A Letter to the Dentist

Dear Dentist,

We do this silly dance every time I visit. Why do you think I never come to see you? Jesus, you're worse than my grandmother (God rest her soul) with the nagging and the questions. Like "How often do you floss?" Are we talking in the weeks immediately leading up to my appointment, or the rest of the time? Because the answer to that question varies depending on the scenario. The former is every day and twice on Sundays, the latter is whenever there's a piece of popcorn lodged between my teeth. And I don't eat popcorn very often.

Can we skip the lecture, please? I'm really not down with the notion of paying someone to give me grief, especially when you should so clearly see it coming.

Let's get real here... Anyone who tells you they floss every day, twice a day, without fail? Is lying to you. Now I know someone is going to comment that they do floss, every day, without fail, and have since they were a toddler. I'm not going to call them a liar outright, but I'm going to think it and view everything they say from now on with more than a soupcon of suspicion.

You know virtually nobody flosses as often as they're supposed to, and because I just shed a lot of blood at the hands of your hygienist, you know I'm one of the abstainers. The script never varies. You'll tell me I need to floss more often, and I'll lie as best I can through unflossed teeth and promise that I will. We both know nothing is going to change. But please, I'm begging, stifle the condescension in your tone. It was hard enough for me to come here on a beautiful day, let's not make it even more unpleasant. 

Sincerely,
Me,
a.k.a., The Girl With The Serious Case of Dentophobia Who Does Not Need Your Shit Today

Dear ice cream truck driver

I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Remember that time I called you an asshole for parking outside my kid's daycare at pick up time? You're right, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for, and you could have done something much, much worse... Like park right in front of my house during dinner. Truce?

You win THIS round, ice cream man!

The one where she talks about The Man Cave

Two days ago, it was Father's Day. The Husband and I don't exchange gifts for Christmas, and on birthdays we go out for a nice dinner at the restaurant of the honouree's choosing. But on Mother's Day and Father's Day a gift exchange and a special dinner at home are de rigueur, as is just generally doing everything we can to make the other feel special. This parenting gig is awesome, but it's often thankless. Making a big deal of these occasions is our way of thanking each other for the remaining 364 days of chaos.

I had planned to let him have a nice, long sleep before serving him a breakfast of hot coffee, farmers' market eggs and double-smoked bacon, but that plan was partially thwarted by the telltale *bzzzzt* of every appliance in the house shutting off simultaneously due to a power failure. It woke us both up and he wasn't able to fall back asleep, poor guy. Luckily I wrote the book (OK, blog post) on how to MacGuyver a pot of coffee in the face of adversity. I'm pleased to report that it works just as well for bacon and eggs. Toast? Not so much. We do what we can in these trying times.

This year, his request was for "a nice, big rib eye" that he wanted to cook himself over coals and an open flame. Why would he choose to tame fire rather than use the perfectly good BBQ not 10 feet away? I've learned that when it comes to deep-seated man cave shit, it's best to not ask questions.

Two days ago we celebrated what an awesome job The Husband does of being a dad. And the steaks were pretty damn tasty, too.


This post is written as part of GBE2 - Week #57 word prompt: Two Days Ago. For more info about GBE2, click here

The one where she talks about a do-over

I used to spend a lot of time analyzing past "fork in the road" decisions. Good Lord, what a waste of time! The fact is could have, should have and would have all amount to didn't. Unless there is still time to undo a decision, it is pointless to consider the alternatives.

If I had zigged instead of zagged at any number of points in my life, things might have been very different. I might have picked a different university, or a different major. Maybe I would have met a sweet guy at a coffee house in a different town. And then I might not have met The Husband or had The Parasite. What a horrible thought! I can't imagine a life without either one of them. Would I have saved some painful experiences? Maybe. But maybe I needed to learn those lessons to make different choices later.

I made a promise to myself to make decisions I wouldn't regret, and then move on. It has encouraged a lifetime of careful consideration and decisiveness. I don't believe in much, but I do believe things happen for a reason. All of the choices I have made have delivered me to exactly where I needed to be, exactly when I needed to be there. I am right where I'm supposed to be. In other words if I had my life to live over, I wouldn't change a damn thing!


This post is written as part of GBE2 - Week #56 word prompt: If I had my life to live over... For more info about GBE2, click here

All else failed

The last round of fertility treatments was unsuccessful. A failed round is easier to take than a successful one that ends in failure, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't disappointing. Successive rounds are more likely to work because with each failed cycle they learn something new. For example, we learned my body doesn't absorb the progesterone suppositories they prescribe in the second half of the cycle to counteract the follicle stimulating drugs they prescribe in the first half. At first I was happy with this news because the more they know, the more they can do to help. But then I realized if we had known this back in February, I might be 5 months pregnant right now. That is a really bitter pill to swallow.

Fixing this means more injections. Intramuscular injections of progesterone every morning, to be specific. For 3 to 6 months. Like most things in life, there are no guarantees that it will work. I went for a teaching session yesterday to learn how to prep the HUGE needles. I'll let you in on a little secret... I am tough as nails, but I am terrified of needles. I held it together until after we got The Parasite to bed, and then I had the mother of all meltdowns. The Husband bore the brunt of it. I have so much hurt and resentment and anger and I have nowhere else to put it.

It has been a year of testing and treatment, poking and prodding, disappointment and heartbreak. I have nothing to show for it but battle scars. Angry expressions of frustration and hurt have taken up residence where love and support should be. This process has put a hole in our little bubble of happiness. Our beautiful little girl deserves an intact family, even if it is a smaller one than we hoped for. If you think that means we're giving up on growing our family, you're absolutely right. It's not worth destroying our marriage and breaking up our daughter's home.

In the immortal words of Marcellus Wallace, I'm pretty fucking far from OK. The uncertainty is over and we can focus on healing our broken hearts and moving on. It's going to be a long, hard road to get to fine, but at least we're determined to get there together.

Domestic Goddess

I had a moment of great shame on Friday. Wait, let me back up... I am not, shall we say... domestically inclined. More accurately I goddamn hate housework. I like to have a clean house, there are just roughly 10,000 things I would rather do than clean it. Up to and including having a root canal without anesthesia. So I cut other areas of my household expenses from the budget to allow us to have someone else come clean it every other week while I'm at work. Indulgent? You betcha. Am I apologetic about it? Nope. Not at all.

Anyway, I was going out to a local haunt with a friend on Friday and I offered to pick her up to save her the cab fare to get here. And as we were passing through the house to head out, I found myself saying "Pardon the mess, Christina (our cleaning lady, who also cleans my friend's house on occasion) has been on vacation." Holy. Fucking. Shit. I actually told someone it's the maid's day off. I have never felt more like an upper class twit in my life.

Today I attacked the gathering of weeds threatening to eat my house. OK fine, the bricks may have stopped the advance but the yard was for sure a goner if I left things unchecked. I weeded and pruned unruly bushes and planted pretty flowers to take the place of the ugly invaders. I also came to the conclusion that my loathing of housework extends to the garden. The Parasite was outside with me in her sundress twirling and halfheartedly taking swipes at dried leaves with her broom once in a while. My plan to have her assume responsibility for all things domestic is hopelessly flawed. I have informed The Husband that getting me a gardener to take vacations along with the maid should form a large part of his career objectives.

He thinks I'm kidding. I'm not.

Things I Did Elsewhere: Week 15 Recap

Lousy weather has afforded me the laziest weekend I have had since I brought this kid home. I have mentioned that three is awesome, and it is. You know what you can do when you have a three year old? You can bring them downstairs when they wake up, get them breakfast, give them some quiet toys and turn on the TV, and then you can snooze on the couch. Sure, there will be frequent wakings as they ask you for stuff and climb on to pretend they're sleeping too, but you're dozing! Note: this assumes your living area is generally kept free from things that could harm a small child.

You guys, I AM SO WELL RESTED!

I got back on track with meal planning over at The Facebook Page. This week's plan includes a whole lot of veggies at my disposal now that the warmer weather has finally come out to play.

I haven't done anything over at The Wine Fund because I've been busy giving interviews to reporters for the Globe and Mail. Oh, and speaking of pregnancy (or lack thereof) after 35, I talked about joining Team Infertility at Circle of Moms, because I think a lot of people think it can't happen to them so while it's small comfort to know you're not alone, it's still some comfort.

And now, I will put my kid to bed, fold my laundry and go to bed early. Because an early bedtime is the perfect way to cap off a lazy weekend. Have a great week!

"That sounds like a good Friday night."

Smoothie Tuesday!

Three is the most fun I have ever had. This kid of mine, she's awesome. She's going to move to a daycare that's within walking distance of our home at the beginning of July. To help with the transition, I instituted Smoothie Tuesdays so that when she starts at the new place, I can do something (now) familiar to her to keep some semblance of sameness. I think it's going pretty well so far...

The Husband is out at a former colleague's house. We were all supposed to go, but I decided I didn't want to go home from downtown, pick up the kid, head back downtown to meet The Husband, trek on public transit out to the other end of the city, at rush hour on a Friday, only to turn around and go back home after an hour for a reasonable bedtime. Damn, was I ever glad I declined when our city's transit woes hit this afternoon!

Besides, I like having my little person all to myself once in a while. In the car I asked if she wanted pizza or noodles for dinner. She requested pizza AND noodles. And french fries. She asked if she could have a story and a cuddle. I said yes, because who the hell could say no to that face? I suggested we have a story and some cuddles on the couch watching a Tinkerbell movie. In the rear view mirror I saw the huge grin as she replied, "That sounds like a good Friday night."

And it was.