houston, we have a HEARTBEAT!

Woooo Hoooo! The appointment yesterday went so much better than I had ever imagined! I was a WRECK. I didn't sleep for more than a few hours the night before, and I nearly had a panic attack in the exam room waiting for the doctor, but I think that's not so abnormal all thngs considered. The ultrasound started and I couldn't look at the screen or Dr. V. Instead I stared up at J, watching for any sign of elation or crushing disappointment on his face. I saw him smile and my heart jumped. A moment later, Dr. V was pointing out our growing embryo and her (I'm going with "her" on this one) BEATING HEART! I was too busy sobbing to hear much after that, I had been so positive the news would be bad that I hadn't even imagined a positive outcome or how it would feel to be so HAPPY. The little one was measuring late in the 6th week, I had thought we were mid week 7, but Dr. V assured us this didn't matter since the heartbeat was present and strong. 150-160! J decided on the drive home that BabyFrazier will be called Grover for now. I'll go back in 3 weeks for another ultrasound and am feeling so positive this time. I can actually envision an April baby and hope this optimistic point of view will stick around. Oh, and the nurse said Grover has my eyes. Lucky G!

I don't want to live in Texas anymore. I walked down the stairs a few hours ago to see George creeping around on the tile hunting...something. A second later I saw what I can only imagine was the biggest, ugliest bug in Texas. A cockroach? I have no idea. Long legs, huge feelers, gi-gan-tic. This thing was nearly the size of my cell phone and I swear if he wanted to he could have eaten the cat. Sensing my fear (maybe it was the blood-curdling scream), both dogs cowered behind me on the stairs- some help they are. I called J, who (how rude is this) refused to leave work to come home and kill this thing. I don't know what's gotten into him. (haha) So I stood on the stairs and whimpered. I half hoped that would scare him to death so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I finally got myself together long enough to throw J's biggest, heaviest shoe on top of him. ::shudder:: I swear, there weren't bugs like this in Wisconsin. Only in Texas can something grow THAT big.

Have I mentioned how relieved I am today? Keep growing, Grover!

i love nausea

Never has anyone been so excited to wake up feeling nauseated and run down. This morning I awoke to what seems to be a bit of morning sickness. In the first few seconds after opening my eyes, I thought "ugh...what did I drink last night? I feel funny....waaaaait....." I even woke up J to tell him with WAY too much excitement that I felt like puking. And proof positive that he's been sucked into my hysteria, he grinned and congratulated me. Please, please, please let this be a great sign. Granted, morning sickness is no guarantee of anything (I was so sick during the last pregnancy that I literally couldn't walk into a grocery store without gagging like Ralph with hairballs) but, hey, I'll take whatever signs I can get that this might be for real.

We went to Flugtag last night. (The Red Bull thing where contestants build "aircraft" and launch it off a ramp into Town Lake.) We invited J&G along, sure that an 8 and 10 year old would find this event hugely entertaining. Little did we know, 85,000 other Austinites thought this sounded entertaining. We rolled in about 90 minutes early and laid claim to a great spot down near the water, right by the ramp- perfect view, nice grassy spot to lay down our blanket, a fresh breeze- score! Not so much. By the time the event started we were in the middle of a drunken, smoky mosh pit of late arriving Flugtag enthusiasts stomping all over what used to be our blanketed territory. The boys couldn't see a thing, I was choking on the smoke (sure every breath was going straight to my uterus), and did I mention it was as hot as a big fat armpit? We took in all of one launch before we bolted. Not fun, and a total disappointment. Jacob informed us when we got home that going to school this week would definitely be more fun than Flugtag was. So at least we managed to improve his attitude about starting school. Behave, kid, or we'll take you back to Flugtag!

And you know, since it's on my mind, I just don't get smoking in public. You want to smell like a bar, ruin your complexion, yellow your teeth, and die of cancer? Cool for you, in your house, your car, whatever. But what gives you the right to share your miserable habit with me by blowing your nasty smoke breath into my air space? Or onto your KID? I actually witnessed a mom at Flugtag ash on her kid's head. She was real busy talking to what I only assume was her skeevy boyfriend on her cell, balancing herself out with a Coors Light and a lit cig in her other hand, so it totally wasn't her fault that her ashes plopped off into her toddler's greasy hair. Then she plopped down on the grass and shared with me a great view of her (sparkly Ross clearance bin) thong. Lucky kid, with a mom like that.

I think it's naptime. I'm cranky.

thank god for dvr

Today, I failed miserably at the whole "positive thoughts, positive outcome" thing. Around 2:00 I burst into tears in the car driving down 1626. Hysterical, unstoppable, panicked tears. The type of cry that, had another driver noticed my hysteria, he likely would have called 911, sure the shaking, screaming woman behind the wheel of the silver Toyota was having a seizure of some kind. I cleared my eyes and had a little chat with God about things and that did help, but time is creeping by. And the bad thoughts are strong arming the good ones, and I'm just worn out. I need to know this is viable, now. Came home and crawled into bed with my laptop, a book, the remote control, and a gigantic bottle of water. I plan to stay here until J comes home and takes me to a movie. Nanny Diaries came out today. I read this book a few years ago and have been looking forward to the movie, and what better time for some mindless entertainment. But what salvaged my afternoon was the realization that my DVR had recorded a full week's worth of The OC (now playing twice daily on SoapNetwork). Nothing like watching Marissa OD in Tijuana (or "TJ" as the Newpsie kids call it) to put my problems in perspective. Get it together, Coop.

In my non-pregnancy-induced-stress-related world....I turned down a job offer last week and truth be told, am a bit sad about it. It was a part time sales position with Standard Pacific, our home builder, and an overall great company. Just the type of job I've been hoping for these past 6 months or so. Loved the guy I would have worked with. Full of energy, all about family, our "interview" was reminiscent of the sarcastic banter I so loved while working with Pete & Bryan at Coldwell. Just 3 days a week- leaving me plenty of time for the pets, the house, the detail-handling. Despite the pros, I know I made the right decision. It was a 70 mile roundtrip commute, all on I-35. Anyone familiar with this fair city knows I-35 is to be avoided, be it 1am or 11am- expect traffic. I couldn't get my head around a 1.5+ hour commute home at night. The strict 2 weeks maximum vacation time was also problematic- I've become spoiled this year. Oh, and that little pregnancy thing (back to THAT, right?) Believe me, after the slap in the face reality check last time that pregnancy does not always equal a baby, I hated to base my decision on that. But, I respected the sales manager enough to know it wasn't fair to take the job knowing I'd need a big chunk of time off in what would surely be his busiest months. So....I'll continue along with this SAHW thing. (That's Stay At Home Wife, for those who think The Nest has anything to do with birds.) My part time gig at Pottery Barn is still an option, I'll probably head back there in the next month. It's pretty sad to keep a job only to supplement a shopping addiction, but so be it.

Adios, amigos. Here's to a calm, think good thoughts kind of weekend. And more OC.

is it next week yet?

As I await the ultrasound that will determine our immediate happiness, I've regressed to the patience of a 4 year old. Now is it time? Now is it? How many more sleeps? Tuesday, August 28 can not come fast enough for my liking. Feeling pretty normal. Maybe a bit hungover this afternoon, which I take as a fabulous sign. Wee bit nauseated, generally run down. Sad state I'm in that I wish I was barfing all day!

Spent day #2 with J&G, the aforementioned adorable cousins. Today I learned why mom always procrastinated for days when it was school supply shopping time and I was begging to get to the store to pick up my Lisa Frank gear and the coolest clicker pencils I could find. Jodi (my aunt, J&G's mom) asked me if I'd mind taking the boys on this errand. Remembering how FUN that was as a kid, I was all for it. Goodness! I swear teachers create those lists as an evil plot to make parents cry. "16 count Crayola crayons." Well, Mr. Crayola made 8 counts and 12 counts and 24 counts, but call me crazy, nary a 16 count in the store. And as any 5th grader will tell you, two 8 counts do not equal one 16 count. "Different col-ors." Well, duh. "5 inch scissor." The blade or the whole scissor? Meanwhile the kids (age 10 & 8) are giving me the "mom sent us shopping with a retard and we may not make it out alive" look. We got as far as "80 page spiral bound non perforated notebook" before I started twitching. We decided to call it a day and headed to Taco Bell for some stress relief. Spent the afternoon at their pool and all was good again.

So....NOW is it next week?

"the pain is a 10, nurse"

So, welcome to Week 6 of what I hope will be 40. It's not been the best of starts. You'd think someone who saw such misfortune with pregnancy #1 would be issued a hassle-free-pregnancy-pass for round #2, right? Not so much. Some major left sided pain last week had me convinced this was an ectopic and was about to blow up, taking me out of this world at the ripe old age of 26 1/4. When the pain shoots up through my neck I call mom, who insists I hang up and call the doctor. The OB on call tells me in a most serious voice that he's "definitely concerned" and asks how soon I can get to the ER. Oh, boy. I kissed the pets goodbye and mentally prepared myself for what I was sure would be the worst news since.....well, May.

Note to any injured Austinites: avoid Brackenridge Hospital. Unless there's a (rusty) knife angling from your head, you're better off taking your chances, saying your prayers, and waiting it out. Think third world country. Think inner city filth, mass chaos, blood, puke of all colors, no habla ingles, and a cuffed convict or two. And by the way, when the triage nurse at the ER asks about your pain level- "rate it 1 through 10, 10 being the worst"- SAY 10! My meager 3-5 self-estimation ranked right up there with the guy with the nosebleed, guaranteeing us a last place spot in line (despite my panicky, tear-streaked face and obvious distress). A 4 hour wait (still panicky, still crying, still distressed) and and the subsequent stressful 3 hours of explaining and re-explaining and re-explaining again to every doctor and nurse who came to poke, prod, insert, or draw.......and the most uncomfortable, nerve wracking ultrasound in history.....and we get perhaps the best news so far- no ectopic suspected. Apparently a cyst was causing all the pain. Phew. There's the beginnings of a tiny little bean setting up residence in my uterus. It's small, but it's there. And I hope it likes its' new home and decides to stay. 2am, we're on our way home, blissfully relieved that for now, we've dodged a bullet. I look over at my husband's tired face in the driver's seat and think once again how amazingly lucky I am to have found this guy. And how badly I want a little one with a face just like his for us to love.

Life these days is up and down and more than a little nervewracking. I don't have the joyful innocence of the average mommy-to-be. In fact, I have yet to acknowledge there might actually be a baby in there. We see the doctor again next week for what I consider the "make or break" ultrasound. By that point (7 weeks, 4 days) an embryo with a beating heart should be clearly visible. I tell myself that it's only at that point that I'll allow a bit of excitement to creep in. Other girls tell the world and buy baby books and start thinking names and nursery themes. I use phrases like if, maybe, in case, and if we're lucky- never daring to dream that this may possibly end up with an April baby. Gotta protect this heart of mine.

In other news......well.....not much to report there. This whole procreating thing has proven entirely consuming. Surviving what's left of this Texas summer (who knew I'd ever look forward to winter?) Slowly getting the house to look like we actually live here. Hanging with a couple cool as can be little cousins before they head back to school in a week. Basically, trying to keep busy for another week and remain hopeful. Hope. Hope. Hope.

and here we go again

Date: July 31, 2007

Place: Madison, WI

Time: 6am

Is that? No, it couldn't be? But it looks like.....a second, pink line. 3 months after my miscarriage, and I'm struggling to breathe. I've only tested because I'm in a wedding this weekend. (I'm pretty positive I haven't gotten pregnant this cycle, but before I go to town on the white wine train, I'd better be sure. We don't need a three legged baby.) The line is faint. I run down the hall, desperate for a second set of eyes to confirm that I haven't officially lost my mind and started imagining lines. And maybe drive me to the nuthouse if I have. Mom's dead asleep but leaps out of bed when she sees what her eldest (and perhaps at this moment, craziest) daughter is holding. 6:17am, we're in her bathroom, staring at what most definitely is a faint pink line. And, my friends, a line is a line. A line means you're pregnant. A line means, holy shit, where's the Tylenol. (Right, Clark?) And yes, my mom knew before my husband. As this newest pink line developed, he is 1,257 miles away, on his way to work with no way of knowing he's about to partake in "Pregnant Wife Craziness, Round 2". Can't tell the guy by phone.

The week drags on, I test every morning in the wee dark hours, sure this pregnancy will be yanked away from me before it begins....and they're all positive. Jonathan arrives for the wedding and the look of excitement when I share the news in our hotel room after the rehearsal dinner is unmistakable this time. I pull out the tests and just stand there, shaky and grinning. He's happy, I'm happy, We're pregnant. Scared, nervous, pukey (she), and tipsy (he)....but pregnant. We do a little dance around our room and head off to join our friends for drinks (for him, duh).

However, as any newly pregnant OCD woman knows, it's not true until you get a positive digital test. So to Target we go for that important $10 test the morning after the wedding. ("$10? For a PREGNANCY TEST?" Bet you can't guess who said that. Hint: not me.) No time to actually take it, we're on our way to drop dear husband off at the airport. I figure I'll "hold it" through the 3.5 hour drive up to the lake house, where I'm spending the week with my family before going home, and test immediately upon arrival. I already know I'm pregnant (the 4 tests in the zipper compartment of my purse say so) but I need the literal proof. I need to see the word. If I had any shame, I'd be hesitant to share that this particular test was taken at a truck stop in Curtiss, Wisconsin. It's a really nice truck stop, if that helps. Obviously, patience isn't a strong suit for me. I pull over to said truck stop, race to the lady's, do the pee test, stare at it with a pumping heart as it considers my destiny......and jump up and down and all around in that truck stop bathroom stall when the proof pops up. "Pregnant." I calm down, stash the test with its' cohorts in my purse, buy some cheese, and hit the road.

here i am

I've decided to try my hand at this whole blog thing. I enjoy talking (about me) and internetting, and figure I could use a place to empty my head. Journaling was another option, but it hurts my hand.

Where to start. I feel like you (all 1 of you who are lost and/or so bored that you care to read my ramblings) need to know the basics. I'm 26, an Aries, proud "mama" to a herd of pets like no other, and married to quite possibly the kindest, cutest man in Texas. Or the whole US. Or...well, you get it. He's fantastic. We had life all figured out by the ripe old age of 23 in Rhinelander, WI. He had a promising career in the car business, my real estate career was going nowhere but up, and we had the cozy house, the adorable dogs, the spoiled cats, and the predictable comfortable future. Then we got bored. We missed city life. I missed SuperTarget. We wanted to move, and we wanted to move now. Forget snow, forget predictability, forget cheese and beer. Sold the house, quit the jobs, packed the pets, and to Texas we went. Austin, to be exact. We found home in September 2006. This city fits us and we don't plan to leave.

2007 dawned on us (Mandie & Jonathan) as a normal, happy, content mid-20-something couple. We toasted to a new year in Playa Del Carmen, totally oblivious to what the months ahead would bring or how they were about to change us. We knew kids were in our future (or, we sure hoped they were). Exactly when "our future" was was up for debate, "by 30" I would say, meaning "27". "Or 35" Jonathan would add, meaning "40". No hurry, but definitely an exciting prospect. Then March came, and a fun night out on 6th street, and exactly 2 weeks later I found myself shaking in the bathroom at 4am with a stick most definitely featuring two lines. Two pink, pregnant, life changing lines. NOW we'd done it! I immediately took to the mommy-to-be role, devouring 6 or so pregnancy books the day the test turned pink and immediately clearing the kitchen of any evil food that could possibly, theoretically hurt this new life (buh-bye, Diet Dew...see ya, feta cheese). And Jonathan, he came around when the hyperventilation slowed and he could see straight through his frightened tears. We had it all! Brand new house, a steady job (uh, his), young healthy parents.....November 27 couldn't come soon enough.

Sent to Megan in Spain to share the news:

The first appointment came and was a complete success. At 7 weeks, our little bean was alive and well, heart beating and right on schedule. The doc assured us it was time to relax, our chances of a healthy baby now looked very (very) good. Woo Hoo! Time to celebrate, right? After all, the books I had and the people I knew told me chances of a pregnancy loss after seeing that glorious little beating heart were so low, I had no cause for concern. I jumped off that exam table with visions of our fall baby alive and well. Extended families and friends (and grocery store cashiers) were told the news, as we were confident the newest Frazier was as close to a sure thing as could be.

We continued. I was sick, and slept my days away, but was quick to point out it was all okay as long as the baby was okay. And we assumed he/she was. Until 4 weeks later. Without dragging out all the sordid, sad, and all too raw details, that little heart was no longer beating at 11 weeks. I say with all honesty that my life was divided laying there on that examination table that day (May 7, 2007). Before the loss (glorious naive joy) and after the loss (bitter sad reality).

The months that have followed, well, we've survived them. A tiny new kitten joined the crazy mix. More plants were planted than I knew were plantable. (See the nurturing trend? Thanks to my therapist, aka Mrs. Obvious, for pointing out my need to "mother" in a turbulant time.) My mom came to stay, Jonathan and I took a vacation to Hawaii, I took another to California, then another back home to WI. The travel helped. So did shopping. Ikea, Nordstrom, or amazon.com- no matter, as long as it momentarily filled that aching hole in my heart. In the back of my mind, though, I knew only one thing would improve this situation.... End Scene.