because my favorite pasttime is armchair psychology

As I read blogs, I always notice the blogger's name. Sometimes, it is her (or his) real name, but often, an alias was chosen. I usually wonder what motivations were behind the selection.

Some variations I've noticed:
1. an homage to their personality in some fashion
2. a name that relates their infertility experience
3. something that has to do with pregnancy or babies
4. one that relates to literature
5. one that identifies them as a significant other
6. one that identifies them in relation to a location

I find it fascinating - why did you choose/how did you come up with your blogger name?

Thanks for asking about mine.
My name came from my behavior after a few drinkys, back in my 20s. My friends found it amusing, so one decided that this personality needed a name. My name isn't marie, but I was tipsy, so "tipsymarie" was born. Tipsymarie was funny, charming, wacky and totally entertaining. It reminds me of much happier and carefree times. Oh, how I miss you, tipsymarie! Maybe we will meet up again someday.

obsessiveness

Since we bought our house several years ago, our bedroom has looked the same. We never painted or bought new furniture, and just a few months ago, we finally took down the old owner's window treatments. They were this maroon synthetic silk with gold finials. Pretty bad, but it took us years to remove them. That got us going, and we painted it a little while later. I didn't like it as soon as we began to apply it - just didn't look right. I thought maybe it would grow on me. Then, the window treatments that I ordered came in, and I love them, but they look terrible with the paint. So, instead of ordering a different color, I want to repaint the whole room. I hate it when this happens, because D gets super pissed. So I didn't say anything, and then we painted the bathroom.
I.hate.it.
Today, I got some new paint swatches, um, about 20 of them, because I am going to repaint both the bedroom and bathroom.
And let me add that I hate painting, but I don't want to pay anyone to do something that easy.

This is what I obsess about when we aren't actively TTC.

Um, Bumble?

I just saw you are pwp on bloglines - please email me - tipsymarie at gmail dot com.

I hope everything is ok.

baby showers bring . . . not sadness, jealousy, grief or anger but happiness?! Huh?

I am so boring right now. We aren't really trying to get pg anymore*, just coasting. Actually, it is a load off, and I can focus on other things. Which is nice, I mean, I am so tired of thinking about my eggs/uterus/etc. I am excited to see the new wave of BFP's in the blogosphere, it gives me new hope. Ha ha! Hope. Now THAT'S funny.

Sooo, yeah. The baby shower.

One of my best friends has a baby shower coming up - she is due about two weeks later than I would've been if I hadn't miscarried. Now, you would think that:

1. I would be really sad and jealous just at the mere sight of her, with her cute round tummy. You know, because I would be comparing her with what I should look like had I not lost the baby.

2. Unable to cope with said sadness and jealousy, and not really talking to her.

3. Most def not going to the shower.

Nope. This is where I think I am some sort of infertile freak. I am not jealous. At all. In fact, I am really happy and excited for her. I am looking forward to her shower and helping out. It would've been really cool to be due together - we both got married two weeks apart, so having our babies that way would just be the icing on the cake. And the fact that I would've been pg without IVF or any other ART. You know, the whole pg thing is pretty nice for free.

But other than that, no. I am more than ok with it - I can't wait for the baby to get here.

And this is where it gets really weird. She was talking about how soon the baby would be here, and all the changes they would need to make in the house, how they spend money, when they go out socially, etc. And while she is overjoyed to be a mom, she was honestly freaked out about what was about to happen. And I was relieved it wasn't me. Relieved I wasn't the one sitting there, worrying where to put the baby furniture and how the dog will react and where will we get the money for _______ and on and on and on and on. Relieved.



WHAT?!!!

That's what I said, inside my head. Here I am, trying to get pg for over two years, spent thousands of dollars, two mc's, disappointment after disappointment, and I was relieved I am not the one who is pregnant??!!!!!!

Seriously. What the fuck is that? Have I gotten so far down the hole of IF I've come out the other side into some alternate universe?

*Not NOT trying. Just continuing to put of IVF until we have the money, or a reasonable way to get it. Which let me say, insurance in this state FUCKING SUCKS.

what's a girl to do?

I used to have loads of healthy self esteem in my early 20's. I was blessed with this partially because I discovered that I felt like an unstoppable force of feminine wile after a few drinks, so that made it easier to *heart* myself. I could talk to anyone, dazzling them with my coy charm - or so I thought. At any rate, boys noticed me and paid me lots of attention. This is when I met my husband - when I was on.

My teens, not so much. I always felt rather awkward and for lack of a better word, jumbly. I was teenage angst personified. I scowled as much as was possible for a well loved and supported 16 year old. I had a terrible case self doubt and hated my soft curves and slightly exotic appearance. I wanted nothing more than to be blonde, blue eyed and petite. Subsequently, I had a small flirty relationship with an eating disorder. She and I got along well, but eventually I had to tell her goodbye. High school for me was a mildly disturbing journey through both physical and social anxieties. I could never get the cute guy or master looking like I didn't care what others thought of me when I cared more than anything in the world.

This past weekend, D and I went to his class reunion. For the life of me, I did not understand why he would want to go, but he was all the things I was not. He actually enjoyed his time in adolescence. His ex girlfriend was there. She's all the things women dread in their husband's exes. Tall and lithe, naturally tan, dark long hair and a dazzling smile. Very flirty, and this is not a snarky thing, but could (and would) flirt with a lamppost. And make it look like a good idea. I noticed him looking at her several times - I couldn't tell if he was staring or just, you know, glancing about the room where she happened to be standing.

So the comparisons began between the two of us began in my dinged up psyche. She's this, I'm that, etc. All those feelings of inadequacy I thought I'd left far behind came back in a flood, but now with the added fun of actually being inadequate due to my piece of shit eggs. That mess was back, now with infertility and marital jealousy. Oh, what fun it was.

So I did what any self respecting infertile goddess would do - I had several glasses of wine, shook my hair down and took my husband for a little fun in the backseat of our car at the after party.

After all, I am good at some things.