I found this website called Two Week Wait www.twoweekwait.com. It's chock full of symptoms one might feel during the two weeks they have to wait before they can know for sure whether or not they are pregnant. You never know what that ingrown hair on your leg might REALLY MEAN. It's a place for women to help others trying to conceive, obsess more about their bodies. From what I had read through the other day, it didn't feel as 'cultish' as some of the others have felt.
So I decided to 'post' a howdy doody in one of the forums. Maybe I could find a little community of like-minded women to experience this journey with. So I created a profile and submitted my post. It went something like this:
"hi I'm blah blah blah...and we've been trying blah blah blah...and I've done this and that so far...and this looks good, but what does this mean....and..."
Then I get to the part where I disclose to this group the litany of "TMI" details commonplace to these boards. Like how many times and when and how you might have had sex (because fertile women are ALL ABOUT some details)...and as I'm writing my message, I can't bring myself to say it - BD (Baby Dance). Nope, I will not conform! So instead I go on my soapbox about how friggin STUPID the term "BD" is. Thinking, maybe, just maybe, all these people have been waiting for someone to say it so they could all agree and we could start talking like ADULTS. Who have SEX. And sometimes *GASP* fuck. And its all love-making - right? Because if you are trying to have a baby - I'm assuming your sexual relations have something to do with love. I mean, is it not possible for that word to exist in the context of making a baby? Newsflash. It happens (and in the famous words of Anne Lammot - my 24-hour-egg and I, don't have that kind of time) - and I highly recommend it.
So I get finished with my little 'cant we all just talk FOR REALS' speech, and end it with a friendly "GOOD LUCK!" and a "Cheers!". My signature does not include a blinky, a buzzy, or a scratch-and-sniff sticker of my Labrador Retriever. I have no borders and no STATS. And by all means, no trace, trail, or explosion of that almighty ever potent, BABYDUST. I am, just Plain Jane ZenStella looking for pointers on how to get knocked-up and a conversation that doesn't involve Gods Will or Hands.
I went to bed last night eager to check the boards this morning hoping to find the group had deemed me CAPTAIN of a more authentic, and honest group of gals - STELLA'S HOT TAMALE TRAIN if you will! A place where we could talk about our 'periods' and 'sex' and encourage eachother to spell out words and use complete sentences. A place where our husbands aren't always DEAR (DH=Dear Husband). Because some days mine is a SH=Silly Husband, some days he's a TH=Thoughtful Husband, and SOME DAYS hes a down right BH=Bastard Husband - either way, I hate to pigeonhole him. I anticipated an outpouring of welcome and appreciation for my calling out the pink elephant dressed as a Stepford Wife in the corner of the room.
This morning I checked in to my new club. Not only had I not recieved any private messages of comraderie - 4 new pages full of chat in addition to a whole new THREAD had evolved since my post and not a SINGLE ONE acknowledging I even existed in their TTC world. Talk about pink elephant. Page after page of 'Welcome Susie!' , 'Welcome Jane!', 'OMG Becky so glad you could join us!', all sorts of conversations ignoring my introduction as though I had come in and dropped virtual ass right all up in their rose garden.
So I guess I'll be taking my Hot Tamale Train campaign somewhere else. WHERE ARE MY PEOPLE??? Am I going crazy? Do I have to take a blinky acronymn class? Do I really have to go back to 1992 - because ya'll, I don't know how I feel about that...that was a BAD YEAR. My husband, Josh Hartnett, on the other hand was doing just fine. If only I had gotten some of THAT tamale train....
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