Monday, April 27, 2015


Meet John Ronald Meyers. :) 

I teared up and struggled to keep my shit together after the Ultrasound tech told us that, indeed, everyone was right, we're having a boy!!
"Are you happy?" asked Rob (who was glowing and hasn't stopped glowing ever since).
"Uh-huh!" I sobbed happily before summoning all my Mommy powers to get said shit together and apologize to the poor ultrasound tech.
Katherine looked at me worriedly.
Whatever it is, they don't pay ultrasound techs enough. ;)

Learning the gender of the tiny person I'm carrying around will apparently always make me dumb for 12 hours or so. With Katherine, I could barely string two words together. With John it was no better. After our ultrasound, the OB asked me how old I was and I debated out loud for ages before landing on a still incorrect answer. I got lost on my drive home. If we're blessed with a third child one day, someone please remind me to take a break between the ultrasound and any further human interaction. Take me to church to pray in silence, and don't expect me to boil water correctly until I've had 8 hours of sleep.

Oh, Pop, you've made us so very happy. We are so. incredibly. blessed.

"Where is John?" Rob asked Katherine tonight, quizzing her.
"In Mommy's belly!" she pointed, matter-of-factly.

So it's real. There's a baby boy in my belly. His name is John and he likes salad, cold cereal, and dance parties.

"Now, John at the bar is a friend of mine..." Billy Joel crooned on my way to work this morning.
John in my belly kicked enthusiastically.

As I've emerged from the haze of knowing who this little person is going to be, I've been wrapping my head around A BOY! A Boy! Oh my, I know nothing about boys.

I get to buy boy clothes! And it's yard sale season! (Score!!)
I'm going to get pee in my face while changing a diaper. (Hmm.)
I get to do a boy nursery!! (Yes! Let's focus on that!)
Sarah: (showing Rob my Pinterest board of nursery ideas) So, this is what I'm thinking...
Rob: I don't understand. Why is there cow hide and weird wood-print fabric?
Sarah: Because he's a BOY!
Rob: Yes, but is he a COWboy?
Sarah: MAYBE! I'd rather him be a cowboy than a rap artist!
Rob: (snort) Sarah, Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?
Sarah: They're in my uterus.
Rob: That would have made the song way better.
I'm dragging Katherine to approximately 12 yard sales this Saturday in search of 50 cent Things For John. I'm DYING to pull out the crib and start sewing. I currently have my feet propped up on a can of pale gray paint for the nursery. It's going to be a fun summer. :)

Sunday, March 22, 2015


I woke up with a start. It was dark. I checked the alarm clock: 3AM. It was quiet. No crying toddler. No reason to be awake.

Except... Pop, my husband's grandfather, was standing at the foot of our bed, looking at me worriedly.

The awake part of my brain negotiated with what my eyes were seeing,

"Pop is in hospice in New Jersey. You must still be asleep. Wake up."

I blinked. Shook my head.
Pop stayed.

I blinked some more.
Pop stayed.

My heart raced. I gasped and turned on the light.
"What's going on??" Rob said.

Pop was gone.

"Um. Nothing, sorry. " I turned the light off, decided I was crazy, and we went back to sleep.

An email arrived at 6AM. Pop had died at 3 AM. 

I emailed my sister-in-law:


Sarah MeyersFri, Dec 12, 2014 at 8:45 AM
To: Caroline Meyers 

I swear I saw Pop in like ghost form in our bedroom at 3 AM last night. I even turned on the light because it freaked me out.

Caroline Meyers Fri, Dec 12, 2014 at 11:24 AM
To: Sarah Meyers 

Not out of the realm of possibility.

I love you.

I felt less crazy.

I told Rob why I'd woken him up at 3AM. He said, "Well, it's not like you're prone to "Visions". Seems legit."

I processed that for a few hours.

Pop was a worrier. He always wanted everyone to be "safe". He was practically beside himself with worry when Caroline and I had the audacity to be pregnant AT THE SAME TIME 3 years ago. (It didn't help that Caroline would do things like BUILD IGLOOS while pregnant... haha.)

Pop died... and appeared at the foot of my bed... on what the Creighton Method would call the "Peak Day" of my cycle that month. It was late (Day 20) even for my lazy cycles. Normally, I'd have not even bothered to get my hopes vaguely up with such a late Peak Day... especially knowing that I wouldn't even actually ovulate until day 23 or so. No one conceives that late. There's no time for implantation at that point. And I wasn't taking any fertility medication to improve the odds that month.

But Pop had been worrying over me. Why would Pop have been worried? I was in great health, I was starting a FANTASTIC new job, my family was doing well. There was no need to worry!


"I know this sounds crazy, but maybe Pop was worrying over me because I'm going to conceive this cycle." I told Rob.
"Maybe." Rob said, cautiously.

Day 33 - Christmas day - I took a test. It was faintly positive.
Like, "You conceived 10 days ago and there's a impossibly tiny zygote-baby burrowing in there" barely positive.
Rob found a Walgreens and bought a fancy EPT. I dehydrated on purpose and waited several hours to pee.
Holy. Shit.
Except, it was CHRISTMAS DAY, so you really shouldn't be profusely mentally swearing, right? Being the logical Catholic I am, I sang, "Oh, Holy Shit..." to the tune of "Oh, Holy Night" in my head all day long.

I sat on the couch staring at a positive pee stick for most of the afternoon. Apparently this is how I process pregnancies. This time no one bothered to try to get me to put the pee stick down. ;)

This miraculous "Day 23 Baby" I'm brewing is a gift from Rob's grandfather. Apparently, Pop arrived in heaven and said, "Hi, God! Sarah and Rob need another kid." all in the same breath. If it's a boy, he'll be named "John Ronald Meyers" after Ronald Krajewski. 
Rest In Peace, Pop, and thank you.

Friday, March 20, 2015

Day 23

While walking to my OB appointment at the hospital this week, I noticed little old ladies giving me The Look

That knowing Look - usually syrupy sweet, sometimes with a head tilt and a half grin. Always the same expression - and always with (I'm imagining) the Mental Rose Tinted Glasses of Old Age. I don't think Little Old Ladies choose to remember the sleepless nights, the horrible breastfeeding nonsense, the crying (oh, God, the crying!).

At first I was confused. Usually The Look is bestowed upon Katherine ...though less so lately - now that she's gone and grown up WITHOUT EVEN ASKING MY PERMISSION. She's practically a teenager. (sob) But I digress...

So there I was, wandering around all by myself, and I was getting The Look. Clearly senility had set in on all of Richmond.

Finally it dawned on me, "OH RIGHT! I'm PREGNANT!"

You'd think this would have been my first thought, given that I was on my way to an OB appointment and all. But no, I was probably thinking about hair products, or my last patient of the day, or what's going to be on TV tonight, or some other such nonsense. My head is a busy place.

So, yes. I'm pregnant! I did absolutely nothing to earn this privilege for a second time. I was being the most non-compliant fertility patient of all time because I was just weeks away from changing jobs/losing health insurance for a month/freaking out. It was not exactly the moment *I'd* have picked to have life miraculously appear in my womb. But fortunately, *I* am not the one in charge of that. God is good, and He knows what He is doing.

And ok, I wasn't taking the pills I was supposed to be taking, but it's not exactly like we were avoiding the opportunity. I have how many years of infertility drama under my belt now? 7? 8? I will probably never pass on a stretchy cervical mucus situation. Beggars can't be Choosers, right?

So, last summer, I did this crazy ultrasound series that showed that not only are my fertile days late... my peak stretchy mucus days and the smiley face ovulation sticks aren't positive until day 18 or so ("normal" is day 14)... I actually ovulate REALLY late. My lazy-ass ovaries don't actually release an egg until 3 (or so) days after that peak. My Pituitary Gland says, "Hey, Dudes! Release an egg!" and my Ovaries, in between smoking doobies on the couch, say "Yeah, man! Sometime soon, k?" and then they eat Little Debbie cakes and take a nap. (Assholes.) Luteal Phase Defect Type II: I haz it.

This makes it nearly impossible to conceive - ESPECIALLY if you don't know that's what's happening. So basically, we've been sending sperm on suicide missions for 7 years.
Poor Sperm. I swear, Little Commando Guys, the intel. *I* had said there was an egg in there!
RIP, Spermies.
3 days later, the Egg arrives in all her Shiny, Dolled-Up, Miss Piggy-esque glory only to find her adoring crowd is... dead.
The drama in my Fallopian tubes. All unicellular entities involved need some serious PTSD counseling.

But conceive we did! This time on DAY 23.
DAY 23.
NO ONE conceives on day 23.

There was some very serious divine intervention happening there.
The kind that makes your Mother In Law weep tears of joy, and makes you wonder if you perhaps need some kind of psychological evaluation.

And THAT is a crazy story for my next post.

Saturday, March 14, 2015


So, I stopped blogging... for a year or so...
It wasn't really intentional. I never officially gave it up in my head, but 2014 was a big year - both internally and externally.

As for some of the internal bits that apply to blogging...
I decided that I wasn't going to blog about Katherine's hilarious endeavors because at this point, she's a real-life person, and that's *her* story, not mine. Unfortunately for blogging, she's my world, and those are the stories I most like to tell. I cheat and share snippets on Instagram, but that feels different. And of course, I tell Katherine stories (ad nauseum) in person. (Sorry, friends!) ;)

Also, I found that when I blog a story, I have trouble re-telling it in real life. In person, I wonder if I'm boring my audience: "Have they already read this on my blog?" I start to wonder. When I stopped blogging my stories, I felt more "whole" in real life.

2014 was a big "External Life Changes" year, too...
We jumped back on the fertility wagon. Kind of. For part of the year. (The part where I didn't get pregnant. Hah!) Because sleep is over-rated, right? ;) I learned a new method of fertility charting: The Creighton Method. It involved many, many one-on-one tutoring sessions, a lot of stickers, and a lot of talking about cervical mucus (important stuff, that is... apparently! Thank you, Western Medicine Education, for entirely leaving that one out. Bastards.). I underwent a serial ultrasound series that shed some much needed light on my lazy ovarian situation. I almost blogged about that, but around that same time, some people at my job told me they had found and loved my blog... and I guess I just didn't want to traumatize my co-workers with my up-to-the-minute thoughts on ovulation and cervical mucus. I sent several-page-long emails back and forth to my Fertility-Rock Friends instead. I am so lucky to have them. (Thank you!!)

I decided to change jobs. I'd planned on working at my old job until I DIED (no, really), so that was a rather angst-filled decision. It was a good decision, and I'm SO happy with my new job, but of course, you really shouldn't blog about work. See also: You Probably Shouldn't Blog About Trying To Get Knocked Up Immediately Before Job Hunting. Probably?

So... we've effectively eliminated blogging about: Katherine, Fertility Adventures, Work, and Any Stories I'd Like To Tell My Friends But Haven't Yet.

Thus the silence.

But I have a few stories (ok, one, really, at the moment anyways) that I'd like to blog. I'm ridiculously blessed to be brewing Miracle Baby #2 and I strongly believe there was some crazy divine intervention involved there. That story should be told. In September, there may be a birth story that I'll want to document on the internet. Probably. Unless I change my privacy perimeters again. Rob wants to give birth to most of a kitchen before this baby is born. So that should be entertaining. Prepare for lots of Instagrammed sad faces as we struggle with Ikea hieroglyphics.

Life is good, friends. I missed typing at you. I love you guys. :) It might take me a month, but a crazy story is coming. Promise.

Thursday, May 15, 2014


Katherine has developed a fear of bees. Also, all insects that sound like bees. Or fly. Or are insects. There were three ants on our doorstep this evening and she immediately changed her mind about wanting to go outside.

(Don't be distracted by the cuteness of this picture. She's totally whining about grass. Or bees. 
Or something outdoorsy. Caroline in this exact moment, is saying, "Don't worry! She looks cute!")

Such a *girl*, that child.

We won't be visiting the local butterfly garden any time soon.

Rob is not helping the cause because he's terrified of bees and any buzzing insect that might sound like bees. Sigh. My Family. ;)

However, in a hilarious turn of events, while she's sobbing about:
"Bees! Bees! Scared! Mommieeeee! No want it!!" 
she also now says, "It's okay... " (unconvincingly). 
It's kind of the best thing ever. 
...And last week, as we were listing people to pray for at the end of night-time prayers, she added "Bees." in her very matter-of-fact little girl voice. Pray for your enemy, I guess?