Thursday, August 20, 2009

Down to a crawl

I called a clinic today. I'd sought by email a few referrals, got none, so I climbed the long ladder to the high dive alone.

And plunged.

I was quickly told that most places have a cut off of 42, but they have 45, actually until 46 arrives, so actually only about 13 months ago for me or about seven months before Bea and I met.

When I asked if they would just test, she said they might do a clomid challenge, but it didn't matter, because they would not use the information. She then referred me to their donor program.

At this point, I don't really can't embrace the thought of another child, but I absolutely and fully feel the pain Bea has in wanting another. I have been there. Bea's walls are induced, though; she is not infertile in the least. She has been pregnant a number of times with losses, but she has gotten pregnant both times the first time she tried with insemination. She mostly just doesn't want to be pregnant again, however if she used the donor vials she has, her son would have a full sibling.

I especially do not want her to decide to have a child with someone else and to have a visitation arrangement. That child would not feel like it would be mine. Then again, I honestly do not know if I could birth via donor egg and donor sperm and feel like it'd be mine. I don't want to birth a little stranger.

Of course, I did grow to love P's daughter, L, but I never considered her mine. With Bea's 4yo son, I know I could love and care for him, but he'd never be mine.

Seems, though, that something ripping your cooch to shreds should feel like it's yours.

I know people do donor stuff every day. I know some people are desperate enough for children to put aside their own genetics. I don't see that as me. J is a cousin of Thomas Jefferson and Jimmy Carter. I would not have any historical links or tales for a child born of a donor. For a genealogical geek like me, that plays large.

Last night, I did thumb through the donors online. They seemed like lovely women. Of course, I was quite critical of the writing samples. I'm such an intellectual geeky snob. Only one did art, but other things precluded her. I liked one, cute kid, but then she said he had a big nose.

I don't like shopping this way! It's ridiculous!

Bea is texting me about someplace else she found online. Pandora, I tell ya.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Baby steps

I volunteered one thing the other night. I would get myself tested. Mentally, I will only go that far.

I will not deconstruct my wall and I will not get my hopes up.

In fact, I will hope that my eggs are past expiration. Perhaps that's an additional measure of closure that I can handle appropriately.

So now I am seeking a fertility clinic and dr in the DC area. If you have experience in such, please drop me a line or refer my question on. I am not up on the current batch of bloggers who might have knowledge.


Never in a million years thought I would put up a post like this after being left at the IVF alter by both a husband (1999) and a fiance (2005). Or that it would be a lesbian wanting it with me.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Old topic reborn

It's been almost a year since I brought up the topic of babies.

Bea wishes very much that we'd met several years ago. I could have been on the baby bandwagon.

In the past year, I have progressed past bandwagon to bandwhat? Of course, I don't coo over babies, but I largely don't covet them anymore, either.

Enter the multi-millionaire who can afford whatever she wants. She has a son through donor insemination and he's almost five. She wants another. She would consider a surrogate. She might consider her eggs. She just does not want to be pregnant again. She has a big heart and could love any child, to include an adoptive one.

However, if she had her way, she'd see me pregnant. If I were to be pregnant, I would have to use my eggs. My 47 year old eggs. Or she'd consider a surrogate. But I would want to breastfeed, which is best accomplished after a pregnancy.

She said if she got a surrogate, she'd want a live in surrogate who could be monitored.

She has a number of vials of the same donor semen. Still, she asked if I'd consider an African-American donor and I said I'd want another red head (as she carries on about what a pretty baby I made, who looks just like me), so she said her son's donor has red-headed children, too; this donor has had incredible success. If we were to do this, I'd prefer her son and the new baby to be half siblings together.

If I said yes. she would immediately begin the process.

How could I possibly let my guard down and hope again? It's too crazy. That wall was hard earned and built with blood, sweat, and tears.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Honest evaluation

I don't drink very often anymore, just a beer with dinner out, because another thing I don't trust is my ability to judge properly about drinking. I hold my shit too well and I think last night qualifies as that. I perceive that I'm in more control than I am.

I came here to a safe place. I didn't do anything to get in trouble, but it bugs me that I pined over someone long gone. So I am embarrassed at the depth of emotion that leaked out.

I had kept my near hatred of him in place until he started checking my art blog. The first time in late June was an aberration to me. He only stayed 90 seconds, didn't even make it to the main page, but did exit via the profile, a frustrating page to me b/c it doesn't really serve a purpose. He arrived googling my full name, so it was pretty specific.

The second time was mid July and he didn't look much further than the first.

The third time was a few days after my (and his daughter's) birthday. He stayed six minutes and looked all over the place for the first time.

I know he's proud of me; he always appreciated my art and was very supportive, something I'm not genuinely getting now.

I think his drinking is in control b/c he's lost a significant amount of weight. He's down to what he weighed when we met.

He says in a note on fb in one of those list memes going around that his favorite vacation was Co-sta Rica. I don't see any evidence of them going, so I can only assume that was with me just a few months before I started this blog.

Of course, I don't know if he's checked my fb, but I did mention him with distain in a similar meme last fall. If he went back though my notes, he'd see that. I suspect he hasn't, though, b/c my art blog publishes there, too, and there'd be no reason to google my name to arrive at the art blog b/c the blog address is on every post. Then again, maybe that's why he stayed on the blog such a short time? I know he can see my fb, b/c I finally decided to join the local network, regardless of him, as a "see what you're missing" moment. I have it severely limited as to what a network person can access, but fb frustratingly doesn't include enough options to be blocked, like notes and pictures.

I was fine without him. Had checked his fb when I began last October and he didn't have one. I then checked in March and was surprised to see it, begun in January. I don't think I checked it again until he began looking at my art blog in June. You might remember I've been through this blog visit thing before with a (minor) ex checking the blog and it bugging me. After enough time elapsed, I sent it all to her in an email and there were no more visits.

Gosh, I desperately don't want to contact him, but I don't like where his visits put me.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I return to my outlet

I drank a bottle of wine tonight. Three Pinos or something from Trader Joe's.

It makes me honest.

I fucking still love Paul beyond any love I've ever had before, yet I never told him he was the love of my life like he told me constantly. It's been three years.

I check him often on Facebook, as in tonight.

He seems to be happily married, but....

he's checked my art blog three times in the last month or so from his office, so it is easily identifiable. He even downloaded a picture of my son playing his violin.

Thank goodness for my stat thingie.

I love him, regardless of what he's done.

I think he is still stuck on me. It is not a casual checking in.

His wife is ugly as dirt. I feel sorry for her. I can check her Facebook, too.

I feel sorry for Bea, as she will never measure up. I love her, but not with this passion and I fear her finding this blog.

I love Bea in an odd way. I do not trust her. She snoops through my stuff and my computer. I do not think she will ever really come through for me, the struggling artist and single mom. She's paid her ex over $600,000 in the last six weeks. Just because. She refuses to help me and I am going in the hole, near bankruptcy b/c I decided to pursue the life of an artist and all the costs that brings. It feels absurd to be partners with a multimillionaire when you're about to seek credit counseling. She constantly insists she cares, yet she always services her exes time and again before me.

She is too fucking stupid to appreciate anything intellectual. She is ghetto. Her family is ghetto. They use her and she services them at all hours. Her sister has AIDS and fucks whatever moves, yet Bea does not report her.

Contrasting this, Paul is the quickest brain I ever met, next to his brilliant daughter.

Just like it makes me cry that Memph is gone and can't watch Top Chef with me, I cry because I can no longer be with or trust Paul. But I long to.

So this is my drunken rant that isn't too drunk b/c I could easily drink another bottle.

This is me.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Take that!

I was recently shocked to see the 10 year anniversary advertisements for The Tigger Movie. It's tough to think nostalgically in a commercial sense for the very first movie you took your son to see. 10 years? I think it was yesterday! And he sat through it beautifully, although he was less than two.

(BTW, my first movie was Bambi and I distinctly remember Thumper bounding on screen and Flower peering up through the colorful meadow.)

In honor of J's 10th cinematic viewing anniversary, I present Sammy and a McDonald's Pooh from that era. Sorry, but sweet Pooh doesn't stand a chance against these moves.

The Eye Vacuum

The Rabbit Kick

The Chenille Drag

The Butt Bite

The Sleeping Head Rest

Saturday, August 08, 2009

Out with the old

Although Bea did the preparations for us early in the week, J and I finally buried and Memph yesterday afternoon. had been frozen for almost 2.5 years in a taxidermy snafu. I'd frozen Memphie as soon as I found him last weekend. There was room for little else in my freezer.

Once we got them outside, J wanted to open up the boxes. was as beautiful as the day she died. I remember her looking so horrible then, but she was so luxurious and just as I always wanted to remember, but had not been able. Although I was scared that opening the box would bring her too close, it actually made me feel better.

I wish I had warned J about opening up Memph's box. He was in full rigor when I found him, so it was a rather large box. Rigor is most pronounced in the smaller muscles, so the face is grossly affected. Memph looked like he'd been tortured by demons, but thank goodness J missed most of it by being on the opposite side. I explained about rigor mortis and J didn't have nightmares as far as I know.

Bea's hole in the backyard was perfect and the boxes fit side by side. J and I remarked about what great cats they both were and then we covered them with dirt.

By 11pm, I was crawling out of my skin antsy. I called Bea to tell her that it is taking everything I have to not dig up She was just fine in my freezer and there was no reason to get rid of her. All day, I'd thought about her new environment, her thawing, her getting invaded, and her box caving in. It is gruesome and morbid.

I know I'm odd. I want to grave rob my own cat. I was fully expecting more cat pee between my pillows.

Friday, August 07, 2009

In with the new

As I said, I knew Memphie was on his way out since the end of June.

I also knew of kittens born on June 5. I did not want one. I was really looking forward to only three cats using the litter boxes. I would own so many cats if it weren't for the litter box.

Three hours from me, this litter of kittens was born to Bea's ex's household from a stray they'd only adopted a few month earlier. To call these people white trash would be a compliment. They are ignorant and malicious. Within four weeks, five of the six kittens were dead. Bea crawled under the house after a deluge to save the last one, the day after the remaining three had been put out by the owners, and I use that term loosely.

The mother cat had already largely abandoned the kittens, as she was an outdoor cat without free access indoors. The kittens had lived inside and were exposed to people, to include children too young to understand handling them.

Bea bottle fed the last kitten for almost a week. Can you believe that you can buy kitten feeding supplies and dehydrated cat's milk at Wal-Mart?

She then transitioned the kitten to food fit for a kitten. She was a good mom, however she and her roommate continued to "play" with the kitten quite roughly, appropriately calling it an ankle biter. Apparently it was used to being played with that way, so Bea kept it up.

I guess you know where all this is going. She brought the cat to me 10 days ago, so for a few days I had five cats. Who knows? Maybe the little monster is what put Memph over the edge.

When I realized that the cat would be coming to me a few weeks ago, I named him/her/it Sammy/Sammie, as it was a name that could go either way, b/c they had no clue of the sex. Turns out, it is a Sammy. He is a beautiful gray that looks different shades from different angles, so very much like, except he completely lacks the composure she had as a kitten.

I said I would take him if Bea pays for the spay and shots. She agreed and said she'd do a one year plan at Banfield, too - not that I'm crazy about Banfield, but it would cover most everything Sammy would need without me worrying.

In addition to minimizing any testosterone in his aggressive system, I wanted Sammy spayed young so as to ensure it is done, as Bea too often fails to come through on what she says. We went to the vet that went to, b/c the (errant) receptionist said they'd spay early, whereas Banfield was trying to get me an appt for late October. During the appt when I told the vet I wanted him spayed early, she declined, then I protested with reason, then they said they'd consider it, as they do spay early with rescues they do. I figured out they fix the unattached kittens early, not the ones who are already pets, in case something happens.

Anyway, during the exam, the vet made the mistake of putting her finger too close to Sammy's face and he lit in, drew blood, shook his head, and growled. She called him "Devil Child" and labeled him hyperactive.

That's Sammy, but I am working hard on the kitten biting and other behaviors. He's people socialized, but was taunted, and he wasn't cat socialized enough to know when enough is enough. It's like he's feral, but he's not. He wants to be around so he can bite and scratch, play that could be cute as a kitten, but cannot be written off as an adult.

I have never purchased so many cat toys. Our motto around here is, "Skin is not a toy." We substitute, we redirect, we scruff like a mother cat would, we isolate, we walk away. We are the behaviorists. And it is working somewhat. He still nips, but he doesn't bite unless he gets angry, at which time he goes zero to 60 on the Anger Meter, another typical behavior for this sort of kitten. The other three cats were very fearful, but now they just whap him if he gets out of line. They have begun to play chase me/chase you, so that's a great sign. We all know our jobs in dealing with him.

Although the vet says that some cats stay overly frisky (aka mean), particularly the ones bottle fed and not having the mother cat's influence, I do think Sammy is being retrained and will perhaps grow out of the rest. For now, all I can say is thank goodness they trimmed his nails so well!

His blue eyes have turned greenish in the last week; he's a very handsome chap.

Ah, don't let him fool you. Yesterday, he napped for one hour in the afternoon and one in the evening. Bea actually crated him like a dog and told him when to take naps. I may use that approach. I do love that he's chosen my fuzzy robe as his favorite bed.
Of course, J is absolutely smitten...and bears the scratches to prove it.

Sammy is nine weeks old today.

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

RIP Memph

Memphie died over the weekend. He was the best cat, so gentle and affectionate.

He had a tumor in his abdomen which I first felt about a month ago. It was confirmed by the vet, who wanted to put him to sleep on the spot. I declined, as Memph as too much life in him. Up until the end, he jumped on top of the high kitchen cabinets. He was eating like the dickens, although his hips had carved out, while the tumor bulged like a pregnancy.

We went away Friday through Sunday and I knew I'd be putting him down this week. However, I returned on my birthday to find him dead on the floor.

He was such a sweet cat, he allowed me not have to take him in. Doing that with ranks among the hardest thing I've had to do as an adult.

J isn't home again yet from his dad's. At present, I have two dead cats in my freezer. This happening gives me the opportunity to no longer "wait" on ex to pay for's taxidermy, as it has been almost 2.5 years. They'll be buried together, which is fitting, as they were both incredible cats and I got him only 10 days after she died.

I shed my tears already in this process. Honestly, I am glad I had so long to say goodbye. He was a sweetheart, my secret admirer.