[Insert irrelevant introduction paragraph to inevitable bullet post here. Make sure to include some blurb about how unsurprising it is that I haven't blogged for a month.]
-So, uh, what the frozen rain? I'm going to be honest, I had no idea that was even a thing. I thought frozen rain was called snow. And just when I thought driving in snow was the scariest damn thing on the planet - Utah decides to get hormonal and turn every road and sidewalk into an ice rink. Well played, inversion.
(If you haven't had the pleasure of chewing your air in Utah, this picture should give you a nice idea of what we've been inhaling for the last few weeks. Looking at the picture just about gives you an Asthma attack, right?)
-In other news, we made an appointment with our fertility specialist for an IVF consult. We haven't totally decided that we're going for it - but we figured we may as well do the consult, pray about it, go to the temple, and see how we feel afterwards. At this point I kind of feel like we've done just about everything we can - and it's all failed like a boss. Even the Metformin, which seemed to be helping regulate my cycles and helping me to ovulate, is quickly losing it's charm. (Translation: I just had a 62 day cycle. 62. Days. In NotMakingABaby land, that's a pretty sweet deal. In Let'sGetKnockedUp land? 62 days may as well be a whole dang year.)
Oh, and quick sidenote to my uterus:
Whew. Anyways. I've been crunching numbers for the last few weeks, trying to show Shawn that we can pay for IVF without going into debt. But even so, we're applying for an IVF grant - because apparently that's a thing - so any fertile/grant-winning juju you can send our way would be swell.
-Oh, speaking of uteruses and juju. I've been watching the Ellen Degenerous show a lot lately. And the other day she had Nicole Kidman on talking about these magical swimming holes in Australia that got her pregnant. Then Ellen gave the whole audience a trip to Australia. !!!?!!! Then she said that she was going to give away a trip a week to her viewers at home. That's ME. So I, of course, immediately go to her website, where you have to tell her "your story" and send a picture of yourself to enter. So I figure, what better way to tie in my story to her show than to tell her about my busted baby-maker and how we could use some magic, fertile swimming holes right about now. And I'm well aware that our wecan'tmakebabies story is far less dramatic than other heart-wrenching stories by a long shot and probably doesn't really stand a chance - but it's still fun to imagine my lady pipes getting us a trip to Australia, since they're so obviously useless for anything else. Plus, I sent a picture of us with Toby - and he's pretty freakin' adorable, so that couldn't have hurt anything. So yeah, if you've got enough left, send us some Ellen juju too.
-Oh! Remember when I bought the treadmill from Groupon? Well, we finally sold that bad boy. It only took 8 months. Ten sewers could not hold the amount of crap Shawn has given me for buying such a worthless piece of cancerous garbage. That was the most annoying thing ever to try and sell. Several people missed the "magnetic" part in the listing. Other people didn't realize just how tiny and dinky it was. But we finally got someone to take it away forever. Granted, we lost about 35 bucks on it - but I don't even care. And even though I finally got it out of our garage, something tells me Shawn will hold that over my head for eternity. Or until he buys something equally as ridiculous. So, that should be fun.
-After watching The Biggest Loser for the first time ever, eating an entire pan of brownies and realizing I had to untie my husband's drawstrings to fit into his sweatpants, I started doing Jillian Michaels workouts... again. (Related: She is bloody terrifying on The Biggest Loser. If she ever screamed at me like that, I'd probably lose all my weight in tears. Truth.)
Anyways, I decided to skip her stupid 30 Day Shred this time - because let's be honest, from past experience, it's more like a 4 Day I'mGoingToDie. So, naturally, I did the logical thing and tried her Shred Fat, Boost Metabolism video. Because I apparently thought that would work out well for me. Result? I'm pretty sure I almost died 4 times and I may have peed a little. Not to mention my TV damn near fell off its mount from all my fatso jumping jacks, and rock climbers, and every other stupid move that shakes the entire living room a la GIANT EARTHQUAKES. I was out of breath nearly the entire time, but I somehow managed to finish it.
The next couple days I did her Killer Buns and Thighs and 6 Weeks to 6 Pack workouts - by the third day, I could barely move 2 inches. You know what I'm talking about. When simple tasks like trying to sit down on the toilet practically reduce you to tears. But I powered through it, and have been alternating through the videos since. Well except for the last two days. Because when you haven't had a period for 62 days, there's not much you want to do except curl up in bed and eat Taco Bell.
-Speaking of The Biggest Loser, I took this picture of Shawn eating candy while we were watching it:
Irony at it's finest, right? Oh, and there's Bob. If he ever hears candy being unwrapped he comes running. He loves to walk around the house with wrappers in his mouth. Oh, and socks. And one time I caught him walking around with a bag of bread in his mouth. I, unfortunately, couldn't find my phone in time to take a picture of him with it actually in it's mouth - but this is where he left it. True story.
Bob is one weird ass cat.
-We started watching The Walking Dead. I've never really been huge on the whole zombie thing - but everyone kept talking about it, and it was on Netflix, and I was bored. Sooo, yeah. We watched the entire thing and caught up in like, two weeks. And now I'm certain of two things: One, I will have zombie dreams for the rest. of. my. life. And two, I would neverevereverevereverever survive a zombie apocalypse. Ever. So I obviously got sucked into the show, even though I had to close my eyes or look away half the time, because turns out killing zombies is the most gory thing on the planet. But, all the blood and guts aside, it's admittedly a pretty decent show.
-So, whenever we leave our house, I always ask Shawn if he has the keys before I lock the door. It probably annoys him to death, but it's just what I do. Well, the other day he was waiting for me in the car, so I assumed he had the keys. (Betcha can't guess where this is going.) We went and visited my family - and got home close to midnight, because we're hardcore. We got to the front door and Shawn realized he only had the car key, not the rest of the keychain it's usually on - so we were locked out. Greeeeeeat.
So I'm in my workout spandex and slippers, freezing my keister off in 9 degree weather as we tried to figure out how to get in. Of course you'd think that our neighbors downstairs could just open the door for us - except that the door that separates them and us was deadbolted on our side - soooo, that was less effective. I was 95% sure that the bathroom window was unlocked, so we had to drive all the way back to his parent's house to get a ladder, in hopes that it was unlocked.
After trudging through snow in my slippers, and making sure Shawn wasn't going to fall off the ladder - I left him to go sit in the warm car, because I was certain I was going to get frostbite and die if I stayed outside any longer. Wife points. (Plus, Shawn roofs in this kind of weather, so I knew he could take it like a man.) He struggled for a second trying to get the screen off the window - but eventually he did, and thanks to my irresponsibility, the window was unlocked. Toby didn't even bark at us when we broke in through the window - he definitely got a giant F on that test.
Anyways, I made that story way longer than it needed to be - but the moral? Don't leave your house in slippers and spandex when you live in single-digit temperatures. Also? Marry a dude that will brave the cold weather, so you don't have to freeze to death. You know, like Jack from Titanic.
Okay, I spend way too much time on blog posts. Which is probably why you only hear from me once a month. Buuuut, oh well.
Happy Friday, Internet.