I’ve gotten to some of your blogs already, but about 12 blogs in I realized how overwhelming this can be.  Plus, I’ve had to readjust to my “in real life” and it’s hard.  That, and I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow so I’m trying to decompress and prepare myself for the big 28-week prenatal check-up.

And then, my husband and son are being rather demanding of my time and attention.  So far, I’ve gone grocery shopping twice this week because apparently I’m still suffering from BlogHer Brain (or Pregnancy Brain) and I’ve forgotten many things on the grocery list.

The house is a mess because NO ONE cleans when I’m gone.  NO ONE.  And that sucks.

Also, I’m still catching up on sleep.  I’m so darn tired.  I’m actually tired of being tired.  IF that’s even possible…

And of course, I had to reset my internal clock and jump back into my work schedule and that right there?  Is what takes up my time.  I read hundreds of blogs a day and reading a few more outside of my work time is proving difficult right now.

But I will get it done.  Hopefully by Saturday.  Oh yes, I will.

Love yous.  (Yes, I said yous.  It’s a Polish thing.)

I realize I haven’t posted since my return from Chicago, and for that I am sorry.  It turns out that my roomie and I did not have internet in our room (we used a special non-BlogHerCon discount code, which saved us moolah, so I’m not complaining), and the Wi-Fi throughout the conference area was spotty.  I couldn’t blog.  I couldn’t twitter.  I couldn’t upload any photos to Flickr.  It was crummy.  I managed to check my e-mail once before losing my connection.  It’s not anyone’s fault.  Stick 1500+ women in one hotel, all trying to connect to the same internet network and you’d be lucky to get online at all.

I packed my bags (two rolling suitcases) on Wednesday and departed Thursday morning for the city of Milwaukee to meet up with Wisconsin Mommy.  I left earlier than expected because I anticipated heavy traffic and road construction on Highway 41, but surprisingly it was smooth sailing to Richfield, and I decided to make a side trip to Hubertus to visit the Basilica of Holy Hill.  It’s one of my favorite churches and the scenery is beautiful.  I also bought two rosaries and filled a small bottle with Holy Water for the remainder of my trip.  Don’t ask.  It’s a Catholic thing.  I’d explain it but non-Catholics might think we’re crazy.  Perhaps we are.

Our drive to Chicago was uneventful.  Since WM had never attended a BlogHer conference before, we spent most of our drive time discussing the conference and what to expect.  When we arrived at the fantastic Sheraton (at 3:30), we went up to our rooms to change clothes, call our families to let them know we were safe and sound, and promptly went downstairs to attend our first party hosted by Mom Central.

It was at the Mom Central party that I ran into Elizabeth, my roommate of the two years past, and I also had the opportunity to chat with Stacy DeBroff and the other ladies of Mom Central.  Forgive me, I cannot remember their names, but I know they were very sweet.  I had a drink ticket that I used for a Shirley Temple and I think the bartender was laughing because that was the first non alcoholic drink she’d made.

Next, we walked in the rain over to the Social Luxe party at the Hilton.  We were in awe of all the security in the hotel lobby and later learned that President Barack Obama was speaking at the hotel.  I took a picture of the welcome sign:

The President is in the House!

The Social Luxe party was a lot of fun.  I had worn my new shoes to walk over to the hotel, and holy hell the blisters!  I had totally forgotten to break them in after I bought them and the backs of my ankles were bloody.  It sucked.  Thankfully, WM found a pair of Croc flip-flops (Sorry, Kristen, I had to wear them.  HAD TO) and my pain was over.

I met Lotus and Leslie at the Social Luxe party and got to hang out with my old love Liz while we had a small plate of Hors d’œuvres and a cocktail (mine was a Pepsi, I gave my drink tickets to Catherine because you know, pregnant women don’t drink).

When we left the party it was raining even harder so we walked back to our hotel and later met up with The Redheaded Lefty.  We decided to do dinner and took a cab to Ed Debevic’s.  Yes, the place where they’re paid to be rude to the customer.  It was hilarious.  Our waitress was so funny, she looked like she was on the verge of laughing every time she came to our table to sling and insult.

The Redheaded Lefty

The food really wasn’t that great.  I had a burger and fries and barely ate half.  There just wasn’t any room in my belly, you know with the baby in there already.

After dinner we went to the People’s Party where I hooked up with a few of my BlogHer co-workers and several bloggers I hadn’t seen in a year.  It was nice to see Queen of Spain and Goon Squad Sarah once again.  I also got to see my dear friend Deb Roby, and met Miss Britt, which was so awesome.  I love that girl.

I managed to hang out in the People’s Party  (of which the line was long and people were pushing and shoving just to get in the damn door) for fifteen minutes before the claustrophobia set in.  And also?  I had been elbowed in the belly more than ten times.  (When I woke up the next morning and headed to the shower, I noticed a huge bruise on the left side of my abdomen.  I nearly cried because of the ugly shade of purple I was now sporting.  And it hurt.)

I spent the next hour in the Ballroom hallway, where Sarah and Deb kept me company and Liz and Maureen checked on me every so often.  The party was overwhelming.  There were hundreds of people crammed in that small room, and I just couldn’t handle it.

I made it to bed before 11 p.m. that night, exhaustion had set in and I was ready to catch some Z’s.

Friday morning I woke at the early hour of 5:45.   After showering and admiring my purple bruise, we went down to breakfast before the opening keynote.  Maureen and I met up with Sarah and grabbed a table.  Somehow Sarah had lost her iPhone and I set out to find it by calling it every few minutes.  Thankfully, Gina had found it and I ran to the front of the Ballroom to retrieve it.  Sarah was elated.  I was glad it wasn’t lost forever.  Easy to lose things at a large conference.  I later heard that WhyMommy had lost hers the next night.  I don’t know if she found hers.  I sure hope so.

The opening keynote was great.  I’m always in awe of Jory, Elisa and Lisa and all the time and effort they put into running and amazing conference.  As a now 3-year veteran, I have to say that every year they impress me more and more.  They are truly committed to the women of the blogosphere and I’m proud to know them.

I missed the first session to visit the Expo Hall so that I could connect with and thank the sponsors for making it possible for so many bloggers to attend the BlogHer conference.  I loved talking with the folks at Tide.  My husband does all the laundry because he’s very particular about which detergent he uses (only Tide) and has his own method to washing clothes.  Liza Martindale Weiner (who worked in the Tide booth) gave me her business card and a few samples, and told me to have my husband contact her.  She wanted to hear his thoughts on their new dryer bar.  I graciously accepted.

I loved talking with the people at the Eucerin booth, too.  My husband suffers from psoriasis and I learned that their Aquaphor product can help heal the skin and reduce the redness associated with psoriasis.  Since I currently use their Redness Relief lotion for my rosacea, I was happy to learn that Eucerin cares about many different skin problems.

I know that many bloggers are writing posts about “swag hags” and “swag whores” and I’m shocked at some of the things being said.  I’m well aware of the fact that many people forgot their manners at this conference and I’m hoping it’s because they were overwhelmed by the conference.

I went into the Expo Hall to meet with the sponsors and vendors, and since the BlogHer bookstore was in the same room, I wanted to purchase a few books by some amazing authors (Lenore Skenazy, Stephanie Wilder-Taylor and Dawn Meehan).

I didn’t go down only for the swag, but when items that interested me were offered to me, I accepted graciously.  I engaged with our sponsors and listened to what they had to say.  When they asked my opinions, I offered them honestly and I was happy to learn that these companies care about their customers and want to hear what we have to say.

It’s true.  I received several reusable shopping bags in the expo hall, and I didn’t turn them down.  I love using those bags at the grocery store (my husband is a department manager in our local grocery store) instead of burning another whole in the ozone with plastic and paper bags.  However, I would never elbow a baby to get to a swag bag, and when I heard what happened to Amalah’s sweet little Ezra, I was appalled.  (Remember, it was at that same party that I got that huge freakin’ bruise to the belly.  I’m still mad when I look in the mirror.  It’s a nice yellow-green-blue-purple color now, three days later.)

After the Expo we went to lunch and I got my picture taken by the pasta-razzi, standing next to a gigantic jar of Ragu.  I hate this photo.  I don’t look pregnant, I look like I swallowed three watermelon.

Pregnancy is not flattering on me.

Lunch was delicious, but I felt sad because my friend Laura didn’t get to eat.  She’s allergic to wheat and has Celiac’s disease, so she must follow a gluten-free diet plan.  Nothing on the menu was gluten-free and she left the dining area in tears.  (And later had a meal at restaurant that brags about it’s gluten-free menu only to have a severe allergic reaction because her meal was contaminated with gluten.  How awful.)

I attended the second Mommyblogging session titled Balance is a Big, Fat, Lying, McLiar LIE for Moms Who Blog (and the rest of us too) and loved the things Rita Arens, Pauline (OHMommy), Angela Tseng and Lisa Belkin had to say.

As a mom and blogger I often find it hard to balance the time I spend online (most of which is spent working for the BlogHer Ad Network) with the time I need to spend with my family.  At the end of my “work day” the last thing I want to do is blog (I read hundreds of blogs each day, and rarely find time to comment).  I try to do things with Doug and Dawson and then later feel guilty for not blogging.

All of the speakers offered great tips on prioritizing and not feeling guilty if I just can’t crank out a post every day.

After this session I went back to my room to take a nap.  I was so very tired.  I was sad to miss the microblogging session, but I knew I’d be falling asleep in my chair had I stayed for that one.

I woke up an hour or so later and went to the Community Keynote with Ashley and Maureen.  I laughed, I cried and I laughed and cried some more.  Melissa of Stirrup Queens, Tanis of Redneck Mommy and Karen of Chookooloonks had me in tears, as well as TW’s reading as well.   I laughed along with Bossy and JD.

I gave Grace Davis a standing ovation.  Her post had me crying, but her lesson was so amazing.

Later we attended the BlogHer cocktail party, and sat at the very back of the room because the karaoke was very, very loud.  VERY.  I got to see WhyMommy and Cecily and White Trash Mom once again.  I met Sarah, too.  She is an AMAZING photographer.  If only I had half her talent.

Post BlogHer cocktail party, Ashley and I went to the Type-A Momfluence party.  We got upstairs just before it started only to stand in a huge, HUGE line.  It was crazy to see all those people lining up at the door of a party.  These diehards wanted to get one of 100 HP swag bags.  We were numbers 120 and 121 in line — yes, someone actually counted (I didn’t really feel like standing in line for 40 minutes like another friend did.  She has endurance, for sure), and when we got into the tiny, TINY corner room, I had a panic attack.  I really wanted to try a chocolate thing from the chocolate fountain, but I got pushed by the many people behind me trying to cram into this small room.  We made our way toward one of the exits and stood in the hallway before making  a break for the bathroom.  At least it was quiet and empty in there.

I felt terrible for leaving that party after only 10 minutes, but it was chaotic.  People were still in line to get in as we were exiting.  They must have wanted a chocolate martini, too!

Since everyone was trying to pile into the Columbus room for that party, we went up to the Mommy Needs a Cocktail party where we were able to have a latte and sit down and talk to people.  I loved that party because the room was big enough for all of us.  I didn’t get pushed or pulled once.  And the latte was delicious.  I had a cute little cookie, too:

"Bite Me!" Says the Cookie...

Post latte, we all went to our rooms to catch up on much needed sleep.

Saturday morning I woke up at 5:50 a.m. (again, before the alarm… my body is programmed) and I took the hottest shower possible. The water pressure sucked, but I felt so much better after washing my hair and scrubbing the sleep from my face.

Breakfast was delicious, but I skipped the Saturday morning keynote to try and check e-mails and do some BlogHer work. The internet still wasn’t working for me, so my pals and I went to the Advanced Social Media, Syndication and Stats session. The speakers, Denise Tanton and Corvida Raven offered their wealth of knowledge to the audience, and I admit, some of it was over my head. However, I did learn a lot. (Honestly, I was the only one in the room who did not know what an ego feed was. For real. No clue.)

After that session I went down to the Expo to meet Paula Deen. Her plane was late and she didn’t arrive until almost and hour and half later, so I went to lunch and came back.  While waiting the second time, a very kind woman in the front row offered her seat to me because she saw I was pregnant. I thanked her and told her she was my new hero. She told me she was tired of waiting and wanted me to have the front row chair. Still my hero, because thanks to her, I got this great video (sorry for the background noise):

I’ve been a fan of Paula’s for years.  When she walked into the Walmart booth I just about died.  I was starstruck.  But Ms. Deen was so gracious and so down to Earth, and she truly cares so much about her fans.  I absolutely love her.  LOVE her.

After getting my picture taken with Paula, I trekked my way up to the ballroom for the BlogHer Publishing Network session. Many of you know that I work as a headline editor for the BlogHer Ad network.  It’s a job I love and I’m so honored to have, and I feel so lucky to do what I do.  I read your blogs, every day, and choose the best blog posts that you’ve written to be featured in the links underneath the ads column.

Lisa Stone talked about the ad network and how it started, and touched on the FTC guidelines as well as BlogHer’s guidelines for the ad network.  Gina Garrubbo, Jenny Lauck and Jenifer Scharpen did a wonderful job of answering questions and offering advice on how to get the most from our ad network.  It was my favorite panel, mainly because I’m proud to work with these amazing women (and men!).

After the amazing panel I went to the closing keynote.  Can I just say danah boyd rocks?  I want an ‘h’ in my name, too!  I love her!

Post keynote, Maureen and I went to grab our bags (we packed up that morning because we had to check out Saturday, since we live just hours north in Wisconsin and didn’t feel the need to stay another night) and made our way to the car parked in the valet garage.

I felt sad to leave.  We didn’t stay for the Saturday cocktail party, and I’m told we missed a fantastic CheezeBurgHer party that several men from a bachelor party crashed, but truth be told I was missing my little boy and my husband.  Perhaps it was due to all the pregnancy hormones and many emotions.

Looking back on the conference I realize I spent most of my time on the sidelines, observing everyone else.  I was overwhelmed by the size of this year’s conference.  I was having Braxton-Hicks contractions occasionally, and the constant elbowing of my belly, and being pushed and shoved made me nervous.  And claustrophobic.

If you met me and thought I was unfriendly, I sincerely apologize.  I am one of the friendliest women you’ll ever meet, and under non-pregnant circumstances, I’m certain I would have been less paranoid and more engaging.  I hope you can forgive me.  I feel awful for not meeing everyone.

There were so many bloggers I wanted to meet but didn’t have the opportunity, or just couldn’t find you in the crowds.  I truly hope we can meet next year in NYC.  I’ll have a baby with me, but I’ll be there and ready to talk and laugh with all of you.

Overwhelming, yet amazing.  That’s what BlogHer ‘09 was for me.

———-

My favorite photos from BlogHer:

The Dana Files & The Redheaded Lefty

Me with Mel of Stirrup Queens

Cecily of Uppercase Woman and Me

The Dana Files & Queen of Spain, The 2 Hottest Polish Girls on the Planet

The Two Hottest Mommybloggers from Wisconsin

Mocha Momma with the delicious Baby Uncensored

More photos here.

But since I hate leaving y’all hanging (did you see that?  I y’all’ed you already), here’s the photo I’ve been dying to share since the second I met this fantastic, sweet, southern woman:

I was starstruck, yes, but thankfully I didn’t make a fool of myself.  And when I stood next to her, Ms. Paula Deen, she said, “Hey, honey!  How are you?”  I can hear that awesome Georgia accent in my head, and if I could write it out phonetically, I so would.

I’m still giddy with excitement about this whole thing…and I’ll tell you all the fantastic details as soon as I can.  Hang in there for me!

For those of you wondering why I wrote checks, it’s because we don’t have debit cards for our joint checking.  We canceled them after a fraud incident and never bothered to get new ones, because really, not having debit cards has proven to be quite effective in money management.  No seriously, we actually have money left over at the end of the month, after paying bills and buying necessities like groceries and toilet paper and beer.  The beer is for Doug, not me. DUH.

Without debit cards, we don’t have the urge to buy anything because that would mean we’d have to make like a caveman and actually dig out the thing called a check book and write a dollar amount and sign our names.  Like the olden days.  You know before debit cards.

So, we don’t spend much money.  Today I wrote a check to the garage for an oil change on my car, another for the grocery store because apparently the huz and the kid still have to eat while I’m in Chicago partying like a pregnant rock star, and the third check was to Target for bras, underwear and deoderant.  I bought bras and underwear because my current undergarments no longer fit due to the expanding belly and breasts.  And I needed deoderant because it would be a crime to stink you all to death in Chicago.  You can thank me later.

So. Yeah.  Now I have to concentrate on packing and making sure I don’t forget anything before I leave on Thursday.  If I don’t start tonight, I’ll be in the Windy city paying $6 for a razor or bottled water.  Or whatever.

I have no idea what the point of this post was, but now you have proof, actual evidence, that I am crazy.  CRAZY.

See you in Chicago.

Paula if you are reading, I am not a stalker, just an adoring fan.

Y’all don’t know…How much….(can’t breathe)… I love this woman.  I’ve even tried to convince Doug to let me drive to Savannah to eat in her restaurant.  He thinks I am CRAZY.

Now….y’all wouldn’t kid a girl would you?  Is Ms. Deen really going to be at BlogHer?  In Chicago?

I think I’m going to faint.

I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I have no ambition to blog today. Or tomorrow. Or the next few days until BlogHer ‘09. I had no ambition to blog yesterday or the day before that either. It’s like I’m so tired, no make that EXHAUSTED. I think the cold I’m still (yes, still) recovering from has wiped me out.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that I’m getting closer to the third trimester and my body has decided that sleep is the only thing that matters these days.  All I know is that I better get a burst of energy before Thursday, or I will be one boring woman in Chicago.

I got my gray covered hair colored today.  My appointment was originally scheduled yesterday but my stylist is not feelng well.  Her schedule for this week was tight, so another awesome stylist at the salon was able to fit me in.  I felt like I was cheating on my person.  Seriously.  I actually got on Facebook to ask her if it was okay for her chair mate to do the honors of making me look beautiful.  She gave me her blessing, and I have to say I look pretty darn good for a swollen pregnant woman.  I’ll post photos soon.  Probably during BlogHer.

Yeah, did I mention I’m going?  I’m sure you’ve read sentences like this several times because, for real, thousands of BlogHers will converge in Chicago.   I picked the wrong time to be pregnant, because HOLY PARTIES… and I can’t even have one cocktail.  Not that I really want one… OK, I admit, a sip of wine sounds really great right now.  Oh well.  I will live.

I really have nothing fun to blog about right now.  My mind is occupied by all the packing and to-dos and other chaos I need to handle before I depart.  Oh, that reminds me.  I need to get my car’s oil changed.  Write that down for me, will ya?

I will leave you with a photo of my son, the computer genius.  Here he is on his mother’s “puter” playing a game on the Playhouse Disney website:

I’m starting to think this child knows more about my laptop than I do.  He left clicks faster than his father, and he figured out how to work the scroll bar all by himself.  He even knows how to use the built-in mouse pad, but prefers the old fashioned kind, just like his mother.

Perhaps I will be back tomorow with more interesting blog material.  Or not.  So sorry I’m tres boring.

Any readers going to the big BlogHer shindig?  Let me know!

Next week I’ll be heading to Chicago for the annual BlogHer Conference.  I’m driving down to the Milwaukee area to meet up with this hot blogger, and together we’ll make the journey south to Chicago.  Can I just say how grateful I am to have someone to talk for half of the long trip?  Thank you, Wisconsin Mommy.

For those of you who have e-mailed me, I’m sorry if I’ve failed to reply, it’s been mega busy (and chaotic!) here these last few weeks  — but I will be at BlogHer from Thursday until Saturday evening.  Due to my delicate condition, and not being able to drink, we thought it best to depart for home Saturday night.  Yes, I know we’ll probably miss the CheeseBurgHer party, and for that I’m truly sorry.  But I promise, PROMISE, to be present next year.  Make sure you hold me t it.

I’m not in a panic over the conference itself, but I am sort of freaking out about traveling while pregnant.  Even though my doctor has given his approval (he called it the “last hurrah” before I’ll be chained to a bed due to my high risk history… more on that in another post), I’m just a bit nervous about things.  I know I’ll be fine, but like I’ve said before, worrying is in my nature.  Please tell me to calm down.

I’ve got tons to do (pack, clean the house, make sure Dawson is taken care of, pack, freak out a bit more) so my blogging may be sporadic (I’m sure you’re used to it by now).  But if you’re going to BlogHer, be sure to leave me a comment so I know to track you down!

I remember the feeling as though it is surfacing right now at this very moment.  The thrill of knowing that I was pregnant, if only because a 5-inch plastic stick said so, was so surreal and yet so exciting.  Even after calling Doug and sharing the news with a few people, staring at those two pink lines brought joy to my heart.

Several moments later a fit of panic filled my body.  What if this test was wrong? What if I jumped the gun and told too many people?  What if I jinxed myself?  What if I wake up tomorrow and this is all a terrible dream?  A nightmare?

It was nearly impossible to finish my shift at my job (Note to self:  never take a pregnancy test at work), the combination of happiness and terror was making me anxious as well as sick to my stomach.  When I got home that night, my husband wasn’t as happy for us as I wished him to be.  Looking back on that night, I understand he was being cautious.  He didn’t want to get his hopes up.  He had to be strong for both of us, just in case “something bad happened”.  He was afraid to breathe and I was afraid to admit I felt the same way.

Why can’t I fucking enjoy this?  I’ve waited so long and here I sit, sleepless and full of anxiety?  Why can’t I be a normal pregnant woman?

The next morning I made an appointment with my ob/gyn, or his nurse actually.  She scheduled me that morning to come in for a blood test, as well as another urine test.  The procedure itself was quick, but waiting for the results was torture.  I returned home at 10 a.m., had breakfast, threw it up (it had to have been the nerves) and waited.  And waited some more.  At 2:30 that afternoon the lab called with my results on behalf of my doctor’s office.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Tuszke.  Your test results are positive for pregnancy.  Please hold the line for Dr. J’s office.  He’ll need to see you in four weeks.”

The feelings of disbelief returned and my face drained of color.  Doug was sitting on the couch and he asked, “Is everything okay?  Are you alright?”

“I’m pregnant.  I’m truly, really pregnant!”

“Are you sure?  Maybe your urine is fucked up.  Are they sure you’re really pregnant?”

“It would be a cruel, sick joke to play on a someone who wasn’t, don’t you think?”

I believe my husband was just as astonished as I was.  That was the day he bacame a father.  That was the day he had another person to love and care about.  Another person to provide for.  He was happy, but afraid of the unknown.  Before our baby was born he had never held another child.  Not even his niece.  Doug was just trying to navigate his own emotions, as well as be supportive for me.

The next four weeks were filled with sore breasts and morning sickness.  There was one week that I was so ill I thought I was going to do harm to the baby because I couldn’t stop vomiting.  I cried for days about the fear of having a miscarriage.  I couldn’t bear to think about such atrocities, and yet the thoughts consumed my mind for months.

I had an early ultrasound and was ecstatic to see the baby’s beating heart on the fetal monitor, but my axiety was high and I wasn’t able to calm down until I heard my little one’s heartbeat on the doppler at 11 weeks.

Every doctor’s appointment was filled with anxiety of the possible bad news I might be told.  Nothing was ever wrong (thanks be to God), yet I felt as though I was swimming near a dam and constantly pulled under the current of emotions.  I remember Dr. J ordering me to relax because high stress levels wasn’t good for my health or the health of my child.  I desperately tried to relax, even forced myself to take it easy, but it seemed to make matters worse.

At seven months pregnant I was diagnosed with pregnancy induced hypertension, or pre-eclampsia and was sentenced to bedrest.  It wasn’t because I was eating terribly or not exercising, hell I ate so well and walked Murphy (our dog) everyday.  Sometimes we’d walk one or two miles.  The combination of work related stress and pregnancy anxiety caused my blood pressure to sky rocket.

Hearing the doctor’s words tossed me over the edge in a barrell of despair.  Financially, we coldn’t afford bedrest for as long as my doctor suggested.  After a week of it, I tried to go back to work only to be sent home because I passed out at my desk.  I spent the last 11 weeks of my pregnancy at home trying to grow my baby to full term.  At 38 weeks I was induced because the protein count in my urine was too high.

Dawson Douglas Tuszke was born on September 16, 2004, nineteen days early.  He weighed 7 lbs., 8 oz., and as the doctor placed him in my arms the feelings of relief washed over me.  My baby was here.  He was healthy, and beautiful and mine.

To this day, I struggle with the emotional impact this child has on my life.  He’s my world.  He’s the air that I breathe and I love him more than I can ever describe in a blog post.  So much of motherhood is about the way I feel when I look at my little boy.  If I close my eyes and think hard enough I can still feel the joy and pain of his birth, and I wouldn’t trade that in for anything on this Earth.

My post-partum days were a blur.  The reality of what motherhood entailed controlled me.  Nursing, diaper changing, crying over anything and nothing all the same time; it was a sky dive without a parachute at times.  I put on that happy face to hide the insanity boiling over inside me.  It wasn’t PPD, it was anxiety.  The fear of the “something bad” was enough to make me want to hide under the covers.

And then the image of what my body looked like, post childbirth, haunted me.  I wasn’t angry, more shocked.  I was navigating the stormy seas of first time motherhood.  I was the captain of my own destiny and that of my son’s, at least until he was eighteen.  I was blissfully happy and emotionally bankrupt.  I didn’t understand how this was possible.

After six months of doctor’s supervision and “outdoor therapy” (also known as three mile walks and serotonin supplements) my life was getting back to normal.  Not pre-baby normal, but I was able to control my emotions better and able to raise my child in a healthy, happy environment.

As Dawson grew older, I learned to enjoy the stages and milestones of his development and I couldn’t wait to have another baby.  Financially, we weren’t ready due to the long months of bedrest, but then in August of 2005, when Dawson was 11 months old, I suffered what the doctors think was a miscarriage.

I didn’t know I was pregnant until I started bleeding.  The clotting, the cramps, the emotional chaos were frightening.  I didn’t understand any of what was happening.  My period wasn’t technically late, because I hadn’t gotten one since Dawson was born.

I went to the doctor who ordered bloodwork.  The results came several days later.

“Based on the test results, we think you had a miscarriage.  There were low hGg levels indicating pregnancy, and the spontaneous bleeding and clotting support that diagnosis.”

I didn’t cry at first.  I didn’t feel anything.  No emotion.  I was numb.  And then four days later the floodgates opened.  I mourned for a child I didn’t even know.  I couldn’t fathom what was happening and it spiraled into a depression.  I couldn’t look at my son without crying.  I couldn’t let my husband touch me without the fear of shattering into tiny little pieces in his arms.  I didn’t understand the volume of my emotions and I couldn’t believe how badly it hurt.  How could one person feel this horrible?

Several months later the questions began.  Friends and family were constantly asking, “When are you going to have another baby?”  It was infuriating.  I felt like I was constantly on the defensive, justifying why we weren’t pregnant again.  I made excuses, rather than admit my fertility trouble.  Instead of facing the fact I had a miscarriage, I buried myself in a hole of denial.

I was spitting out the stock answers, all the time.  We’re not ready yet.  We’re happy with just Dawson right now.  We can’t afford a second child.  The timing isn’t right.  Someday we’ll try again.

Then one day I had heard enough and hit my breaking point.  I finally admitted my difficulty in getting pregnant.  I used the word infertility out loud.  And the person I told gave me a look of disbelief.  This person was so uncomfortable with my confession that she laughed and said, “That can’t be true.  You’ve got Dawson.  It’s not impossible for you to get pregnant.”

I was heartbroken.  I confided in someone and she didn’t take me seriously.  Instead she made feel inadequate in a way that even now, more than two years later, I can’t describe.  It was hard enough to say that I have fertility problems, but take away that reason and what would my excuse be?  It was a mindfuck.  I couldn’t wrap my head around what I was thinking or feeling so I continued to deny it.  I remember actually repeating the words to myself, “Maybe nothing is wrong with me.  Maybe it’s just mind over matter. Delusional, yes, but easier to deal with than the issue at hand.

I remember having a conversation with my mother and she kept nagging me about having a second child.  I was so angry I yelled, “What do you want me to fucking do?  Write a letter to my ovaries?”  She replied, “No…I want you to write a letter to God.”  As if it was that easy.  And maybe it is that easy.  But for me, it was the most difficult thing to cope with.  It still is.

For the past year, Doug and I have been really trying to have another baby.  Every late period, every negative pregnancy test, spins me into an emotional tornado of anger and grief and self-pity.  Thankfully, I have found a doctor who listens to my concerns and things are looking up, but it’s not an easy road this time around either.

Naturally, when I heard that BlogHer was offering a panel on Infertility at the conference, I didn’t want to go.  I wasn’t prepared emotionally and I didn’t know how I would react to the discussion.  I had never revealed my story to anyone after my first attempt with a friend.  Her reaction made me think that everyone would react the same way.

Naively, I didn’t even realize there were so many infertility bloggers out there until I began working with the BlogHer Ads Network.  I knew there was the possiblity they existed, but I could never bring myself to Google them.  I was scared.  I was terrified.  I didn’t want to be labeled as an IF blogger.  I didn’t want to admit that I belonged in that group.  Denial is more than a river in Egypt, as they say.

The truth is, I didn’t feel like I had the right to join that group because against all odds, I conceived a child and gave birth.  I didn’t feel entitled to share my experience because so many women still yearn to have children of their own.  On the contrary I didn’t feel like I fit in with the mothers who conceived easily because I was still struggling with my own infertility issues.  It was a catch-22 and I didn’t know how to deal with it.

For so long I read those Infertility blogs and nodded silently from behind the safety of my computer screen.  I felt comforted by the fact that I wasn’t alone, and I was perfectly okay with not joining the discussion.  I wasn’t ready to jump from that airplane.

The stigma that our society places on infertile couples is absolutely horrible.  We’re made to feel like second class citizens, simply because we have difficulty producing children.  It’s shameful and unfair and it makes me angry.  Often I feel as though the “mommy wars” are nothing compared to the war between fertile and infertile women.  It shouldn’t have to be that way.  We should be able to support each other.  Because of that stigma, that the lives of infertile women are not relevant to motherhood issues, I was afraid to ever blog the struggles I experienced.

As the BlogHer conference grew nearer, I realized I couldn’t avoid it any longer.  I would have to rip off the band-aid eventually, and when I did, I wanted to be with people like myself.  I wanted to know that I was safe to feel the emotions without judgement.

I didn’t realize how quickly those floodgates would open.  I was a sobbing mess; hysterical, angry, frustrated, sad and emotionally worn out.  It took several long moments of quiet sobs before I could bring myself to open my mouth.  But when I did, it all spilled forth and these women (and men) understood.

They understood. They got me and they didn’t judge me.  They wrapped their arms around me and welcomed me into the safety of their hearts and I am forever grateful.  I will never forget that feeling of relief.  The “wow…this is what I was missing…” feeling, was such an epiphany for me.  The heaviness rolled off my shoulders and I was finally able to stand up straight.  I was finally able to say, “I suffer from infertility.”

I can finally say I’m Dana, and I belong here.

I no longer feel empty because I found support from those who have walked in my shoes.

For the first time, I feel whole.   For the first time, I am able to blog this and share my story with all of you.  I’ve made many attempts, but never in great detail.

My struggle is nowhere near being over, but I finally have the courage to move forward and continue fighting this battle for the good.

This post (and this one) wasn’t easy for me to write, but I did it.  I put it out there, and I must send my sincerest thanks to Pamela (Coming2Terms),  Lori (Weebles Wobblog), Monica (Rantings of a Creole Princess), Melissa (Stirrup Queens), Cecily (Uppercase Woman), Rachel (Fertility Stories), and several other amazing men and women who approached me (and regretfully I have forgotten their names, but never their sentiments).  From the bottom of my heart, I thank you kindly for your support and your compassion.  Your words mean so much to me and I shall hold them in my heart for the rest of my life.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And to Jenny, who came over to hug me after the panel, I must thank you (and the rest of the amazing BlogHers) for giving me the opportunity to work with you — for if I hadn’t, I may never have gotten up the courage to meet the wonderful men and women who struggle with infertility as well.

You are all my people, and I puffy heart you.  Every one of you.

When I attended last year’s BlogHer Conference, I was a newbie; a virgin so-to-speak.  I didn’t quite know what to expect and I was rather overwhelmed with all the sessions and blogger meet-ups and overall conference what-to-do.

This year, I considered myself a veteran and I found it easier to meet new bloggers as well as re-connect with my pals, and when it came down to choosing which sessions to attend, I chose the Mommyblogging track.  And it was the Infertility panel that struck a chord that still resonates within me,  weeks later.

I’m in a point in my life where motherhood consumes me.  I’ve been at this Mommy thing for almost four years now; longer if you count pregnancy and all the worrying I did about my son’s impending birth.  The fear of breaking my vagina as Dawson’s head pushed through was always teetering at the back of mind.  Perhaps because it took so long for me to conceive, I was nervous and worrisome for the entire nine months.

Looking back on those years before I became a mother, I remember quite vividly the feelings of frustration, sadness and anger I felt over my conception woes.  It was an emotional roller coaster, and I felt like I was held captive on this ride and never let off. To completely understand what I went through, I’ll have to give you a little back story.

I was raised in a Polish, Catholic family where it was commonplace for women to get married, have lots of babies and constantly feed everybody.  My parents were born into large families; my mother the oldest of seven and my father the youngest of nine children.

Family gatherings were big as well as blithe, laughter was never hard to find, and our extended family grew every year.  I remember Christmas holidays when year after year at least one of my aunts was pregnant.  I never had a shortage of cousins to play with when I was a kid.

I can still remember how easy, and somewhat glamorous, the women in my family made motherhood appear.  No one ever complained about the lack of sleep or trouble with breastfeeding they experienced.  There was never any talk about the hundreds of diapers that needed changing.  No one ever discussed the fact that their husbands became useless and clueless after the birth of a baby. Instead, it was all happy babies and loving mamas sharing peek-a-boo moments.  Boy, what a delusion.

Naturally, I grew up believing that motherhood was the grand poobah of aspirations.  This was what little girls dreamed of becoming.  At the age of 13, wifedom and motherhood was the end all, be all in my book.  In all honesty, if the fear of God and my father weren’t as strong as they were when I was 17, I’m pretty positive I would have gotten pregnant in high school.  I know that’s an almost insane thing to admit, but I couldn’t wait to be a mother.

I remember when a schoolmate told me she was expecting during our senior year.  I was shocked at first and then later I was somewhat jealous.  Of course those feelings dissipated when I watched her struggle with pregnancy and later childbirth and the day the baby’s father abandoned her.  That was my first glimpse of the reality that is motherhood.  That was the day I realized that there is no glitz and glamor to becoming a mother.  And yet, I desperately yearned for the day I would have my own child. I didn’t realize the difficult journey to motherhood that was ahead of me.

My first brush with the infertile world (although I didn’t know it at the time) happened a year after I graduated high school.  It was May of 1998, and my period was late.  I remember the fear that something was wrong with my body.  I was still a virgin, so pregnancy was not possible, unless of course I was chosen by God to give birth to the next Savior of the world.

It turns out my periods would cease for 19 months.  After a year and a half of this craziness, I decided it was time to see a doctor.  I didn’t have health insurance, so I didn’t go to the clinic, but instead I scheduled an appointment with the local Ruth Gilfry office.  They referred me to a physician who prescribed progesterone/progestin to start my periods again, but no explanation was given as to why they stopped to begin with.

There were speculations, such as my rapid weight loss (at age 20, when I got down to 130 pounds, my lowest weight ever.  I graduated high school at 150.) or the fact that I was exercising too much and eating too little, as well as my family history of ovarian cysts and fibroids (I had a cyst burst during math class once, causing me to double over in pain), and the possibility I had endometriosis (an ultrasound and laproscopy ruled that out, thank God).

At age 21, I got a job that offered health insurance and I decided to finally have a full physical examination to see what was happening with my ovaries and uterus.  My periods had finally started again a few months before, and I wanted to make sure everything was all right, reproductively.  I had gained back all of the weight I lost and then some, causing my menstrual cycles to last 40 days or longer and I wanted an explanation.  My doctor told me I had polycystic ovarian syndrome.  WTF is that, I thought.

I honestly thought it was some made up “disease”, a diagnosis created to group a whole bunch of symptoms and unexplained conditions together.  I was told I was overweight and suffering from a metabolic disorder, yet my thyroid checks came back normal every time.  My doctor prescribed Glucophage (metformin) to keep my insulin levels in check.  Several months later, I was told I was a “borderline diabetic”.  My world felt like it was crumbling, especially when the doctor explained, “this condition will make it difficult for you to have children.” I was crushed.  I felt as though my dream of motherhood was being pulled away from me.  Stolen.  I felt robbed.

I was advised to lose weight, but not too much and told not to continue the excessive exercise regime.  It was thought that if I lost twenty pounds, having a baby may not be so difficult.

After my husband and I were married, we decided to begin trying to conceive immediately.  After 12 months of no luck, I went back to my doctor who referred me to a specialist.  The doctor ordered me to continue taking the Glucophage as well as Clomid, a fertility drug.

I began charting my cycles, and taking my temperature every morning and still, I wasn’t pregnant.  Every time my period was late, I’d pee on a stick and become angry and frustrated when a big, fat negative result turned up in the test window.  After another year of this, I lost hope.  I told Doug that I didn’t want children anymore.  Not if it meant going through that, month after horrible month.

I confided in my mother about my frustration and she was supportive, yet she told me she didn’t believe anything was wrong with me — that maybe Doug and i weren’t having sex at the right time of the month.  Other friends told me to relax, that it would happen when I least expected it.  I know they meant well, but these words pissed me off.  I wanted so badly to tell them all to shut up.  I wanted to say, “You don’t know what I’m going through…you don’t understand how difficult this is!”

Every time I saw a pregnant woman, I wanted to run away.  I wanted to cry and yell and throw things.  I wasn’t mad at the person, I was mad at my situation.  And maybe I was jealous.  I didn’t understand why that couldn’t be me.

When these feelings surfaced, I stopped taking the drugs and decided to concentrate on other things.  It was November of 2003 and my co-worker Melissa and I decided to try the Atkins diet.  It was all the rage back then and we both thought we could stand to lose a few pounds.  It was the dumbest thing I did, I realize that now, but the rigidity of that “diet” gave me something else to focus on.  Counting carbs and peeing on Keto sticks took my mind of taking Clomid and peeing on ovulation sticks. I lost 37 pounds in 3 months.

In January of 2004, Doug and I decided to get a dog.  Murphy became our baby.  And then one day I stepped on the scale and discovered I had gained 9 pounds in a week.  My fear consumed me, because I was following the Atkins diet religiously.  Later, I noticed my period was five days late.  I took a pregnancy test.  Negative.  The old feelings of anger began to rise in my throat like bile.  It was devastating.  I felt like the universe was jerking my chain and taking great pleasure in it.

Ten more days go by and still no period.  My breasts were sore.  I was tired all the time.  Something didn’t feel right.  Never did I think I was pregnant, and I pushed the thought out of my mind.  The fear of that negative stick haunted me.

On January 26th, I threw up at work.  What the hell is wrong with me?  Do I have the flu? It didn’t feel like the flu.  On my lunch break I walked to Shopko and bought an E.P.T., but when I returned to work, I couldn’t take the test.  I was scared.  I confided in Melissa (we both worked the 2nd shift so she was my sound board for many things) and she and another friend, Shannon, urged me to take the test.  I went to the bathroom and bit the bullet.  And then suddenly, through my tears, I saw two pink lines appear.  Then I dropped the stick in the toilet.

The utter disbelief paralyzed me.  I fished the stick from the bowl and hurried to the sink.  As I was rinsing it off, I noticed the line getting somewhat darker.  I wrapped the test in paper towel and ran to my desk.

“Is this a line?” I shrieked at my friends.

“Is what alive?” asked Shannon.

“Oh my gosh! You’re pregnant!” Melissa said.

My boss, Angela, who was also pregnant at the time, rushed over to confirm the results.

“Congratulations!” she said, as she hugged me.

I took another 15 minute break to regain my composure, and then called my husband, my mother and my friend Kelly.  I couldn’t hold back the news.  It finally happened.  I was pregnant.  Those two pink lines were so exciting and thrilling.

Little did I know they would spring me into a state of panic and fear that consumed me for the duration of my pregnancy…

After popping an Excedrin, and downing an entire bottle of warm water (yuck, but it helped) I decided to try to blog about the night before. But, really, I was kidding myself. The in-room WiFi sucked and I was too distracted by all the upcoming events of the day.

I went down to the Mezzanine level for breakfast and after eating I got to try out the Wii Fit. Let me just say how desperately I want a Wii and Wii Fit. I’ve been coveting one for months and we just can’t shell out that money right now. Maybe by Christmas. (You hear that Nintendo? I’m in desperate need of a Wii. Can ya hook me up? What? Shameless begging you say? Yes. Yes I know.)

I met Krisco in the grand ballroom and we sat together to hear what Lisa, Elisa and Jory had to say during the opening keynote. The we did some speed dating and I collected and gave away oodles of business cards.

The speed dating session at BlogHer ‘07 really intimidated me, and halfway through it I found myself hiding in the ladies room. I really don’t know the reason, other than it was my first time at a blogging conference and I was so overwhelmed.

This year was much better because we had a different way of meeting new bloggers. We all sat at the table, talked for a few moments, exchanged business cards and when the time was up, two bloggers moved to a new table. It was like Survivor: BlogHer in San Francisco, as Lisa described it, and I liked this method much better than standing in two circles like we did in Chicago last year.

And this is where I finally got to meet this amazing, hilarious, wonderful blogger. She fucking rocks my world. I was so excited, I squeeed her. It’s only because I missed her in Chicago last year (I saw her in a panel, made a mental note to talk to her, but then missed her — so this year I was elated to talk to her and pose for a photo with her.)

After speed dating, it was time to head to my first session. I chose the MommyBlogging track and geared up for “Is MommyBlogging Still a Radical Act?” This session was very informative and the many viewpoints that other mom bloggers presented were interesting and relevant. Lindsay Ferrier did an excellent job of moderating the panel. The focus seemed to steer toward the monetizing vs. non-monetizing issue that so many of us get worked up about. Metropolitan Mama did a wonderful job live-blogging the session so I encourage you to read her post to learn more.

After that panel, my brain got a little fuzzy. I went to lunch and had a delicious Thai Beef salad. I can’t even remember who I sat with. I think it was Ashley. Yes, yes it was Ashley. I swear the days are blurring together, which is why it is VERY important to blog it all right away, yenno?

After lunch I attended the second MommyBlogging panel, “Public Parenting & Privacy”. I really enjoyed hearing what Shannon Lowe, Chris Jordan, Crystal McKee, Shino Tanaka & Shireen Mitchell had to say about the privacy and security issues we face when we blog so publicly online. It’s My Life live-blogged this session wonderfully, as well.

I learned a lot about the online dangers we face every day, and I became particularly concerned about using Dawson’s name publicly. Chris and Shannon use pseudonyms for their children’s names to keep their kids “Google Proof” and I worry about the fact that I didn’t do this.

Anyone can Google my son’s first and last name and read all about him, at least from the point of view of his mother. This issue is so duh! for me, because when I first started blogging, I did use nicknames for Doug and Dawson. Then one day I slipped up and used their real names and felt I had to continue doing so from that point on. I’m still not sure how to go about this now.

After this session, I stayed for the next panel: Mirrors: Ours, the Media’s, Our Cultures’ and Our Kids’ (live blogged at Body Impolitic). I enjoyed this panel because it talked about body image and some of the issues our children face about their own looks and self-image.

I asked a question and I was so nervous about speaking with a microphone at hand, so I was totally flustered when I revealed the morals I was raised with. For the record, I said “I was raised in a very strict Catholic family. I couldn’t wear anything that looked too sexy or too revealing. You can’t have sex before marriage. I held to that.”

What I was trying to say but totally screwed up in all my nervousness: “I was raised in a very strict Catholic family. I couldn’t wear anything that looked too sexy or too revealing. You can’t have sex before marriage. I held to that standard, until I was 20 years old.” (I just want this blog to be authentic and felt the need to correct the misinformation.) I don’t know why I was so darn nervous. Maybe because someone said our panel was being video recorded? (Still makes me nervous! Still!)

After that panel, I went to the Community Keynote and cried my eyes out. Not once, not twice, not even three times. No, I had to be the girl to cry four times in less than half an hour. I sat with Lorraine from Wifey’s House and I told her that wasn’t the first time I cried that day. I swear it was all the estrogen roaming the halls of the Westin St. Francis. And, that fact that each of the bloggers linked above wrote moving posts that were even more stunning when read aloud. Just hearing their voices and the emotions behind them really touched me.

After that we all went down to the cocktail party at Ruby Skye. Where I danced, just a little. Here’s a few Ruby Skye photos:

Ruby Skye is definitely one of the coolest clubs I’ve been to in awhile. But after this fabu party, we headed off to Maggie Mason’s house for her Haus Party. And I danced more (it was like funky dancin’ Friday or something). And that’s where I met Dooce. You already saw that photo. So I’ll share a few others.

Let’s just say that I was so tired at the end of the night I thought I’d never wake up the next day. But I did. At 6 a.m. to go to Yoga. I already told you about that, and yes — I know. I think I’m crazy, too. Stayed tuned for the BlogHer Saturday/Final Recap.