We may be $500 poorer, but we're an 8-drawer chest, a storage bench, and a two-tiered set of storage shelves richer.
I never posted it here, but the IM is having some issues with the baby not being hers, and her not carrying. She feels that her husband pretty much "doesn't need her" to have a baby. I never realized that the eggs used weren't hers.
The big problem is that she is so busy with work, and when you add that stress to the impending reality of her biggest desire - a child - things get tough. According to her husband, they are doing better now.
We just have to find a way to focus on the outcome rather than the journey. I don't want this pregnancy to be all about me, I want it to be about the baby(ies). It's going to be tough enough for all three of us, not to mention my family will be affected by my pregnancy. We just can't make it harder than it already is.
Anyway. I realized how close Christmas is the other day. I don't want it to come. I know it isn't about the gifts, but it always feels like it is, especially since my household is not religious at all. I don't care what I get or don't get, but I do care about not being able to do things for everyone else.
Also - I don't believe in overdoing it for children. Not as in "Pish-posh, there's no such thing as too much," but more like "PLEASE don't buy my child a metric ton of clothes and toys, she doesn't need it." Sean's sister bought so much stuff for her own children in the past years, I shudder to think of what she'll do for Norah.
Isn't it funny how one little smile and stream of babbles from the baby can erase it all? Even a fart can make me giggle.
So it took me a few hours, but I assembled that dresser. Mostly by myself, but I'm really fine with that. Sean took one look at the instruction booklet and gasped, "IT'S GOT NO WORDS!!!"
So yeah...as the person in the household familiar with Ikea products (I used to work for a small company that traveled the metro DC-VA-MD area assembling Ikea furniture for rich folks who couldn't be bothered), It was my job. Pretty easy, though - and I was guaranteed a good night's sleep afterward.
The fertility clinic should have my papers now. I am so excited about this.
So the fertility clinic has the papers, and they are going over them to make sure I am eligible. This part makes me nervous, even though it really shouldn't. Of course I'm eligible...right? I had a baby before. It was an extremely low-risk pregnancy. My blood pressure and all that crap was perfect. I gained less than 25 pounds. I worked up until the day I gave birth. You couldn't even tell I was preggo from the back.
But still...I'm insanely nervous.
Norah had a meltdown at the grocery store the other night. It was our fault - we pushed our luck. We were there until like, almost 8. Even though she doesn't go to bed at that time, she was REALLY tired, and just started SCREAMING. That wasn't fun, considering I was wearing her in the mei tai.
She's also working on her 7th tooth, so hopefully that will break through today. She loves those teething tablets, though. What a weirdo.
Every time I look at the title of my journal, I just crack up laughing. Fun-nay.
It sounds so...Days Of Our Lives-ish.
Lifetime on a bad day. You know?
Got a message from my PIPs today. They are trying to figure out when they can go in and talk to the docs about the surrogacy program.
I had a fake-out the other day, I emailed the contact at the clinic to make sure they got the papers, because I'm paranoid about stuff that I mail. I got a second response from the contact, and I thought it was real info, but she was just commiserating about the Postal Paranoia.
So Friday afternoon, I was enjoying computer time while Norah was sleeping. There are two bedrooms, and they are at opposite ends of the apartment. Norah's crib is in our bedroom for the time being (yeah, that is fun). The computer is in the second bedroom, which will be Norah's pretty soon.
So I'm sitting back in this big fat executive leather office chair, alternating between reading people berate each other on Craigslist and researching health centers that give flu shots, when something dark darts along the baseboard and under the door.
Now we're both pretty paranoid about vermin. I'm aware that in a big big city like Philly, almost every building has some sort of infestation - no matter how nice the grounds are. And hey - I don't discriminate - I find bugs and mice equally revolting.
But the thing is...my eyes get tricky after a while. My eyesight isn't the best, so I wear contacts, which dry out and act funky. I'm not entirely certain what I saw was even what I thought it was.
But later that night, I'm feeding Norah on a cushioned ottoman while Sean sits on the couch.
And I see something dark dart out of the kitchen and behind stacks of books.
I break the news to Sean, who immediately gets up and starts loading traps with crunchy peanut butter (choosy dads choose JIF) and placing them along baseboards behind items. It's tough, we can't put them where we used to, because of Norah.
He goes back into the computer room and gets online. Norah's in bed, I'm watching Conan O'Brien.
I have forgotten about the traps, and our little buddy, until I hear a *snap* in the kitchen. I get up and follow the sound of frantic scrabbling. Thankfully, it's behind the top of the kitchen island we're trying to get rid of - the top has been taken off, and it's propped against the wall. So I can't see it.
Sean decides to wait until it's truly dead, and so after a half-hour or so, my hero disposes of the dirty little bugger.
Not to sound Grinchy, but I can't wait until this Holiday Nonsense is over. Norah and I went to the mall the other day to get her some more sleepers, and it was total mayhem and chaos.
Also, My BF's sister (practically my SIL) went looking for and found our weblogs. That pisses me off. We never said anything about that stuff because we didn't want her to know. Like, her specifically.
After the holidays, my PIPs have their appointment with the fertility clinic. They can't go see them now, it stresses my PIM out way too much, and she gets insecure about the whole thing. I don't want her to feel that way, even though I know none of us can necessarily prevent it.
Wow. I need three or four hands to count the ways I suck.
I guess this has been a little neglected, huh?
My PIPs are doing okay, but not great. She's having some real issues with insecurity. He has decided that if their marriage does not last, he still wants to go ahead with the surrogacy. I'd refuse it if they were her eggs, but they are eggs from a donor, and fertilized with his sperm. So I feel that is acceptable to me.
In non-surrogacy news, Norah is growing like crazy. It's insane to hold her and talk to her, because I can totally see her listening to me, and I can see how intently she's thinking when we talk. And yeah, I talk to her like she's just another adult. I hate baby talk.
Sean's sister totally admitted she went looking for my weblog. She didn't even know that I had one - she just typed in Norah's name and my name and a huge series of mix-and-match phrases. BAM - there ya go. I was pretty angry about that, but I bit my tongue.
Oh, also - I apparently didn't pick up some paychecks from an old job I had, and now I've got like $400 coming to me. Y'all should check the treasuries for any state where you've ever worked or lived. It could be worth it.
Sometimes I look at Norah and I can't believe I'm her mom. I'm someone's mom. I look at her little face, and her fat hands. I quietly watch her playing with her toys and babbling to herself and I try to think about how I imagined my first child would ever be like. And for the life of me...I cannot even begin to picture the child I always assumed or thought I'd have.
Yet I cannot imagine having any other child other than Norah. Like, when we ever get around to #2...I just imagine the poor little ankle kicker being just another Norah.
Sean gets mildly worried when we see other babies pointing to their noses and giving kisses on demand. I try to tell him - Norah just decides when and what she'll do. For the longest time, we'd try to get her to wave at us, and she'd look at us like we just landed. Then one morning, she just waved. Just like that. It's just her personality - she's as indifferent as stubborn as I can be.