Interesting!

A story in the UK Guardian caught my eye today. It reveals that fertility scientists are trying to increase the chance of a successful IVF procedure through more effective analysis of fertilized embryos.

Using mice in a case study, they found that “when a sperm entered an egg, the egg’s jelly-like innards would start to pulsate soon afterwards“. The team leader, Professor Magdalena Zernicka-Goetz of Cambridge University (natch!) said:

The pattern of those movements is predictive of whether the embryo will have successful developments throughout the entire pregnancy…I believe this method has very important potential medical applications, as it provides a totally non-invasive and rapid way of making this prediction of which embryo will have successful and which will not have successful pregnancy

In other words, they are hopefully onto a more effective way to identify ‘The Egg’. The professor adds that they’ll be trialling it at IVF clinics within months.

This sounds like exciting news to me. I mean, IVF will never be foolproof, and we must always be cautious about mere ‘theories’, but this really could be a significant step in increasing the odds of conception. And via pulsations, no less – it’s almost as though the baby were knocking on the door to say “Yoo hoo, I’m the one!”

You can read the full article here

What do you guys think?

And holy crap, there is a ton of spam on my site!

Wow! I mean, really. Look at it. Just LOOK.

It reminds me of an untamed garden where once stood neat and tidy rows of freesia. I had no idea I’d come back to this.

But here I am. I came back.

Glad to be here.

You must know that life has dealt me some unfair hands of late and that writing was the last thing on my mind. I was selfish. I was blue. Most of all, I was in a strange state of having to pick myself up while tending to an infant who needed me most.

My days were about my little baby combined with some ugly realities I had to face full on. Know this though…

…My child is great. She is thriving. And now I shall be great, too. Without her, I’d be nothing. She is the reason I have been resilient, dauntless and plucky because SHE is a resilient, dauntless and a plucky gal herself.  She is the reason I am me.

I’m sorry I gave up on my site temporarily. I suppose I could look at it as some sort of sabbatical but truth is, I effed up and forgot to say, “Be back soon!”

I hope you forgive me.

I hope you still read me.

I hope to see you around during this second phase of  life.

Here is a photo that kept me going during my hard days. I always told myself that were I to find myself on the other side, I would find a way to have a christmas tree with purple lights.

This is not a christmas tree but it doesn’t matter. You get the gist.

Thank you reading.

xo B

I drove by multiple yard sales today. Multiple. At least ten. I’ve not seen so many people sell so much stuff since I went to the Portchester Flea in the 1980′s (and that was a legitimate weekend bizarre, you know?)

I am presuming it’s due to the economic climate.

Hells bells. I have a pile of stuff that needs some serious fundraising myself, you know?

Made me think about those lucky people who buy an item for a dollar and five years later they appear on The Antiques Road Show and come to find out the item is worth $4000 or something.

I had a friend of mine in college with the original clapper board from the film, THE GODFATHER. His mom went to a yard sale after the film was made and bought it for like ten cents. It has the original tape and markings on it and is living in a glass encasement on his wall next to another glass encasement of a famous performance artist’s bloody shirt. The story of the clapperboard made me laugh because it was a crew member’s mom who sold it. She didn’t think anything of it. “Here ya’ go!”

Heh, heh!

I don’t know why I am thinking about this stuff now. I feel pensive and yet, wired.

I feel as if I am looking around a dusty room and instead of dusting the dirt away, I chuckle and look out of the window or read a good book.

You know what I mean?

So. I was watching MAD MEN tonight. What an awesome episode.

But it got me thinking. Betty Draper has three children in fake tv land, right? Lucky her. She’s such a nasty piece of work and is a terrible mother to her children (great to her baby but probably until he is able to be his own person by speaking and walking.) How come such a mean lady gets to have three children and someone like me, had such a rough time having one made?

I’m not bitter but I grow SO pensive about this sort of stuff. I’d be proud to have Sally Draper as my daughter. She’s so cool…

Last week, I was in Macy’s and there was SUCH a line of us (those with strollers) waiting for the elevator. I never noticed strollers before my daughter was born! Anyway, I counted fourteen of us and there were three who were so cruel to their young children. I don’t want to recap it all but it hurts me to see children being so emotionally hurt by those who are their caretakers. I count my blessings I have my beautiful girl but I count her blessings that she has parents who love her SO much in return. She has every right to a wonderful life as every other person in this world.

So I grow pensive when I see other caretakers not handling their cargo with such care – in public (who knows? They might be lovely behind closed doors.)

Anyway. Was wondering if any of you caught tonight’s MAD MEN and what your thoughts are on Betty Draper as a mom.

Or how you feel when you see shitty caretakers in public?

Do tell!

So.

I had this situation happen to me the other day. I was in Duane Reade, standing in line to pay for ice cream (yes!) when a man (also in line) reached over and patted my stomach.

“Ooooh. How far along? Boy or girl? I have three!”

Hmmm, right? Thing was, he was around my age so he wasn’t old school nor was he like a four -year -old boy. He was just some dude in his thirties.  Muy peculiar. Truly.

Anyway. He was rubbing away in a clockwork motion and I was just a little stunned. So *I* said the following:

“What?”

He continued to rub. “When are you due?”

“Due? What?”

He stoppped. “What?”

I then said. And this is where it becomes ballsy…

“I’m not pregnant.”

He looked like he saw the Shining twins behind me and quickly removed his hand from my large stomach and stood forward – looking forward. Thinking forward.  Tick tock,  tick tock.

Thankfully, not too long after that, the clerk was ready for him. He paid and got the eff outta Dodge.

Me? I walked to the counter and turned to the two women behind me. “I’m 8 1/2 months along but he should NOT have done that.”

Boy did we laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.

A woman with a tub of ice cream telling a man she is not pregnant after he rubbed her protruding stomach…that was me. Darn proud.

I walked home and they sky was like this violet/cobalt blue and the moon was in a crescent. Everything seemed just fine. I pay attention to the colors and shades around me often but that sky was really just magical. I felt as if I had things under control at that moment.

You know what I mean?

Grammy’s Schwammy’s.   I miss the 80′s music I used to play on my vinyl records.  I miss my record sleeves and skipping needle.  I miss flipping over the record when I loved and learned every lyric of the first side.

My favorite 80′s album of all time was SEVEN AND THE RAGGED TIGER.  Duran Duran.  Followed by, SHABOO SHABBAH.  Inxs.

Today, on my ipod,  I was listening to Oingo Boingo’s song, JUST ANOTHER DAY.  It really brought the spring back in my step as I walked along the cold, mean streets.  Brrrrrr.  :)

I still have my Frankie Say Relax t-shirt, by the way.

Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine the music is still so new.  Or that those musicians are still young and some day would fall in love with me.  In England.  Cool Beth.  Yeaaaah, that’s right.

What is your favorite 80′s band or song or album?  Is it WHO CAN IT BE NOW?  COME ON EILEEN?  Or maybe, just maybe it is something by Kim Carne?  Hmmmm?  :)

Do, tell.  I can’t be the ONLY nostalgic one.

Yesterday I sliced a piece of my pinky finger off. With a scissor.

I don’t even want to discuss the HOW’S and WHY’S. Just know this? It was an accident. And it prompted a visit to the ER and stitches.

A year ago and the VERY same date, I sliced my other pinky open. I won’t tell you the horror of those detail either. But it didn’t involve scissors. Just know I can not wait to actually wash dishes with a dish washer machine so that a repeat incident won’t ever happen again.

ONE YEAR TO THE DAY, folks. How funny is that? Same ER doctor. Same admissions people. Same everything. Same embarrassment. Same walk home in the rain. Same stinging pain and self notification that nothing like this shall ever happen again (something so miniscule creating such a buzz is just not fun.)

When I was ten years old I slammed my elbow through a glass window. I was not escaping any sort of curfew or breaking the glass for a fire extinguisher. I was sitting next to the window, saw a spider, and panicked. My arm flailed out and went right through the pane. Pun intended. It hurt like hell.

For days and years following, my sweet Uncle Ken dubbed me, “Pointy Elbows.” That was my nickname then and twenty plus years later, it remains. Now, one may reason ALL people have pointy elbows but for a sensitive and shiny-faced kid, the name sucked and was a reminder of an embarrassing incident that may I add, happened the evening of the sixth grade school dance. And yes, yours truly couldn’t attend. Her mother called some of her friends and explained her necessary absence. It was the one event of the year I felt butterflies for. I REALLY wanted to go. Like, really.

So yesterday, I thought about my pointy elbows and that pane of glass and how some things have never changed over the years. I get embarrassed quite easily over my spastic shortcomings. I do laugh it off but I do wish I had more grace.

My father was an amputee so a few bumps and bruises and stitches are meaningless to me. Just time suckers. I have, afterall, a healthy body and all of my fingers and toes. We should all be so lucky.

But as I was saying, some things just never change. And so when I heard it was exactly one year ago that I stepped through those doors of the ER and nodded to a bored, security guard with a blood soaked, paper towel wrapped around my hand, I thought, “Of course. Of course Miss Pointy Elbow has returned. Of course.”

And as I waited to be seen with my legs crossed and my hair, messy from the wind and rain, I smirked to myself.

Because truly, what we bring to the table from our childhood makes us more resilient from that said wind and rain.

On this birthday, I wish for Haiti and the families that lost one another.

It’s all I wish for today.

I was just Twittering with a couple of the gals – Roxanne (of The Quest for Baby Hang) and Holly (of Ready To Be a Mom) – and we got to talking about the late, great Heath Ledger, particularly his fabu-licious serenading scene in 10 Things I Hate About You.

So that got us thinking…if you could have any celebrity serenade you, who would it be, and why? Answers on a postcard (or, y’know, just comment below!)

So. An ex-boyfriend contacted me yesterday. I say, “yesterday” because I went to bed by 7:30P and awoke an hour ago, only to find an email from him.

I usually hear from him around this time of year as he knows my birthday (tomorrow! Woo!) is coming up and he likes to wish me an annual good day. We met when we were nineteen and students at college. We went from friends with crushes on one another to a very laid back coupling. Eventually we broke it off because we wanted different things. He had a penchant for much ( and I mean, much) older women I was six months younger than him so I didn’t float his boat.

Neither here nor there. He and I became an item because we shared the same philosophies on life and were wildly attracted to each other’s gusto for certain things like live music at CBGB’s, dressing up for Halloween, crashing weddings, sci fi movies, and volunteering to help the homeless. He was a very talented film maker (still is) and was extremely forthright at all times. So when he met another woman, it was no shock to my heart. He wanted to marry her asap because she was twenty years our senior and she wanted children quickly.

Because we both knew our wants and needs so early on in our friendship, it was easy for me to be his, “best man” at his wedding. I was a single girl in the city, wearing that tuxedo and holding a champagne toast glass. I had a pretty good time meeting new people and discerning what my own wants and needs were. Heh! I had not a clue. I just knew whoever he was – he was out there. We would know it when we met.

Anyway, so yesterday my ex asked me how I was doing and I responded. I told him about my pregnancy. And he told me about his recent divorce. He was dating a much younger woman now (twenty years our junior) and was happy.

The past is a funny thing, isn’t it? I don’t feel a rush of attraction for him as I once had. But of course, I will want to look pretty and sexy when we do meet for lunch next week. And I am sure he will be attractive to gawk at. But what drew us together is the past now. And it’s a delight to say, “Life has brought us back together again.” Maybe I will see him marry again. Maybe he will play with my daughter. Maybe we will crash a wedding at the Waldorf again. There is always sci-fi movies to gab about. And Halloween costumes to parade in.

I suffered one broken heart in my life and that was when I was older and wiser and more confident. My confidence left me wide open for whatever was in store for me and although it hurt so much, it was worth it.

Was my friend in college worth it? He was, too. But in a different way. We will sit across one another at the restaurant. He will sip his beer and I will sip my seltzer. Our clothes will be tighter with our age and our eyes will sparkle inside the creases of our  laugh lines. But we will have a great time  as friends and no doubt enjoy the past because the past is right were it should be…passed.