Posts Tagged ‘girl-power’

A Birthday of Sorts

It’s one of those days outside where you can’t tell if it’s 10am or 4pm. This transitional haze seems to coat everything. Still I feel like it’s a BIRTHday of sorts! Today is the day of our IVF transfer.

This will be our 3rd and I am cautiously hopeful that the day will go well. Our first transfer was a bit of a debacle. The attending RE was cruel and insensitive and kept yelling at me not to talk or move through the procedure. I felt like a chained animal. So primal and frightened. I heard later from the nurses that he’s been known to lock ladies out of the bathroom so they keep a full bladder for the procedure. He might be a brilliant Dr., but I hope someone pees on him one day!

So Crazy MD recommended that I be “knocked out” for transfer #2 so I wouldn’t cause any more havoc in the Operating room. I couldn’t agree more with the concept of sleeping through a very vulnerable experience and waking up slightly high and happy. Unfortunately, they forgot to tell me to have some water before I arrived, and when they tried to administer the IV they had to stick me 14 times before I made them stop. There was blood all over the floor and my husband was turning blue.

I opted for valium.

MMMMMMMMMmmmmmmm! Valium. Now I know what they mean my the term mother’s little helper!

Luckily the IVF Dr. #2 had soft and gentle eyes and was wonderful. He kept me distracted and I was able to get through it. I also realized after round 1 that I can’t have my husband in the OR with me. I just feel too vulnerable and get very self conscious.

I really liked the Dr. who did the retrieval this week. Everyone at BWH Boston was awesome and I felt very well cared for. At times I tried to pretend I was at the spa (wishful thinking ) and they were working on my energy from the inside out. I hope the transfer Dr. will be equally kind and ease me through this.

At this point of the IVF journey, you have had so many people in your “business”. You don’t think twice when you are prodded and poked in your naughty bits. But that transfer is the hardest part for me. It’s like a reunion with hope and these little bits of life that I love so much! Fate is back in your hands, and even though much of it is out of your sphere of influence, a bit of life is re-deposited inside you. 

Each time you have to go through another doorway on this journey- sex for fun to sex for baby making, talking to a specialist, testing, clomid, IUI,IVF, etc….you find this immeasurable strength that you didn’t know you had before. Two years ago, I never imagined that I would choose to do IVF. Now I am on my 3rd try and I thank g-d for the gift of modern science. 

Women are strong, we keep on going. I love that.

Wishing you the very best….

RubyFeather is now on Facebook

girls holding hands

So many ladies have written to say that they love the idea of our new girl-power group for those of us navigating the big IF. I have to say that it is so wonderful to get such an outpouring of support.

We have set up a facebook page so folks interested in Rubyfeather and what it represents can connect and support one another. This page is global, so you don’t have to live in Boston to become a member.

Also, by joining this page or becoming a “fan” you can help us spread the word about RubyFeather. I tried to keep the main premise of the group somewhat discreet in description.

Here’s the link….

Won’t you be my facebook friend?


The Things You Give Away….

I wanted to confess something….


You might be wondering why I called this blog “IVF and the Newlywed” when I haven’t really been spending a whole lotta’ time talking about my uterus or my sprightly egg count. It’s just that I can’t. I find the IVF process itself to be thoroughly exhausting and I have discovered it’s extremely helpful for me to focus my mind on more INSPIRING, EMPOWERING and TASTY topics. Right now, those ethereal things have been the juice that has kept me going. Perhaps it’s a smokescreen to the real “issues” of the fertility-challenged, but at least it keeps me laughing!


Now for today’s topic: The stuff you give up…..

When I got married, I traded in my sporty convertible for a lumbering black jeep. (This is not a metaphor!). My lease was up on my car and I was scared to drive it on slippery icy days. I also wondered how MILF-like I would look with a baby seat in the back and the ragtop down. How would you get a kid out of a 2-door sports car anyway?

So in the days between our wedding and reception, my husband and I picked up our new little SUV. We opted for a smaller, boxy kind that had a cleaner engine, 4-wheel drive, and really good gas mileage (relatively speaking). It was a stunning, aloof shade of black, with tinted windows and big sidewall tires. I knew I would feel safe in this car, and I liked the feeling of riding high in the saddle. In Boston, it’s all about being the top-man on the road, as you careen past bad drivers and shout nasty words from your car!!!!! (Often with your windows closed so as not to truly upset anyone!). I was a bad-@ss yuppie.

Lately I’ve been missing my convertible. I’ve also been missing the sofa we gave away to upgrade to “married furniture”. It’s been hard for my husband to understand. Sometimes, when I’m amped up on the baby-med hormone shots I’ll just sit across from the new sofa and glare at it. I even told it “I hate you!” once. (No response from the couch). 

What my husband may or may not understand is that these were my “single” things. A sexy blue sport scar with buff leather seats that screamed “I’m successful and fantastic, and I don’t NEED your money!” And that sofa bed–  one of the first big pieces of furniture that I purchased for myself, acknowledging at the time that I was a new homeowner and was going it alone. Through the years, this couch was my refuge for long nights of girl talk and even longer nights of crazy Fall  s ex. It was soft, and velvety, and it was MINE.

(Oh the things you can do on a rolled arm couch………But I digress!)

I think I miss those things because they represented my former-life to me. The carefree, sassy girl with money to spare. Successful, self-protected, smug. Sometimes I feel like I have traded in an old life for a new one, and gotten rid of my “stuff” but I don’t know what’s going to replace it yet. Will it be sweet baby furniture, or a suburban garden filled with ripe tomatoes and love? Will it be an empty nest? What are the things He and I are “building together”?

Oftentimes, it is that limbo between single lass and newly married lady that makes you feel like you are floating. It’s hard to know what you will land on. Will it be a soft, cushy new sofa, or the floor of an empty nursery?

I talked to my Advisor about this. It came out like gunpowder, “I’m giving up all this stuff, and I don’t know what’s replacing it yet!!!!!” She told me that with every new thing you bring into your life, you have to give up something else. It just happens.

I don’t know what will come into our lives to mark the passage of our first year of marriage. I only know that when I wash the Jeep it SHINES, and when I cuddle on that couch with my Sweetie, there’s no place I’d rather be….


Wishing you many happy momentsblog sexycouch….

My father’s hands

I am sitting here on my dad’s lazy boy. Its a tremendous upholstered monster of some undecipherable color.  When I sit in it I feel a little like lilly tomlin when she would dress like a child perched in a giant rocking chair in her ’70’s comedy routines. There’s something comforting about this mammoth  chair of my father’s. It reminds me of him, so mushy and sturdy, with arms that stretch wide to hold us. All of our energy and dreams. 

 I remember when I was fifteen ,he would sit on the edge of my bed and we’d talk about “life”. All those teenage sagas that I thought so important.  He was the one that made me believe I could do anything. Be anything. Like no opportunity or dream was too unreachable. I guess I still believe this (thanks dad). 

I can think back to when I was three and he was taking me to Manhattan to “work” at his store. I was so excited to be employed for the day. And to travel by subway from Brooklyn into East 38th street in nyc ! I remember standing on my bed and dressing myself for the occasion. I looked crazy! All jumbled and twisted, with sleeves all wrong and socks that did not match. “Your beautiful” he said, and tucked me under his arm, straitening what he could so that I would not embarrass myself. Still he let me keep the socks all mismatched – as a sign of my personal expression : ) 

Now that I am on the edge of exploring what children might mean in MY life ( and my looming exploration of the possibilities of adoption) I think of my fathers big, sturdy hands, and listen to how he coos at his granddaughter. I think of how lucky she is to know him, and to crawl all over him like a big mountain. Her lazy-boy grandpa. 

And I think of my friends. Those of you whom I love dearly, who are the mountains in children’s lives. Everything you do makes an immeasurable difference and leaves an imprint that will last a lifetime. Treasure the small moments. 

I put my hand in my father’s yesterday as we walked together. It didn’t matter that I was no longer a child. My socks might match now but I still hold the memories of countless firsts and lots of pushes and I am a better woman for knowing him. 

Savor your time with your dear ones. Especially now.  I wish you great joy and happiness this holiday and beyond. 

There are two types of “family”. Those we are born into, and those we select. To me you are family too. And I am lucky for that ! 

May all your dreams come true this year. At least the little ones – the daily triumphs that count.

Baby Chronicles 1: Single girl considers Adopting through Foster Care

I am sending this to my girls.
 I need to share.
 Yesterday was my first night of baby classes. When considering adoption or
 foster care through the state, it is required that you take 24 hrs of
 classes to help prepare you for the long road ahead. I hope to start a
 journal (this might be entry numero uno) during the process, some of which
I plan to share , other bits I will just hold close to my heart.
 Read what you want, I just hoped to share it with those strong women I
 adore and admire. (Those I might need to count on in the future for
 guidance or reassurance during this long and emotional process- don’t say I
 didn’t warn you ! )
> I rushed out of work with my google map in hand, only to get lost 3 times
> in the maze of Boston traffic. Frantic and worried about time (would I be
> considered “unfit” if they knew about my Habitual Lateness Disorder ?) I
> made an illegal u turn across 4 lanes of manic traffic. “Come get me
> coppers !” I cried. . How many times over the next few years will I be
> rushing about to meet a daycare pickup or attend an after school event?
> Better start getting used to it now : the single girl transitions to a
> schedule not quite her own. This is someone Else’s clock, and these new
> “must do’s” do not conclude with a celebratory martini at the end of the
> rainbow.
> Bouncy and in working girl style I arrive as the bell rings. I run to the
> Loo to freshen up. A weight watchers meeting is happening in the same
> office plaza and it is hard to discern the hopeful future-moms from the
> aspiring weight losers in the ladies’ room. Everyone has this weird glimmer
> of hopeful anticipation which is scary when you think of it. Can loosing 15
> lbs be as exciting as evolving a future family ? Ask me in the summer when
> I try to squeeze into my swim suit!
> A woman in the bathroom chats me up, assuming we are going to the same
> weight watchers meeting, further exciting my awkwardness. Instead of
> listening to my social worker, I spend the next half hour wondering “do I
> need weight watchers?????” . And I can’t even blame my midlife tummy on
> “baby weight” …..shucks.
> But the vanity and the paranoia are only a mask to distract me from what’s
> really on my mind….
> Knee high black boots, my skinny jeans a belted tunic sweater (which after
> the weight watchers incident made me feel as if I looked a little more like
> santa and a little less like a MILF) I wondered, am I mom material ? Can I
> still be coquettish with baby spittle on my blouse ?
> My classmates- “Mr and Ms” , very cool. It took me a while to see them
> clearly. Older, amazing hearts, hopeful to adopt a young person they know
> with autism. “Talulah”, earth mother if I ever met one. Her kids are grown.
> She is hoping to be a foster mom to a baby girl and is open to one who has
> special needs. She has the warmest eyes and a melodic voice and I want to
> crawl into her lap….. Our teachers- “J” our leader. She reminds me so
> much of my sister. This gives me great comfort and strength. “Red”
> boundless energy, the drama queen, she is an adopted mother and shares
> advice and humor. When she laughs she wrinkles her forehead and nose, and
> her whole body shakes. “Twinkle” a social worker who works in intensive
> foster care. Very luscious and energetic with a rhinestone studded tank
> top. Not at all what I expected for a social worker.
> These people are cool.
> I was hoping class would be quiet, full of yuppies with cross pens and an
> opportunity to hide in the back and process as we go. Instead we are
> expected to PARTICIPATE. To role play and reenact deeply emotional things.
> At first it feels more like group therapy than a class put on by DSS. I
> really had to take a moment and shed my eggshell heart-armor I was wearing.
> It was so real. I think we all cried at one point or another.
> Here’s what I learned today. (Aka- things that scared me):
> *Sometimes the kids that come home with you are afraid of you and don’t
> understand why they can’t be with their birth parents.
> * its good to create HOUSE RULES as it helps the child understand what is
> expected of them. Never assume they know what you want.(Even if the house
> is on fire)
> * Its important to encourage the child to speak openly about his history
> and maybe even put a picture of his birth mom near your family photos. It
> makes him feel like it is okay to talk about his past and he does not need
> to choose between you and the birth family.
> * a lot of social workers and people you will never meet will be deciding if
> you are the “right” parent for this baby. Kind of like yentas with the
> baby’s best interest at heart.
> My head is spinning and I am a little overwhelmed. I sat by my fireplace
> eating mango ice cream and realized… Wow. What a new, scary and beloved
> thing to do…
> And this is only the beginning.