Yep. That title about sums it up. See you can't really work out when you are cycling. Because you want to do everything perfect so that when/if the cycle fails you can look back and have no reason to curse yourself. Sometimes these things just don't work (in the case of a single frozen transfer, 80% of the time, these things don't work) and you want absolutely no reason to blame yourself other than the general geriatricness of your uterus. Anywho, anyone counting how long this ridiculous cycle was? Anyone? Well let me tell ya. On June 25th I started Lupron. On October 28th I transferred. Anyone got an abacus, because that's a LONG cycle. With meds that make you gain weight. And meds that make you over eat. Shockingly, I started the cycle weighing 140 and ended weighing 135. And I really didn't exercise at all throughout the entire thing. So, yay go me but holy bacon is there so flab on this body. Untoned flab. Geriatric untoned flab.
We got the official, "Hey idiot you're not pregnant...that's why all 15 of those home pregnancy tests were negative" from the RE on Tuesday. Wednesday was a crazy evening since boy #2 was packing for YIG and had basketball practice. Thursday brought about the period from hell. Ever had a post failed cycle period? Let's just say that all that lining they built up in there has to come out. And come out it does. So exercise was out for Wednesday, out for Thursday, out for Friday and out for Saturday. This morning, bright and early, the hubster and I decided to jog. Stop laughing. Ok, fine, keep laughing. We made it about a mile. If you are using klingon distance measurements. Then we walked a bit. And jogged a bit. Every jog got shorter, every walk got longer. There was much wheezing to be heard. And oh the flab that was flying. Egads. Must get into shape. Must banish the flab. How is it that my clothes all fit again and yet when I take them off, flab springs forth from every direction? Is this something else I can blame on aging? I hope so because if I have to blame it on my own laziness then I just suck.
I got my work report from this year so far. I've averaged 48 hours per week. Egads. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the poor laid off hubster has worked a whopping 700 hours all year long, almost all of it before he got laid off in May. Poor man is really getting bummed about not working and we are both really starting to wish he had filed for unemployment when he got laid off. We were trying to be nice and not burden his boss by making his unemployment insurance go up but wow...it's been a long time. Oh well. We have had a good happy summer and fall and hubster has been around for the kids alot. He has started searching for a part time job. We still think he should only work part time so that he can be around for the kids. The money would be nice if he worked full time but the kids are way more important than money. In five years, when the kids are grown, he can work full time.
So that's it for now. It's 76 here today and gorgeous so we are spending time outside. Boy #3 is gone and won't be home until tonight. Boy #2 is at the Y, playing basketball. The house is quiet and peaceful and the chocolate cake in the oven smells delish (what...did I say I was trying to lose weight? Hush).
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