Warning - gonna talk about the empty net

So if you don't wanna hear about blood, pain or the nature of Aunt Flo - for Pete's sake leave! Or better yet, go see Dave. Besides, he's way funnier than I am. And he may someday rule the world.

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Okay, so for the brave few that have continued to read - Aunt Flo came to visit yesterday for the first time in three years. Now, I guess she's necessary for the whole 'lets have us some babies' deal, but she's still not a welcome houseguest. I have NOT missed her. I never bled through anything, I never had to go back home after I've already left in order to get my freaking 'supplies' (tampons people, tampons!) and I never had cramps.

Paradise. Freaking paradise.

Now, not so much. And just to make things worse, she's badder and bigger than ever. I am bleeding like a stuck pig. Since you can't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die, I am definitely NOT trustworthy. At this point, I don't trust myself. I'm going through my supplies so fast I keep on messing up and bleeding on things that shouldn't be bled upon.

People, this ain't normal.

And the cramping. Oh, Lordy. The cramping. I know people with fibroids will laugh at me and pregnant ladies will tell me that I have no idea what pelvic fullness really feels like, let alone pelvic contractions, but damn - for this amount of discomfort I better be birthing a bloody baby!*

So I'm gonna be pissed if we don't conceive relatively fast. Not 'cause I wanna get on with this whole life plan, hey - but 'cause then I can put the IUD back in and Aunt Flo can just fuck right off.

* Sorry for the run on sentence. I couldn't help myself. I'm not sorry for the alliteration. I didn't set out to do that, but I'm pleased with it. So there.

Empty Net!

Those of you who know me already know what I'm gonna write about from the title alone. Those who don't, well, if you don't want to hear about the state of my pelvis and hypothalamic-pituitary-ovarian axis, just stop reading now.

I've spent the last third of my life avoiding uterine parasites, i.e. pregnancy. Barriers, hormones and foreign bodies have all played a role... until yesterday. And it feels very bizzarre. I almost feel naked - like I'm not wearing pants or something. (Of note, I had one of those showing-up-for-a-test-naked dreams last night. Related? Nah. Never!)

The OB visit itself was weird. The hubbie and I are sitting there listening to the doc 'prescribe' sex every other day. I don't know what other couples think, but it was kind of a turn off. "Hey honey, we haven't had sex for 36 hours, we MUST have sex in the next twelve hours or I'll miss my next my sperm dose." Blargh. Sperm isn't like an antibiotic, people! The fabulous husband shouldn't be reduced to a sperm donor - he's worth more than that and he's definitely much sexier as a person than as a sperm delivery system.

If we don't have sex every 48 hours, do I have to fill out a missed medication form? Or does he? One of us would if I was a hospitalized patient... I guess I'm glad that I don't bring my work home with me! (Har - bad joke, I know, but hey - I'm a dork.)

All cultured and stuff! (And neon excretions of bizarre origin.)

Well, we had a weekend of culture. The first in a while.

Normally, I'm the kind of gal that likes to go to the mega-plex and watch testosterone-laden men to blow stuff up. Or watch sexy muscular women like Mila Jovovich or Michelle Yoh blow stuff up.

But not this weekend.

We started out by by bowling. I know, I know, not high culture. But hey, cheesy American culture isn't something we indulge in often. Then there was the Basquiat. Yes, I actually went to see art. Real art - the kind actual art critics actually write about. Normally, I avoid this stuff like the plague. 'Cause hey - I'm crass. But this was fun. It helped that copious amounts of booze and music by DJ Grandmaster Flash. It was the biggest party I have ever attended. The entire Houston Museum of Fine Arts was packed with hipsters - and these people were stupid enough to let me in! Hah! We came, we saw and we conquered. Very cool.

Next was Japanese drumming. Not only is that multicultural, which makes it intrinsically cool, but we also knew someone in the group. How cool is that? Taiko is definitely fun to watch. The drumming was awesome and the visuals were very cool. At one point, the drummers held these massive drums between their knees while lying on the floor. They then flexed their abdominal muscles to rear up and beat the drums. So very cool.

A good weekend all-around, topped off by some free booze from my boss and a game of Settlers with good friends. But now on to other topics...

My pee has turned neon yellow. Ya know that ever-so-slightly greenish neon yellow of the mid-1980's? Yeah, that's my pee. Before it was routine yellow of urine. As with any urine, it fluctuated between yellow and dark yellow with my relative state of hydration. Now it is just neon. Why, you ask? As a doctor, am I clueless why this has happened to me?

No, my friends, I am not.

It's my damn vitamins.

I've been a good little breeder and started taking prenatal vitamins well before getting pregnant. I got my vitamins from Central Market, an upscale tree-hugging (but excellent) supermarket nearby. My vitamins include the standard neccesary ingredients for prenatal health... but they also include various foodstuffs like spirulina, wheat grass, barley grass and alfalfa (leaf) juice concentrate.

So yeah, my pee is straight out of a bad 80's movie. But I need the vitamins. What is a girl supposed to do? The answer - suck it up!