and that He was there as I prayed. And I know that the Son of God and the King of Kings and the Worker of Miracles is my friend, my comfort, and my brother, and that I will never be alone. And I know that through Him, we will someday have a family.

Waiting...

I have spent the past 18 months in a perpetual pattern of waiting. Waiting for my baby.

I just want the waiting to be over. I thought the DMV and the airport and the checkout line at the grocery store tested my patience. Indecisive people and endless government bureaucracy have nothing on infertility. Nothing. And unlike the DMV and the airport and grocery store line, sighing heavily, fantasizing about mowing people down with my luggage, and rolling my eyes as people fail to do their job in a timely and efficient manner does absolutely nothing to relieve and mitigate my frustrations. 

My test results from the OBGYN were all normal. Everything. Every last bit of the 6 vials of blood drawn reveal nothing out of the ordinary regarding my fertility status. Glucose: Normal. Hemo: Normal. Prolactin: Normal. Insulin: Normal. Thyroid: On the excellent side of normal. Lipids: Normal. MMR: Immune. Pap Smear: Normal. Progesterone: Normal. Normal, normal, normal. Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

Normal is good, I suppose. But it's not helpful diagnostically-there is no cure for normal. 

We are still waiting for my husband's tests to come back, and will likely know those tomorrow. Based on the current trend, I am predicting a "normal" result. 

So once again, I am stuck in a perpetual pattern of waiting. The next slight break in the holding pattern is July 15th, after more temperature charting and a scheduled fertility consultation.

Maybe it comes down to timing. Maybe it comes down to Heavenly Father knowing we have two nickels to rub together at best. Perhaps it comes down to us needing to pursue some alternative fertilization methods. Who knows. Right now, I just wish something were abnormal so I could come up with a plan to fix whatever the heck is going on, because not being able to fix this is the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. 

So the waiting continues. And continues. Ceaseless and endless and exhausting and normal.

The Gift of Taking "Pause"

Yesterday was Mother's Day.

I spent the past week dreading it's impending arrival. Yesterday morning, cocooned in my bed and down comforter, I talked myself in and out of going to church and attending our family Mother's Day celebration.

I love everyone in my family so much. I wanted to go celebrate and spend time with them. I wanted the spiritual uplift from attending church. But holy crap on a cracker, I did not want to get out of that bed and face the world with my empty uterus, tragically peanut butter and jelly-free hands, and conspicuously child-free hips. 

At 8:05, while my husband was showering and getting ready for church, my phone vibrated. A sweet text from a friend at church who knew that I was probably going to spend the day blubbering like a walrus gave me just enough motivation to hop in the shower (though not enough to wash my hair) and put on a presentable outfit. I knew I could make it through the first hour of the meeting for the young women, and that we would be learning about a non-Mother's Day related topic. I went, and it was good, and then I hit the wall and left before Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting could commence. I knew that if sitting in Young Women's and seeing babies all over, being held and snuggled and cared for by their radiant mamas had almost sent me over the edge, the rest of the day would be an exercise in brinkmanship of the most dangerous kind. I had a very real fear that in the middle of a beautiful, spiritual talk about mothers and their divine roles, I would flip a nutty, start sobbing hysterically, and lob a hymnal at the pulpit. Which probably would just get me committed to the psych ward and not help me get an A+ on Project Baby. So we went home before I could use any hymnals as projectiles. 

We went to my in-law's for the rest of the day. There was something soothing about worshiping in the church of family yesterday. Surrounded by darling little nieces, nephews and cousins, I watched them discover, investigate, laugh, pout, and love. I have no doubt that Heavenly Father blessed me with positive feelings yesterday, helping me to focus on the pure love and joy of these sweet babies, instead of only the heartache and sense of incomplete that was gnawing around the edges of my spirit. I didn't feel resentful, or jealous, and losing those pangs of emotion made it easier to absorb the sadness I did feel and blot it out with the sweet experiences of being with family. And the great stories of cousins eating directly out of buckets of powdered sugar, and the antics of my brothers-in-law always brings a smile to my lips and heart. Just look at these darlings!

I missed my mom a lot yesterday. I wanted her to be with me, laughing and hugging and just spending time together. Living 2,000 miles away from home makes holidays like Mother's Day a little difficult to celebrate in the same city. But I know she was there for me, and as we spoke, I felt the very depth of how much we love and miss each other. Motherhood is an eternal bond, and I know that no matter how it comes about, I will someday experience that bond that stretches it's fingertips into the bright promise and shining hope of forever. 

I spoke with my mother-in-law about catching glimpses of our future that can help us make it through until our dreams become reality. I have had so many glimpses. They have been powerful-bright light piercing the choking and suffocating darkness. Sometimes, they don't feel like enough to get me to the next point, but yesterday, being with family was like drinking hungrily from a cool, desert oasis. Heavenly Father is letting me rest right now, and I have felt the touch of His hand upon my shoulders as He has allowed me to take pause. I never knew that "pause" could be such a beautiful and blessed word. 

Yesterday, surrounded by the love and laughter of people who love me and my sweet husband, and touched by the messages of some dear friends, I was buoyed up and given encouragement, and I haven't felt that for a long time. I am especially grateful that the divine hand restrained me and kept me from throwing hymnals at people. Talk about a tender mercy. Love and hugs to all of you mamas, mamas-to-be, and mamas to children that may not have been born of your own, beautiful selves. 

Abercrombie and Fitch and the Delusions of Mike Jeffries

To Mike Jeffries:

I know who you are. You are the CEO of one of the most recognizable and desirable clothing retailers in the nation. Your products live in the closets of millions of young people. Your ideals live in their minds and worm their way into their hearts.

You have no idea who I am. You will never meet me. I will remain relatively inconsequential and insignificant in your life. As an individual, you have little impact on my life, and I have little on yours. 

But I am part of a larger group of people, and we are certainly not insignificant or unworthy of recognition. My experience in life is a microcosm of the whole. A snapshot of what many men and women experience when their beautiful, divinely ordained and created lives smash up against the perversions and illusions constructed to shame their bodies, minds and souls. 

You sit at the helm of a multi-million dollar marketing machine, and you are completely aware of the impact that you have on popular culture. You know that your approval of marketing, in-store merchandising and presentation of your brand can impact and define the choices, desires and ultimately, the self-image of an impressionable group of people. You know your power, and you exploit it in the name of exclusivity. You channel it into a falsely constructed reality that propagates the message that image, thinness, sexiness and improperly defined masculinity are the keys to happiness, success, and value in life.

I spent years of my teenage life skulking through your store, the bass beat of dance music reverberating through my body as I picked at piles of paper-thin t-shirts, slim-cut v-neck sweaters and low-rise jeans, searching desperately for my size. I was disappointed every time. I remember wiping hot tears from my eyes as my friends hauled off piles of clothes to the dressing room to try on, and I stood outside, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, staring at highly sexualized pictures of flawless teenage girls and men dripping with washboard abs and deep v-cuts. I purchased one item of clothing from your store in 2003, when I had unhealthily reached a size that your store actually sold. I wore it once before it fell apart in the wash. I have since wandered through your myriad of different stores and labels, and found myself entranced and drawn in to your clever marketing that made me wish I was prettier, thinner, sexier and worth more than the little I felt as I looked around your cleverly constructed universe of image-driven perfection. You made me feel ashamed of everything I am. And you do that to boys, girls, men and women, each day, out of a desire for profit, influence and cultural relevance.

I have known people who have worked for your company. I have seen the way they obsess over fulfilling the company standard for appearance. I have worked for one of your competitors that markets toward a more inclusive market, and felt confident, comfortable and supported in my work environment. But I have not once felt welcome in your stores, even when I could purchase and wear clothes you sold. 

To you, I am not cool. I am not attractive. I am not all-American with a great attitude. I don't have a lot of friends. I don't belong. I am excluded. I am totally vanilla. I am large. I am not thin. I am not beautiful. I am not someone to be targeted in a marketing campaign. I am not worth your money, time or service. I am not a person. I am undesirable  You don't even want me setting foot in your store for fear I will mar the image you have worked to so carefully cultivate. And I am only one of millions that have been classified as such by you.

The thing is, I am a 29 year old woman who knows the difference between truth and deception. I have the skills to dig myself out of feeling like a worthless piece of garbage because of media messaging. But that 15-year old girl you target as a customer for Hollister, or that 19-year old burgeoning man that you seek to draw through the doors of Abercrombie probably do not have those skills. You know that. You know that your definition of cool, sexy and valuable is seeping into their minds and hearts, and that you can potentially win the war for their dollars and ultimately, their self-worth. You know exactly what you are doing. 

What you don't know, and don't care to acknowledge, is that I am a person. A human. I definitely don't fit your standards of beauty and social worth. But I am a wife. I am a friend. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am a teacher. I am created in His divine image. I am a woman. I am of infinite value and worth that is completely independent of your marketing campaign. You think you can define me by my height, weight and body shape, and others by their skin colors and nationalities, but you ignore everything that makes me who I truly am. But here is the key-I am also a consumer. And as a believer in the free market and enterprise, I know that a consumer has the power.

I will do everything in my power to not only encourage people to read your comments and personal ideals before they shop at your stores but also help people to reexamine their standards of beauty and social acceptance. When we break this entire mess of your insulting and demeaning comments and insinuations down to the most basic level, it lies in a desperate need to be culturally and socially dominant through shaming. As consumers, we can reject this method of marketing. 

You will likely go on to continue making millions of dollars as people throw dollar after dollar at you while chasing image and perfection. But I and others will go on to make sure that consumers know exactly what they are buying when they buy your products. They are buying misogyny. They are buying body shaming. They are buying unrealistic standards of beauty. They are buying bullying. They are buying a membership into a club of false exclusivity. They are part-owners in the campaign to diminish the worth of those outside of narrowly defined standards of acceptability. 

You are only a part of a much larger problem. There are countless companies and people who have the same vision and end goal as you. But you are so open about your beliefs and desire to be uber-exclusive, that you serve as a wonderful primer for people to learn the power of consumers educating themselves and rejecting a shameful and damaging message. 

I am a person. I am of infinite value of worth. Your success is ultimately fleeting. But the damage you inflict along the way to the top of the crumbling castle of social competition will not be ignored.

We are all capable of so much more than being looked at.

For more on Mike Jeffries and the vision and tactics of Abercrombie and it's subsidiaries:

http://www.businessinsider.com/abercrombie-wants-thin-customers-2013-5

http://abcnews.go.com/US/lawsuit-outlines-abercrombie-fitchs-ceo-michael-jeffries-rules/story?id=17519006#.UYqQ8LU4t8E

http://www.salon.com/2006/01/24/jeffries/

What to Expect When You're Not Expecting

Last week, I was so, so dumb.

On Tuesday, I woke up in a state of slug. Sloth. Turtle. Any variety of slow, almost imperceptibly mobile creature. I lay glued to my bed. I am pretty sure that my yoga pants and husband's t-shirt fused to the sheets. I raised my head off the pillow in order to rotate it enough to avoid a permanent crick in my neck. And I stared into space. For an hour. From 7:30 AM when hubby departed for work, to 8:30 AM when I decided I should do something productive.

Of course, productivity means embracing the miracle of technology by watching Netflix on my phone. Because whoever invented Netflix streaming was a freaking genius. And I love them. And hate them. Because it hurts so good when your pajamas are fused to the sheets and you have 100,000 titles at your fingertips. And when your dog is passed out next to you, allowing you to use her as a phone stand to avoid compromising sound quality and eliminating screen glare. Winning.

As my fingers skittered across the screen, the protozoan recesses of my brain took hold, and convinced me that watching, "What to Expect When You're Expecting," was a smart idea. The height of genius. I am expecting a call from the Nobel Commission next week, in fact. Or maybe the people who dole out the Darwin Awards each year.

As I watched the myriad of couples in this movie experience the joys, trials and travails of pregnancy, infertility, adoption and miscarriage, I chuckled and guffawed and then just began sobbing uncontrollably. Because the couple that I could identify with the most, the always beautiful Jennifer Lopez and her ridiculously good-looking husband, had a tender and touching and ultimately, completely unrealistic story-line that made me crazy angry. After failing to conceive naturally, they turned to adoption, and then, out of nowhere, the soon-to-be unemployed photographer and her model husband were gifted with an expedited international adoption and bliss ensued. Touching, yes. Realistic, no. Blech.

I admit, there were a lot of funny moments. "Dude's Group" was hilarious  It was a decent movie. But believe me, that conclusion has been reached only after a week of coming to terms with the fantastic elements of the story. I spent most of the week in a major fog, exacerbated by the dumb, dumb choice to watch this movie. Honestly, if my friend hadn't texted me about going to the gym just as I was finishing the movie while drowning in a pool of tears and my own snot, I am pretty sure I never would have peeled myself out of the bed. The police department would have had to set up a CSI scene, taping the room off and listing the cause of death as "Netflix-induced body to bed fusion."

But I have learned to expect a lot of things when I am not expecting. Because people with infertility issues need to laugh too.

1. Expect to consider buying or wearing (if you have happened your way into hand-me-downs) maternity clothes when you are NOT pregnant or post-natal. I am pretty sure I can fit in some of the clothes packed into my spare-room dresser drawer, and they are danged cute. Who cares if they all have "Motherhood" tags in them...

2. Expect to come home to pieces of plastic all over the house, and realizing with horror that your dog dug multiple pregnancy tests out of the bathroom trash (from that week you were sure you were pregnant and all of the tests were lying) and ATE them into little-bitty pieces.

3. Expect to be tempted to purchase baby items when you see them on sale. Because it's not enough to have an empty baby room chock-full of generously given baby hand-me-downs to torture you, so why not add a carseat, crib and all manner of baby necessities to your irony.

4. Expect to think about everything in terms of "but I'll be pregnant someday." Like, "I'll be pregnant someday, so I should start eating loads of Dairy Queen Blizzards now so my system will be able to handle that much ice cream later." Or, "I'll be pregnant someday, so I shouldn't bother trying to lose weight because I will just gain it all back." Or my favorite, "I'll be pregnant someday! If I just believe it, I'll achieve it!" Because 90's sitcom inspirational talks a-la-Danny Tanner and Carl Winslow always solve the most difficult problems.

5. Expect to walk through the baby section of EVERY store and have the compulsion to purchase EVERYTHING in sight. Because who doesn't need a breast pump when they aren't pregnant? I am sure it has some sort of culinary application. Hooded animal towels can totally be used as cute bathroom decor for a childless couples. Winnie the Pooh layette sets will be wonderful conversation starters with company and can double as potholders. Because nobody will think you are crazy if you walk to the grocery store, and load everything you buy into an empty Britax stroller to roll it on home.

I've learned that expecting anything when you're not expecting is a dangerous road to saunter down, let alone tip-toe along. 

The good news is, today, I peeled myself out of bed. My skin is attached to my body and not my sheets. And I have yet to view a single thing on Netflix. Winning.