What Would You Do?

Friday night I was by my lonesome.  DH was trying his luck to see if he could score a last minute ticket to see Pearl Jam at MSG because seeing them twice in one week is just not enough. The only reason I didn't join in is because I was physically exhausted from seeing them Tues and Thurs night and getting home at 1 am on a work night made me realize I'm not 25 anymore. 


Anyway I digress, so Friday night it was just me and Jack, some food in the freezer and Friday night television.  Its a rarity for me to watch live TV.  Ever since we got the DVR (lovely device) we tape everything and usually catch up on the weeks shows over the weekend. Since I didn't want to watch what we'd recorded without DH, I resorted to live TV - commercials and all. 


I came across this program called "What Would You Do?" - it was on ABC I think and it was a hidden camera show where they have actors put in certain stressful situations to see how people will react.  I only caught the tail end where they had an older actress at a pharmacy trying to purchase much needed medication only to find out her insurance no longer covered it and she had to pay $150 or so and didn't have the money.  I was amazed to find that several people offered to help her pay for her medicine and some paid for the whole thing for a complete stranger in distress.  One woman, who herself only survived on social security, gave $20 to help and that just blew me away.


I must say that I am somewhat cynical when it comes to my own human race.  I see us as a people who for the most part destroy, deceive, harbor jealousy and greed and the list goes on.  Watching this show, however, really restored a bit of faith in mankind for me.  It warmed my heart to see strangers helping strangers.


Now if we could just get those drug companies to be a bit more selfless, put aside their greed and see the reality that there are millions of people who need medication that they can't afford, then my outlook might really become sunny.

Unfruitful Sex Just Outside The City

One of my all time favorite shows is Sex and the City.  I used to watch it religiously and one day even went so far as to go on the show's site on HBO just to look around.  While there, I took a quiz that determines which SATC girl you are.  Of course we all think we're "Carries" but I turned out to be a "Charlotte" although I really couldn't see the resemblance.  Well in recent days I'm beginning to feel more and more like Charlotte.  No, I didn't move to Park Ave or convert to Judaism but it turns out that much like her, our attempts TTC are going to require a lot more time and effort than I would like or even have imagined.

I remember the one episode of SATC when Miranda inadvertently got pregnant and how devastated Charlotte was to the point where she was almost cruel.  I remember thinking that she was over-reacting and being a completely unsupportive friend but this was all pre-TTC.  I think some crazy switch goes off in a woman's head when she's ready to be maternal and the greater the time that elapses, the more emotional one seems to get.  I found out this week that a good friend who wasn't really trying to get pregnant is in fact now expecting.  My initial reaction was complete elation for her but trailing right behind the happiness was a cloud of sadness and despair for me and for once I kinda saw where Charlotte was coming from.  I've been taking all the right vitamins, highlighting and counting days on a calendar like Galileo, monitoring all sorts of bodily fluids and at the end of the month get slapped in the face with a BFN.  Don't get me wrong, I would not turn my back on a friend and am truly happy for their gift but I still can't seem to suppress feelings of my own self woe.

I don't know if its some law of physics that seems to magnetically bring all pregnant women walking in my direction or sit next to me but lately it seems wherever I turn there's a bump or a baby announcement in the mail.  Everyone keeps saying "Don't think about it" well that's pretty hard to do when I can't take a step without constantly being reminded of my empty womb.  Most of my friends have all conceived effortlessly which always led me to believe that once we stopped preventing that poof it would happen.  Nowadays I find some solace on infertility forums of others who are struggling but it still doesn't really take the edge off.

I know that in this day and age science has taken the role of God but I sure was hoping to do this the good old natural way.  Although currently our chances of conceiving naturally are greatly compromised, I still do feel hopeful each month.  "You never know" I keep telling myself.  This past month I buckled down and bought an ovulation kit.  I was so thrilled when the little digital screen showed a happy face.  I've gotten so many BFN's that seeing a happy face even if its just for ovulation gave me a sense of hope.

A Box of Memories

For the past 2 years, I walked in and out of the basement to the car and passed an old, musty leather suitcase wrapped in that airport plastic hoping that it’s just an apparition I saw.  This suitcase was brought over all the way from Istanbul; its contents were about a hundred audio cassette tapes that belonged to my DH in his more youthful long haired days (and one old, smelly, torn jacket from the 80’s – lets not even go there).  I begged and pleaded for him not to drag miles of audio tape across the ocean, that he would never listen to them and where the heck would we put it?  He, being the sentimental person he is, said those tapes (and the jacket) had memories and he had to keep them.  The suitcase resided at my mom’s house for some time…out of site, out of mind.  A couple of years ago she said that it had to go and in the basement it went.  I had high hopes that DH would open it and organize its contents in a safe place because these were very important after all.  Much to my dismay, the bag just sat there until last week when I bought some bins to house the prized cassettes and threw out the luggage once and for all.  Upon opening the circa 1970’s suitcase, among the many cassettes stood an old shoe box.  Inside the shoe box were all the letters I had written him when we were long distance dating, all the pictures I had sent, even the envelopes they came in.  It was quite surreal to see the words I had written 10 years ago on stationary I had picked right back in my own hands and so comforting to know that he kept all of it.

Growing Up Hairy

I am a pure bred Armenian and for those who don’t know, Armenians are stereotyped as being “hairy”. Most ethnic stereotypes are grossly exaggerated. In my case, however, its somewhat spot on.

My mother said I was born with hair on my legs. My aunt always tells the story of the day I was born when they looked at my plump legs and said “Yep, she’s going to be a hairy one”. I didn’t become aware of my overgrowth until the 4th or 5th grade when a very observant peer pointed it out to me and the class that I had a mustache and looked like a monkey. Oh kids, how cruel they can be. As if going through puberty and desire to fit in wasn’t hard enough, I was now coined as the hairy girl (not a boy’s first choice to ask to the dance). In a sea of fair skinned blond girls, there I was, oily olive skin, hair the color of asphalt, a uni-brow and mustache that made some of the boys jealous.

I did what anyone else in my place would have done, I went home crying, developed an extreme insecurity and begged my mother to let me shave. My mother, being a veteran hairy person herself, said that under no condition could I shave. She said that shaving will turn my already bushy legs into a hair brush. The only way to successfully rid this fuzz was to wax. She vowed that waxing lasted longer and in time would make the hair grow less and less. Her argument was convincing and not knowing what waxing was I happily agreed. Most American mom’s can remember their daughter’s 1st ballet recital or 1st dance. My mother, on the other hand, will never forget my 1st waxing session. If anyone heard me that day they probably would have called DYFS. With each pull of the strip, however, I just kept thinking of how great it will be to be hair-free and just bore the pain. It was this day that a crusader was born.

Coats for Kids

Every morning I wake up, tear myself from the loving embrace of my toasty bed to take my beloved Jack for his morning walk.  This ritual is followed rain or shine, hot or cold.  Since in recent months it’s been nothing but cold, I bundle up to the point where my outfit can pass as a burka.  I leave a narrow slit between hat and scarf to partially see where I’m going and be on the look out for any sneaky squirrels.  Our home is close to the high school and we encounter several teens on our daily route.  These youngsters are observed wearing a scanty t-shirt with a mere zip hoodie on top.  Not a hat on the head or a glove on the hand.  Its averaged 20-30 degrees all winter and these deprived youths don’t appear to have coats.  Its not just one or two, male or female, but all who seem without a proper cover up.  

Judging by the way these kids are dressed, one would think that I live in an impoverished area. Quite the contrary, I live in Northern NJ amidst many affluent homes (I happen to live in a meager townhouse on the other side of the tracks but share the same zip code none the less).  So it baffles me that in the bitter windy cold with two feet of snow on the ground, our futures traipse around with a thin piece of fleece.  Is it because they are young and have higher body temperatures?  Have coats become out of style in the 15 years since I’ve been a high school student?  Has the economy affected even the well-to-do to the point that they cannot afford coats for their children?  (Although, I don’t think the recession is the problem because these coat-less kids are all wearing $200 Uggs on their feet.)  Perhaps I have become too far removed from the teenage world to understand this phenomenon so I will continue to shroud myself in layers outside and deem this yet another unsolved mystery.      

Jack the Dog

It was Spring of 2007 when my husband and I felt ready to make the commitment to expand our family and bring into our lives a long awaited four legged friend.  Before getting married to DH, I had made it very clear that I could not live a life that did not involve a dog.  He had never lived with pets but wanted to be with me so if that meant a dog in our future then so be it.  At the time there were only 2 things we knew 1) we wanted to get a Lab 2) we would only rescue/adopt.  Before delving into the adoption process, we read several books, explored many websites and religiously watched Dog Whisperer episodes to broaden our knowledge of dogs, the breed, training and care.    We found a great Lab Rescue aptly named Labs4rescue through Petfinder.com but our exciting journey into dog ownership slowly became discouraging.  We had filled out what seemed to be as lengthy as a college application and requested several dogs, but none of them were deemed suitable for us.  The DH and I both work full time and as if that wasn’t bad enough, we live in a townhouse that does not have a fenced in yard – 2 huge marks against us.  Not willing to give up and wanting a dog now, more than ever, we continued on with the search.

 One Saturday morning, we saw a new posting of a goofy looking yellow lab, crossed our fingers and sent in the request. Later that afternoon, I received a call from a volunteer who put me in touch with the woman in Louisiana who had taken this dog out of the local euthanizing shelter.  I was on the phone with this sweet southern woman for quite a while and felt as if I had known her for years.  I was told that this handsome fellow was found wandering the side of a highway in LA with a case of heartworms and Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  The following day, the volunteer called and said that we could adopt this pooch and he was to arrive in 1 week!  Like any proud soon to be parents would do, we immediately went to the pet store to prep our home with food, bed, toys, treats and agreed on his new name “JACK”.  I’ll never forget the day we picked him up from the drop off location.  We saw him with the amazing volunteers who had been driving for 2 days to give these dogs a second chance at a permanent home and it was instant love. 

TTC and Other Acronyms I Never Knew Existed

We Americans sure do love our acronyms - all 4 million of them.  With the many abbreviated "words" our society has created, you can practically write an entire sentence without saying an actual word.  By now we've all gotten accustomed to LOL or ROTFL when something is funny but it wasn't until a few weeks ago while reading forums on pregnancy topics where I discovered a whole new world of abbreviations I never knew existed and were it not for Google, I still wouldn't know how to communicate preconception with as few words as possible.
You see, my DH (Dear Husband) and I have been TTC (Trying To Conceive) for about a year now and have yet to witness a BFP (Big Fat Positive). 

The Cove Secret is Out.

The Daily Puppy

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