Barren Mare

Idea stash

I revealed in previous posts that I have a slight penchant for the literary genre known as "chick lit". Which means light, frothy cotton candy confection novels, usually with a bright pink book jacket. The paper thin plot usually consists of the heroine shopping, lunching/chatting/visiting friends, and obsessing over men.

I always feel vaguely guilty for reading this stuff, as if my time would really be better spent on a more "improving" type of book. But honestly, I spend much of my working day contorting my brain over weighty and difficult matters. When I come home, I just want to be floppy.

What I haven't yet confessed to is that my taste in the pulpier types of fiction also extends to the odd Stephen King novel or two. Now, my enjoyment of the King oeuvre is more closely subscribed to say, vintage King, as opposed to some of the awful schlock he's churned out in rcent years. Although in a pinch I will probably read even the bad stuff. I particularly like "The Stand" which, to my mind, is one of the best tapdances on the grave of a post-apocalyptic America ever written. And who doesn't love a good apocalypse?

Anyway. In another novel called Bag of Bones that I happen to like quite a lot, Mr King tells the tale of a bestselling fiction writer in Maine. One afternoon, the writer's wife goes off to the grocery store and drops dead in the parking lot. And it turns out that, unbeknownst to the writer, she was pregnant. (You find this out on page three or so, I'm not exactly giving anything away.) The writer goes off to their house on a lake to mourn her death and hang out with ghosts. Literally. As you do.

One interesting element of the plot is that when his wife dies, the writer gets really bad writer's block. And seeing how he is a bestselling writer with things like three-book publishing deals, this puts him in a spot of bother. Lucky for him, he has actually churned out more than the required amount of novels per year, and has a couple on ice in a safe deposit box. A secret hoard of manuscripts to offer up to the publishing gods.

Sometimes I feel like that with posting. In case you haven't been paying attention, my progress along the treatment trail has been woefully slow. It's been mindnumbingly frustrating to deal with, and it can get buttnumbingly sore sitting in front of the computer screen trying to think of something new to say about it all.

Like the fiction writer in that novel, I occasionally get an idea for a post, and save it up for when we hit a really boring patch. But I worry sometimes that the hoarded supply may dwindle.

Other times I feel as though there is a never ending vein of infertility-related goodness to be mined, and if I wait long enough, another idea will come. So I am sure there is plenty more material there. However, it does occur to me that it might be fun to talk about something else on occasion. And so I am beginning to think about topics for those days when my infertility-themes idea stash is running low. If nothing else, to remind myself that before infertility (and maybe even during) my facets were- and are- many and varied.

I just thought I would warn you. In case you paid your admission fee expecting a documentary with ultrasounds and blood draws, and instead discovered, for no apparent reason, the chronicle of how I was once evicted at gunpoint by a crazy landlord.

Barnbuilding

Hello and welcome to the new and improved Barn!

Except that it may not look very new. And it may not be all that improved. For example, my grammar will still suck at times. But apart from that, it's all very exciting!

As I said back at ye olde homestead, there is work to be done on getting everything unpacked and moved. I hope you will bear with me while that happens. It was a bit of a blow to realise that, after all my confident boasts that moving the archives was NO PROBLEM (I said that! No problem, I said!) that it turned out to be ...um...not so much.

Despite the utter tedium of doing the move manually, it has been rather amusing, looking back over the whole of the Mare oeuvre up until this point. Realising how much time I have spent obsessing, writing and thinking about infertility was a bit...sombering at times. But, as Suz and Deborah over at The Trying Game have both pointed out, it's still probably cheaper than either therapy or HPTs. And it's probably twice as much fun.

Right, well then, make yourself at home... I think there is some lemonade around here somewhere, or possibly some vodka. Both, if you're in the mood.

I'm just going to go on quietly putting the roof on the barn, humming that anthemic melody from the film Witness, and trying to not to nail my thumb to the beams.

Previously on

Lest anyone remain in any doubt following my ramblings and gibberings in the last two posts, a decision has been made as to what to do next. That decision was actually made a little while ago. We're going to try treatment.

That was always the original plan, so we're not really veering off our chosen course. I was simply trying to explain why I felt there was rather a lot riding on getting it right, whichever way we went.

If you're wondering why on earth I didn't just spit it out earlier- well, if nothing else, blogging allows you to be the editor in the telling of your own story. And I confess to taking a small amount of satisfaction in drawing out the tale in true serial soap opera fashion. Just wait until we get to the next chapter- there might be a cliffhanger every month! Oh, what fun for you and for me.

Also, it took me over a month of teeth gnashing and nail biting, plus gut wrenching talks with E. to reach this conclusion. It only seems fair that you should be kept wondering for two posts or so. I might have written it all a bit quicker, but somehow having to go to work every day can knock the stuffing out a decent writing schedule, you know?

I was thinking this morning that sometimes it must be tricky if you are new to someone's blog. How do you to pick up the thread? I mean, in some cases, there can be months of complicated backstory to wade through. Imagine if you missed a key detail, like the shot of the sled in Citizen Kane.

We're all so used to handy recaps at the start of a new episode in a TV series, with Voice-Over Man intoning, "Previously on...." We get brief clips to help us fill in the blanks, just in case the TiVo failed, or we were in the bathroom or making a cup of tea duing the crucial moments in the last show.

Maybe I'll start doing that at the beginning of every month. It might be really boring at first, though.

"Previously on Barren Mare... the intrepid couple tried to get pregnant. Yet again, they could not. There were tears. There was some comfort food. There were attempts to grapple the heart's emotions into a headlock. There were hackneyed metaphors employed at every turn. TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR...oh, more of the same."

Zzzz. No wonder the Neilsen ratings are in the dumper. Maybe we could go one step further, and hire Movie Trailer Guy. Do you know who I mean? Every time you go to the movies, it's always the same voice booming out during the trailers before the main feature begins. And it always starts with some cheesy synopsis of the film, accompanied by stirring music. For example:

"In a world... where every day is fight to the death....where giant racoons roam the earth...where hard men are driven to harder choices.... a new kind of hero will rise to LEAD THEM ALL OUT OF THE DARKNESS..."

E. and I are obsessed with Movie Trailer Guy. Sometimes, when we're driving, or engaged in some really banal task, one of us will suddenly turn to the other and intone deeply,

"IN A WORLD...where every bend in the road uncovers another pothole...where making a left turn at the junction is a fight to the death...a lone driver will beat the odds, survive the traffic and arrive at the destination... ON TIME."

Try it sometime, it's very amusing and entertaining.

Hot off the presses

We have a busy weekend lined up here. The delightful plans include taking apart the tiled bathroom wall to get at the leak which has emerged in the last week, pooling water in a stealthy stream all over the carpet, creating a grim fusty smell. Good thing we were planning on ripping out the carpet anyway, since we were always a bit perturbed that the previous owner had seen fit to install it, instead of tile on the bathroom floor.

But it will almost certainly make a big mess, and involve a fair bit of vexed shouting and throwing of tools around the room. The only consolation is that E. is really rather cute when he engages in these manly chores (plus he tends to wear those sexy old jeans that I love). And I like watching the flexing of his biceps when he wields the wrench in that certain way. Oooh and yum.

Anyway, since I am likely to be too busy to blog at length while all this is going on, if you're looking for something different to read, may I suggest that you stop by and say hello or welcome at some of the newer blogs on the block. These are just a few that have I recently encountered and am enjoying:

Within the Woods

Many A Mile to Go

sweetisu

The brand-spanking new Fertilely Challenged

And finally, a wonderful new male voice to add to the collection, Baby Hungry Man.

Now, hand me that power drill.

Updated:

So, we spent most of the afternoon prising the wall apart, including resorting to sawing off part of the built-in cabinet to get at the leak. Trust me, there was no other way.

Eventually E., in a display of Herculean manliness, tore off the entire tiled panel. It was very thrilling to witness! There we discovered a series of three small holes in the water waste pipe. Basically, in the process of drilling the screws into the wall to hold the tile panel in place, the builders managed to penetrate right through the pipe. Three times. Tomorrow, the digital camera comes out and curt e-mail with photos to be sent to the developers.

Can life get any more exciting?

Scrappy Doo Chubby Belly

I don't know quite what to make of the fact that someone recently found my blog via a search for "Scrappy Doo Chubby Belly."

Even if I have been consuming a lot of mince pies and festive grog lately, it's surely not as bad as that!

Home Sweet Barn

At last, I am home, after another marathon 22 hour journey. Home, home, home.

There's lots of catching up to do, as well as unpacking all the bounteous goodies, and reacquainting myself with that cute boy E.. I think he was beginning to wonder if I was going to return, as my e-mails became more sporadic, running along the lines of "Sorry, gotta dash, off to the mall." "Sorry, must dash, off to the movies & dinner". "Sorry, have to dash, there is sunshine here, something I will not be likely to see again for another six months. Must go soak up rays."

He clearly requires soothing and affection. I'll try to work on that, in between falling into bed to sleep for at least 16 hours.

And then, at last, normal blogging service shall be resumed.

Basement Stealth Post

As I have explained, I have a new laptop, and therefore some control over the posting situation, especially in terms of not accidentally leaving telltale traces back to my blog URL. This does not however assist with the lack of privacy or need to account for one's activity at all times. Our visits tend to be spent superglued into each other's company, extracting every bit of familial goodness out of the event.

However, I have managed to set up camp in a corner of the basement where I can steal away for short intervals. So the blogging method for the next week or so is going to be a little different- bite sized chunks o'Mare, with less content but more frequency. That's the theory, anyway.

For today's segment, can I join the rest of the internet in wishing the lovely Julie a hearty congrats on the birth of wee Bat. I sincerely hope all goes well there.

Also, I discovered today that my mother and I do not share similar attitudes to HPTs. I casually mentioned to her as we cleared up the dinner dishes that I would know in the next day or two if I am pregnant. Whereupon she practically frothed at the mouth, demanding that I pee on something THIS INSTANT.

I didn't actually bring any peesticks with me, since I am pretty sure I am not pregnant, but she was undeterred. So we may be making a run to the drugstore tomorrow- I may not be about the instant gratification in terms of knowing the result. But we are dealing with my mother here. And who am I to deprive her of a vicarious thrill. Or you know, not, when it comes up negative.

The newest member of the family

So. Here I am in Florida, at my parents' house. What can I tell you about the last few days? The 20 hour trip to get here? The feeling of unfolding myself into the light after the beginnings of an early winter hibernation in Scotland? The bizarre sense of culture shock I always experience at first- the cars, so big! The food, so big! The houses, so big!

But I won't go into any of that right now. Instead I will bid a warm welcome to the newest member of the Mare household- a jazzy new laptop for E. with all the bells and whistles. I was ruthlessly decisive in picking it out, and felt no worry at the fact that it's a PC, not a Mac. The kids will just have to learn to live together, that's all.

My parents were raising their eyebrows at the cost, but I mean, och...[insert Scottish sound at back of throat]. Have you seen the exchange rate lately? My credit card will be bursting into flames by the end of the trip, as I plan to shop til I...have to stop.

I'll try to post something later, something more properly bloggish, but for now, there is sun to be lain in (is that grammatically correct?) Who cares, there is sangria to drink and sand to stir beneath toes.

Housekeeping

We don't celebrate Thanksgiving in Scotland, for obvious reasons. Instead, we have other events like Burns Night on January 25th, which involves doing strange things like reading poety to a haggis before consumption.

So while many of you are currently off doing something related to turkey- that is, buying, cooking, eating, throwing against wall in fit of rage at insensitive comments from relatives, my dinner consisted of a bagel with some pastrami, and a couple of chocolate chip cookies.

Don't worry, I intend to make up for lost gorging time when I embark on the second leg of my international jetsetteryness to the States. I gather my mother has meals a-go go all lined up.

Before I depart, and in addition to all the frantic packing and tidying up of the house (I can't stand leaving a mess behind, even if I know E. will be here while I am away and wreak unspeakable havoc on the place), I thought I might take a moment to do a little blog housekeeping. This has involved a bit of tidying up behind the scenes (i.e. deleting a couple of old unpublished posts), going through e-mails, and the like.

Which brings me to an intriging comment someone left here about the way the template background looks. I am puzzled by the commenter's suggestion that I should keep the light green background, as she or he "did not like the black".

As far as I am aware, the background, as least as I see it on my screen, has NEVER been black. It was white very briefly, when I first started, then gray for quite awhile. Then I had a little flirtation with different shades of green, with one afternoon of blue, until I arrived at the current hue.

I do realise that the look of a blog can depend very much on what kind of browser you are running. I figured this out when the computer crashed that time and I had to use my cranky old laptop. All of a sudden I could see that using Internet Explorer on that model, the font looked teeny tiny and the background looked like...well...baby shit brown is the most apt description for it.

Blech yuck, thought I. That's not what it looks like to me, on my beloved iMac running Safari, my preferred browser.

But now I am curious as to whether the background has ever appeared black to anyone else, or if the multitudes out there using the dreaded Windows see things quite differently than I.

On a further computer, and indeed, travel related theme, although I will off to the States in the next day or two, I should hopefully have internet access at my parents' house. There is also chat of buying E. a new gizmo, since his laptop is on its proverbial last legs. The thing starts up with a kind of groaning sigh, farts periodically, is apt to fall asleep in the middle of important e-mails, and is generally ready for the big Hard-Drive heaven in the sky. If we get him a shiny new one, then he can play with that, and the much-fought-over iMac will be ALL MINE. Yay yay yay. Plus, I can buy it in America and use it to post on while I am there.

See. A cunning plan. I am all about the ulterior motive. I'll let you know how it turns out.

(More or less) 100

It occurred to me in looking over my blogging records, that this is my 100th post. It arrives almost six months to the day since I began, back in May.

Not to be overly navel-gazing, but it seems appropriate to take a moment to say a heartfelt thank you to the person directly responsible for setting me off on my blogging adventures.

I met JJ on a message board, one which had the rare distinction of being frequented by a group of particularly smart, sassy women. It was the first board I found where I could be a smart ass about the whole "TTC thing", and nobody seemed to mind. In fact, people like JJ actively encouraged it! Hurrah, I thought, I am not alone out here in a vortex of babydust.

JJ's posts kept mentioning this thing called a "blog". Having been practically surgically attached to the internet for the last three or four years, I had heard of blogging, of course. But I didn't know anyone who had ever kept one, or how it worked. The idea of having my own little corner of cyberspace had never really crossed my mind.

Through JJ, I read a few other of these newfangled blog thingies, specifically Julie and Karen. I thought to myself "Wow", the way you do when you catch a glimpse of something which seems astonishingly accomplished, polished, and seemingly unobtainable. Kind of like the way I feel when I leaf through Vogue- sure, I know I could go out and buy a Prada handbag, but I will never ever have the money or the long legs required to pull off those outfits, that look.

So I admired from afar. Occasionally a little voice in my head wondered how you went about setting up one those blogadoodle sites, and then I shook it off thinking I couldn't possibly ever do that. I don't know how to set up websites and templates and codes, and my goodness, it must be sooo complicated, where would one find the time?

Then JJ started talking about opening a blog site for women of our message board. The idea being that we could do with a wider forum to expand on our brief posts. Giving us the freedom to ramble on at will, without worrying that we were monopolizing space on the board or droning on about ourselves too much.

She dangled the idea in front of us like a shiny lure. It floated in the waters of the message board for a few days. And then suddenly, surprising myself, I turned into a large spangled silver fish, and bit. Bit hard. I decided, like the greedy trout I am, that I would not only take up the offer of a group blog, but I would, gasp!, start my own as well.

It took me, oh, about half an hour to discover the existence of Blogger, and another thirty seconds to discover that it was free. That magic word- free. I could try it, and if I didn't like it, well, no harm done, no money wasted. An experiment. Nothing to lose, but some spare time. Time I was otherwise spending staring into space, brooding about babies, or Googling endlessly for answers that would not come.

I think the act of blogging, together with all my encounters with this particular community of women- infertile, adopting, coping with pregnancy and life with babies after infertility- has saved me in many ways. It has given me an outlet for some of the raw and murky stuff I carry inside my head every day. It has been the most wonderful source of information and education. It has astounded me with the kindness of strangers. It has provided the most amazing sense of perspective. It has shown me that it is possible to walk a sad and uncertain road with dignity, grace and compassion. Above all, it has made me laugh, which on the darkest days is the most wonderful respite.

I don't know if I would have ever started a blog without JJ. I might have, eventually, but I think I would have first spent a very long time in the shadows, lurking. Admiring so many of you without ever joining in, and without ever really getting to know you. It was JJ who opened that door for me, and having done so, grabbed me by the hand and pulled me in.

So, thank you again to our dear, charming, funny JJ. Stand up and take a bow. Actually, no, wait, don't. Your knee is oogy and your leg is broken. Take a metaphorical bow.

And remember, I wish you all good things in this world- dollhouses, decent doctors, a bestselling novel, geneology of princesses and kings, the muzzling of Frosty and the defenestration of the Trainee. Ovulation. The love of Hubby. And however you get there, the joy of motherhood.