Wednesday, September 19, 2012

That One Time My Lady Husband Won a Race

So, this last Saturday was the big 5k for Fertility that I've been annoying everyone to death about for the last few weeks.  And first of all, I just have to once again thank everyone who registered on our behalf, and for all the people who spread the word to their friends to try and recruit them to sign up as well.  We ended up with 23 entries into the raffle, which I thought was pretty dang impressive for the short, two week notice I gave everyone.  I can only imagine how many more people I could have peer pressured into signing up with a little more time.  But seriously, thank you.  It's been amazing to see the love and support come from everyone.  And I mean everyone.  People I haven't talked to for years registered, people who I know have tight budgets registered, and people I've never even met registered.  That is amazing to me, and it certainly hasn't gone unnoticed.  Nothin' like a broken baby maker to bring in the love, yo.

So, to cut the the chase, (if you haven't already heard) we didn't win the IVF raffle - which honestly, is okay.  There were almost 50 couples who had entered the raffle, all who had friends and family entering their names to win.  Shawn and I feel pretty comfortable saying that the couple that did win, probably needed it a little more than we did at this point.  Sure, it was disappointing to watch someone else win something we wanted so badly - but I can honestly say we're thrilled for them.  They seemed like a great, deserving couple, and had a team of about 90 people to prove it.

That said...

We didn't go home completely empty handed.  Even though we didn't win the raffle, we did win the race.  And have a fancy plastic trophy to prove it.  

And by 'we', I obviously mean Shawn.  Because the only way I'd ever win a 5k is if I was running it alone.  Anyways.  Shawn has always said that one of his goals in life is to win a 5k, and apparently this was the one he decided to win.  I don't think he could have chosen a better race to win.  Heaven only knows we could use the positive fertility mojo.  And most people think you actually have to train in order to win a 5k.  Well, not if you're my husband.  You don't even have to run for months beforehand.  Just roll out of bed, throw on some short shorts, and win.

Who does that?!

This guy.
(And yes, I'm fully aware that he has the skinniest legs on the planet.)

He finished with a time of 16:38, and to say I'm pretty damn proud of him, would be a massive understatement.  I, on the other hand, impressed the crowd by finishing in no less than 48 whole minutes.  So it's probably pretty needless to say that I didn't even kind of run.  Best. 5k. Ever.

When they announced the winner, they prefaced it be saying, "Overall and first place female..."  Which had me nervous for just a split second that maybe some broad managed to somehow beat Shawn.  Buuuuut, then they called his name out.  Apparently when I registered him, I registered him as a woman.


So not only did Shawn being a girl eff the results up, but my brother in law ran with my mother in law's number - and he beat all the women.  So when they went to announce the real female division winner, they called out my mother in law's name.

Double whoops.

I have a video of it all - and if you can manage to get past my really loud, irritating laugh, it's slightly amusing.

Anyways, we obviously that that was pretty hilarious.  Trust our family to shake things up a little bit.  

Aaaand, queue the random pictures...

Every couple that registered to win the IVF cycle got one of these.  Our first onesie.  Maw.

This is officially my new favorite pen.  The little sperm float up and down with the egg.  Brilliant.

Our friends, who we absolutely love to death.  (Note: Before the 5k, I rolled out of bed, put clothes on, and swigged some mouth wash - which is why I look SO pretty.)

 Some of Team Milne! 

I just can't end this without thanking everyone again for everything.  Not even just in this particular event, but in the rest of it as well.  Since I've started blogging about Operation Grow a Baby, I've received several emails and messages from people I know, and people I don't know, sharing their own experiences with infertility and offering their well wishes and prayers.  I love that, and I can assure you that I feel your love and prayers every single day.  So, thank you for your messages.  Thank you for your prayers.  And thank you for the constant encouragement.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I know some day we'll be parents.  It may not be in the way we had pictured it, but I know we'll have a chance at a family some day.  It certainly hasn't been easy to wait for something I've been dreaming of ever since I was 5, but I have faith that my Heavenly Father knows what He's doing.  I know He sees the bigger picture, and I completely trust His timing.  

So until it's our turn to squeeze out a perfect, tiny hybrid of ourselves - we'll just keep on keepin' on!  And that means more pictures of my cat on Facebook.  So deal.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Why You Should Never Mix PMS With Hunger. Ever.

As the title may or may not imply, this post is brought to you by yet another one of my epic meltdowns.  It wasn't one of my signature "I weigh more than both our cars combined/My baby maker is a giant piece of useless crap/I haven't had a solid poo in weeks" tantrums. Oh no.  This one started out purely hunger based.

It was near dinner time, and neither I or Shawn had eaten anything since breakfast.  With the exception of a handful of Fruities.  Or 4 handfuls.  Whatever.  Point is, I was hungry, and when I'm hungry, I turn into the crankiest ass hole on the planet.  Anything and everything that anyone does somehow becomes the most irritating thing in the history of ever.  My husband is no exception.  In fact, most of my wife points are earned from the hunger tirades that get taken out on him.  Sometimes when Shawn notices I'm being snippy, he'll get enough courage to ask me if I want a sandwich, which - depending on the severity of my hunger - can either go really well for him, orrrr not so well.

That said.

I'm not the only one who gets testy when I'm hungry.  And even though Shawn's hunger doesn't quite send him flying off the handle, he can be quite the hunger grump too.  And now we've come full circle to the beginning of my story.  We were both hungry.  And we were both ornery as hell.  We were both changing into clothes for a wedding reception, and went to open each end of our closet - and because when he has his side open, I can't get to my side - I gave him a hefty eye roll and told him to "Go ahead!"

Now, when I'm mad, I slam doors and drawers and huck pretty much about whatever will make a loud noise across the room.  When Shawn is mad, he punches walls.  It's our not-so-subtle way of letting each other know, "Hey, don't eff with me right now.  Seriously."  We've achieved a level of maturity that many couples aspire to.

Anyways.  Shawn's hunger took over and must have translated my snotty "Go ahead!" into "Open the closet and die, bitch."  So he stormed off and made sure to Hulk smash the wall as hard as he possibly could before going into the other room and turning on the TV.

Shawn sucker punching the wall pushed me over the edge.  I screamed at him as he stomped off, and he ignored me.  I wasn't about to be outdone by his wall punch.  And slamming a door or hucking clothes across the room didn't quite seem to cut it at the time.  So, naturally I decided to donkey kick the shi out of our wall - flip flops and all - because kicking is so obviously cooler than punching.  I was feeling pretty kickass about my decision right up until my foot went through the wall.

Hunger.  Bringing out the 3-year old in a Chelsea and Shawn near you.

As soon as I realized there was an enormous hole that Bob could fit into in our wall, I started sobbing.  I ran into where Shawn was and started blubbering, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"  I hysterically started to run downstairs to the door, because I guess I was planning on running away or something?  So Shawn, obviously extremely startled, keeps asking me what happened over and over and over again.  You know, in the 10 seconds he left me alone.  I continued sobbing up an absolute monsoon, and apologizing as if I had lit our house on fire - because apparently I was convinced that he was going to divorce me once he saw just how badly I assaulted the wall.  So naturally Shawn is all sorts of worried that I stabbed our dog or lobbed his laptop out the window.

I finally take him into our room and just stand there whimpering.  Shawn looked at me with a huge "WTF?" look on his face, and then I pointed at the wall.  I braced myself for screaming and divorce and more Hulk smashes.  Then I heard Shawn laughing.  Laughing.  He thought the gigantic, gaping hole in our wall was hilarious.  He asked me what happened, and I explained to him that I may or may not have kicked the wall a little too hard. I then went on to justify it by saying he punches walls all the time, and his one arm is stronger than both my legs put together, so how had he not punctured walls in the past?  Which is when he explained studs to me.  Okay, obviously I know about studs.  But if I'm pissed enough to ninja kick a wall, I am so not aiming to please.

Anyways, I was immediately relieved that Shawn took it like the amazing husband he is.  And he was immediately relieved that I hadn't killed our dog.  Shawn was so not pissed, that he even took a reenactment picture.

Then my handyman started cutting up our wall even more.  Which, I'm pretty sure he was secretly excited to do.  Or that's what I'll keep telling myself, anyways.

He looks so unbelievably pissed in this picture.  But he totally wasn't.  

And now our bedroom is donning this lovely rectangle.  

I told Shawn that the silver lining, if any, was that we could put a bunch of super funny, random crap in there - so if, for whatever reason, someone decides to knock that wall down, or throws a temper tantrum and smashes it in, there will be a super fun surprise down there.

Anyways.  We finally got dressed and ate something at the wedding reception.  Mini hamburgers and grapes have never tasted so good in my whole entire 24 years of living.  

Oh, and my period coincidentally started the very next day.  And by coincidentally, I mean it wasn't a coincidence at all.  Not even kind of.

So, I think we can all agree that my husband deserves some sort of award, or knighthood, or karate belt.  He deals with my hunger almost daily, and then when it lethally combines with PMS, and results in a house repair that he'll have to do, he laughs.  That man has the patience of Job.  Love you, husband.  

Moral of the story?  If your woman is hungry.  Feed her.  Also, if you're going to assault a wall, aim.

Also, don't forget you can still sign up to help us win a free IVF cycle!  And if you do, Chelsea love you long time.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

That One Time Kobe Bryant Made Me Soap, I Chased A Hooker, & Gave Birth To 3 Sets of Twins

With a title like that, how can you not come over to see what the heck I'm talking about.  This post is brought to you by my subconscious.  I've been having the most unbelievably bizarre dreams ever for the last several weeks.  Turns out when I have no control over my mind, I have one weird ass imagination.  Normally I don't even really remember my dreams, and if I do, I can usually figure out where they came from (it usually comes down to whatever TV series I've been watching.)

The bizarre dreams aren't all that new, I guess.  I used to have a recurring dream when I was younger that I could walk through my bedroom wall into a magical midget land.  Or there's the time I had a dream that I made out with a toilet.  Yes, a toilet.  Or the time I was running away from bad guys and used a grocery sack to fly away.  And don't even get me started on the dead baby dreams.  I digress.

So lately, I've been waking up and not even kind of understanding where on earth my dreams are coming from, and why I can remember certain parts so well.  They have completely random people in them, even ones I haven't thought about in ages, doing the weirdest things ever.  Some of them are semi-normal, but a lot of them, well, aren't.  The ones that aren't are just completely cracked out and all over the damn place.  One minute I'm sailing on the Titanic, and the next I'm making out with Justin Bieber, because apparently I'm a pedophile.  So, because I know you all obviously really care, I'm going to share some of my more recent dreams with you.  That said, I don't remember all the fun details that I'm sure would make these way more interesting, but oooh well.  

-My most recent dream I remember was last night.  It was about this random man that kidnapped me - chains, shackles, and the whole bit.  As my punishment for whatever I did to piss the dude off, he made me do crossword puzzles.  And in my dream, it was about the worst thing I could possibly be doing short of setting myself on fire.  Right before I woke up, he came in to tell me that he didn't trust me, so I had to wear a diaper....  Because that makes sense.

-I've had three dreams about giving birth to twins.  Three.  The first dream was normal, I gave birth to two adorable blonde boys.  The second one got weirder.  I gave birth to twins, and the first baby came out normal looking, and when they pulled the second baby out, the doctor said, "Well, looks like this one is five years old!"    ?!     Certainly gives new meaning to giving birth to a toddler, I suppose.  In the third dream, the first baby was once again normal, and the second baby came out covered from head to toe in these black bug leech things, and it was absolutely terrifying.  I handed the leech baby to my mom and told her to hold him while I went and Googled what the hell was wrong with him.  And you know you Google too much, when you start Googling crap in your dreams.  Anyways, Google told me that something came "unplugged" in my vagina when I gave birth, and that's what all the black bugs were from.  So I ran back to tell my mom I had a leech-infested vagina, and by that time she had gotten all the black things off him and he was perfectly fine....  I suppose, if anything, it's a step up from dead baby dreams.

-So, real life background on this one: Once upon a time I dated this guy for like 3 seconds, we'll call him Jose.  Jose always talked about wanting to live in Alaska some day.  He ended up dumping me over the phone right before my birthday because he prayed about it and God told him to  The end.  So, in this dream I decided to fly to Alaska for no particular reason on my work break, because that's totally doable in 15 minutes, right?  Anyways, I was reading a map when I got there, and some random dude in a mountie uniform walks up to me and asks if I'm looking for Jose.  I give him the stupidest look possible and tell him no, I just wanted to come to Alaska on my break.  Then Rory from Gilmore Girls shows up and we start exploring Alaska together.  We run into a really fat dude, who looked vaguely familiar.  Turns out it was Jose.  We chatted for a while, and he finally blurts out that he's extremely gay, and that's the reason he dumped me.  I laughed for what felt like 7 hours in my dream, and told him I was late for work and to have a nice life.  If all the dreams I had about moron ex-boyfriends were that they turned out fat and gay, that would be fine by me. 

-I don't really remember most of this next dream.  All I remember is that the police were trying to chase a hooker.  And they told me that I had to chase her on foot, but I had dress up like a hooker myself or I wouldn't be able to run fast enough.  I remember hauling some serious ass in my dream to catch her, and I did.  Because I'm awesome.  And they threw us all in an ambulance and took her to jail.

-My last dream starred Kobe Bryant.  We were dating, because apparently I'm hardly ever married in my dreams.  We'd make out a ton, but it always had to be in secret.  I don't really remember why, but it is what it is.  In my dream I got really tired of having to keep everything a secret, and not being able to see him whenever I wanted.  To remedy that, Kobe Bryant made me a bar of soap that smelled like him.    .........   As he was giving me the soap, I heard something outside and saw a bunch of random guys breaking into my car.  So I opened the door and screamed to them, "You can take my car, but leave my shit alone!"  And then they all started shooting at me.  I tried to run back to Kobe Bryant so he could protect me, but he was gone, and all I had was his musky soap.  Pansy.  (Related: I really don't like Kobe Bryant.)   

Sooooooo, yeah!  I'm sure Freud would have one heck of a field day with all that, eh?  I'm just going to stick with the dreams being a result of my brain purging a lot of garbage.  Because I can't really think of any good reason why I'd be dreaming about hookers or Kobe Bryant making me soap.  Please tell me I'm not the only one that has crazy random dreams?  And that I'm not the only person still dreaming about ex-boyfriends and dudes I liked in junior high?  Am I the worst wife ever, or what?

Seriously.  Tell me your weird dreams.

And on a completely unrelated note: Don't forget about registering to get us an extra entry into the IVF raffle!  September 8th is when early registration is over.  And yes, I'll keep annoying the internet about it until it's over.  :)