Tonight was like a marathon. I met Margot at the mall to look at some boots. We came home. She made dinner and I finished up work. Then we helped out some sick friends.
By the time I got home the kids were in bath and then we put them to bed. 8pm.
Now it’s 8:30pm and I’m exhausted. Coughing and my nose keeps running.
I don’t want to be sick!
We have two different step stools. We keep one in the kitchen so that the kids can help us cook and bake. Then we keep one in the bathroom so Emmy can brush her teeth and go to the potty.
I’ve looked at metal step stool and they seem really cool and LIGHT. The ones that we have now are wood and Emmy has a hard time moving them around from destination to destination.
I’m going to be on bedrest for a good 2-5 days after transfer. I figure I just want to take time to zone out on the couch and do absolutely nothing. Supposedly if we do a 3 day transfer the embryo will be implanting 2-3 days after that.
I’ve started taping some trashy television so that I can do bedrest in pure style. I watched “Sister Wives” last night and I was not amused. These people are dumbasses. Like I really could give two shits about what they’re doing … but it’s like they make it their whole identity and even their kid’s identity.
That’s the part I have a problem with. I wish every other word wasn’t polyigimist and that it showed more of them doing daily stuff like raising kids. I’d also like to see some of the crazy hormonal rages that I’m sure having 3 wives would be part of.
I’ve been so lucky this cycle that I have been able to get free and donated meds. It’s really unheard of.
My insurance now is BAD. It doesn’t cover anything except for prenatal. I think the whole idea behind the plan is that they don’t want you to have more children because then they’d have to cover those little buggers too.
Margot has Blue Cross Blue Shield Blue Advantage
and it’s such a great plan. I’m jealous. She plays for copays and then she gets all of her drugs without having to jump through hoops.
So we’re in the final 2 week or so countdown for me to start up the IVF cycle.
I’m nervous.
I’m scared.
Shit, this could work. We could have another baby. Within the year.
The ongoing antics of two thirty-something *gasp* mamas raising a four-year-old daughter and an eight month old daughter.