I'm still alive. Keith rescued me by cancelling the event.
I didn't find this out until after returning from Krogers. I don't know if it was anxiety or the clomid, but I was definitely not feeling well. I was experiencing labored breathing, cloudy vision and chest pain while checking out the groceries. When the clerk asked me a question, I had to really concentrate in order to speak and I wasn't sure if my voice was coming out too loud or too quiet.
It's a strange feeling, pouring all this chemical hormone straight into my system. It's such an odds game. Ten percent of women who take it have twins. Thirty percent who take it experience a thinning of the uterine wall and develope sperm killing mucus, basically completely killing any chance of getting pregnant. That leaves sixty percent who have a toss up chance of a normal pregnancy.
In anycase, I was so affected that I had a hard time driving and had to keep reminding myself to breath regularly. I felt better in the evening, but I'm feeling a little hazy right now, truth be told.
We had a frittata for breakfast this morning, as usual. I called it the "Rainbow Fritatta," because it had orange and green bell pepper, red roma tomatoes, sausage and bacon. It was good, but took longer to cook because of the water in the tomatoes, even though I squeezed them dry with paper towels before adding them to the pan.
Anyway, while I was making this, one of the eggs I opened had a double yolk. Strangely, a couple days ago an egg I had hard boiled for a salad also had a double yolk. I've never seen a double yolk before and now two in one week?
I won't lie, this morning when I saw the second one I had a strange reaction, I thought, "Maybe this is a sign that I'm going to have twins. Please, God; please let it be a sign."
How crazy-person is that, I ask you? This was not just a passing thought, either. This was a kick in the gut, oh my god, I want this so bad kind of thought. (For the record, I actually don't prefer twins over one baby at a time, but if that's the way it happens, then I will take it, no questions asked.) Who does that, anyway? Who sees a double yolk and then with every fiber of their being, wants it to be a sign from God, for goodness sake?
The answer to that would be- me, on clomid.
This stupid back to school season we're in now is not helping. All those commercials where the mother sends her little brood off to school in cute new clothes, with clean folders and wire binders, pencils and snacks. I want that; I want a small brood.
Also, one of Keith's men needed child care for his three girls, aged eleven, six and three. We were going to have them from Sunday morning 'til Monday morning, because the father was on funeral detail and had to go out of state.
So on Saturday I cleaned out the upstairs hallway bathroom. In a normal family, this would be the children's bathroom and there would be brightly colored bathmats and toothpaste splatter and other kinds of splatter and little discarded mickey mouse undies moldering in the corner until I could get to the laundry.
But in our household, it's just the spare bathroom and we've turned off the vent in there to save on A/C. We wash the dogs in there and when Keith has guys friends over, they use that toilet. So, it's not the most inviting or hygenic WC option our house offers.
I was nervous about having three unknown children in the house, especially that old. I remember being eleven; I was the mistress of my domain and a royal pain in the ass. If you had asked me who actually ran the household or kept better track of my younger brothers, my parents or myself, I would have replied myself. I wouldn't have been far wrong.
I know this girl would especially be the mistress of her domain, since her mother had moved out and a lot of responsiblity was well and truly on her shoulders. So I figured, as I scrubbed out the tub, that I would greet her as an adult and make it clear that we would be partners in caring for the younger ones.
As I set out three sets of towels, with wash clothes and a new bar of soap, my mind wandered and I imagined cooking and having little helpers, some on chairs, some at my elbow. I imagined explaining to the eleven year old some basic cooking techniques and letting her take over to practise. (Even though in reality she'd probably be glued to the playstation, arguing with her siblings about whose turn it is.)
We planned to take them down to the lake and I imagined playing "Shark in the Water," like I had with my Summer Children (who have long since grown up; one of them is in college.) I imagined totting a large bag with carrot sticks and crackers and grapes and sunscreen and toweling off small heads.
Anyway, they didn't end up needing to come after all, but it got me all stirred up. It got me thinking about foster care or adopting a sibling group. It won't happen right away, we already agreed to give the infertility treatments a year's try. But I wouldn't mind at all adopting a little group of children.
I think I would be very good at understanding that they would always love their biological parents, no matter their history with them. I think I would be good at respecting that history and clearly and consistently explaining the new boundaries and ways of belonging.
Just as long as I knew they would stay with us, I could manage those challenges well, I think. It would be the thought of investing all that care and attention and then losing everything that would be unimaginably devastating.
Anyway, I shouldn't bother thinking about this, because it probably won't happen. We'll end up adopting an infant. Maybe later in life we'll be foster parents; maybe I could run a little home for foster children, just have four or so at a time and they could stay until they get adopted or grow out of the system. Which in their case would be our home.
