A New Uterus*

Before I get into the details... I just ate a sandwich that I put way too much spicy mustard on. Damn. It totally sucked. I still ate it.


And, now, let me tell you all about my new, improved uterus!! Yesterday at my post-op check up and ultrasound I found out that my uterus is better than it's been in years!

Dr. Levin showed me some before and after pictures- and it's a good thing I'm not anyone's OBGYN because I had absolutely no idea what I was looking at. She could tell, so she explained to me that the fibroid was "huge" and it "almost took up my entire uterus." And, once again, to make me feel amazed and validated, I was "never, ever going to get pregnant with that inside."

Plus, good news! The cyst on my ovary has shrunk, so we're just going to keep an eye on it in the next couple of months with- you guessed it- another ultrasound! Gah! Why the vaginal ultrasound??? (OK, I actually did ask the sonographer about this and it's to "get a much better picture." Do they have to do them this way? “Yes.” And, when did this start? “About 10 years ago.” Oh.) When she was getting the wand ready I must have had a horrified look on my face because the sweet lady says to me, "Just look away, honey."

Next step to babies is a HSG. I'm guessing lots of you have had this done. They put some dye into your uterus and tubes and stuff to make sure that everything looks good. Dr. Levin says that if she likes what she sees (uterus healed, etc.) then she'll give us the go-ahead to start trying again.

The tricky and majorly annoying part of this test is that it must be done when you are completely done with your period, but not past day 10 of your cycle. Well. If history repeats itself, my next period could last about that long. Or, since timing is just not on my side- days 8 and 9 will probably fall on the weekend and I can’t remember if they will do it on day 10- or only before day 10. Sigh.

I really don’t want to miss the window this next cycle and have to wait till June to have the test done. That will mean we have to wait yet another month to start trying again. Sean says, “One month is no big deal.” Whatever. He’s right, but I still feel pouty about it. I also think I’m pouting because it was a surprise. I didn’t know there was another step to take. I just thought she’d say- OK! Go home and have sex! Make a baby! Now I have to go get another procedure done? Geez!

I’m getting impatient. My brain is soaked with questions. Grrrr.

Reminder for Self: My idea of a good time to have a baby may or may not be what God considers a good time to have a baby. His timing is better. Trust Him.


*well, sort of.

Dinner Drama

Long, yucky day. Stressed out for sure. Walk in the door, and see my sweet hubby standing over the stove making me dinner! I am SO impressed, and relieved that I'm not going to have to cook tonight.

I try the sweet potatoes first. Delicious! Next a bite of fish. Spicy. Hey, that's really spicy.

"Sean, what did you put on this fish?"

"Lemon and lime juice and a little Tony's."

"Strange, it tastes so spicy to me. My lips feel like they're on fire. Do they look big to you?"

"Yeah."

I get up to look in the mirror- and holy moly, I've got two fat lips! I look pretty good. Maybe I should consider collogen lip injections.

"Sean, do my lips feel fat to you?"

Kiss, kiss.

"Ooooh, I like your fat lips, JoDee! Kiss me again."

Kiss, kiss, kiss. Laugh, laugh, laugh! Big, fat lips are SO funny!

"Wait a minute Sean, my mouth feels like it's burning too. And, my throat is feeling really tight. Maybe I should take a Benadryl."

Sean procedes to freak out a little, and honestly, I do too. This isn't so funny anymore.

My throat is closing up! I guess I should stop eating this fish. Too bad, I'm still hungry. I wonder if I should throw up the fish I've already eaten? No, that's gross.

Fortunately, the Benadryl works fast, and pretty soon my throat is only mildly sore and I'm a drowsy, slurred version of me (with bad gas. I guess that's what happens when you don't force yourself to vomit up whatever you just ate that you're allergic to). I better take another Benadryl, you know, just in case.

Stumble into bed. Pass out.

Girls' Weekend Prep (or Massive Freak-Out)

This weekend, I'm going to Chicago with some girlfriends! I am so excited! I am sure the trip is going to be so fun and relaxing, but the prep is freaking me out.

It's not news that I am a slightly anxious person. I worry about the smallest, dumbest details. Mostly I worry about what to wear. I don't shop on a regular basis, and when a big event is coming up, I start panicking about which 3-year-old dress to wear, or which pair of jeans looks the least like 1999. I usually LOSE it. Ask Sean. He'd probably give his left arm to never have to deal with another "What am I going to wear" melt-down again.

I mean, I don't want to look like I'm a complete nerd... maybe Chicagoans (is that right?) dress completely differently than Houstonians (how about this? What do we call ourselves, and how do we spell it?). I don't want to stand out in any way. Unless of course I look drop-dead gorgeous. That type of standing-out is completely acceptable.

I'll probably also worry about the flight. I really don't enjoy flying. I usually picture the plane going down, and everyone dying. I know- flying is safer than driving. I still nearly pee my pants during take-off and landing.

I, of course, will need to get my eyebrows done and a mani-pedi. Can't be seen with unwanted facial hair or chipped polish while on girls' weekend. I will most definitely need to exfoliate and moisturize. (I'm getting so sick of how much maintenance it takes to be a woman. Shaving is the worst. I also hate putting on make-up everyday, but hate even more being asked if I'm tired 100 times a day, so I guess there's no end to it.)

Thinking about packing my suitcase is making my heart race. I will no doubt make a last minute stop at the mall sometime before Friday... and will totally melt-down in J.Crew and walk out without buying anything.

Me: staring at same sweater for five minutes without blinking

Sales Clerk: "Can I help you find something?"

Me: "Ummmm.... no. I'm just looking."

Sales Clerk: "Do you have a special event that you're shopping for?"

Me: "No. I mean, yes. I mean, I don't know. I hate shopping."

Sales Clerk: blank stare, pity smile

Me:(sweating) "You know what, I don't need anything. I'm just going to leave. I feel sick to my stomach. Where's the nearest restroom?"


I actually like shopping, but only when I don't need to find anything. And when I feel really skinny. And when I am wearing something cute. And, when I'm sitting at home on my computer shopping online.


Time to relax. I really need to learn how to do that.

Booze Hound, at it Again

At the beach house a total of 10 minutes. Already have Pain Killer in hand. So easy to make, so damn delicious!!

For mix:
One part orange juice
One part Coco Lopez
Three parts pineapple juice

Fill a glass with ice, and much dark rum as you like. Fill the rest with mix, stir. Sprinkle top with nutmeg.

Drank about a thousand of these on my honeymoon in USVI and have had about ten thousand since. A beach house staple. Along with the trash magazines- hard to beat.


-- Post From My iPhone

A Narrow Escape

My school secretary is very good at her job. She gets things done, and keeps everything going in the front office as well as the entire building. When you have a question- she's who you ask. She is extremely caring, and hilarious, and we all love her.

With that said, we're also all terrified of pissing her off. I've made a few dumb-ass mistakes in the past few years that she has made me perfectly aware, are not OK to make again. She can make you feel like a five year old just by looking at you. I'm not kidding, I'll do almost anything to stay clear of her wrath.

So, when I broke the big, fancy hole puncher in the front office the other day, I panicked. Jenette, my sweet friend, tried helping me remove the 45 transparency sheets that I stuck in all at one time, but to no avail. (The thing says 50 sheets is the limit... but really? Who counts? And, apparently transparencies are like, twice the size of paper... but you know what? They all fit in the puncher. They just got stuck and wouldn't come out. And then the puncher started smoking a little.) She seemed even more scared than I was, and said she would take it home to her husband to fix. But after a little talking, we decided that since Sean is a mechanical engineer (and since his wife is the one who broke it), he seemed most apt to fix it. No offense to Jim, I'm sure he could have done exactly what Sean did... which you'll see below.

I stuffed the thing in my big rolling suitcase (which either screams teacher or stewardess) and snuck it in my car. Here's what happened after I got it home.

Goal number one- get all the incriminating plastic out of the puncher. If it works again, bonus. But Sean's pretty darn good... and VICTORY!! (I asked Sean if he would turn and face the camera as I took the picture, but he said "I'm not posing for your stupid picture!")

The next day at school I had to replace the puncher in the teacher workroom, and so I wheeled it back up there. A couple teachers were in there working, hell I was talking with them the entire time I unzipped the suitcase and took that blasted puncher out and plugged it back in. No one asked me what I was doing, and I didn't tell.

Goal number two- avoid humiliation from school secretary- complete.

(Now... some of you reading this no doubt know who I'm talking about... so SHHHHH! And for God's sake, don't tell her I'm afraid of her!)

(And yes, I am the same person who in the past month, flooded my bathroom.)

A Day in My Life

What does one morning of fourth graders, sitting silently, criss-cross applesauce (because it's not PC to say "Indian-Style" any more), with their eyes on the speaker equal? One afternoon of kids who act like total animals (ie. stuffing paper towels in the urinal and then peeing on it in a group. Yes. It happened.) and one teacher who almost fell asleep on her drive home.

While I enjoyed the field trip to Taste of Texas, and the chicken strips, I am now beat. And hubby is sitting next to me saying, "I thought we were going to work out?" Ahhhh, shit.

Instead of Something Productive

You know, like washing the mountain of laundry in my closet. Or, cleaning the bathrooms. Yuck. Or, even still, washing dishes or taking out trash. Tweeze my eyebrows. Or, many of the other really productive things I could be doing... OH! grading papers- that would be a really smart thing to do...

I just spent the last couple of hours drinking margaritas and eating fish tacos with my book club friends! I didn't read the book, hell, I didn't even buy it... but I did make it to the meeting!

I've missed every meeting since I suggested a book for the group to read that some called "soft porn." I guess that's probably two months? Anyway, I've given up on reading most of the books because although I enjoy a good chick-read from time to time, mostly I just like something funny or entertaining. Something a little raunchy is good too.

I don't like books that make you think and ponder life's greatest mysteries.* I don't want to cry. Especially in a group- please, vomit! I definitely don't want to say at the end of the book, "Oooooh! That's soooo sweet!" I want to laugh. I want to be shocked in some way. I want to read something that doesn't take life so seriously. There's too much of that. There are too many tear-jerkers. There's too much melt-in-your-mouth sweetness out there.

I am a really good half-book reader. I've read the first half of about 15 books. If it's really good, and it's some sort of school vacation, I might finish it. But usually- no. I just read half. It's good enough for me.**

So I'm about to read the book that I was supposed to read for tonight's meeting: "Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea." Anything with vodka in the title can't be all bad. I'll let you know if I read more than half.

*Or, at least books that try way too hard to get you to think deep thoughts. You know, can't we have a few laughs at life and maybe we'll end up thinking some of our own deep thoughts? Don't try too hard. And don't push your agendas at me. Entertain me, people!

**I actually do finish books. Just not all of them. It annoys my sisters to no end. I never want them to tell me the ending just in case I pick it back up. Yeah, right. I should have them tell me the ending so that I can stop pretending I'm ever going to pick it back up.