to our regularly scheduled programming.
As some have hoped, my 2ww has really (in the main) been more of a struggle to concentrate on doing my work in the face of the enormous distraction of home decor. You see, in addition to rasmus.com, this week I stumbled on houzz.com. Oh the endless distraction! And it's innocent entertainment with a low emotional commitment - you create a free little account thing (I'm the_misfit - shocking, I know), and then you look through the many thousands of real rooms desinged by real designers, and you add them to your little ideabook(s), either because they entertain you, or because you're redoing your bath and want to see what others have done in similar spaces that you think looks good, or because you're planning to buy an old house and redo the inside yourself because you have been seized by madness. For any of those reasons.
Anyway, I am going to post some pictures - from various sources - of my very favorite rooms here at some point, but right now if your life is really motivated by looking at my home decor notions, I believe you can look at my houzz ideabooks on the website.
Also in that vein, this is the Week of the Wonderful Bathtubs. There are two antique clawfoot tubs right now for sale in this area that I desperately want - one for my imagined upstairs bath and one for an imagined downstairs bath. (There are also two others that, in a less extraordinary week for bathtubs, would also be standouts.) The combined price, while a steal for the items, would be a lot of cash to fork over for a notion. (The DH, when told of one of the items, characteristically said, "Then why didn't you buy it?" This does not help as much as he thinks it does.)
Finally, house #5 just had $40k taken off the price. I would like to see a bit more of a shave there but it's a darn good start. I immediately called the realtor (whom I had called the week previously and speculated was dead when she did not return my call), but now her voicemailbox is full. A call to her office confirms that she is not dead nor even incapacitated. She just won't return phone calls. Or emails. I want to see the house! If I saw the house, and were convinced that I had to buy the house, then I could buy at least one bathtub...right?
I will make small notes on the subject of the fact that I am not pregnant. It is now 9dpo. I expect CD1 to put in an appearance next Wednesday, which also happens to be my fourth wedding anniversary. If I were a different IFer I would say that this is heartbreaking timing, but I actually don't find it heartbreaking. At one time I squashed the impulse to think, "Wouldn't it be nice if next year at Christmas..." and at some point the squashing became unnecessary; should someone now suggest that it would be nice if I had a babe in arms next year at Christmas, I would immediately calculate back nine months and conclude that this would require me to be pregnant starting in March at latest, mean the end of my full-time salary by the end of 2010, interfere with my plans to buy a house and otherwise be an inconvenience that is causing me heart palpitations just typing here about the idea. While I wasn't looking, I turned into a worldly career girl (who is bored of her job) who is frightened of having children because she is afraid of what they would do to her life. I am very tempted to delete that sentence and reframe it somehow less starkly, because I am appalled at the idea that this may be true. But I think that it may be.
At any rate, this has rather obvious implications for my attitude toward the (non-existent) possibility that I am pregnant even now. I'd rather not be. I thought about it and in Mass yesterday I committed the hypothetical unborn child to the prayers of our Lady, who will do far better by him or her than I ever could. And I refuse to feel guilty for "killing" any child who is miscarried because I am ambivalent about pregnancy. If Mary can't persuade our Lord that the child is wanted, nothing I say or do could make a difference. Whether God chooses that I should have a child or not, I will accept it just the same - and I realized, in that moment, that I had achieved what that Jesuit author described in the discernment process as "freedom to the opposite." I'll take either. And once I clear out the debris of the bitterness and other screwed-up-ness with which I have been needlessly cluttering up my life, that one realization will be the ticket to my freedom, which is all I really want. I'm not there yet, but I have hope that I'll get there.
If I make it through what I suppose may be termed my pregnancy scare, I resolve to seize the opportunity now to lose the approximately 12 pounds that are irritating me so, and to approach buying a home not just with fervor but with practicality, because I want the shelling out for closing costs and structural repairs to happen while we have two incomes, and the toxic chemicals (if they be needed) and labor-intensive remodeling to occur when I am my normal self - viz., not knocked up.
On a more technical note, my temperature this morning was a far more normal post-ovulatory 98.2 (and I discovered on reading my charts that I have in fact had about one 98.4 day every cycle). No tri-phasic. However, for about the last two hours, I have had to go to the bathroom every twenty minutes.
My sanity - it was holding on by a thread. When they find me, I'll be draped across an unrefinished vintage bathtub, one hand resting lightly on a scrapbook full of eccentric decor photos from the nineteenth century, a laptop resting on the floor nearby, and my torso obscured by a sprinkling of wallpaper swatches, apparently dispatched by brain fever.