My medicine cabinet

I will actually ingest all of this in the next 2 weeks.

I don't know how much more of this I can take...I'm honestly starting to worry about the 'C' word...

Here's a doozy for 'ya...What's worse? Dying young or dying childless?...

I don't have the answer to that.

When I went for my day 1 blood test the nurse told me not to lose hope - that my last IVF yielded a very good 5-day embryo that just didn't stick. She said now my goal was having the courage to continue, because it was only a matter of time. Don't you love how everyone has their little pieces of advice?

For the first time my doctors are having me use Gonal F and Menopur simultaneously. Has anyone ever done that?

I did a little research on the Internet and came across a bunch of contradictory information.. and die-hard IVF fanatics. I like to stay informed, but I think one must relinquish too much control over the whole thing and chill (meaning too much googling of the topic can't be healthy).

And what's with all the abbreviations? Honestly, if you know what BTA or BTN stands for, you need to STEP AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER.

I say that, but at the same time, it's true that you are also your own advocate. Due to various reasons for disappointment, we've changed doctors and clinics many times...and the bottom line we've drawn is that we're all a number, no matter how renowned the place is. In the end, no one will care for you and your situation as much as you do...

And at a reasonable level, I do encourage all new IVF patients to speak with IVF veterans. If I only had known all the things the 8-year journey taught me... For one, I would have been much more vigilant from the start and not taken so many long 'mental' breaks from procedures... and tried the natural methods (i.e. Chinese medicine) for such long time periods, and independent of Western Medicine...

I did read a fascinating article not too long ago on the Internet about depression and IVF. The fact that not becoming pregnant does create depression..and the depression hinders becoming pregnant. The 'ol vicious cycle. Anyway, what I'm getting at in a nutshell is be your own advocate and educate yourself, but also step away and live life, have fun. I think that'll help us all keep depression at bay and bring us more quickly to our goal.

And did I mention the nasal inhaler?

Also new, I'm having to snort 'Suprefact' every 3 hours until the egg retrieval. I'm having to alternate nostrils, because it will evidently make my nose extremely sore and sensitive.

Lovely.

That's a nice Christmas gift. (By the way, IVF at Christmas should it make it pretty apparent we are desperately fighting the clock - no time to waste. That includes major Holidays.)

Anyway, as for a Suprefact quick tip, to help me stay on top of each 3-hour toll and which nostril gets the  goodies, I bought a cheap digital watch with an alarm. I alternate wrists to let me know which side is up...

Meanwhile, occupying myself with trying to figure out how to make labels/learn Photoshop. Not easy breezy! And planning on launching my Belgian vintage store mission as soon as this snow storm the country is enduring passes....cooped up like Jack Nicholson in the Shining probably doesn't help matters.

So I must go tend to my eggs. Adzuki beans and seaweed await me...

IVF #3

So as it turns out, I'm not one of those girls. At least not this time anyway.
I'm going to have to head out for the hospital in a bit to draw blood and get my meds.

IVF #3. Oh yeah.

I think maybe my sixth or 7th treatment using injectables. That can't be good...

We're in a snow storm, so I'm going to have to take the train and hope I'm not stuck at the hospital. What's an IVF without a little extra dose of added-drama???

Meanwhile, I've been working on my baby skincare design. Here's the banner I've come up with so far:

What do you think? Feedback can't hurt.

I want something fun, playful -- with added design that many kids' products lack. Hygiene should be effective - but playful and aesthetic as well, non?

Probably no coincidence that I'm launching the baby line first. Self-inflicted torture or a positive, self-fulfilling prophecy? I hope the latter.

I have a story behind this project. I'll tell it one day.

I've been making baby balms, powders, lotions, lip sticks...and some jewelry.

For now, I leave you with what I used as inspiration.

Pumpkin Pie

Excellent Pumpkin Pie Recipe from ol' Faithful (that'd be "Food & Wine")

INGREDIENTS
All-Butter Pie Dough
4 large eggs
3/4 cup sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cloves
Pinch of salt
One 15-ounce can pumpkin puree
1/2 cup heavy cream



DIRECTIONS
Preheat the oven to 350°. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the pie dough to a 13-inch round a scant 1/4 inch thick. Fit the dough into a 9-inch glass pie plate and trim the overhang to 3/4 inch. Fold the dough under itself and crimp decoratively; refrigerate the pie shell for 10 minutes.
Line the pie shell with foil and fill with pie weights or dried beans. Bake in the center of the oven until nearly set, about 25 minutes. Remove the foil and weights and bake until the crust is pale golden, about 10 minutes. Let cool slightly.
In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs with the sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon, cloves and salt until smooth. Whisk in the pumpkin puree, then the cream. Working near the oven, pour the filling into the crust. Bake for about 45 minutes, until the custard is set. Let the pie cool on a rack.

This is called their 'Classic Pumpkin Pie Recipe'.

It's easy-breezy and oh-so delicious.

We've already had much success with it...although instead of using canned pumpkin puree, we baked a real pumpkin (felt it made it more special).

Don't let that scare you - using your own pumpkin is also easy-breezy!

All you need to do is cut your pumpkin right in half horizontally. Clean out the stringy goo (need not remove it all - just the outer-layer) and seeds (takes about a minute) and put each half face down in a tall rimmed baking sheet filled with about an inch of water (you want to steam the pumpkin's insides to make it soft).



Baking times will vary depending on how big your pumpkin is, but for a medium size, it's about 45 minutes at 350 degrees F (180 celsius). You just want the pumpkin to be mushy so it's easy to scoop out the insides with a spoon. Also - if the water disintegrates, add more. You want water to always be on the bottom of the baking sheet. Careful opening your oven - it'll be steam bath in there!

Once it's mushy, scoop it out and voilà! You've got your pumpkin puree!

If you use fresh pumpkin, you should probably at least double the amount of pumpkin called for. You just want the mixture good and thick. If you have the kind of pumpkin that yields lots of strings, give the mixture a quick go with a hand mixer to reduce those strings and thicken up your mixture.

As for the pie crust, we did 'cheat' and bought one ready made..but hey! We're in Europe and pastries are much better :) - that includes ready made. This pumpkin itself is so good, you won't miss a homemade crust if you don't feel up for it.

P.S. You can't find pumpkin pie here...and nobody knows what it is. Nobody I've asked anyway.

So today is really an emotional day. I didn't want to start off being lonely and needy, so the recipe was my attempt at being upbeat.

When I have those, the smallest things rattle me. Like the 'About Me' section of this blog. I can't figure out how to insert a break so that a minimal amount of text appears on the 'home page' - and the rest appears after the jump....does anyone know how to do that?

I haven't started my period. Perhaps an un-kosher thing to say for those who haven't been through infertility.

Discussing blood, mucus, intercourse...it becomes very matter-of-fact during the journey. Heck I can be in a room with doctors butt naked and not be phased..well maybe I'm still a little phased.

In America they would at least give you a blanket or that white paper stuff you sit on at the doctor's office to cover yourself. I mean honestly, modesty is still golden, no matter what your plight.

That hasn't been the case for us so far here.

Our IVF clinic (it's in a hospital) is located in Brussels. You have a small room where you are told to undress waste down and then traverse the door that opens to the room with the doctor and his assistants on the other side. They don't give you a gown or that handy, white paper. The only thing in the small changing room is a box of square wipees. The first time I actually envisioned myself using one as frontal camouflage as I entered the room. Then I laughed at the thought of that scene - the 'American' I would have been- and reconsidered. I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and proudly (?) let my assets flap in the breeze.

Anyway, the process desensitizes you.

So now I'm late (a little) and I'm sick of the emotional roller coaster. Always wondering (daydreaming) if maybe I'm finally going to be one of those women you always hear about (you know what I'm talking about - the ones that mysteriously become pregnant naturally after years of medical intervention). It takes its toll.

Then there's the other side of the coin. I've always had a 28-day cycle. Lately that hasn't been the case - some times it's shorter, some times longer. So then I start worrying that I'm either entering early-menopause or my body is being destroyed by all these drugs. As it is, since I've been using fertility drugs, I've become allergic to just about every skin care product you can buy (that includes organic, high end, sensitive, allergic skin etc. ). It all gives me a rash and itches like hell. Prior IVF, I've never had one iota of a health care concern my entire life. Healthy as a horse...

I went to the weekly market this morning trying to ingest a dose of the 'happy pill'..but I'm not quite there.

I bought some pumpkins to make the pies (making them as gifts for the only people I kinda know here - my acupuncturist, my yoga instructor, and my swim coach - oh, and a requirement from my Southern upbringing, I'm making one for the neighbor). Oh how pathetic that looks in print  - my only entourage are people helping me try to conceive...

Meandering throughout the marché, I rationalised profoundly... You know, thought about how precious life is and how I have so much to be thankful for. I should be happy and positive...not this sourpuss I've become. But I can't seem to change...just like I can't seem to make myself pregnant.

I'm in need. I think as soon as these pies are baked, it's time for a creativity session.

Coco's Mission: Vintage Frenzy...In Belgium!

So all this Parisian vintage store talk has me thinking. I've got a new, zen diversion...and mission.
(It's been  a long time since I've had so much fun!)

I need your help. I mean I can't do this all alone.

I am going to visit every vintage store in the country of Belgium, my new country...

...and then I'm going to blab, I mean blog, every word of it right here for you.
You know, make it easy for us to share opinions.

I also am going to need your suggestions and input on finding all of them (this is not a place where people are technologically advanced folks. Take my word for it - the mailman is still coming by on his bike and having me sign on paper). What I mean by this - I don't know if all these places will have websites.

When it comes to vintage, I mean really awesome, kiss the floor finds... my gut feeling is that the Belgian counterparts (to Paris, that is), are going to be much sweeter. I can just feel it!

So where should I go first?

Parisian Vintage Boutique #4: Vintage Bar Paris

Fourth and final stop: Vintage Bar Paris..also Rue de la Verrerie but number 16. 75004 Paris.

This baby was all about the high end. There was even a muscle man at the front door - although I will say quite friendly. I asked if I could take pictures and there was no problem.

It was small, but less crowded. The breathing room was nice. But take a look at the front window display...explanation for the weekend calm? 

Yes folks, that's 890 Euros on that used purse. We're talking a thousand dollars for something pre-owned. 

Yes, it's a Chanel, but is this particular model worth that? 

Evidently just about everything inside has a high-end label.

I saw lots of fur coats (some quite wacky), sunglasses, purses, shoes (that would make even Carrie Bradshaw proud) and lots of 'blingy', faux jewels.

The petite boutique was 2 stories - the basement containing mostly coats.

Did I buy anything? 

No. 

Personally, I found everything within arm's reach way over-priced (the 'vintage' sunglasses alone were more than 100 dollars each). I don't know about you, but I like a good deal. If I see something I just gotta have, I'll splurge; but as for the arm's reach, there was nothing that fit that description.

Maybe better deals were to be found, but I wasn't in the digging mood. It was time to have a glass of wine with my honey...after all, we were in the city of love. And he had been so patient traipsing to 4 vintage stores in a row for me. That's love.

More pics here after this jump for those interested:

Parisian Vintage Boutique #3: Frip Irium

Stop number 3 was equally as dismal. 

Frip Irium: 

2 La Verrerie

Paris - 4th arrondissement

By dismal I mean uncomfortably crowded. No leg room. No arm room. No nothing room.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. My husband and I have often discussed the fact that Europe is set up like a sexist, old-fashioned institution. To be more specific, shopping here is a real bitch if you don't have someone who stays at home during the week and is hence, able to shop during a week day. 

Stores (yes, even grocery stores) open late, close early and most have no hours at all on Sunday. (I miss you 24-hour/7-day-a-week America!) That means, if you are a 2-person working family (like most here are), the only time you can really shop is after work (if you're lucky enough to make it there before they close)...or Saturday.

I despise shopping in Europe during those windows.

It is something I avoid at all costs. (And yes, something that I am now, in some ways unfortunately, able to do...)

More often than not, people are in a hurry, pushy, and to my southern belle dismay, often impolite. People actually run up against me and yes, it's true, don't even say excuse me. It's a shocker, I know.

Some boutique stores are open on Sunday - but they are few and far between (sometimes nil) in the more non-touristy areas (like where I live). But in Paris, a lot more of the boutiques (meaning smaller, independently owned shops) are open on Sunday.

Anyway, I'm rambling. The point is weekend shopping is crowded in Europe, and these vintage stores were no exception.

My judgment of them is probably not fair being as I was there on the weekend. I should give them another shot before I rant so harshly -- during a week day.

Nonetheless, the entire parisian vintage shopping experience has given me an idea. My next mission if you will. I'll post the rest of the Parisian vintage store pics, then I'll fill you in.

Oh, oh! Something positive about Frip Irium...the woman working there -- perhaps the owner-- was very kind. Since I only saw one piece of jewelry in the store, I asked her if there were perhaps items I wasn't seeing. She sent me to Vintage Store Number 4. High end label lovers, prepare yourselves...

More photos after this jump....

Parisian Vintage Boutique #2: Free P Star

Stop #2 was not far away, also in the 4th arrondissement:

8 Rue Ste Croix la Bretonnerie 75004, Paris

Sad to say folks, but it was more of the same. Small, small, small. Maybe it's better during a weekday and there's less foot traffic?

Honestly, you could barely get in the front door. It had the 3 racks, 2 narrow aisles, thing going like 'Coiffeur'.

This place was so low on space, they even had large, plastic trash bags filled with items SMACK DAB in the middle of those 2 precious walkways. (I was able to sneak a pic to show you what I mean.)

I don't know about you, but I just can't enjoy shopping having to A) dig through plastic trash bags B) share browsing a rack with 3-4 other people (yes, we're talking 1 rack to 4 plus people!) C) continually stop my browsing bliss to move aside so someone can get past me...

Not a winner for this girl.

On a positive note (because positivism is my middle name), there is a circular staircase that leads to a basement room of goods. I did have to wait for 5 or 6 people to mount the staircase before I could begin my descent, but once I did, there was only one other lady in the room with me. All the same, by that time, I was too worn out to dig.

Parisian Vintage Boutique #1: Coiffeur

So while we were in Paris, my wonderful hubby agreed to a few crucial pitstops: vintage stores.

Besides, it was for a good cause...this blog.

So first stop was 'Coiffeur'. It's in the 4th arrondisement: 32 Rue des Rosiers, Paris 75004

Now let me back-up and admit something to the public out there. I am one picky lady. It is not easy to please me. It's just the way I've always been (when I was little my mother used to tell me I should have been born into a royal family). So that being said, you'll be getting the opinion of one hard to please lady. It's not that I'm unhappy with what I see; it just seldom 'wow's' me.

So that being said, Coiffeur did not impress me. Perhaps it was the freezing cold temps, but most likely, it was the fact that it was so small and crowded, you couldn't even step your pinky toe into the shop. (Just check out the pics). My husband, being the wise man he is, told me he would wait outside (in the freezing cold) while I pushed my way through the front door.

Yes, true, it is Paris, but there is literally enough room for 3 racks of clothes and 2 narrow walkways. Add 5 to 10 people to the mix, and folks, you've got a fire hazard. (Despite that, the store owner was thoughtful enough to include a dressing room - it's shown in the photo, just beneath that neon cube.)

From the quick tour I took before needing to escape for a breath of air (yes, A Bout de Souffle), I did see a large selection of leather purses and hats. Many lovely hats. One vintage green with feathers caught my eye, but it was too small for my 20th Century head. It would have been a steal for a mere 5 euros. Yes, my heart did ache, but I've stopped buying things that don't fit, just because they are pretty or for a good deal (most things, anyway)...

I would have taken a pic of the lovely, but I didn't have enough room to back up and get one in focus! There is, however, a wide shot of the pile.

Signals being sent from...the Moulin Rouge??

What is that little orange bead, you may be asking. I don't know if you'll believe this story, but honest to goodness, every word is true.

So as you may know, we went to Paris for a few days. A romantic escape, if you will.

We decided to go to the Moulin Rouge for a show. I'm not sure how they determine seating, but we have nothing to do with it. So we were pleased as punch when they walked us all the way up to the very front row. (Finally some good fortune! We could use a little of that...)

We were along a red-carpeted ramp... one I was sure would be utilized by the dancers. So again, I wasn't so surprised when I started getting whacked up side the head with sequins and feathers. What did surprise me was that bead.

I can't recall if I initially saw it or heard it, but one of the girls lost some beads from her costume. My head bobbed up and down, following the trajectory of several catapulting around the stage...
Then next thing I knew, one was barreling its way down that red-carpeted ramp, head right in my direction. In a move so smooth James Bond would be proud, I just stuck out my hand and right into it, went this smooth, orange bead. Right from the dress of a Moulin Rouge dancer.

More good luck! I mean imagine, I just started this blog and opened an Etsy store with jewelry. Is this a sign or what? How many people can say they have a bead from the Moulin Rouge Feerie set???

Crazy stuff.

Now I need to figure out what I'm going to create with it. I'd love to hear from you if you have suggestions/feedback.

Paris-Bound

Coco from Brussels is actually off to consort with... a sister city. Our French counter-part, if you will.  :)

We're Paris bound for a few days. It's only a 3 hour drive or so from our home. Crazy that's it taken us 6 plus months to do this, eh?!

Got the camera packed. Have a list of vintage stores to peruse.

Time for some quality time with my favorite person in the whole world.

Belgium-Envy?

In America when we were feeling like we wanted to get away from the house and chill-out somewhere... maybe have a hot cocoa or latte (soy, decaf, triple shot...etc :))...we would of course hop on over to our local Starbuck's or Caribou.

Here in Europe, we just mozy on over to our local château. Oh yeah, you've got to love it! (Notice my choice to focus on the positive today?? :))


Instead of being annoyed by how rude people are... how no one holds the door open or helps you as you're struggling with multiple bags of groceries, rides your rear end as your traveling down the highway...I'm making a conscious effort to focus on the good...because there is good out there. In life, it's a choice on what we choose to concentrate on -- and I honestly believe makes a difference in how we feel, how we look, and our general health overall. Life can be good, if we focus on those things. There's always lots of shit out there to get us down. There'll always will be. It's time to let that go. Life's too short.


So where was I? We needed to get out of the house, so we popped in on our local chateau and sat in the library (complete with fireplace, leather sofa, antiques, awesome paintings...) and consumed a most excellent cup of hot cocoa. It was really nice. I think it's those little things that make life oh-so, excuse the pun, sweet.

.

I'm so excited! (think Pointer Sisters)

I finally have my first Etsy shop up and running. I feel a sense of accomplishment. It's quite an experience - but I'm enjoying myself and feeling quite 'zen' - as I'm supposed to be right now preparing for IVF #3 (should be in about a week now).
Here are some shots of the first items that'll grace Etsy's pages:

(See more pics by clicking "read more" below)... But know that I plan on doing DIY tutorials as soon as I get my shop in better shape. Let me know if there's something in particular that interests you!
I'm also offering free shipping until I can instill buyer confidence; get some good feedback.
Happy Holidays!

Come hell, high water, or snow...

This is one my favorite things about Europe.

I don't care what may be awry with the weather, there will be the weekly market, by golly!

And the crowd still flocks...for their fresh flowers, fish, breads, meats, vegetables, fruits, even eggs from local farms.

It's true, I often have a hard time finding the same quality for price in local stores  --- and I cannot find many of the varieties of fish elsewhere, even in the fanciest grocery store in town.

I usually walk around every week, take in my surroundings (and I'll admit a secret - the one time I allow myself a decadent patisserie!). I always buy fresh flowers (the cheap price for really drop-dead gorgeous stems might surprise many Americans). But I never bring a camera. I guess I try to blend in, if that's possible. Europeans in general don't really wear make-up, and I, well, I do. And it's something I just can't change for the sake of adaptation.

I tell myself it's a cultural thing. I mean most Americans wear make-up.  And as I've mentioned before, I'm from the South, to boot. I don't think I've ever seen my mother without make-up, and along those lines, I know she shaves her legs every, single solitary day of her life. It's just the way I was raised. It used to insult me when she would tell me to put on some lipstick. I would think - hey! Aren't you happy I'm proud with the way you made me, au naturel? I mean surely it's a compliment I can go without my 'war-paint', as an old friend used to call it. But no. I was raised to look my best no matter what the occasion. C'est la vie, for me, anyway.

Anyway, here make-up is rare. I have a hard time finding make-up in stores (best bet is in perfume shops, but they only sell the expensive make-up brands like Chanel and Guerlain). Honestly, if I do come across a few tubes of cheap Loreal - you can bet your bottom dollar you'll have to fork out almost 15 euros. It's ridiculous. Anyway, I'm off on a tangent. The point is, I stand out at the markets.

And now I'm doing this blog. I'm committed. I re-considered this morning, weighed all my options (what do I have to lose), and sported the big Canon.

Take a peek at these die-hards.

More tantalizing pics after this jump:

Rose colored glasses

I am from the South. It never dawned on me that living in Europe would entail massive snow.

It's been snowing all week. Evidently it snows a good 3 months of the year here. Wow! Can anything else be less drastic for me at this point in my life? Okay, I'm trying to be positive and upbeat. I look back at my blog and see I'm a pessimistic little thing. Ugh. I didn't mean to become this person. I'd love to be someone that goes with the flow and sees everything peachy keen pink (the rose colored glasses thing). Did my infertility journey make me like this, or have I always been this way? It's hard to separate the two, the journey has been so long.

We are going on a weekend get-a-way to Paris this weekend. We're really psyched. Booked a nice hotel and a dinner show at the Moulin Rouge. I'll have to sneak some pics. I'm going to visit at least one vintage store, but I haven't researched which one, yet.

I've actually been tucked away all week, making (fabulous, if I do say so myself) pieces of jewelry. I'm working on getting those on Etsy today. Some necklaces I spent a good 6 hours a piece on (2 anthro inspired ones - now I see why they charge an arm and a leg for them!). The days have gone by so fast.

New dilemma revolves around the whole Etsy thing. I thought I would be able to have more anonymity, which is attractive for me, being that I'm writing this blog here where I'm divulging my most personal thoughts and feelings - things I really don't want people to know are coming from the real me. It makes it easier to write knowing people aren't able to connect to the 'real' person, you know what I mean? I'm afraid if I know my identity is revealed, I won't be as free to be as candid.

I don't want that.

I want this to be real, raw, unaffected.

I'm trying to avoid perfection for once in my life (unlike that 6-hour necklace). Contacting Etsy to have my real name removed from my store has been a real nightmare. Where are the real people behind the facade???

I emailed almost 2-weeks ago, and my name has yet to be removed. Not to mention, Paypal equally doesn't afford anonymity. Which begs to ask, is anonymity possible in 2010? I don't think so.

I stumbled upon a little hole-in-the-wall antique store in the town where I live. I've included a photo below (you can also see all that snow I mentioned...). I scored some fabulous vintage buttons. The owner even let me dig through her bag of buttons. I enjoyed myself. So many beautiful things with which to toy, caress between my fingers. The back of some of the buttons even say, 'Paris'. I wished they had said, "Bruxelles", but wishes don't always come true (I know, pessimist...)... I've managed to incorporate some of those finds in my jewelry. I'll take photos of that as well and include in the blog as soon as I'm able to set everything up. Setting up a store, taking pics, listing items...it's not as easy as many make it seem to be!
Any tips on doing so (and strolling around with those rose colored glasses)...I'm all ears.

More pictures after the jump.

Fear of 'missing the bus'?

So I had a weird dream last night. I often have intense, strange dreams that wake me up during the night. But I get up, and by the time I'm eating breakfast (yeah, the healthy stuff), they're so distant from conscious thought, it would no longer be appropriate to even call them memories.

This one stuck with me.

I was on my way to the airport with one other friend or family member (can't recall whom).

We were in some sort of airport shuttle bus. For whatever reason, my husband was in a different shuttle bus. We were all headed to Europe, so I needed my passport. Shortly after pulling away from the house, I realized that I had left mine behind. I began pleading with the bus driver to turn around and let me quickly run inside to retrieve it. My efforts were in vain. However, somehow this other friend or family member was able to convince the wretched woman to give me one, brief minute inside the house. If I wasn't back in one minute, she could leave me.

So I run inside quickly to the spot I was certain I had left it. It wasn't there. I swung around and searched another spot. Le voilà! I grabbed the blue and gold prize and out the door I was...only to see an empty spot where the bus had been. I darted around the corner as quickly as I could with legs that felt weighed a ton a piece. I managed to catch a glimpse of red break lights, just before the bus rounded the corner. No matter what I did, I could no longer move those 2-ton legs. I was stuck, with my goal, disappearing before my very eyes.

Cookin' up some good vibrations.

My hubby is away for work. I've felt so listless, barely the energy to move my little self from A to B.

I'm fighting it! I won't let this overcome me. Why I feel the need to broadcast these sentiments over the Internet is beyond me. Strange thing our society has become. We can talk to potentially millions we don't know, yet we can't get close to those right next door....

First I ate something healthy (like I said, gearing up for the next IVF)...that would be soy oatmeal with walnuts and blueberries; for lunch I actually consumed white beans (that I soaked all night beforehand) with steamed red beats. Miam.. (that's French for yum...)

I made a list of potentially excellent vintage stores in Bruxelles I am going to visit with you. A supposedly excellent flea market is included. That'll all be in the upcoming weeks.

So now I'm in the kitchen concocting beauty treatments that not only make me soft and smell de-lish, they keep my spirits high. Feist is playing a role, too.

In a bit I'll be off to acupuncture... Life dictated by a child I may never have. It's crazy how busy I can be not working...

A sneak peak inside real workshops of local Belgian artists.

So we got out of the house yesterday. Artists throughout Wallonia (southern, French speaking part of Belgium) had their homes open for people to walk in and visit, see them create their particular speciality. We chose a wood-maker, an iron sculpturer, and a potter. I was hoping they would have items I could utilize in my jewelry creations, but there was nothing that struck that particular fancy - although to learn and see what it entails to make these items was truly fascinating! I took some photos. The one of the iron fence door - took the artist about 150 hours! The things we take for granted! All 3 artists were located in very small villages - quite a treat to see. Oh - and the wood-maker was located near the famous monk-operated brewery, 'Orval'. The artist's wife even offered all visitors one! (in the correct glass, of course)... Beer is a BIG deal in belgium. This is not a stereotype.

Of course I passed. Our next IVF is in about 3 weeks. All I can think (and worry) about is the follicles I've got brewing in me right now. 

You can see the rest of the pics after the jump here.

Resisting the temptation to 'mommy' other people's kids.

The drinking age in Europe, from what I'm told (hence not based on official research) is 16.
Sweet sixteen affords you beer. When you're 18 you can have the hard stuff.

So we spent the day yesterday in Luxembourg. Having a relaxing day, until I saw these babies being served beer. Is it possible that these youngsters are sixteen years of age??? Something was oh-so wrong about seeing the group of them sitting so comfortably at the bar and downing beers (you can see the huge contraption they ordered in one of the photos - yes folks, that is their own personal keg..)...

My husband practically had to hold me down to prevent me from walking my little infertile self, not only to the barman, but to those youngsters to ask them if their parents knew where they were.

Then I thought about this new adventure I've embarked upon (this blog), and asked myself if this was really about my deep-seated need to be a mother? Am I trying to raise other people's kids?

If something is given easily, is it easy to not appreciate it, take it for granted, or perhaps go so far as to neglect it? It's something I'll be thinking about.

P.S. A weird thing happened after we left. An employee from the bar/restaurant (we're thinking the manager) met us at the other end of a tunnel as we were exiting (meaning he had to run ahead from an outside area to cut us off). He asked if I had taken pictures. I lied.

For what seemed like an eternity, I did reflect on how to respond before the lie came out of my mouth, but hey, he was muscular and I was trying to avoid conflict. But as I walked away, I couldn't help but think his actions reflected culpability....

Exposed.

I was thinking about yesterday’s entry. Feeling embarrassed. Even though I don’t think a single soul will ever really read this, I still feel exposed. Like some old boyfriend or long, lost friend will stumble across some of these embarrassing realities.

Infertility is embarrassing. It’s like something is wrong with you or you’re not good enough. Inadequate.

It’s tragic, really. The thoughts you have. I'm not worthy of procreation...I'm somehow being punished...

For both my husband and me, it honestly seems unless you live it, no one really understands what we’ve gone through the last decade. Do people really try to empathize with others? 

I actually recall being in high school and reading about infertility for the first time. Being the sensitive soul I am, I was disturbed for days worrying for all those people living that reality. Honest to goodness.  Never in a million years did I think it would happen to me.

I guess that last statement is unfair. It’s not just happening to me. It’s also happening to my husband. And oddly enough, I feel to blame. Like this whole infertility thing is my fault. Like I am the one who is un-whole. Could be the way the process is set up. Even though endless amount of testing has revealed no problems for either of us, doctors never cease to tell us during each and every treatment how wonderful my husband’s sperm is. So it’s gotta me my fault it’s not working. Right?

Anyway, I hear myself often saying and writing that we are on the last stretch of our infertility journey. But in reality, I don’t think there will ever be a real end. In fact, if we do not have our own children, I’m pretty certain it will haunt me until the day I die.

The embarrassing impetus for this blog.

Now I’m feeling guilty. Like I haven’t provided full disclosure. I’ve been asking myself is it relevant? But something tells me it’s better to share. Maybe someone can relate and won’t feel so alone…Isolation is something I've come to understand too well.

Why did we leave the U.S. and move to Belgium?

You defy your worst fears and you meet the man you love. Together you climb the ladder of your respective careers, and eventually buy your dream home. I did those things. We did those things. What comes next in the American dream? Why a baby, of course. But it wasn’t that simple for us. Despite being poked and prodded and tested on every part of our bodies, doctors have never been able to explain our infertility.

7 YEARS, two or three clomid cycles, half a dozen IUI cycles (many of which entailed injections), and one failed IVF…and we’re still where we started: childless. And in the United States, this has not been an inexpensive journey. We sold our dream home to finance it.

We’ve traveled around the globe for treatments and insight. We’ve seen Chinese practitioners with whom we can barely communicate (drank their herbal potions of roots and god knows what else); we’ve meditated, received acupuncture, changed our diets, not consumed dairy, wheat, sugar, salt, soda, caffeine, or alcohol (and did I mention my husband is Belgian??)…we’ve done chi gong, exercised, not exercised…you name it. I even quit my job to avoid stress and make time for all the cooking and mediating the various ‘fertility-enhancing’ regimes required. But alas, we’re still where we started: childless.

Well, here in Belgium (and most of Europe), as Belgian citizens (which as you know, I newly am), as long as we live here, we’re entitled to 6 free rounds of IVF. That can amount to about 130,000 U-S dollars. Yes, it’s a big deal. The funny thing is, most Europeans I’ve encountered don’t even know or appreciate the privilege they have. They expect it as a given. Well, we appreciate it – and we’re giving it our all. We both wanted to feel we had done that much. No regrets, right? So age revealed, newly 37 – aging takes on a whole new tone. We are literally trying to beat the clock. We made the decision and within 3 months, I'd quit my job, my husband had found a new job and we were off to this new land.

So now you know why I am sitting here on my tushie, able to stay at home, travel around Europe looking for beautiful materials…while my husband works his butt off all day to support us. I’m supposed to be zen.

Traversing 3 countries on the hunt for a friggin' craft store.

So I took some snapshots to show you, my imaginary reader, on just what it is I've embarked. 

I ventured out and crossed the border all by my lonesome. Actually I was in 3-countries today, in the span of about a good hour! To get to France from Belgium, I had to first cut through a section of Luxembourg.

(Carefully) I took some snapshots from the car as I crossed the old Luxembourg/France frontière, which is no longer staffed since Europe is united. 


More pics and the rest of this blog post after the jump.

What's wrong with this god-forsaken European country?

So I've been driving throughout “Wallonia” (name for the Southern portion, French-speaking part of Belgium), where the only semblance of a craft store I can find is called ‘Ava’. It’s that rare thing in Europe: a chain. I felt like a real idiot, but I snuck some photos of the the store to show you, my imaginary reader(s).

So yeah, it’s pretty decent. But no appliqués, no lace, no yarn, no jewelry findings. Heck, I cannot even find heavy cardstock or apple barrel paints here for heaven sake’s.

I’ve gone up to several complete strangers in the store (thinking they were crafters, right?) asking if there were other craft stores. Nope. No luck. They all shared the same sentiment… “Il n’ya pas beacoup en Belgique”. That’s French for, ‘there isn’t much in Belgium’.

But grâce à Dieu, persistence paid off for me late in the day yesterday. I went to a different Ava in a town called ‘Messancy’ and happened to stumble across a friendly Frenchman. He tells me if I cross the border to France, I’ll find all the jewelry making items I need in an apparent crafter’s wonderland called ‘Cultura’.

So this morning had my decaf Earl Grey with soy and some toast with Nutella. Need to clean myself up…and I’m off to Cultura.

If anyone’s out there…care to join me?

Origins of the mission

So I’ve left my job in America to move to Belgium with my Belgian husband. Sounds romantic and oh so adventurous, right? Try living it.

Thank God I studied French in school, but hey, it’s been awhile. And half the country (that you can traverse in 3 hours, IN A CAR) also speaks Dutch (including my hubby), so I’m taking a stab at Rosetta Stone Dutch courses. All I can say is, motivation, when you’re alone ALL DAY LONG is the biggest obstacle. (My belle famille is naturally on the other side of the country in the Flemish region – I’ll explain these fun intricacies of this lovely country at a future date…)

It’s amazing how as a foreigner (weird to be on that side of the coin)… one can feel so small and insignificant…the pain at not being able to communicate sufficiently…the insecurity at no longer having the security of an important job…the isolation of not having any friends. Woe is me, I know.

So I’m going to pull myself out of this black hole of uncomfortable feelings and get back to what I do best – creating. After all, it’s an excuse to get out of the house, explore, and not reach the depths of the D-word.

Like I mentioned before, finding crafting materials has been sheer HELL.

To occupy myself and rediscover a sense of meaning, I’ve just opened my first ETSY store (working on populating it), where I’ll showcase pieces of jewelry that I’ll make with the unique items I find on the journeys highlighted in this blog.

We’ll explore my new country (all 30-thousand kilometres of it), and of course the environs (that’s French, for ‘surrounding areas’).

P.S. In Europe – that’s everything!

I live just south of Brussels (‘Bruxelles’, en francais), again in the French speaking part of the country. But I’m not kidding when I say, despite living in what’s been dubbed the land of lace, I cannot find a single store that sells lace appliqués – or fine lace, for that matter (and I’m not talking about the tourist trap kind of lace either – that you can find and will definitely not do for my Etsy store)...

I have done many, many kilomètres (and guys, these roads are a scary place for an American!), trying to find materials to get started… without one iota of luck. So I threw in the towel and ordered my getting started materials (chains, clasps, dye, etc.) in the good ol’ U-S of A. (Hasn’t arrived yet; still praying customs doesn’t make me pay an arm and a leg to get my packages!) So I’ll have the minimum of what I need to get started. Now it’s time to find the good stuff and hence, embark upon the journey of discovery (thrill? Frustration?). You can be the judge.

Coco à Bruxelles

This is the real life story of an American, newly living in Belgium, trying to find her way.

But it’s not all it is. Through marriage, I’ve just gained citizenship, and I’d like to pay tribute to my new country.

It’s not always easy.

So you can call me ‘Coco’.

Often it may seem Coco has split personality (that love-hate thing) and really should be deemed ‘Cuckoo’ – but I’ll only be saying it like it is. It’s one thing to visit a place. But have you tried staying?

It’s crazy the things we Americans take for granted.

So I make things. I’ve always been a creative person. I’ve dabbled in a little bit of everything. Creating has kept me sane. But here, in Europe, you won’t find your Target’s, Michael’s, or large surface, fabric havens…

There’s nothing big and convenient here, as far as I am concerned.

You can find the items those stores carry, only they’re scattered in a hundred different smaller, obscure places! And believe me, IT IS A JOURNEY to find them.  Sometimes a big daunting one, like you’re lost in the middle of the Sahara. The hunt. But is it really a thrill or sheer frustration? Honestly, you have to get out and ask (over and over and over) or poke your head in every nook and cranny. I say that last part, because the most mundane storefront (hidden in some narrow, dark, alleyway) may hold the treasure of the finest silk threads… or the most beautiful vintage lace you’ve ever seen. But again, it don’t come easy [stressed with the bad grammar]….

Why ‘Coco à Bruxelles’?

I think we Americans place Paris on a pedestal, thinking it is the only European city with charm. Not so says my new-founded Belgian pride. There is beauty, charm, sophistication…and lots of yummy eye candy in Belgium...this is what I hope to show you in the course of this blog.

Hey, you may hear lots of griping and agitation, but after all, I am an American living in Belgium.