When I was but a young child I thought that when a dad’s bellybutton touched the mom’s bellybutton in a “baby hug” a mom got pregnant. The kid was in her stomach and after awhile she pooped it out. I never did understand where food went with all that baby crowding her business. I also never really learned the difference between pregnant and overweight until embarrassing my parents over and in front of a long time (heavy set) friend.

Sorry about that guys, kids, sheesh. Right?

My aunt remembers a dream from when she was little (well before she knew where babies were made and where they came out for reals) that she remembers to this day. She barfed the baby out of her stomach through her mouth (because in her world babies hung out in stomachs too) but it wasn’t “cooked” all the way. So she swallowed the baby and some sort of Polariod photo fluid to “develop” the baby.

the moosh is at a point where she believes that a baby is put in a mom’s tummy when Heavenly Father decides to get His act together and put one in there. Being four she’s big on turns, so when I told her that her friend was going to have another little sister she looked at me and said “God skipped you.”

Kids, sheesh.

Now that I’m a grownup I know where babies are made and I’m even more aware of where they come out and what they do to you while they’re shacking up in your uterus for the majority of a year. I’m also very aware that when there’s a problem with the baby making hardware there’s really only one easy way in.

What I wouldn’t have given for a zippered bellybutton today.

I’m just going to say it.

Vaginal ultrasound.

*shiver*

Now this is also where I date myself in the babymaking process, when the tech pulled out the “wand of wonder” today I said “THAT’S IT? The last time I had this done the thing was the size of a TSA wand in airport security.”

Obviously the girl was young, fresh and new because in her memory of schooling she had never seen one bigger than the one she was holding.

Dear 2003, I demand my dignity back. Those two ultrasounds I endured back then were similar to having a spatula inserted (and not an omlette spatula, a full on pancake spatula) resulting in the tech trying to flip my uterus back to my tailbone in one swift movement.

Today’s ultrasound had soothing music, dimmed lights and I’m pretty sure an aromatherpy something was involved. I had my own little screen to watch the goings on in the KC Baby Ranch. Sadly after two previous ultrasounds I know what wrong looks like.

And my insides are all wrong.

It’s as if the outside of me is an average everyday person with a few zits and chubby knees.

Inside? Joaquin Phoenix circa Late Show 2009.

There is a cyst party going on down south and no babies are invited until they get all of their slobbish fraternal ways off my ovaries.

The good news? I have an explanation on the sudden 15 pound weight gain, zits as far as the eye can see and hairs in places where there should never be hairs on a girl. This also includes hairs with texture that should never never be found on girls.

I thought pregnancy cured PCOS. LIES! ALL LIES!

Then there’s the results of the hundredteen blood tests I had done a few weeks ago.

Joaquin Pheonix.

Srsly.

Comments

  1. First of all, I love you.

    Second of all, I took Memms with me to the grocery store yesterday where she informed me in the LOUDEST voice possible, “Mom that guy is SO FAT!” Nice Memm, le’ts hurry and run down the next isle before he SITS on us.

    Kids…sheesh indeed.

    I love you to pieces. My good friend Lace has had to endure PCOS for years and has two beautiful bebes. Her blog is on my list under Ten Thousand Holes…she is doing a new treatment, maybe e-mail her sometime if you are wondering.

    ALSO…YES the last time I had a “vag” ultrasound the wand was the size of the TSA detectors…not saying I want to have one again, I’m just saying.

    Kimmies last blog post..These shall be…

  2. I’ve only commented once before, and I don’t read you every day. I kind of come here and binge every so often. But since you’re so real and “TMI” about this (which I don’t think is TMI at all), here’s my own TMI:

    I thought the “best” part of the vaginal u/s’s was watching my male doctor put the condom on the probe. I mean, really. How humiliating can it get? And then there was the test where they put the radio-opaque dye into my uterus via catheter to check if my tubes were blocked. Gee, doesn’t lying naked and spread-eagled on an ice-cold steel table in a 50 degree x-ray room, shivering and sobbing in pain while the male radiologist and the male radiology tech are closely examining your nether bits sound like so much fun?

    Casey, I don’t have PCOS, but I had 3 years of unexplained infertility before having my first, who was a Clomid baby. The second was a result of a priesthood blessing just as I was about to head back to the doctor. The third? Well, he was practically a virgin birth. But he’s also given me my third case of post-partum depression, which I can’t seem to shake after months and months of medication. You can’t win.

    I keep trying to get to where I can say “come what may and love it,” but I ain’t there yet.

    Hang in there, girl. I know it sucks. Big time.

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