This is a blog post in two parts wherein I discuss both sets of cheeks. Top and bottom.
I was walking through Home Depot the other day looking for packing supplies while simultaneously talking to my sister. We were laughing at a ridiculous story of her student training days and her friend’s first ever male catheterization. The penis was so small and the individual so large that she had to rummage around in the, ahem, hair to search for it while also pushing aside part of the stomach. It is a good story made even better when one knows the two individuals involved. Both are sweet, mild-mannered, and passive types. Not the types to go rummaging around for a penis.
We laughed and the laughter lasted for about one minute. I noticed that my cheeks started to hurt at the end of the minute. What a nice feeling, right? When you smile and laugh until your cheeks hurt. But it actually made me sad because I’m obviously out of practice. One minute of laughing and my cheeks hurt? How long has it been since I’ve laughed like that? Or even smiled that much? I don’t know. It has been a while.
From October 2009 on, life has been really hard. Finishing the dissertation, teaching, battling addictions, battling unemployment for both Big Guy and myself, rejection after rejection, an unwanted move across the country, infertility, the miscarriage, it has all been really hard. Somewhere along the way I clearly stopped smiling and laughing, and I didn’t even notice. This was not the idyllic honeymoon phase that I thought we were entitled to experience. Hell, we didn’t even get to go on a honeymoon.
In all the change and tragedy, I lost my joy and happiness, but retained my sense of self. Big Guy and I are stronger individually and as a couple, and we are more in love than ever. He is my favorite person in the whole world.
I’m ready for things to turn around. I’m praying that this pregnancy will be the panacea that we need. That I so desperately need. But, I am ready for a change. Even if things do not happen the way we would like, it feels like this move has been a positive step forward. I think I need to start smiling.
Part Two (On the lighter side, in relation to smiling):
My butt cheeks hurt! I’m not having the same experience with the progesterone injections as I did with my first pregnancy. The injections were so easy and painless that I scoffed at ever going back to the suppositories. Who needs or wants a suppository when you can just inject it into your ass, I thought.
This time around? The injections are resulting in knots and bruises. I’ve been bleeding a lot from the itty-bitty puncture wounds. One day it appeared as if I was hemorrhaging from a tiny puncture in my left butt cheek. The blood went everywhere. Injection disaster. I immediately panicked thinking that I hit a blood vessel and injected progesterone directly into my blood stream. I quickly concluded that I would experience some sort of fatal demise as a result. Big Guy, ever the biologist, informed me that I probably hit some of the bruising resulting in excessive bleeding. Sure enough, the next morning the bruising, knots and swelling on the left side were dramatically improved.
I’ve been trying to “lance” my right cheek ever since. Perhaps leaches would ease the knots, swelling, and bruising. But, wait, would they suck out the progesterone?
Why the difference? Big Guy thinks that because I have been working out so much my cheek muscles are more defined and fibrous, resulting in knots. I laughed. It is true. I have been running, lifting weights and attending pilates and yoga classes, but I am not spending my days doing lunges and squats, and I do not look like Jillian Michaels.
I personally have come to the conclusion that the timing is what is contributing to the sore butt cheeks. During my first pregnancy I was doing 1 cc at night in alternating cheeks. That meant that each cheek had a 48 hour reprieve before going under the needle again. Now, I am doing 1 cc every morning and night, which allows for only a 24 hour reprieve. My cheeks are not smiling.
With that said, I don’t care. It is simply an amusing and distracting situation.
Grow, baby, grow.