Happy New Year!

I've been horrible about blogging. My excuses are lame - crappy sleeping baby, home project, busy schedule.

Next week will be better! Until then, I will be trying to sleep train a baby, exercise, and weighing my baked fries.

Oh, the joys of trying to be less fat.

Donated, Research.



No more assisted reproduction.
Future pregnancy by relaxation only.
Which we all know is the most reliable way to get pregnant anyway.

We got the official notice in the mail today.  My adventures in assisted reproduction have come to an end.  While we aren't 100% ready to close up shop on the ol' uterus of doom, we are 100% sure that we will not do fertility treatments of any kind. 
First, because I've had enough.  I did two fresh In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) cycles, and one Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET).  And two Intrauterine Inseminations (IUI).  And a Clomid cycle.  I've been poked and prodded and hormoned up and it was completely and totally worth it.  But now I'm done, which is really kind of the point of fertility treatments.  Get it done, hopefully get some babies, and get on with life.  I will limit my visits to the stirrups to once a year, and hopefully this will terminate permanently my relationship with the dildo cam internal ultrasound wand.

Second, I can not risk the chance of a twin pregnancy again.  I just...ugh.  I can't.  It was hard on my body, and it did not go well for my babies when I was pregnant with twins.  And sure, I could transfer one (not implant, in case you don't know the difference, please stop making that mistake kthxbai), but that doesn't even matter.  My twins were identical - the result of one splitting embryo.  I would be a total mental case if I got pregnant with twins again.

If we decide to try for a third (fifth?) it will be a game of regular old sexy sex and wait and see until we don't want to wait and see anymore.  I feel happy with the two we have and won't go through an angsty, woe infertility period again.  If it doesn't happen, it doesn't...if we even decide to try. 

Last night I was really in favor of a vasectomy as I listened to Adelle cry from 12 - 3 a.m.  Today I am too tired to drive Mark to get one so his vas deferens shall remain in tact for at least another day.

Anyway, opening that letter today felt like a big deal.  Even though I sent the request form over a month ago and knew it was coming, it still feels significant to know that that door is closed.  No more adventures in infertility. It's a good thing! 

Luckily, I feel like the phrase "Maybe If You Just Relax" is still applicable.  I may be guilty of saying that to Olivia several times a day.  That, and "BECAUSE I SAID SO."  And also, "don't eat your boogies."

(I know people fall all over the board on this, and some people have some really strong opinions about embryos and what should be done with them.  And whatever everyone decides to do with their embryos is fine by me.  We decided to donate ours to research.  Thanks in advance for not going bat shit bananas on me in the comments.)

A Griswold Friend Christmas

It has been a busy week or so and I feel like I've been running around like crazy.  The good kind of crazy, which makes me feel useful.  It does not leave much time for blogging.  So it is a picture post again, but at least the pictures make us look pretty much ridiculous.

Our friends host an annual Christmas party, and last year was the first year for dressing up.  Ugly sweater party.  Which was really fun.  This year we dressed up like characters from Christmas Vacation, which was perfect because the movie is always playing at the party and everyone throws out random quotes from the movie throughout the night. 

(Except for me, because I am apparently the only person in the whole world who is not crazy about Christmas Vacation.  I know, it is unAmerican of me.)

Eddie, The Shitter Was Full
Audrey, Bored at Christmas
(Eddie Inspiration)
(Audrey Inspiration)

This was a fun party!  I was already thinking it would be hard to come up with a theme that would top this one.  Here is a picture of everyone:

"And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down the chimney tonight,
he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes
this side of the
nuthouse."
(Group Inspiration)

One week until Christmas, you guys!  I hope you are ready!  I kind of am but I am sure it will all work out.

I am lucky.

Today, I took Olivia to see her first theater movie.  We saw Wreck It Ralph. 



She was SO excited.


Every night I have been picking the Elf on the Shelf/Christmas activity based on what was easiest for me.  Putting off the messy or laborious projects.  Sure, these memories are important but I've got another week to do this stuff so...meh.

I hate to personalize someone else's tragedy.  Make it about me.  But...man.  You just seriously never know what crazy shit is going to happen, do you?  It sounds so dramatic to say that any you could be making your last memory with your child but it is the truth, isn't it?

And the dumbest thing kept running through my mind: What if something horrible happened and I never took Olivia to see her first movie because I was too busy reading a stupid book or looking at Facebook or doing some pointless Pinterest project?

So today we went to see a movie.  We spent a ridiculous amount of money on popcorn and Reese's Pieces and fruit punch.  When Olivia wanted to talk during the movie, I listened.  When she wanted to get up and jump over the light strip in the aisle, I let her.  When she spun around in circles and danced to the music in the movie, I watched. 

I am not a patient person. I am often rushing to get to bedtime so that I can have a break. I am guilty of not always appreciating the little adorable maniacs who live in my house and make me laugh all day.  But not today. 

Today I fully appreciate how lucky I am. 

Studio Pictures

I always think I'm going to hate studio pictures but for some reason I always end up doing them.  Because I started doing them for Olivia, and now I want to have similar pictures for Adelle.  The props and backgrounds can get pretty ridiculous but I usually don't order the cheesy ones.  Except when I do order the cheesy ones because I love hypocrisy.

But then I get the pictures and I don't end up hating them.  At all.  I end up buying way too many of them.

Even the ones where they cut off half of my kid's body.

Given an unlimited budget, I would hire a photographer every time.  I like the more casual and natural result of having someone follow my family for an hour to capture real expressions.  Although, I'm not sure how "natural" it actually is.  Because we don't often coordinate outfits and frolic in the park for an hour.  "Natural" would be bed head, jammies, breakfast crumbs around our mouths.

These were supposed to be Adelle's six month pictures, but Olivia was cooperating.  Which never happens.  She hates to be photographed.  Adelle smiles at anything so she is easy, but Olivia has to be coaxed and fooled and encouraged to yell POOP and DADDY HAS STINKY FEET in order to get a decent smile.  Mom of The Year, every single day.

 I was tempted to bring the stupid 6 Month sticker with me but I figured that was lazy.  I hate those stupid monthly stickers.  Now that Adelle is huge and sitty and rolly, and put everything in her mouthy, they are impossible.  Plus they are allllll the way upstairs and I am too lazy to get them when there is a good photo opportunity.  Mother of the Year.  Every single day.

I have a preschooler, you guys.

Like, a for real, big looking, sassy preschooler.  See?

This is an Instagram picture of a picture.
Photo Credit: Lifetouch

There is a house that we pass on our way to school.  It is brown.  Like, all brown.  Kind of a wanna be log cabin, but it is just a house painted brown.

"Hey mom, look at that chocolate house!"

I love this kid.

I want ten babies!

Olivia came out of school last week, asking for ten babies. 

Me: Ten babies?  What?

Olivia: Noooo...ten sisters!  TEN SISTERS! 

Me: Oh, ten sisters, eh?

Olivia: NO MOM.  Jack has ten babies.  Ten sisters.  I want ten sisters, pleeeeeaaaaassssee?  I been a really good girl.

And then I realized what she was actually saying.  She wants twin babies.  Sisters.  She wants twin sisters.  Because they are making picture posters in class and talking about the pictures, and there is a little boy in her class who has adorable one year old twin sisters. 

Me: Yes, Olivia.  Twin sisters would be nice, wouldn't they?

Olivia doesn't know that Ainsley was a twin.  When I was pregnant, she was not even two.  We told her there were two babies in mommy's belly but she was so little that none of it made sense.  And then Evelyn was gone and everything revolved around Ainsley and we just told her that Ainsley was her sister and left it at that.

We will tell her someday.  At some point there will be a time when it fits into regular conversation and we will tell her and she will have a lot of questions.  Maybe all of the kids came out of preschool asking for twin sisters, who knows?  I have no idea how to explain stillbirth to a small child without freaking her the hell out.

All I know is that there is no way she is having ten sisters.  My uterus would absolutely revolt.  As would my husband. 

Mr. Worldwide

I was fixing my hair in the bathroom across the hall from my bedroom, where Mark and Olivia were playing.  She likes to jump on our bed while Mark throws pillows and stuffed animals at her.  Usually, there is much music and fly booty shaking included.  Today they were listening to Pandora when  a Pitbull song came on.  It doesn't matter which one because they all sound exactly the same. 

Perhaps you are not a Pitbull fan?  He is a...rapper?  I guess?  And he calls himself Mr. Worldwide.  According to his website, "You need to generate a lot of heat if you want to be Mr. Worldwide, but if there’s one thing Pitbull has — besides a way with rapid-fire rhymes, billion-dollar beats, and globally infectious hooks — it’s charm by the boatload."  Basically, his bio totally cracks me up.  But I am behind on sleep so you can't really count on my taste in hilarity.

Anyway, inspired by the rapid-fire rhymes, billion-dollar beats, and globally infectious hooks, this is what I heard coming from my bedroom:

Olivia: Daddy! Throw the duck at me!

Mark: I'm Mr. Worldwide!

Olivia: Daddy!  Throw the duck at me!

Mark: I'm Mr. Worldwide!

Olivia: Hey Mr. Worldwide, throw the duck at me!

I swear, Olivia and Mark need to start blogs.  They are some of the funniest people who live in my house.

Which one of you took my toddler?

And replaced her with this...this..CHILD?!  You know those times when you see a picture of your kid and think whoa, when did she grow up?  Because I've been watching this whole time and didn't notice until just.freaking.now.

 And don't even get me started on this enormous baybee that is drooling all over my house.

You know how everyone always says that the days are long but the years are short?  Yeah.  That.

Dog Shaming.

We have leather furniture.  It wasn't my choice.  It came from Mark's bachelor days, which also included a vibrating Cleveland Indians recliner. Seriously.  A vibrating sports chair.  As soon as I saw it I was all, "will you marry me?"  HA!  No.    The recliner never made it to our first shared apartment, but the furniture has been around for almost ten years.

It worked out well because leather is super easy to clean, and I'm not sure if you've heard?   But kids are messy.  I'm not getting rid of this furniture until the girls are old enough to hold all bodily functions/not covertly color things with markers/wipe all remnants of peanut butter off of their hands and faces.

Kids aren't really wrecking this furniture, though.  Our dogs are doing it for them.  A few months ago, we noticed that there was a tiny hole in the couch.  Annoying to us but not really noticeable.  Then one morning we came down to find a giant glob of couch stuffing hanging out.  Like Baxter tried to murder the couch or something.

Fine.  I was covering it with a pillow but Mark got the brilliant idea to cut a square from the bottom of the couch and super glue it over the hole.  Which...A, for effort?  A, for creativity?  I'm like one project away from just calling him MacGyver. 

This patch solved the problem for a few months but last week I came down to find another hole in the couch.  Fucking Baxter.



My failure to hyphenate ghetto-patched makes it seem like there may
be a human ghetto out there, just going around and patching up couches.
Don't worry.  Just Mark.



My second choice...the shame face in the other one is better.
But here is the patch.
Just in case you need a guide on how to fix your couch someday.

I bought a cable knit throw blanket to cover the holes.  And I found Baxter chewing on that, too.  Basically I should just give up and live in squalor.