At first, I wanted to write a post about being thankful for my new Dyson vacuum even if that made me sound awfully shallow. I mean, other people are writing posts about being thankful for their family or their friends or their health–and I am thankful for all of these things. But the Dyson is sticking out in my mind for the moment because it has transformed my life.

While other people covet computers and iPods and cars, I have always coveted good cleaning equipment. I am a fan of the emotional clean–the absolutely-can’t-sit-still-and-I-need-to-feel-as-if-something-is-within-
my-control clean. The kind you do during the two week wait. The kind you do when you’ve received bad news and you don’t know what is going to happen next.

We received a check for our anniversary and it was enough money to cover the cost of the vacuum which we purchased with a sale coupon. It was difficult to turn over that sum of cash for a vacuum when we’re about turn over an enormous sum of cash in a few weeks to start up treatments again. But the cost of the vacuum is sadly a small drop in the vast ocean of the costs of IVF. Isn’t it sick? I spend an evening worrying that the vacuum is too expensive, but I think nothing of injecting several hundred dollars worth of Follistim simply for a chance. Which isn’t true at all. I think about the cost of Follistim a lot too.

So I’m thankful for a vacuum that could suck this much junk out of my carpet:

But this vacuum is just a tangible reminder of something larger. As I was stressing about purchasing this enormously expensive vacuum, I called LJ who not only talked me through the purchase, but agreed to come to the store with me and hold my hand. And I know it sounds a little silly to get choked up thinking about this, but how many people can say that they know someone who would dump work for a moment and drive down to the store and help them purchase a vacuum? I’m not just talking about a friend, but a certain type of friend. The kind who is not only good for a post-beta cry, but the kind who will also not laugh at you when you explain how stressed you are about spending that sum of money on a vacuum. Because she understands. Because she has the same stress. And she is there whenever I call. And I hope she knows that I am there for her too.

I am very lucky that I have my stirrup queens in town. I know most people are not that lucky. I know many people in the blogosphere depend on the blogosphere because it is their only outlet and so, on an even larger level, I am thankful for all the DC Bloggers who get together once a month to bitch and cry and celebrate. I am terrified that I am going to inadvertently leave someone out, but LJ (our founder), Leah, Karen, Kristen, Lea Bee, Shelby, In and Out of Luck, Changing Expectations, Sunny, Bean, JJ (honourary member since she has come up before), Deanna, Meghan, DMarie and Flicka (if I forgot anyone, I’m so sorry–I’m making a pumpkin pie at the same time. Heavy cream and pecans may have made the list inadvertently in your place).

And taking it up a level again, I am thankful to the blogosphere. You weren’t here the first time we were trying and I can honestly say that while this is stressful, it makes a huge difference to be able to read another person’s story. To find someone in a similar situation and hear what they tried. To spend at least one day together each month catching everyone up on your life at the Virtual Lushary. Following people back to their blog and giving support. Taking support when you need it. I am thankful that this technology exists that can bring together people from large cities and people from small towns. That I can chat with someone in Singapore or watch movies made by someone in Australia or email with someone in Massachusetts. It’s pretty freakin’ amazing when you take a step back and think about it. I really don’t know what I would do without all of you on the other side of the computer.

And zooming back in, now that we’ve panned out to include several thousand people, I am thankful for my siblings who did something that touched my heart beyond words tonight. But that is a story for the next Virtual Lushary.

And zooming closer still, my parents for always having our back–a stirrup queen and sperm palace jester themselves who get so much of it. Even if the technology is different, the emotions are the same.

And zooming to the dots of light closest to my heart: Josh and the ChickieNob and the Wolvog. I am so thankful for you. You are the reason I always want clean floors. I am thankful that you let me nurture you.

These two days were very good for my ego. Awash in bright lights? Looking young? Hair described as “pretty” instead of “rat’s nest”? I must post pictures of myself more often. It will become a blog simply of photographs of me. Me eating toast. Me vacuuming with the Dyson that I need, need, need. Me slipping my feet in the clinic’s stirrups and seductively asking my doctor, “how many follicles, dear?”

Actually, the sonographer always does the follicle check. So if you do end up seeing a photo of me in a compromised position with a vagacamera inside my hoohaahooterus and my doctor benignly smiling at the screen, you know that I staged it.

I have to admit, I felt pretty panic-y after I posted the pictures. Sort of a “what was I thinking” moment because I haven’t really put my face out there. I mean, I meet fellow bloggers all the time so there are plenty who know what I look like. But there is that fear when you put that image out there that people will say, “oy, I thought she’d be different. Feh, I could really take her or leave her now. Guess I’ll go read something else.” My panic was confirmed when comments started coming in saying, “you’re pretty brave to put that out there.” Brave? Gulp. I’m not a brave person.

It also doesn’t help that my blog hits are slightly down and I’m wondering if it’s because of something I wrote, something I look like, or simply the rise and fall of traffic dependent of seasons and weather. You can tell me which one if you’ve stopped reading. Er…or I guess if you’ve stopped reading you wouldn’t know that I wrote this question. So. Perhaps I will never know.

I leave you with a favourite piece of flannel board from the library. This piece of flannel board has brought LJ and I minutes of amusement. This not only creates a good game of create-a-caption, but it is a fine image to go to in your head if you are slightly dying at the Thanksgiving table when your Great Aunt tells you that you should get on with the baby making because you aren’t getting any younger. Gee, isn’t that a moment of pass-the-gravy thankfulness?

Now create your own caption for screaming woman. As in “you’re putting that dildo cam where?” And feel free to use this image as your happy place while you’re dining on mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie.

• “I’m OOOOvulating, Harold! Get your skivvies off!” (from Lori)
• “WOW! That ultrasound gel is CCCCCCOOOOOOOOLLLLDDDD!” (from Kristen)
• “This IVF cycle is going to cost HOW much??!!” (from Samantha)
• “Whoop! Dildo Cam… Wrong Place!!” (from Heather)
• “Oh no! My stirrup-induced leg spasm has just knocked my nurse unconscious!! Did you happen to catch a follie count before she bit it?” (from JJ)
• “She unleashed a turkey-flavored can of whoopass when her inlaws asked AGAIN, “so, when are you going to get pregnant?” (from Jendeis)
• “Holy SH*Tballs! It’s a Pregzilla! Run for your lives!” (from Barb)
• “That giant PIO needle goes WHERE??” (from AMS)
• “I have HOW many follies???!! YAHOO!!!!” (from Nancy)
• “Oh no, you don’t! No more speculums here!” (from Maria)
• “Take it home honey!” While cheering her husband on from the corner of the porn room… (from Grad3)
• For the newly-found Stirrup Queen on her first follie scan: “You’re putting that where?” (from Kim)
• “Owwweeee! A probe, up there? I don’t think that my basement has been in THAT kind of working condition since after the war, dear. Just ask your grandfather” (from Geohde)
• add a caption in the comments below and I’ll move it into the post.

Thank you for all of the anniversary well-wishes. It was a great weekend. On Saturday night, my parents came and whisked away the ChickieNob and Wolvog for 24 hours of all-out toddler pampering. Josh and I drove down to scary, scary Virginia (hi, Sunny!) to dine in Alexandria. We stopped by our friend’s house to play with their daughter who was winding down from her own strenuous toddler day with a little Sesame Street. My back was to the television when I heard the familiar tune “Everybody Eats” start playing. Do you remember it being revolting close-ups of people stuffing food into their mouth? It seriously turned me off to the idea of dinner.

Until we got to Bilbo Baggins. If you live in Washington, or if you are visiting D.C. any time soon, you should go down into scary, scary Virginia and go to Bilbo Baggins. And ask that you be seated in Jim’s section because he made our night. We had only been there once before and it was sort of a spur-of-the-moment, pulled-it-out-of-my-arse suggestion: remember that little place we went to 6 years ago…the one that was named after the Lord of the Rings or something like that? Let’s drive an hour and go there.

Jim is the greatest waiter of all time. I’m not just saying that because I’m ovulating and weepy and this is my final cycle before our December appointment back at the fertility clinic and that makes me a bit effusive. First and foremost, he steered us towards the most delicious butternut squash soup in the world–and I am not a fan of any type of gourd. Secondly, without even knowing that it was our anniversary or any type of special night, he brought us a second dessert. And it seemed so fitting–first dessert, second dessert (is anyone here with me with the whole second breakfast line from Fellowship of the Ring?). And he was a lot of fun, swinging by our table to talk with us towards the end of the night when all the other customers cleared out. Thank you, Jim, you made our night.

Oh…wait…no, I mean, Josh made my night. You made dinner extra special.

Alexandria had already put up sparkle lights and the main street looked magical. It was the perfect night to be outside.

I once posted a picture of myself on the blog–I think it was around the time of the first movie. Though I was half-constructed in Microsoft Paint. Thank you for the compliments on the wedding picture. It certainly boosted my ego. But I feel, in fairness, like I should post a normal picture too–one where my hair hasn’t be straightened for an hour or where I’m not wearing globs of makeup. Normal, everyday Mel. Which means Mel after twenty pounds have been added due to fertility treatments. And a few more lines. And some grey since I’m not sure which route I want to take with hair dyeing. And crazy, messy curls (as Leah, who has met me, pointed out in her comment).

I know my eyes are closed in the top picture, but it’s probably the most accurate. My eyes are often squinting. I don’t know. My hair is often straight (though never as nicely as Anne did for my wedding) and there are times where I have makeup on my face. But these are a tad more accurate if you want to see what I really look like.

(little voice: I hope everyone doesn’t take back the compliments. Perhaps I should only post wedding photos from now on).

After I posted the photo, I wondered if I had ruined my voice somehow. You know how you have an idea of how someone looks as you’re reading their blog and then you meet them and it doesn’t match up? It has never changed a voice for me, but I could see how it could. Maybe you’ve always pictured me as a petite blond regardless of any description I’ve posted. Or maybe in your mind’s eye, I’m a six-foot-tall Asian basketball player. Maybe you thought I’d have a much cooler haircut or facial piercings or a tiny tattoo of a piece of food right next to the side of my mouth. Maybe I’m nothing like you pictured me for the past year and a half. And that worries me a bit, that the Melissa in your head has been changed irrevocably because I posted a picture.

It’s sort of like when I was reading Harry Potter and Hermione looked one way inside my head and then little Emma Watson came along and ruined that vision for me. Now, when I read the book, I only picture Emma Watson instead of my own buck-toothed, frizzy-haired Hermione.

I hope I still sound the same. Even if I don’t look as you imagined.

I had the best wedding.

Shelby in Steel Magnolias may think she had the best wedding, but she didn’t.

Because I did.

First and foremost, we’re two writers and we got married in a library. A library! Second of all, one of our three wedding songs was “Wicked Little Town” from Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Hedwig! And third of all, we had the longest Klezmer mix in the world and when you have the longest Klezmer mix in the world, almost everyone in the wedding party can be hoisted up in the chairs to dance. Klezmer!

There have been times when we’ve been out with several couples, and all agree that we had the best wedding. They admit that their own wedding paled in comparison to ours in the fun department. Our wedding rocked.

We’ve been doing a massive overhaul of our finished basement to change it from a dumping ground to a playroom. This morning, we tackled the final space, a safety-gated area packed with computer equipment, space heaters, random photos, and silkscreen ink jars. While we cleaned, the Wolvog and ChickieNob played on their climby toy and the igloo tent, emerging only to grab garbage out of the toss pile to store away like magpies.

We found the folder from our fertility center that held all of our past semen analysis records, receipts from random procedures, instructions on injections. I found letters we wrote to the twins before they were conceived, all addressed to a nameless, faceless singleton baby. The Wolvog zipped past me holding an empty iPod box exclaiming that he “needed it” as I stared at pictures of him from his bris, a ceremony held in the NICU, attended by our parents and siblings as well as several nurses. Her hospital bracelet, the signs from their isolettes, random cards from family members telling us that the ChickieNob and Wolvog would grow. They would be okay. They would one day be helping us clean out the basement to make room for the bouncey castle that is coming for Chanukkah.

At some point, we had the brilliant idea to put on our wedding video. We sat on the floor, staring at the screen, while I watched all of our friends and family come to the library. My husband blinking back tears as he saw me. My friends spinning around me as the Klezmer music played wildly. I thought at the time that it was the best day of my life. And it was. It was one in a small series of best days. Just as a person can have more than one best friend, an oxymoron that we all know exists without demeaning any special status.

It is crazy to think about those years between the wedding and now.

I bawled through most of the tape.

The Wolvog and ChickieNob know the difference between happy tears and sad tears.

I wish my parents had a video from their wedding. You can look at still photographs and get a small sense of the day. But I think the ChickieNob and Wolvog got a sense of the word “joyous” today. My wedding was joyous. I was–and still am–so deeply in love with Josh. I love to clean with him, find the small reminders of how much we love each other. Not just the notes, but the receipts from the clinic. Both are love and I wouldn’t want to be on this journey with anyone else.

I love you.

a photo of a photo of me on my wedding day
(in other words, my skin is more brown than orange, but this is what happens when you don’t own a scanner)

When I imagine the living room inside my head, I picture it as this basement-like rumpus room space (remember that from childhood? The rumpus room?): mismatched furniture (all of it comfortable and squashy), lots of small tables to hold drinks, television in the corner, some Kleenex boxes scattered about. It has a set of stairs at the back wall that everyone turns around to look at when they hear the door open so they can greet the person descending. The space is sort of as eclectic as its inhabitants. Everyone is welcome to grab a seat. Anyone can call people together to the space. No one is rude, but it’s also not a crime to put your feet on the coffeetable. That sort of living room.

It was born out of the need to have a chat space that could hold more than two people that also didn’t require the speakers to have a specific email program or software on their computer. Hence the creation of the living room.

Anyone can use it. This is the way it works. If it’s not reserved for a specific purpose, feel free to go inside, sit there until others show, or leave a post up on your blog telling people to meet you in the living room at a certain time. Hang out, come and go as you please, just be kind. If it is reserved for a specific purpose and you want to join along (for instance, last night, 4 of us met to watch Grey’s Anatomy together), pop in. All events are schedule at EST (so if you live elsewhere, adjust the time difference).

At the same time, anyone can schedule an event in the living room. Want to watch Desperate Housewives with other bloggers and chat as you watch? Leave a comment in the comment section on the living room post and I will add the event to the sidebar so people know. You must leave it in the comments section because you should also scroll through the comments for a moment and make sure something else isn’t scheduled for that time. You’ll need to leave a date and a time span (again, based in EST).

Reasons for calling a meeting are endless. We’re going to use the room for the book tours to have a live discussion (with or without the author). We’re going to hold Twelve-and-a-Half-Fighting-Back (THFB) meetings there. You could call people together to sit with you during your first injection, gather a meeting of the minds together to discuss a dilemma, gather the troops to console you during a negative, gather the troops to celebrate after a positive, call together all IF/pg loss bloggers in Florida to come chat together at the same time. We can celebrate birthdays together with a half hour chat in the living room. We can…well, the possibilities for the space are endless.

There is also a second chat room called “The Bean Bag Chairs Behind the Couch” which is used for the same reasons, except it has more administrative capabilities though fewer fun features. So the Living Room is the hangout space AND meeting space and the Bean Bag Chairs Behind the Couch is more a space for a formal book discussion. And all chat rooms can be accessed from the pee-bucket-free icon on the sidebar.

I will try to announce events in the living room in the Lost & Found, but you can also always find what is happening on the sidebar (it’s right below the icon). So come kick back and relax. It’s my space. It’s your space. It’s our living room. Use it whenever you wish. The door is always open. And unlocked. So don’t steal the mismatched orange and brown throw pillows.

Speaking of THFB, there will be more information and a meeting happening soon–after Thanksgiving. I’ll announce it on the sidebar and send out an email to the list. Oh–and I can post transcripts from meetings so if you miss a chat, you can still read what happened later (I’ll only do this for a formal meeting or an author talk or book club meeting).

And speaking about the Barren Bitches Book Brigade, new books will be announced soon. I’m just finishing up tallying the votes.

And now, on to the blogs…

I loved this little post at Miss Inconceivability and I thought it came at the perfect time before Thanksgiving. It’s sort of a post about what you are thankful for about yourself–your gifts. Frenchie admits: “Fertility and procreation, obviously, are not my strong-suits. But, I have let that rule how I have felt about myself entirely–for too long. When I think about myself, it’s all I think about. When I look at myself it is all that I see.” I am going to compile my list this week and I challenge you to do the same. And you can’t be modest. You have to be honest and toot your own horn (that saying made me sound really old… And dowdy… Like your Great Aunt Mildred). Anyone who is in, go over and read Frenchie’s post, and then create your own before Thursday. Okay, Friday. You can have a week. Frenchie, you inadvertently started your own meme!

Meghan at A Little Sweetness had a great post this week about the night before her first injection. I loved it because it’s so honest and her thoughts are thoughts that all of us have had at some point on this journey. She actually started the post prior to her first Clomid cycle though didn’t post it until this week, on the eve of her first Follistim injection. She writes: “How on earth did we get here. I actually started this post the night of my first Clomid. I know it’s pretty low tech compared with so many of the other treatments out there. Kind of like being in awe of an electric screwdriver when everyone around you is building houses….or something lame like that. But seriously, I do not completely understand how I got to this point.” The bewilderment is universal. Congratulations to Meghan for making it through the first injection on Thursday night.

Rebecca at A View On My Life had a post this week about the Diner Divas. I will not spoil the post by telling you the identities of the Diner Divas (you will need to read it to find out), but the birthplace of the Divas, a cafe in town, burned down. This is a post in the tradition of the Sweet Potato Queens, the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants all rolled into one Midwestern bundle, and the aftermath of losing the place where this divaness was born. There was a fire that took our college hangout and my heart was right there in the cafe with the Diner Divas while I read this post.

Mchope at The Infertility Mon
ster (grrrr…scary) had a post this week that I think creates a nice bookend for Frenchie’s thankful post. So many times, we describe infertility as a roller coaster. Well, Mchope has taken that image and turned the ride into a Peace Train. She writes: “With tomorrow being my baseline ultrasound day for IVF #1, I’ve decided to adopt the concept of a Peace Train for this cycle…If all looks good tomorrow, then I will officially climb aboard and ask the conductor (mental image of my RE in a train conductor’s cap) to punch my ticket.” Plus, I loved the ending: “Must remember: ‘now I’ve been happy lately, thinking about the good things to come and I believe it could be, something good has begun.’ Off to pack for my journey and planning to leave mental baggage behind.” Hope you ride the Peace Train straight out of the Land of If, sweetie.

And that is the Roundup. I may pop up in the Living Room later this weekend, but don’t count on me. It’s my anniversary weekend and as they say, if this blog is a rockin’, don’t come knockin’ (it’s red because our love is red hot…yeow!).