Responsibilities

This is a post about responsibilities.  It seems that everyone is contributing their part to make this household complete. First, last Thursday three kids (one thrower and two accomplices) threw a rock through our bedroom window from the schoolyard behind our house.  In two days I received eleven apologies (three kids, one kid a second time, two parents, two school administrators, and the kids again in one written apology letter each).  I got two estimates on fixing the window, and finally made arrangements for it to get fixed.  I called one of the parents (the mom of the thrower) and told her how much it was going to cost, and she said she'd send a check that day.  I thought it was over, but at 4:00 p.m. yesterday the two accomplice girls and the one mom I hadn't talked to yet came over with warm brownies.  It was so sweet and for the sake my caffeine consumption, I only had two.  But you know, that's three unsolicited knocks on the door.  At least two of the three times I've been wearing a bra.  One time was in my nightgown (past noon).  Talk about taking responsibility!  They've all offered to do yard work or any other chores to make it up to me.  I've turned them down so far.  It's too much for me in my weakened state to coordinate!  But maybe I'll have to give in so they can assuage their little consciences.  Never have I felt more stalked by a sense of community responsibility! Second, Sarah the cat (Miss Serendipity) caught her first mouse the day of the window break, and a second mouse yesterday night.  We think the mice moved in a few weeks ago when our basement (and probably their burrows) flooded.  In the four years that she's been a part of the household, we're never aware of Sarah pulling her weight in any way.  But twice in one week?  She's a very good kitty.  Finally becoming responsible. So yesterday I had graduated from bedrest to couchrest.  The nurse had told us that I was to limit myself to light activity, not picking up anything over 25 pounds, etc.  She read a long list of the exercises that were permitted and that were not.  Interestingly, yoga was permitted.  I have never come as close to death as I have in yoga class.  I don't plan to do that while the embryos are still auditioning this womb.  But overall, I think that whether they stay around has less to do with me and more to do with them.  Or luck.  Fate.  Not whether I get up from the couch. I have been very dutifully inactive for what seems like an eternity now.  My bedrest stretched beyond the 24 hours that was prescribed.  And last week I didn't do anything because I was in such pain from the embryo retrieval.  So now, after a week, I was really desperate for activity.  When I called James at 8:00 last night and told him to come home from work, he said he'd pick up some take-out on the way home, and he told me to RELAX. Well, between the brownies, the pizza the night before, and basically subsisting for a long time off the ready-made grocery store food that my mom brought last week, I was DESPERATE for fresh food.  Freshish.  Healthy, at least. I got up, and I made some whole wheat spaghetti with tomatoes, onions, garlic, beans, and fresh basil from the garden.  It took 10 minutes.  At minute 11, James called from his cell phone from the road, to reiterate that I should not cook.  I told him it was too late.  He was surly the rest of the evening.  He snapped at me.  I snapped back.  When he came home he said he realized that he was being overprotective of our little "buns," but he just really wanted it to work this time.   I told him that by castigating me for getting up off the couch on a day when it was medically okay to do so, to go open two cans and boil some water, he was going to make it my fault if the kiddos didn't stick.  But really, it was NOT going to be my fault one way or another.  So he'd better get that idea out of his head.  I'm all for responsibility, but I cannot bear the responsibility for the success or failure of our third IVF attempt.  It's not fair and it's not really appropriate. This morning I was feeling so abysmally needy that I clung to him and wished him not to go to work.  I told him to come home as soon as he can.  (For one thing, since I'm not supposed to "do anything," I indulged him by not doing the dishes after dinner.  Now the kitchen smells like dirty dishes and crap.  Cause you know he didn't do them either). I have got to get out of this moody body.   At least I took this moody body out of the house.  I went to the fabric store, which is basically my mental health establishment.  Today I plan to sew.  SEW THE HELL OUT OF STUFF.  Vigorously. I think I need to go back to my job. So when do I get to stop the hormones? Now, for just a little bit of factual update before I close, the doctor's office has not called us about the other embies, so I doubt they got frozen.  They also promised to send us pictures of our two little transferred babies, but that has not happened either.  It looks like the doctor's office is goiing to get some of my hormonal wrath this afternoon.  Tee hee.  They must be used to it.