Monday, July 31, 2006

Where is God in all this?

Yesterday was not a good day. Well, not for me and God, anyway.

I woke up with that old familiar feeling that this cycle wasn't going to end in a baby, but in tears instead. If you're a woman who has spent any time TTC, you kind of just know when the end is near. I mean, the fat lady hasn't sung yet, but I'm pretty sure the end is near just the same. There are signs.

And if I'm not pregnant we'll move into the treatment zone. More dildocams, increasingly invasive procedures and most certainly drugs.

All this was running through my brain as I drove to church, and I found myself shaking my head and quietly saying, "You're going to make me do this, aren't you? You're going to make me go through all this after everything we've already been through."

Maybe it's just me, but frankly that doesn't seem fair at all. And so I was seething by the time I sat down in the pew.

It figures the theme of the Mass would be "God answers your every need." It just totally figures.

I'm not saying God is bad. God has given me many, many wonderful blessings that I'm thankful for every single day of my life. I have an amazing family that I adore, a wonderful husband that I thank my lucky stars for daily, friends who have been there for me in ways too numerous to count, health, love, happiness - I have blessings coming out the wahzoo.

But has God been there for me in my greatest times of need? I don't know. I don't just mean he chose not to save Thomas, I mean he's kept his distance ever since. I can't find him, and believe me, it's not for lack of searching. I've asked, in fact begged, him to help me - and I remain as confused as ever about his place in my life.

Where is God?

I believe he's there. I do. I just can't figure out who he is because he's not the God I grew up believing in. And maybe that's my fault. Maybe it's the church's fault. Maybe he is what he is and we've made him out to be more than that - formed him into the God we'd like to have instead of the one he actually is.

I don't know. And he's certainly not particularly interested in telling me.

I believe God is good. I believe Thomas' life had purpose and that he was called to heaven because his time here was meant to be brief. And I believe we'll probably never fully understand why.

What I don't understand is why God has vanished - why I'm floundering so pitifully in the deafening silence of the voice I used to hear. There's no comfort where I used to find it and I haven't got a clue where to look now.

He isn't giving me what I need, despite what the readings on Sunday said. Jesus fed 5000 people with three loaves and two fish to prove that he could supply our every need. I am one girl desperately hungry for even the smallest crumb and all I'm hearing is crickets.

I suppose I could attribute the outpouring of support I've had since Thomas died to the kindness and love of God. I guess I could give him that - and for that I'm grateful. But what I've lost, besides my son, is faith in God. Not in him as an entity, but in him as a being who really can give us what we need if we just open our hearts and ask.

I have asked. I've begged. I've cried. I've been tormented by this on top of the torment of losing my baby and it's wearing me down. And wearing thin too.

Maybe I'm crazy and asking too much, but I just thought that somehow God would have made sure that if I had to lose Thomas, in the bloody aftermath of grief and recovery I wouldn't feel like I'd lost God too.

I would have thought that at least he'd have given me that.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

More chicks!

I managed to snap a couple of quick pictures of our newest little residents yesterday when mom was off foraging for food.

Aren't they cute?

Okay, they do look a little bit like vultures (what with the sparse feathers and generally bedraggled appearance) but I think I'd look pretty disheveled if I had to sit under a mourning dove's butt in 90 degree heat too.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Tears for my boy

I missed my boy so much last night.

Every once in a while I'll let myself really think about it, and it's terrifying. The depth of my sorrow is just terrifying to me. I can go along for weeks - never forgetting of course, but managing like a normal person - and then one day it all collapses in on me and I'm so struck by the enormity of it all I can barely function.

I guess it's self preservation. I can shut it down and proceed normally for only so long. Then I need to really touch base with the pain, let it wash over me and soak it up before I can dry off and carry on again.

I suppose this is healthy. I dunno. But it's worked for all this time so I'm just going to assume it's healthy for me. If it ain't broke, right?

I'm not entirely sure why today was the day the roof caved in. I guess it was just time. A very minor disagreement with My Beloved ended with me sobbing quietly in the office while he slept last night. And, just to be clear, It wasn't a cry-worthy disagreement. And quite aside from that, I was the one who was wrong. But I ended up sobbing just the same, and missing Thomas so much I thought my heart would break.

When I'm upset, it all ends up coming back to Thomas, and whatever tears I'm crying end up being tears for him. There is, after all, a pretty enormous pool of sorrow to draw from.

Every once in a while I wonder what that sorrow will feel like in 10 years, or 20 years or when I'm 75. I wonder how it will manifest itself in my daily life then - when Thomas has been gone for 40 years.

God, that's such a long time to miss someone, isn't it?

And there's that feeling of terror again...

I'm just going to remember that tomorrow I'll probably wake up feeling like myself, having thoroughly doused myself in all of this today, and I'll carry on like I have for the last 16 months. Because what other choice do I have, right?

I can only keep walking.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

It's not much...

...but since you asked, this is what I'm working on:

When it's all grown up it'll be a lovey for a special little friend of mine whose Mommy has been quietly keeping Thomas' spirit alive in some very sweet and wonderful ways.

Shhhhh. I think she reads my blog. Don't tell her...

I've resorted to my old standby - single crochet squares - because I've got that stitch down pat and I can make the squares without thinking. It's very meditative when you can crochet without thinking about crocheting. I'm all about not thinking too much these days. It's nice. Try it. Try it now.

I attempt to add interest to my painfully simple work by using different embellishments - or "distractions", as we non-thinkers call them - so I'm going to add little flowers (that's them you see in the pattern beside the squares) to the four corners of the lovey to make it a little extra special.

At least that's the plan now. I haven't attempted the flowers yet, so we'll see.

Stay tuned...

(And thanks for asking!)

Monday, July 24, 2006

This isn't the real blog

I have a blog in me, but no inclination to write it down tonight.

It's hot as Hades in here because I took the office fan down to the family room. So now the office is hellish and fanless and I'm hot, irritable and unable to blog properly because of it (being a temperamental writer-type and all).

I could go get the fan, but what I really want to do is go back downstairs to the cool family room, pick up my crocheting and watch something happy and mindless until it's time for bed.

That sounds like a perfectly delicious thing to do and because I can, I'm going to.

The blog in my head will just have to wait for another day.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

We have liftoff!!

My torrid, two-week long affair with the dildocam is over. I've finally ovulated.

My RE doesn't believe in charts and other mystical fertility wizardry, so this exercise was to prove to him what I was already sure was happening (given that I am a follower of chartism). But I have to admit that there's still a measure of comfort in knowing that science has confirmed that at least part of me is in working order.

Of course, this means that they'll have to delve deeper into my innards to figure out what isn't working properly.

Why do I have the feeling that I'll be looking back on the days of dildocam with fondness and a wistful tear in my eye in the not too distant future?

One step at a time. One step at a time.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

I've changed my mind

Okay fine. I know I said that all this fertility testing business wasn't so bad, and I distinctly recall saying that the relief I felt having someone else worry about all this was "carrying me along quite nicely." And I know I said all of this just two days ago.

But I've changed my mind. This is annoying, all this fertility clinic business. I've been in a foul mood for two days because I'm sick of having blood sucked out of me and wands stuck where they don't belong.

This is not how making a baby is supposed to be, damn it.

Today the ultrasound technician asked if I'd had a previous C-section. Apparently you can see the scar from the inside out. After I answered, I suddenly felt the lead blanket of sorrow wrap itself around me in its old familiar way.

She didn't ask any questions beyond that so I was able to lay there in silence, remembering when ultrasounds were an opportunity for me to catch fleeting glimpses of my beautiful little Thomas while he was cradled, warm and safe, inside me.

I'm empty now, except for a nice ripe follicle that seems irritatingly reluctant to rupture. That and the scar.

I feel like I could sit here and cry an entire river of angry, sorrowful tears. I'm tired. And none of this is right. We shouldn't have lost our boy and we shouldn't have to be working so hard to have his sibling now that he's gone. We shouldn't have to keep working so damn hard at everything.

And yet we do, because what other choice do we have? Asking why me? is pointless because it doesn't change anything. We did lose our boy and we are struggling with infertility. I could stand on my front porch and scream obscenities into the dark summer sky until I'm blue in the face. It will all still have happened. I can't change a single thing. I can only try to move forward as best I can.

I'm trying very hard to avoid wallowing in self pity. Woe is me is ugly when it goes on for too long - when you start enjoying it a little too much. Don't get me wrong, everyone needs a good wallow every now and then, it's just that it feels too early in the game to succumb to the temptation.

I told My Beloved that I felt bad about already being so frustrated with the testing process and he very wisely pointed out that I don't have to like it - that most people probably don't, as a matter of fact.

So I decided I won't either. I won't like any of this, except for what it will hopefully bring us at the end of it all.

In the meantime I'll just go on hating the dildocam, and the blood tests, and the invasion of privacy, and the uncertainty, and the fear of the unknown, and the feelings of failure and inadequacy.

I'll go on hating them so much I could truly scream.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Life finds a way

Just a few days after our resident tree swallows vacated the premises, this little lady showed up in one of our hanging baskets on the front porch:

We just couldn't boot her out. She's so sweet and barely takes any notice of our comings and goings - despite the fact that we pass by inches from her little roost. So there she sits and swings, in the now dead hanging basket that I can't water for fear of disturbing her nest.

It's starting to feel a lot like Assisi around here, and someone threatened to start calling me The Bird Lady today. But truth be told, I'm very happy she's here. I've missed the excitement of the Steve and Lady show, and now we'll get to watch another little avian family grow up right before our very eyes.

Are all these eggs and happy little bird families a sign? I don't know, but in some strange way it makes me feel connected to the successfully procreating world that I've felt so alienated from for so long. For forever and a day, it seems.

They're just birds, but they chose us and we can point to the birdhouse and the hanging basket and say that life grew here - right here by our sorrow-filled house.

Life found a way to return here. And that feels really good to me, even if they are only birds.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Observations from inside the clinic

The building on the corner of the street where we turn up to get to the fertility clinic is called Siemens. I have to give God a nod for that one. Comedic irony at its finest.


There's no "face of infertility". I see women of all ages, races and sizes waiting for blood draws and ultrasounds, just like me.


Sitting in a small meeting room with your husband while a doctor tells you when to have sex isn't as embarrassing as I thought it might be. I did, however, still want to giggle.


Ultrasound technicians probably don't really want to chat while they're fiddling with the wand up your hoo-ha. I learned this while attempting to make small talk at my appointment on Sunday. It's good to know that I don't have to feel rude laying there saying nothing.

I haven't done it, but I'm guessing that critiquing their performance probably isn't a good idea either.


Saying "thank you" to someone who has just finished taking pictures of your innards will always feel weird, but somehow necessary.


The more times you have someone exploring your lady bits, the less humiliating it becomes - and the more curious you get about what's actually going on in there.


They never EVER tell you any of this stuff in health class - and I'm sure they never will.


The paper robes they give you to change into aren't pretty or particularly flattering, but they're a hell of a lot nicer than the giant paper towel you get at the family doctor - when you're completely naked.


Fear of the unknown is a powerful thing indeed. I resisted seeking intervention for longer than I should have, particularly at my age, because I didn't want to do any of the stuff we're doing right now.

But you know what? It's not so bad. I know it's VERY early days, but so far it's still just good to have someone else worrying about all of this for a while. That's carrying me along quite nicely for the time being.


Occasionally I still wonder how on earth I ended up here and I frequently wonder what's next, but I'm still trying really, really hard to take it one step at a time.

This task would be easier if I hadn't looked up treatments for adhesions and scar tissue on the internet this afternoon. I don't know that I have them, but I'm now good and terrified about getting rid of them if I do.


My Mother never told me that one day I'd be on pins and needles wondering what the size of my follicles is going to be tomorrow.

I probably won't tell my daughter that either - if I ever get one.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

The Kindness of Strangers

It never ceases to amaze me, the whole "kindness of strangers" thing. You sort of figure that your friends and family always have your back - that's a given. But if you really look, you'll find there's a world of kindness out there - and people willing to share it, even when they hardly know you.

Or when they only know you from a virtual land of blogs and chatboards.

Which is how I ended up with three, brand new, heat-resistant spatulas last night. I found them when I wandered out into the dark, muggy night to get the mail. They were sitting there, in our mailbox - a surprise gift from a virtual friend who remembered my story of the Father's Day biscotti fiasco (you might recall that I accidentally baked a bit of broken spatula into the cookies I made for my father-in-law) and thought of me when she saw three brightly coloured spatulas at the store.

So she sent them to me.

I know they're just spatulas, but they represent a kindness of heart that always breaks mine. It amazes me when things like this happen. There is SO much goodness out there.

I received an ovulation predictor kit from an American friend who was horrified by the cost of them up here in Canada, a home pregnancy test from another friend who wanted me to share in her miracle (a baby conceived after her tubes were tied), and countless gestures of kindness when Thomas' birthday rolled around (donations, flowers, gifts - you name it). And I regularly receive random cards from friends who just want to say hi - even friends who have suffered the same kind of loss as I have.

I don't always tell them, but these things often motivate me to return the cosmic favour and find some random act of kindness to do for someone else who might be in need of the kind of day brightener that has just been bestowed upon me.

My Beloved blogged about this a while ago - how goodness begets goodness - and it's so true. I'm softened and buoyed when something sweet happens to me. It helps me remember that there's more to this life than the sorrows and problems that I sometimes can't seem to see past. It reminds me that there are small, simple ways to make people happy - to let them know that they're loved and special and thought of often.

So to all the do-gooders (and you know who you are) thank you for reminding me to be a better person, and for giving me the kick in the pants I sometimes need very much indeed.

And to K, thank you for the spatulas.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Happy Birthday, My Beloved

So what if it's a little silly to make a grown man a Superman cake for his 37th birthday? It made me happy and it made him smile. And, aside from a piece of cake, what more can you ask for?

Happy Birthday to my Superman.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006


What a whiny-ass post that was yesterday. See? I'm just terrible when I'm sick - I wear out far, far too many violin strings.

I'm sparing you tonight since I'm feeling wretched and just want to go lay in bed with my People magazine and my Kleenex Ultra Soft.

Until tomorrow then.

P.S. To My Beloved, thanks for the reminder. oxox

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

730 days

It was two years ago today that I saw a second blue line - Thomas waving "hello" to me the only way he could. And a beautiful little "hello" it was.

Today - this June 11th - couldn't be more different. I'm sick - nursing a nice summer cold that I suspect is creeping down into my chest - and just a few days away from my second set of ultrasounds and blood work at the fertility clinic. My Dad is into his fifth week with bronchitis that won't seem to clear up (a frightening prospect for someone in such frail health to begin with). My Mom's very last nerve is frayed to the breaking point, so stressed is she about my Dad.

Nothing good appears to be on the horizon, and, in fact, that horizon is pretty scary looking from where I'm sitting.

Two years ago I knew the promise of a new life, and today everything feels dangerously precarious. Very, very fragile indeed.

And I can't do a damned thing about it.

I know things can change in a heartbeat - and sometimes those changes are very good indeed - but when you're not feeling so hot (and feeling pretty darn sorry for yourself at the same time) it's kind of hard to believe that good will ever find you again.

And things were so good once upon a time. I was pregnant with a healthy baby boy, my Dad's irregular heartbeat had reverted to normal sinus rhythm after his faulty defibrillator was replaced, and my Mom was a beaming idiot who told everyone in sight that she was going to be a grandmother. There was so much to be happy about and thankful for, we could hardly believe our good fortune. Truly.

But it all seems like such a struggle now and I feel powerless to make anything better. I'm trying, but my body isn't cooperating and time is marching on. How much time does my Dad have? How much time do I have to make a baby? How much longer will our luck, such as it is, hold?

I'm such a suck when I'm sick. I should have just stayed in bed.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Because I'm anal and paranoid...

...I need to make it clear that I enjoyed myself yesterday - I really, really did. I love girlie garden parties with a passion and wish there were more opportunities to shower people with love and kitchen gadgets.

The winds of change

God clearly thinks I'm much stronger than I do.

I was at a wedding shower for one of my oldest and dearest friends yesterday, and who does God decide to plop down next to me while we're waiting for the festivities to begin? A doula.

A DOULA, for God's sake!! And a chatty one at that, who'd just been at a birth on Friday and was exhausted, elated and very eager to talk about her experience.

I wasn't bothered by the birth chatter as much as I was panicked by the thought that I was sandwiched between the doula and women with children, and figured it was only a matter of time before someone asked me the dreaded question.

Thankfully it never came because I hadn't decided how to answer. I've learned there's no better way to bring down a party then to start waxing poetic about your dead baby, but the more time passes, the more reluctant I am to deny his existence. As doula rattled on about her job, I sat there hearing about 60% of what she was saying as I desperately tried to figure out what way I was going to go. Deny Thomas or sadden a group of happy women who were there to celebrate my friend's upcoming wedding? Tough call.

Thank God no one asked. I was leaning towards telling them I once had a beautiful little boy, and it would have been a shame because it really was a great party. Much love, good food and fantastic people. Even chatty doula.

As the afternoon passed by in a haze of delicious treats, iced tea, laughter and pretty wrapping paper, I started to realize how different I feel now - how much sorrow has altered who I am. It's not all bad - I think I'm a kinder person and certainly more compassionate than I was before Thomas - those are very good things. But I've also lost some beautiful things. Like my ability to smile carefree smiles full of promise.

One of the guests, a young and strikingly beautiful new bride who my friend used to babysit, had that look about her. I don't know anything about her - maybe she's had sorrows that she's just able to hide really well - but she was like a fresh spring breeze. Her laughter came easily, as did her smiles. She spoke with joy and sweetness and the hope of someone untouched by life's cruelties and tragedies.

And I envied her. I know too much to ever be that fresh spring breeze bringing joy and light to a Sunday afternoon garden party.

Don't get me wrong, I certainly don't think I'm a person of less value because I grieve - that I'm worthless because I'm scarred by pain. There's certainly a need for people who have an intimate knowledge of sorrow because we can bring comfort to others in a way that fresh spring breezes simply can't. I've had so many people unburden themselves to me since I lost Thomas, because they know that their pain will find company with mine and be safe there. They know I'll understand.

But fresh spring breezes are just so much more welcome in this world, aren't they? God, I could hardly take my eyes off her.

I would never try to change who I am. I am the person my experiences have made me. I've fought hard to make good come from the sorrow and I feel blessed to have learned so much from my boy.

But every now and then it would be nice to feel that peaceful, carefree energy flowing from me too.

It's been a while.

Friday, July 07, 2006

Make A Child Smile

I added Make A Child Smile to my For Goodness Sake link list last night, but I wanted to draw special attention to it here because I think it's such a wonderful, wonderful thing.

The woman who founded the organization is the kind of everyday superhero My Beloved blogged about a few days ago. She saw a need and figured out a way to help - just because she could. And as a result, some very sick children and their parents can still manage to smile every now and then.

It just breaks my heart it's so beautiful.


There's something very strange and unquestionably surreal about holding a friend's sleeping baby while discussing your dead son.

The weird thing is, it feels really normal. I can't believe it feels so freaking normal. The world and all the laws of nature I used to hold true are so different - nothing is as it was and nothing makes any sense at all.

Except somehow it does.

Grief, as time passes, is like waking up from a coma to find that everything in your universe has changed - and no one is waiting for you to catch up. They're just smiling and dragging you along for the wild and utterly confusing ride. They're glad you're alive and functioning and eager for you to jump back in. Part of you wants to grab those outstretched hands and move forward, but part of you still mourns for the past - for the reality you once knew, and now know is gone forever.

The world just doesn't wait. And so you have no choice but to eventually find yourself holding other people's babies and feeling okay about it, even when you're talking about the boy you buried 16 months ago.

I can't quite figure out how I'm doing this. I keep wondering when I'm going to crumble - when the facade will collapse and expose the real, tortured and completely broken me.

But I don't think she's in there anymore. I think I've healed enough that this IS me. I think I AM strong enough to hold a friend's baby and talk about Thomas without imploding - without my heart breaking into a million tiny pieces and silencing me forever.

And I can't figure out how that's possible.

I miss Thomas every day. I think about him every day. I long for him every day. I ache for him, even still. I always will. But somehow I can still function in this new, confusing, Thomasless world.

I'll admit it, it's often like walking through pudding laced with land mines (which is why I'm so damned tired when I crawl into bed each night), but at least I'm still walking.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Is that an ultrasound wand or are you just happy to see me?

We took our very first baby step (if you'll pardon the pun) into the wonderful world of fertility treatments this morning. It was our first day of testing at the clinic.

I keep wondering how many steps will follow this one - and what the end of our journey will bring - but a wise friend and my wise Beloved have both told me to stop thinking of the entire process and focus on each small victory along the way. And despite appearances to the contrary, that's what I'm trying to do.

So score one for me.

Today I gave up a thousand and one vials of blood, submitted to two ultrasounds (neither one overly pleasant) and waited with my similarly bandaged spouse to find out if my innards were in working order.

Affirmative. Well, as much as they can tell from two ultrasounds. Our blood tests will be back later today, and I return next week for more probing and pricking - from Thursday until I ovulate.

What fun. But all for a good cause, right?

All for a good cause.

Oh Lord, how did I get here? That's what I was wondering as I was lay on the exam table this morning, gazing heavenward at the slightly askew ceiling tiles while a strange woman I'd only just met took pictures of my insides - from the inside - with an enormous wand.

This is just not how it should be. I know the world doesn't owe me anything and I know that many, many people have it far worse than we do, but after what we've been through I think it's the ultimate slap in the face that we need help getting pregnant. It's not fair. It's not fair at all, damn it.

And I have nowhere to register my complaint.

So my only option is to keep going - to keep thinking about the next step and to keep summoning the courage to take it.

I so need a cookie.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

The world's most watched TV star and other nonesense

So I read in the paper this morning that David Hasselhoff - international recording artist and the world's most watched TV star, according to his official website - hurt his arm recently but is recovering well.

Apparently this happened while he was shaving in a London gym. He hit his head on a chandelier, sending glass showering down on his arm.

Um, what?

How tall is this dude? A chandelier - really? Just exactly how ritzy are athletic facilities in jolly old England? Was he perhaps hanging off the chandelier? How did only one arm get injured? Did he ever finish shaving? Does any of this seem just a wee bit off to anyone else? Will the real story, in all its sordid glory, ever be told?

Why is it that reading the paper only leaves me with more questions? And stupid ones at that?

Nonetheless, I need thank big chandelier-busting Dave for distracting me from my own woes. Misery really does love company - apparently even if it's his.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Well now I've heard it ALL

It's a holiday Monday, I'm tired, I'm bored, My Beloved is napping, and I'm consumed with thoughts of the upcoming fertility testing I know is on the horizon in the next several weeks. Well, not so much thoughts as fears, really.

I'm afraid that they'll find something, I'm afraid that they won't find something, I'm afraid of stepping back into the hospital where Thomas was born and died for my HSG, I'm afraid of having to go back for more invasive procedures depending upon what the HSG reveals, I'm afraid of all of this becoming a science experiment, I'm afraid of never being pregnant again, I'm afraid of getting pregnant again - it's a "you name it, I'm afraid of it" kind of thing at the moment.

So in an effort to amuse myself I wandered onto eBay and typed "fertility" into the search engine (as though someone might be selling a cup's worth of it for a reasonable price). Among the African statues, celtic jewelry, vitamins, OPKs and ovulation monitors, I found this: The Ultrasonic Subliminal Fertility Aid CD - an "audio brainwave fertile mind program".

Or hogwash, as I like to call it.

There's an impressive list of technologies associated with the CD, including Quantum Subliminal Matrix Technology, Audio Brainwave Entrainment Technology, and Dual Channel Binaural Panning Technology, which all sound terribly authentic and, well, technical. But I smell smoke and see my reflection in an alarming number of mirrors.

Basically I think it's a steaming pile of horse shit.

I'm hip to the power of positive thinking and I'm aware that stress can do some pretty dastardly things to your body, but I don't for one moment believe that you can, and I quote, Instantly relieve yourself from any anxiety, stress and pressures related to the process of beoming pregnant by listening to their CDs. I don't buy it for one second. And, frankly, I think it's reprehensible that anyone should attempt to market this crap to people who are at their most fragile and vulnerable - and willing to try almost anything, even listening to an entire track of silence.

Yup, I said an entire track of silence. The first three tracks are ocean sounds with subliminal messages - oh, sorry - "psychoacoustic audioscapes" playing beneath them. The last track is just dead air, also evidently known as "ultrasonic silent subliminal programming".

So, for just a little over $13 plus shipping and handling, I can apparently listen to the ocean for a while, then listen to nothing at all, then get pregnant and not worry about a thing.

Sounds good.

Too bad it's still a steaming pile of horse shit.

Just in case someone from the steaming pile of horse shit company Googles and takes offense, I would like to state that this is my uneducated opinion only. I have never tried the CDs and can't vouch for their effectiveness or lack thereof. It's my own humble opinion that they're shit and not worth the cost of the plastic they're burned on.