Posts Tagged ‘The Emotions’

If You’re Happy And You Know It…Or If You’re Not And Don’t Know Why?

If youre happy

I’m so happy to be here.

I’m going to start by saying that, even though the next thing I say will undoubtedly make someone believe that I’m contradicting it.

And that is, that for the past 24 weeks, I’ve had multiple battles of emotion where I found myself thinking:

“I’m supposed to be happier than this. Aren’t I?”

I know that it sounds like the most ungrateful and irresponsible thing I could possibly say, when finally reaching the position that I’ve been trying to reach for so many years. And I really struggled with writing it down at all, but I felt that it was important to stop hiding behind the pressure of being pregnant after infertility and be honest.

For the past few months, I have fought extremely hard with anxiety and fear.   Pregnancy already comes with its own hormonal and emotional changes.  I’ve read a lot of articles and we’ve all seen the commercials and movie scenes that show pregnant women crying over commercials and even happy songs.  I was okay with that, and somewhat expected it, because I know it comes with the territory.  Being pregnant after infertility, however, I believe comes with an added level of stress and trauma that weighs heavily on the heart and affects not only how I view myself as a pregnant woman, but how I feel about everything. These weren’t just pregnancy hormones, this was finding myself so scared and anxious all the time, that it started to feel paralyzing.

For the beginning of this new journey, I was in survival mode.  Every day was another day of questions and worry, brought on because through all the years that I’ve been in the world of infertility, I’ve seen the elated highs of announcements, and also the devastating news when something has gone wrong.

I found myself wanting to be excited, but internally, painfully sad.  Because I wanted this so very badly, and felt like “I’m no better than any of the amazing people who’ve gotten to this point and then had to say goodbye to their little one far too soon”, what makes me different?  Feeling as though I didn’t deserve to be on the other side, I’d be praying for the best, while always emotionally preparing myself for the worst.

Before appointments, I would talk myself through what to do if there was no heartbeat this week. I’d plan out what to say to my office, or how I’ll tell the select few who already knew.  I wanted to prepare myself to be strong, at what would be the most devastating moment of my life.

And I was doing so, because in a way, I’d lived through it before.

When we were planning to adopt, I’d never felt so close to being a parent.  There was an actual, human baby that was being given to us.  Even then, we were careful to only tell a select few, just as we have now.  We were cautiously optimistic.  To get all the way to the hospital, and to holding her, and to hearing this birth mother say out of her own mouth, “Oh, she’ll be just fine with you all”, I made the mistake of letting my guard down.  Of getting excited.  Of getting attached.

So when two days later it was all snatched away, I believe a part of me just wilted. Such an abrupt ending to such a slow and steady hope.  I couldn’t go to work, and I couldn’t leave my room.  I couldn’t be the same ignorant person I’d been before having it happen, and I couldn’t figure out who the informed person was going ot be on the other side of it.

And I NEVER want to be there again.  Because I almost didn’t come out.

So while I knew full well the risks involved in IVF, and although I decided to do it anyway, I’ve been cautious and tentative every step of the way.  My own doctor said I had a pleasant smile, but that it was clear that underneath it she could tell I was petrified and sad.

At times where I should have been bouncing off the walls with excitement and joy, I’d look at the ultrasound monitor and usually say out loud, “Thank God, there’s something still there!”  And the nurses and the doctors always look at me like, “Of course, silly!”  And then I just start the countdown to the next appointment, when I’ll probably be just as terrified.

My patient and caring husband has been dragged along in my issues as I kept us from announcing until a whopping 20 weeks, though I’d designed an announcement somewhere around week 8.  I just couldn’t get the thought out of my head that if we were to once again get people’s hopes up, including our own, and then have to turn around and let everyone down again, I didn’t think I could handle it.

While listening to a podcast that I love, “The Friend Zone” I heard this statement:”Most of us are spending so much time fearing the loss of something, that we can’t even enjoy it.”

“Most of us are spending so much time fearing the loss of something, that we can’t even enjoy it.”

 WOW.  What a word.  That’s exactly it.

I have felt extremely isolated in my anxiety out of guilt and shame.  Guilt for feeling as though I should NEVER find myself anything but elated when so many of my friends are still fighting to get to this side.  Ashamed that I was “allowing” the anxiety and worry to rob me of the experience I’d waited for, or that my emotional state would be harmful to this little life, which then made me feel even worse. Also, I worried that to tell these feelings would be offensive or hurtful to those who have followed me, or prayed for us, or who are at times seemingly more happy for us than I’ve been able to be for myself.

But, being in my head all of the time is the true culprit here.  I can’t just put my head down and barrel through this like I once believed.  I have to speak, because that’s my therapy. I decided to share these feelings because I’ve prided this blog, and really all of BBE on being honest.  On saying those things that others may be thinking but may not feel they have the right or even the platform to say.  This is no different.

Pregnancy depression and anxiety is a REAL thing.  It actually affects about 6% of all pregnant women and is sometimes more common in women who have experienced infertility.  After the emotional highs and lows of infertility, we’re so used to safeguarding ourselves from the worst, that we can sometimes have a hard time adjusting.  Feelings of isolation and not fitting into the “naturally” pregnant world, or belonging in our infertility circles anymore can become overwhelming.

If you’re like me, and fighting off sadness, I want you to know you’re not alone.  Your feelings are valid, no matter how off-putting they may be.  They don’t take away from how amazing of a parent you’re going to be, or how wonderful of a parent you already are. Wherever you are on this journey, I’m rooting for you, and I’m praying for all of us!

I am so very grateful to God that I’m here now.  That I’ve seen the heartbeat and heard it with my own ears.  That something we’ve waited for so long, is finally within our own reach, just a few months away! Sometimes I’m so excited I could literally run down the street like a crazy person, because June can’t get here fast enough.

The feelings I’ve talked about here today, don’t take away from that.  They don’t make me second guess my choice to take the crazy IVF ride, or to even be a parent at all.  They remind me that I’m human, and that this whole thing is so much bigger than babies.  That our emotional and psychological well-being is intimately tied to our ability to grow our families in the way that we choose.

And here’s a small treat, and the Christmas Gift my husband and I bought for ourselves the day after Christmas.  We went to a commercial ultrasound facility for a gender check, AND they added the heartbeat to a stuffed animal for us.  THANK YOU for sticking with us.

He Is

 

Resources:

Depression is Common Following Successful IVF
Coping With Anxiety and Depression During Pregnancy
Depression During Pregnancy: Signs, Symptoms And Treatment
The Dark, Dirty Secret of Prenatal Depression – Thanks KEIKO!!

And as always, you can always talk to ME.

 

 

The Super Long Update You Deserve

Superlong

On Tuesday,  October 13, 2015 at 8am, I drove to our fertility center for our first beta test. Maybe my nerves compounded it, but this day seemed to be out to get me.

First, I got LOST.

Look, we’ve been going to our center since JULY, and yet, yes, I got lost.  Three unexpected street closures had me completely turned around, and at the last wrong turn, my whole face was hot and I just let the tears fall.  I called my husband in hysterics, and he talked me off the ledge, but by the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was just in pieces.  I kept telling myself, “It may not work.  Be okay with that.  Just go in and take the test”.

Going in, one of my regular nurses sat me down for the blood draw, and told me that she was hoping for the best for us, and that she would call me after 1pm, as soon as she had results…unless of course it was bad news, because she hated making those calls.  The entire process, minus my drive, was about 8 minutes.  I was exhausted from crying, and from overthinking, and my hip was hurting from our nightly progesterone shots, and so I sat in my car afterward and just told myself, “Hey, you’ve done all you could do,and you have the battle wounds to prove it.  Go to work.”

So I did.

This was one more instance that humbled and reminded me just how many times people come into work, with their whole worlds on their shoulders, and their coworkers are none the wiser.  I sat at my desk, I planned some interesting activities for my library teens,and I ignored the clock.  Until about 12:50, when I realized how close it was to 1pm.  I ate a snack, and I went to the ladies room, and I checked on my book display, and I reread the same emails a few times.

1pm came and went.  And with that, I decided it must be bad news.  Because she did tell me that if it’s bad news, she isn’t going to call right away.  So, I begin to prep myself.  When she calls, I’ll probably need to excuse myself or take an early lunch.  Should I leave for the day? Or will I just feel worse if I’m at home by myself? Maybe I’ll just clock out for a while and go to my car and get my feelings out before coming back in. This is my own fault for only transferring one embryo.

Toward the end of the hour, I’ve given myself all the preparation I can muster, and decided to just refocus on my work and await the call.  This feels terrible, but if I just stay calm, I’ll get through it.  It makes my head hot again.

When my phone rings, I’ve actually tuned out any possibility of positivity.

“Hi Regina.”

“Hi.”

“How are you doing.”  She says in a sad tone.  Here it comes.

“I’m…okay.” I say.  It’s a partial truth.  I’m training myself to be okay with whatever.

“You doing okay?”  She says.  I can hear the pity.  I wish she’d just spit it out.

“I’m okay.”

“You okay”  She says again.  This is getting weird.  And annoying.  Maybe she could sense my sadness this morning and is checking on me before giving me bad news.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You’re pregnant.”

Now, at this point, allow me to explain that I share an office.  I sit in rather close proximity to my manager, AND our office door is open at all times.  So the rest of our department walks in and out, and in the afternoons, I have teens who walk right in and tell me all the details I never asked for about their days.  So…my reactions to her words are relatively calm in relation to the YEARS I’ve waited for them.

“REALLY? That sounds awesome!  Thanks SO much for letting me know!”  Yes, very corporate response. I know. LOL  I think she knew that was the situation, because she laughed, and then proceeded with the rest of the information.

“We were hoping for a beta over 50, but yours is 556.”  Five hundred and fifty-six.

Every tear, every shot, every nerve-wrecked moment, was instantly worth it.

I excused myself from my desk to go up and call my husband.  HE also works at a desk that is pretty out in the open, so as I told him this wonderful news, he too gave me the “Wow! Really, that sounds wonderful!” corporate response. And I understood it. LOL

So with that piece of humor, I want to say THANK YOU.

But before I thank you, I have to apologize. I have been uncharacteristically quiet for these past 21 weeks, for my own well-being.  I have been fighting against the anxiety of possible loss, and the fear of letting people or myself down by getting too excited and then having to turn around and say, “False alarm guys.  Things didn’t work out”.  So for that, I apologize.

To my beloved Eggshells in the Shellshocked Support Group, I want to thank you for hearing me, and sharing your heart with me as I bared mine.  Thank you for listening to me when I was hysterical and battling depression-induced anxiety.  I had to withdraw from so much, to maintain my sanity, and I want to thank you for being my mainstay, even when it seemed I wasn’t around. I was there, watching, and praying, and I thank you for doing the same for me.

To my friends and family, for listening to me, and being patient with me when I consistently said I wasn’t announcing anything yet, even when you didn’t understand why.  For the looks of understanding on your faces when I explained to you what this feels like after infertility, and how the happiness is accompanied by a fear that you hadn’t experienced before.  I appreciate your empathy, and I am grateful for you.

To Dr. Anne Borkowski and the entire staff of North Shore Fertility in Skokie, Illinois.  For giving us HOPE and LOVE, and SUPPORT, and finally, SUCCESS. To Terri Davidson, who answered my call for a suggestion on a doctor who could speak at my library and e-troduced me to Anne.

To ALL my friends in the infertility advocacy community.  For being arms that have held each other up.

To each and every person who bought a t-shirt from our shop, or a ticket to one of our ‘fun’raisers, or prayed for us.

To the Tinina Q. Cade Foundation for naming us recipients of a 2015 Family Building Grant, and Dr. Camille Hammond, an amazing friend who encouraged me.

To every, single, reader of The BBE from its very inception: THANK YOU.  For listening.  I’m still talking, if you’re willing to stick around.

Regina

Announcement Video Game Updated

 

Things that Could Mean Everything,…or Nothing At All.

Things That Could Mean Everything

I had to take a few weeks to myself while nearing the end of our IVF journey because I was battling extreme anxiety and wanted to be as focused as possible.  But have no fear!  I have been documenting all the while, so that all my thoughts would be fresh and that I’ll be able to share with you what has been going on once I was a safe distance from it. The following are my actual thoughts while enduring everyone’s dreaded two week wait between transfer and beta testing.

Regina

 

Because what is infertility without panic and superstition?

Things that could mean everything, or maybe nothing:

  • Going to pee and then after sitting right back down, feeling like I forgot to pee when I was in there.
  • Extreme and relentless boobage somehow.
  • Black person myth-busting necessity: Dreamed of Salmon…though I don’t know what the rules are about the whole “I dreamed of fish” thing.  Do the fish have to be swimming along having a good time?  Or does my dream of perfectly cooked salmon last night not count?
  • Dizziness.  I could have just been tired though.
  • Nauseatingly warm.  Not nauseous. But boiling.

Coincidences that made me smile momentarily and then just creeped me out:

Spiders are supposed to be good luck, right?

  • Spiders in the doctor’s office on the day of transfer
  • Spiders in the bathroom at home the evening after
  • Spiders at work the next day
  • Spider in my CAR the next evening
  • Spider in the hallway of my building the next day

When visiting my doctor’s office for bloodwork and ultrasounds, there was always music playing in the ultrasound room:

  • We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off by Jermaine Stewart
  • If You Think I’m Sexy by Rod Stewart
  • Danger Zone (this one actually played the day they found out I was hyper-stimming a little)
  • We Belong Together by Pat Benetar
  • Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics
  • Lady by The Commodores
Times I freaked out and assumed I’d ruined everything:
  • The day after the transfer, Wendy’s under-cooked my chicken sandwich and I almost had a conniption and believed I’d ruined everything by eating under-cooked meat.
  • Upon returning to work that day, I also moved a piece of furniture in the teen room at work and once again had a conniption and believed I’d ruined everything by overexerting myself.
  • Bought pineapple to try and do the pineapple diet, but forgot it was in the refrigerator and didn’t eat it.  So of course…I’d ruined everything.
  • Then, I dreamed of fish, but it was cooked. So once again, I had a conniption and believed I’d ruined everything.
  • Oh, then I drank a glass of ice water and took my socks off to fight the aforementioned boiling point…then read a blog about PCOS during the 2ww that said, you should NOT drink ice water and you should have socks on 24/7 to “keep all your energy going to your uterus”. So then I had another conniption and believed I’d ruined everything by taking precious energy from my uterus to warm my water and feet.

Clearly I’m neurotic, and making hellafied mistakes with this whole thing I’m sure, but whatever the case…stick around, kid.  Stick. Around.

2WW Grief & Anxiety

 

2ww Grief 2

I had to take a few weeks to myself while nearing the end of our IVF journey because I was battling extreme anxiety and wanted to be as focused as possible.  But have no fear!  I have been documenting all the while, so that all my thoughts would be fresh and that I’ll be able to share with you what has been going on once I was a safe distance from it. The following are my actual thoughts while enduring everyone’s dreaded two week wait between transfer and beta testing.

Regina

 

The 2WW.  I’ve heard tales of it, but honestly, each person’s experience with it is their own I’m learning.  I have my moments of frustration and confusion, but overall I’m too busy to really focus on it much.  I’m not quite ready to pull my hair out, or prepared to run through the pregnancy test aisles of my nearest convenience store.

To be honest, I’m hopeful, but also cognizant of the fact that this may not work. It’s a fact that we all have to acknowledge when embarking on fertility treatments of any kind.  We have to be honest with ourselves and our partners.

I know his/her name.
I know who I believe they will be.
All I don’t know, is if my thoughts align with God’s will.

And in my moments of doubt, I start to feel very strongly that if this doesn’t work,  I will want and need to apologize.

To my job,

Although I’ve tried so hard not to actually take any days off other than retrieval and transfer, I know that mentally, I just wasn’t there for the past couple of months. Working in a child-heavy environment, I have worked SO hard for soo long to keep my fertility issues out of sight, that even with a sore backside and absolutely no energy after driving 40 miles roundtrip for bloodwork, I’ve been still attempting to keep things quiet.  I worry that when this is all over, if I have nothing to show for it, I’ll feel even worse to see that I’ve let my work fall to the wayside.

To my family,

For taking some of them on this fragmented roller coaster ride that I’ve ridden solo for years previous.  I knew this ride was dangerous, so any stress they’ve taken on for me was clearly my fault.  My mom worries, and I’d just be so sorry to have made her take on so much extra stress.  Because, there isn’t much they can actually do.  The shots, the meds, and everything else falls on me and my husband, so really all I’m doing is giving them (possibly) false hope, and I would hate to have done that.

And even

To myself.

For putting myself through shots everyday for the past 60 or so days, and sometimes twice a day.  For irritating my skin with the adhesive backing of estrogen patches.  For almost choking myself with these oddly circular estrogen pills that get stuck in my esophagus four times a day.  I’ve given myself time to process every piece of this journey, by taking myself out of my normal social circles and isolating myself to the point where people have started messaging me and asking if I’m alive and well.  I’ve had to close myself off so that I can focus on these things I’m doing that are so far outside of my comfort zone, (shots, anyone?), and it’s made me feel awkward and anxious.  If this doesn’t work, I’ll worry that I’ll have to repair those connections, while privately licking my wounds, and I wonder how that will change me.

But, I’m sure this is all normal, right?

All these feelings of trying to protect myself from hoping too much, while trying to keep myself at optimum performance.  Resisting the urge to POAS because I know that if it doesn’t say what I want it to say that I’ll lose the will to keep moving forward.  All of this, from the highest peak to the lowest depth, are all normal feelings.  And hopefully, at the end of this two weeks, they’ll be irrelevant.

Opening the Door On…the Secret Closets of Infertility

the secret closetsFor the record, I never really talk to people about my hall closet.  For all of my advocacy, and as much as I’m open about infertility and what it has meant in my life, I very rarely have told people about the things behind that door.

There’s a baby bathtub resting along the inner right wall, with washcloths and a temperature duckie that sit lonely inside of its hollow belly.  Blankets with nothing to wrap themselves around lie still and unbothered on the lower bottom shelf.  A picture book gift from a friend is kept in it’s original mailer rather than being added it to my bookshelf and sits in a closet organizer where there are also infant clothes with tags hanging from their sleeves and a first Easter dress that was worn once and still smells of baby lotion.  Sitting silent on the top shelf, collecting dust and grime as the days go by, are toys that have never been opened.

Sitting at my dining room table, just underneath a chair is a bumbo chair from a friend that I never touch. It’s blended in so well at this point that I often forget it’s there.  Kind of like the carseat that sat in the corner for months until we finally got the courage to toss it out. Or the bag of newborn caps that is in the trunk of the car.

Ever so often, I will come across a barrette or headband that slipped through the cracks and just so happened to turn up on an especially hard day.  There are also times where I run into that old box of baby bottles that I can’t bring myself to throw away, or a plastic case that used to hold baby wipes that I’ve had to re-appropriate.

The thing about my closet, and my hall, and my bottom drawer, is that they aren’t unique. There are thousands of other closets and drawers and trunks with hidden pockets of delayed hope.  So many other people have walked past one onesie too many in a store and decided, “No, I’m gonna buy this in good faith.”  Others still have walked down the road towards adoption, and prepared their homes and closets only to be left with the remnants of a dream that fell through their fingertips.

For over 200 days, my husband and I were foster parents to a child who was originally supposed to be our adopted daughter.  We cared for her and loved her and encased our life around her in the hopes that fate would see our dedication and reward us.

Those MOMENTS.
They were mine, but not mine.
It was like holding our breath every.single.day.

I remember one night at my husband’s job, where I watched a couple pull up in their Mercedes truck. They came to the desk and gave him their keys making small talk about how  “The Bulls Game is over, so we’re gonna go pick up the baby”. And my husband and I laughed at the fact that they were giving him that much information.

30 minutes later, they come back down, he carrying the baby carrier, and she carrying the bag while chatting on the phone. And they took their baby, and got into their Mercedes, and drove away to their life. Which may not be perfect.  But had so much that I wanted in just that scene.

I wanted so badly to leave work, and pick up my husband, and pick up MY child, and go on with MY life.  That’s what I WANT.

Instead, I’d drive to my husband, and we’d worry, and we’d plan, and we’d ponder…then we’d go and pick up someone else’s baby, and drive to our apartment, and we’d eat junk, and we’d worry more.

And I’d get so TIRED of it.  Of those moments that didn’t really belong to me.
Of that little girl. Of singing to her, and taking my time with her, and loving her.
For it to not be mine.  For me to have to turn her over to someone who didn’t care enough about her to not give her drugs before her first breath.
Seemed like some bullshit to me. And I tried consistently to have grace under pressure.
But it’s still some fucking bullshit.

People so often ask those with infertility why they won’t “just adopt”.  They assume that all we want is a baby.  And that since there are “sooo many” babies just waiting around for someone to save them, it’s a win-win for us both.  And they don’t mean any harm for the most part.  They see what could be a means to an end, I guess.

And in that means to an end, they don’t see what happens when it doesn’t work.  When you’re holding your breath in the hospital and trying not to get too excited.  They don’t see you standing in the hallway of the birthmother’s room, hoping that her visitors aren’t telling her to change her mind.  They have no idea how tumultuous it is in your heart when you’re trying to show love to a newborn, and show their birthparents that they haven’t made a bad decision, while not overstepping any invisible boundaries.  Or how confusing it is to answer the hospital staff about just who it is you are.

When people tell you to adopt, they don’t know about the feelings of inadequacy when that child is crying, and you aren’t sure if it’s because they know you aren’t their “real” mom.  Or how many times you’re left speechless when trying to figure out how to answer medical questions, or fill out paperwork.

They have no idea how fast and intense your very being can plummet when a birthparent tells you that they have decided to parent.  Or the fury and sadness that intermingle when they don’t even say it to you directly, but avoid you or simply block you from the hospital room, when just hours, days, months ago they were calling you their new best friend and thanking you for being there.  There is no way to understand until you’ve been there that not only is it very easy to love a child whom you did not give birth to, but that when the prospect of being that child’s parent is snatched away, it feels as though your own has died.

And like others who have loved and lost, we mourn.  And like so many others who mourn, we hoard those small reminders.  Clothes and blankets, and toys, and dreams.  Sitting on our shelves, stuffed into our closets, and unforgotten in our hearts.

You are not alone.

My closet is full too.

 

On Target…and other self-torture.

On TargetTarget and I have a somewhat friendly competition we’re in.

So, I love Target.  I don’t know what it is about that place, but when I see those red shopping carts, and that welcoming bullseye, I think the cares of the world fall off my shoulders and I start to envision a better apartment to place new housewares I don’t really need, and a smaller figure to fit their cute new apparel, and more photos to go in more frames, and whatever else is on the sales paper they have for that day.  It’s calmer than Wally World, and less expensive that Kohls, and it’s big enough to distract me from real life for at least an hour and a half on a good day.

But there’s a darker side to Target.  And it’s name is the baby aisle.

Now, I’m not often one who hates visiting baby departments.  I don’t often willingly wander into them, but I’m also not one who avoids them like the plague.  We’re basically on an “if you don’t bother me, I won’t bother you” basis.  That said, Target’s baby aisles and I, we have what you might call “a history”.

When my husband and I first started talking about expanding our family, but my sister got pregnant instead, LOL, Target is where I took her to buy her first baby item.

When we were hoping to adopt, and had Little Girl with us, Target is where I finally found her first Easter dress.  They were the only store with a dress small enough. It’s hanging in my hall closet. 

It was also Target where I first went shopping alone with 4 month old Little Girl, and she promptly cursed me out in wails that made other shoppers give me “what is she doing to that infant” glares, and accusatory snarls.

Target is my go-to place for baby shower gift-cards, cute baby gifts, and even if I’m in the store for something completely different, Target is also the store that will have you accidentally wander into maternity clothes or diapers.

So for me, Target has the potential to also be a pretty sensitive shopping spot.  But I love the place!  So I work hard at challenging myself to not allow those sad bits to creep in. Every visit, I encourage myself to not look away from the cute onesies that are just hanging around the housewares for some reason, or to not ignore the Leapfrog Puppy that I know I purchased for Little Girl when I see it prominently displayed in the Toy department’s outward facing aisle.  

But I think Target is on to me.  Because now, when I’m fully clothed in my big girl panties, Target has taken to the habit of saying “I see you, and I raise you”.  

Take yesterday for instance:

I’m in good spirits, and I don’t at all shy away from the uber-adorable Valentine’s Day onesie display.  In fact, I walk right up to the display and take a look!  The “Daddy’s Little Princess” one with the ruffled bottom leggings makes me smile, and I wander away unscathed.  Then, Target goes, “I see you.  And I raise you.” and blam, right there in the center aisle is a FULL NURSERY DISPLAY.  Not a little crib headboard with a price, like they usually have, but a full nursery, on a platform, decked to the nines, with a “Wouldn’t you like to be here” feel like a Jamaica tourist ad.  

I’m not fazed by Target’s crafty wit, however.  I comment to the hubby on how cool I think the color layout of the nursery is.  I’m awful fond of the slate and yellow combo these days.  We chuckle and keep it moving.

I have to admit, I’m pretty proud of myself when I hit the registers.  I mean, really Target, you’ve done worse on far more stressful days than this.  I’m cool, calm and collected…

and then Target says,

“I see you.  And I raise you.” 

At the register beside us, I hear the cashier say, “Oh my!  You’re going to need our guest assistance to help you to your car!”  I look over. Two car seats.  She’s not just buying baby items.  She’s not just buying a car seat.  She’s buying TWO.  “So!” Says the cashier, “Two seats! Is it safe to assume, TWINS!? YAY! Oh my!”

Two car seats.

Two.

I gather up my little bags of socks and body wash, and whatever other bs I just spent a box of diapers worth on, and I get the heck out of there.

Well played, Target.  Well played.

 

Thanks Target.  I’ll order some more feels from Acme, and try this again another day, m’kay?

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