Life is a Banquet

No News is Good News

*Warning Boring Doctor's Report Ahead. Cute Husband Mentioned.*

So yesterday was the eagerly anticipated first doctor's visit.  Freak took off work, because you know, he doesn't want to look like a slacker in the gestational department. Off we went, clutching our P__ journal filled with questions, to navigate the mass of construction and confusing parking situation.  A sherpa, a llama, and two energy bars later, we finally arrived at the hallow doctor's office.

Where we were immediately confronted with Paperwork #1= "Hi! This how much we estimate the next nine months will cost!". Even with insurance, Beta will cost us $$$. Without insurance Doctor's Fees = $3800.  With Insurance = $400. Labs, hospital, etc not included. Seeing as how discussing delivery seemed rather presumptious, I drew a lot of dirty looks when I asked "What happens if things don't . . . you know . . . continue."

After evil billing person released us to the waiting room, Freak read a pamplet on hypnobirthing class and I knitted socks.  I'm sure more than one pregnant teenager (there were several) was completely freaked out by us. Heck, my cane alone is pretty freaky. 

Then we got, Paperwork #2, otherwise known as Scary Medical History.  "Good news, all these horrible things? You're at very low risk! Would you like screening anyway?" At which point, I was just like, "Hey, um can we get to the ultrasound now, please? Cause, uh, you're starting to freak me out?"
Perky Paperwork Nurse looked slightly stunned and said, "Oh, low risk pregnancies don't get an ultrasound till 18 weeks."  Freak grinned broadly at hearing that we are low risk. I had to admit, it was kinda cool to be lumped with "everyone else" and not the PCOS/Diabetes cool kids anymore. This joy lasted about 5 seconds until I realized that she meant I might have to wait something like ELEVEN MORE WEEKS just to make we're really in business here. 

As steam poured forth from my ears, Freak gently explained how I have "anxiety issues and read too many blogs where bad things happen." They shared a knowing smile, and I got my ultrasound. NEXT WEDNESDAY.  After we see the heartbeat next Wednesday, I promise to chill the frak down and throughly enjoy my low risk status.  I'm going to try to enjoy the next week too. And not stew.  She says everything looks "perfect" and "right on track." So I suppose, I have to use my really weak patience and trust muscles and just WAIT. 

We also learned that six weeks, five days IS too early to hear the heartbeat on doppler (she didn't even try). Not that this will stop us from running to Baby Beat to pre-order.  Hell,the six month subscription is sounding pretty nice.   The nurse said how a lot of people "really wish there was a window down there." I was all like, "Yes, how do I order one?"

So the real fun came when I got to give five vials of blood. I got to skip vial six because I've got a free pass from the glucose tolerance exam.  Which is nice because I didn't even have to stomp my foot to get it.

Finally, we got a big totebag filled with free Pregnancy magazines, resource guides, The Pregnancy Book, a guide to our hospital, and all manner of prenatal vitamin samples.  Free stuff! Okay. Maybe the visit wasn't COMPLETELY useless.

And maybe I do need to chill out. I'm working on it. A wise person told me yesterday that my "biggest risk is of having a healthy baby." And she's right. And it is just so completely terrifying and amazing  and wonderful. And completely routine to my clinic. Cause you know, women do this everyday. I still think it's pretty spectacular though. 

So, until proven otherwise, I'm just going to assume--We're having a baby. Freak called himself "Beta's Daddy" before he left for work this morning and I just melted. Big puddle of goo. Estimated Due Date: September 15th.  Gender: To remain a surprise (yeah there was a form for that too!). Plans" To be made, tentatively, but joyously.  And I STILL WANT THAT ULTRASOUND.   Ommmmmmmmmm. Ommmmm.   

A pound of flesh

Step One: Admit that you have (prior to the Christmas miracle) gained an assload of weight. Or more precisely, an ass.  And a half. Give this weight gain over to your higher power.
Step Two: Buy a few new things to cope with broken foot in October--pants for PT and PJ's.
Step Three: Seek Reconciliation between PT wardrobe and work wardrobe. Fail Miserablely.
Step Four: Spend first two weeks of new job hiding behind coat.  Plead with higher power to magically shed poundage.
Step Five: Higher power answers in the form of two little lines.
Step Six: Accept that poundage may not be going anywhere before September. Lose two pounds due to new vegetable addiction. 
Step Seven: Revoke acceptance when trying on clothes. 
Step Eight: Realize that going naked to work is not, in fact, a viable option
Step Nine: Buy a few very stretchy pairs of dress paints for cheap cheap cheap. Still hate the size.
Step Ten:  Soothe your soul at Old Navy's clearance rack. Buy your first two pairs of M* pants. Hide them under the seat for the drive home. Immediately remove tags. Hold with tongs when looking at them.

Only Step that really matters: Keep hope alive. And look good doing it. 

(And for my fellow bargain seekers: Total Spent: $40. Total saved: $230 dollars. 4 pairs of pants (all dress), two very nice tunic topics, and a bra.)

Crazy is as Crazy Does

I am apparently loosing my mind.  Now, I've never HEARD of early-onset dementia as a possible p___ symptom, so perhaps I just am well and truly crazy.  How else can I explain?

• Strapping my cast on the wrong leg and not noticing until I was upstairs trying to put on my shoe.
• Telling the same person twice.
• Losing the ability to complete a sentence.
• Being strangely relieved at each and every symptom and incredibly dismayed when there are none.  Also, each and every symptom is evaluated as a potential harbinger of doom.  I don't give myself an out here.
• Fits of random giddy. 
• Tone of my book changing--seriously--my voice is stuck somewhere in Cincinnati trying to get  a flight home  while my poor brain eeeks out a word at a time
• Becoming a total iVillage junkie in less than a week.  Remember that whole plan I had to kick my internet addiction? And how well it worked for three months? Almost four? All bets are off now.  I seriously find posts with such dizzying, garish signatures more interesting than well . . .anything.  IQ drops 10 points after every visit.  We're talking multiple visits a day too.  I expect to be a vegetable sometime very soon.
• Developing a fondness for commercials. This after almost a decade of not watching network TV except in cases of national emergencies/elections/Olympics. 
• The sudden urge to own Midwest Real Estate. 
• Inability to finish a movie without falling asleep.  But having insomnia most nights. 
• Turning each bathroom visit into a religious experience. Tea leaves have been less examined than my T.P. Which, I know is way TMI, but still, I expected to be worshiping the porcelain god, just not quite like this. 

So, yeah, I'm still here. 5 weeks and some odd days. And freaking crazy.  I'd promise something about my job v soon, but I'm still working on the whole ability to think-about-something else thing.  Soon though.  I hope.  Otherwise, Beta (as in Beta testing) will be visiting me at the funny farm.  Or joining me in the poor house.  Any ideas for distractions? 

NBHHY *

So my little attempt at being vague. . . . far less successful than I thought.  Now, that I am "outed" and the appropriate relatives have been told, let's have some questions and answers.  (And I promise this is not going to turn into one of "those" blogs--I still need this space to talk about my writing and distract me).

Q: NBHHY?
A: Nothing bad has happened yet. 

Q: Are you really p-----t?
A: Yes. I can't seem to say or type the word but, yes.

Q: How did you find out?
A: I kept feeling like my period was about to start, and start, and start for days.  Finally, with the help of a few PCOS gurus I decided I had a monster cyst going. I woke up Monday at 5:00 for the third day in a row with killer cramps, said "this is ridiculous" and took a test so that I could call Dr about cyst.  Minutes later, I was waking Freak up going "am I hallucinating?"

Q: How did Freak react?
A: "That's nice, I sleep now."  After he was awake, his excitement set in, but it didn't really kick in until the third brand of test agreed with the other two.

Q: Were you trying?
A: No. After the endocrinologist told us the chance was less than 10%, we stopped "trying" but didn't start preventing.

Q: Were you adopting?
A: Adopting was on hold due to money after the foot. Still, that was the game plan. 

Q: Did you get a blood test?
A: Uh huh. My doctor's office hates me already.  I got one, cried when I heard it was 550 and we were already 4 weeks, 1 day along.  Cried more when the second was 1100. 

Q: Are you having any symptoms?
A: The cramps.  The cramps terrify me.  I have a hard time believing this since the cramps keep screaming "period." Lower back ache. Tired.  Queasy.  Crazy bladder.  I've become . . .even more well-endowed.  Not exactly a bonus.   Acene. 

Q: How's the blood sugar?
A: After several low blood sugar readings, I've signed up for the eating every hour plan.  My endocrinologist  is thrilled saying, "Sometimes I'm wrong. I love to be wrong."

Q: How's the depression?
A: I had several long talks with my great doctor about what would happen if I got pregnant. She had me taking mega doses of folic acid "just in case" and after careful study of the literature, I'm going to continue my medication.  Other than being really scared, my moods are really good.

Q: Hey! Doesn't the character of your WIP get pregnant! How cool is that?
A: The day before I got the positive test, I finally finishing the "tortured" black moment where my character almost dies from a ectopic miscarriage. I keep telling myself that the universe would not be that cruel. However, all my research has me on a first name basis with the clinic nurse as I investigate all  twinges.

Q: How's the foot?
A: Out of the boot on Monday! No X-ray on Monday due to the news. 

Q: When are you telling work?
A: Let's get through the first 12 weeks first.  If we get that far, I'll just take a semester off. 

Q: "If we get that far"--is that seriously how you're finishing all sentences these days?
A: Yes. 

Q: How far is "far"?
A: Jan. 24 is first real OB appointment. Two weeks after that or so should be first ultrasound.  Right now that's as far as I'm thinking. I just want to see something on the screen. March 3rd is 12 weeks. That seems like  an awful  long time to have nothing go wrong.  There was some mention of something about Sept. 15---but I've got my fingers in my head going na na na na at that .

Q: Are the grandparents buying land in Oregon already?
A: No.  But, both  sides cried.  They're all cautiously optimistic like we are.  My brothers are really excited.

Q: Will this be the most knitted-for embryo in history?
A: No.  I did cast-on for a cushion in bright-shiny colors.  I'd like to knit  a lot more for the project, but I'm nervous about casting-on too soon. 

Q: Will you be having a home birth?
A: Birth? I just want to get to the first scan.  Hospitals are nice places with lots of nice glucose and blood sugar control methods handy.  I can see why *someone* might like a hospital. 

Q: We love your room re-do pictures? When will we get nursery pictures?
A: hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

Q: Are you happy? You don't sound happy?
A: I'm over the moon thrilled. I've never felt this giddy  before.  But I'm also scared. The thing about hanging out in the blogosphere with all the other PCOS cool kids, is that I know how much can go wrong. I'm trying to be so happy and optimistic but also not ignorant of the risk.  I do think that everything will be okay.  I just have a hard time saying that outloud.  Everything's going to be just fine.  September is going to be amazing. Just amazing.  I want to enjoy each day now, but the nerves . . . . .the nerves make it hard.  This kid is staying put till Sept. 15 or it's grounded. 

Holy Crap, We're going to be Parents! 

Other questions?

I am my own urban legend

This was supposed to be a post about how much I love my new teaching job (Which I do and which deserves it's own post just to tell you about how awesome this school is) and how my life is finally getting back to "normal."

BUT

Yes, Virginia, there really ARE Christmas miracles. Some of them just come a little . . .ahem . . . late. And give "normal" a whole new meaning. Of course, some miracles require a little more faith as you wait.   Have a little faith with me?

Well Kept Secrets

In my mother's reproductive years, PCOS was unheard of.  If she or my aunts suffered from this, I'll never know, as PCOS symptoms were simply another chalk mark in the "whiny woman" category most "female problems" were tossed into.  Later, endometriosis and PCOS emerged from the shadows of psychosomatic illness and disbelieving doctors to become legitimate medical diagnoses worthy of research and treatment.  I know how lucky I am to be of this era, to at least have the majority of my symptoms recognized and validated as real. I don't have to carry a personal badge of shame for my infertility like so many women before me.  But, medicine (and society at large) still stigmatizes so many aspects of PCOS. Many books still tout weight loss as the cure-all for PCOS, without noting how difficult insulin resistance can make this proposition, even with dietary changes and medication. As I work my way back from the dark pull of depression,  I am beginning to realize that the risk of mood disorders and depression is the least-talked about aspect of PCOS and the most stigmatized.

I have been seeing my endocrinologist for nearly two years now.  I feel validated by and have a good relationship with the entire office.  However, it took me breaking down in tears in the office a few weeks ago, for him to reveal how many other PCOS patients suffer mood problems and need medication.  This was the first I heard that PCOS can bring on bipolar like symptoms, and carries a higher risk of PMDD, major depression, and other mood disorders.  Hormonal imbalances, lack of ovulation, and insulin resistance can all contribute to major mental health problems--but this was glossed over in all my obsessive research on PCOS up until this point. 

I had been searching for the "And" for nearly four years.  I knew about PCOS, but I fervently believed that PCOS could not possibly be responsible for ALL my symptoms--the crushing fatigue, the mood swings, the lack of concentration, the loss of quality of life.  In the past few weeks, I have come to realize that I was searching so hard to find an additional physical cause of these symptoms.  I didn't want to have a mental illness, and I simply didn't understand that PCOS could cause or contribute to a mental illness.  So I searched and I searched (much of which is well documented on here) suffering misdiagnosis after misdiagnosis.

My new head doctor tells me that she too has seen many, many women with PCOS suffering these problems.  She told me that a classic sign is whether problems began around the time of the first period and slowly worsened over time.  She sees my problems as the intersection of crappy genetics (a predisposition to mental illness) and PCOS.  She said that many doctors don't understand the role PCOS can play in mood disorders, and thus, women suffer wrong diagnoses and inadequate medication.  This makes me terribly sad, because I know if it took me this long to get some serious help for my problems, and I mainline Dr. Google, other women are suffering longer. 

Also, our societal bias against mental illness of any kind makes women less likely to seek help.  It's bad enough that our girlie parts our broken, and it takes tremendous amount of courage to confess to other types of suffering.  I know, I was trembling when I decided to seek help for this latest round of depression, and for the first time, I didn't just talk about fatigue and dance around "PMS" in the doctor's office.  He had all this help and support waiting for me, but I had to first know how to ask for it. 

I think so many of us are unwilling to reveal the full extent of our suffering--Akeeyu describes this brilliantly--because we feel obligated to be funny or snarky.  We don't want to wear that mental illness label, to be forced into the "crazy" category or dismissed as whiny or less than sane.  It's as if the admission of our suffering will allow others to take us less than seriously.  Why? Why,when this IS an illness, and indeed, a facet of an illness with a known organic cause? Are we afraid of being reduced to only that one facet of our being--to Wavybrains, depression blogger, instead of Wavybrains, PCOS, Romance Writer, Teacher, Pet, Husband, Adoption, Knitting AND Depression blogger.

I'm going to put myself out there and talk about my treatment more (along with everything else) in the coming weeks.  I have spent hours researching the PCOS/mental illness link, and IT is out there, and I don't want others to have to spend the same lonely google  hours, seeking a human voice and reassurance that this is not their fault and that they are not hypochondriac or crazy for suffering like this. 

Also, If I don't talk about this, my other topics feel less than honest.  I think it was Stephanie (one of many who reached out to me in incredibly beautiful ways) who gave me some much needed tough love  that I needed to get a handle on depression before I embarked on this whole kid thing.  I had to hear this piece of advice a number of times before it really sunk in.  By admitting that I have an illness, a medical problem, I am able to admit that nothing external, like adoption, can solve the depression.  I have to get stable so that I can be a better parent, and if that means slowing the adoption process down until I get well, then that is time well spent.  My whole life has been impacted by depression, so right now, treating it has to be my number one priority, a backdrop for everything else going on right now. 

What I really meant to say. . .

Kim.Kim has an amazing post up which links to another amazing post about "Dear Birth Mother Letters".  The whole Dear Birth Mother letter is why I ruled domestic adoption out a long time ago.  I was totally skeeved out by every "Dear Birth Mother" letter I read and the sick taste most domestic adoption websites left in my mouth sent me clamoring for other options where I wouldn't have to join the circus of letters and posturing.  Recently though, my research into the politics of adoption, open adoption, and adoptive-child rearing, has lead me to reconsider domestic.  A little.  Just a cracked door. 

Then, I read this post, which says exactly what I have felt for several years.  These two first moms give "Dear Birth Mother" letters a thorough debunking, but also give me hope.   Hope that not all "Dear Birth Mother" letters have to be these coercive dog and pony shows that smack of entitlement and elitism.  I never felt comfortable with domestic adoption because for all our good points, Freak and I are flawed, average people--I struggle with depression, Freak has his issues, we have a smallish house, crazy pets, crazy families. Many "Dear Birth mother" letters feel like a competition, a competition I simply have no desire to compete in. 

But, Kim.Kim gives me hope, that maybe, I can get the courage to write the letter that has been tossing around my head since I first saw a Dear Birth Mother letter.  What I really want to say to ANY birth mother--be it international, domestic, or whatever, is this:

"We are not better parents than you.  We are not any more 'deserving' or 'fit' than you.  We do not presume to declare that we have more to offer a child than you do.  If it is at all possible for you to parent, then we want nothing more than for you to be able to get the resources you need to be able to do that.  Your choice is your choice, and we want you to have all the facts to make a decision free from coercion and guilt.  If, after considering all your options, you feel that adoption is the best option for your child, then we would love to be considered.  Your child needs you in his or her life, and we want to come up with an open adoption plan that meets your needs and your child's needs. We view adoption as a lifetime commitment to have you in our lives as family---like any family there needs to be boundaries and limits, but we would work these out as a team committed to keeping that relationship. We'd love the chance to discuss our parenting philosophies, approach to open adoption, and lifestyle further with you."

I'm not sure we'll ever crack the door open wider to domestic adoption, but if we do, I welcome any constructive feedback on the above--I'm still learning so much about adoption and I'm sure I bungled the words/meaning up in some ways.  "Dear Birth Mother" letters have a lot in common with personal ads--the temptation to lie or present some idealized version of yourself is really great, but my approach to writing personal ads (for myself and others :)) always was to show the real person, warts and all.  Because, really, what you are looking for is a good fit--a person whose flaws are compatible with your flaws, and a relationship you can work with and grow in.  In an ideal world, adoption would be about creating relationships, creating families of choice and circumstance.   

I wish it were easier . . . .

A commenter over at Dawn's remarked on how "I know for me if I am holding my daughter from China in my arms and contemplating *still* about the moral and ethical issues and my place within it surrounding the social construct of how these children came to be in my arms, I wasn’t ready to adopt."  She admits that she is the type of person to make a decision and never look back.  My god, how I envy this type of person. 

Freak is this way too.  He simply doesn't understand all the jumping around I do.  I spend hours, HOURS on the internet researching each option for us, researching agencies, types of adoptions, issues, and this me *knowing* without a doubt this is what I want to do.  For Freak, x= we are taking classes in September for foster-adopt, we lack immediate funds for IA, wife wants kids now, =end of story. 

For me it looks something more like:

x= Foster adopt ((classes + straightforward process + inexpensive)/(legal risk - no toddlers - substantial health problems - abuse issues))

> = < 

International adoption (Colombia (low fees + young children + healthy/cost of travel -unsafe country- fees still high) OR Guatemala (very young children, home soon/ high fees, risk of birth mother coercion, risk of program closing) OR Haiti (low fees + many kids + no travel/ many ethnic/cultural issues to consider - unpredictable program) OR Mexico (we love program + young children + healthy + doable travel/ risky program, variable to high fees, risk of coercion) OR  X, Y, Z other countries. 

----->  More research. More reading on trans-racial adoption.  More adoption blogs.  More reading.  Redo equations.  Budget stays the same.  Hair is pulled out.  I flip and I flop.  I moan.  I engage in what Dawn's commenter would call "mental anguish."  Mental anguish tastes a lot like chocolate.  For Freak, each option is black and white.  Countries which the US state department does not advise travel in are immediately off the list.  If we don't have the money in the bank account, that is off the list too.  If we have decided that will parent in X way, then we simply shall until it is impractical to do so.  For him, each option is approached in a very practical way. 

I envy him this.  I really do.  For me, if I feel pulled towards something, if my heart says that this is the way, then I try to line all the practical up.  My decision making process is fluid.  I said last night that "I'll see how I feel after the first class."  Freak simply didn't get this---to him, I said I wanted to do this, so what was the issue.  The issue is all I have learned in the meantime. 

But, I wouldn't want to give that knowledge back.   I relish these hard questions.  This is probably why I am the writer and he is the programmer.  I will be considering these issues on an existential level from here on out.  Freak will be my reality check, the practical day-to-day parent while I wrestle with each choice.   I actively seek out more choices just to gum up his well ordered program. Bring on the choices.   

Either/Or

Dawn had a series of posts today that really got me thinking about Freak and my dual approaches to project Kid.  Almost two years ago, I sternly lectured my ovaries about their future.   Over the last year, those early worries have come to fruition.  I have heard words like "premature menopause" thrown around and my hormone levels have been subject to more male scrutiny than other part of my anatomy ever has been.  A few month ago, I had a talk with Dr. Godlike, after a particularly disappointing series of visits with my Endro.  Dr. Godlike basically told me to give up this idea that there would be an ideal time to begin TTC, and that I needed to accept that b/c was likely giving me a false sense of control.

This might not be true for everyone, but for me it really was, and this was a wake up call that I needed to hear.  As long as we kept using b/c, I could pretend that the PCOS wasn't real, that I controlled when and if we got pregnant.  We stopped using protection several months ago, and as Dr. Godlike predicted, nothing changed. The hard truth I had to face was that no matter what else I have going on medically (such as strange neurological disorders :)), I have rather severe PCOS, and most likely, undiagnosed endometriosis as well. 

The various doctors all agree that at 27, I am a decent candidate for any number of treatments, drugs, IVF, etc.  But, Freak and I long agreed that this was not the path for us.  There will be no RE's in our future. I have a mild curiosity about sperm counts, and HSG readings, and the lab results that might result, but I am content to file this in "things better left untouched".  I admit to being a slave each month to the pregnancy test, but this is almost a necessity with cycles as wonky as mine, and medications that might need to be adjusted should the impossible happen. 

I have spent over two years researching adoption, dreaming about adoption, and we have agreed since meeting that  adoption was something we both wanted to do.  As all the health drama came down, I have always felt at peace knowing that adoption was my choice regardless of my fertility status.  In ideal world, I would get to experience both.  In an ideal world, I could do an international adoption, a u.s. foster care adoption, have a baby, and later do a sibling adoption.  Long before Angelina stole it, my dream has always been to have a united nations family. 

Dawn's post though, makes me wonder.  Is a good adoptive mom one who no longer wants to experience a pregnancy?  Would it be best to only have adopted children? To have an absolute diagnosis of incurable infertility before beginning this process? Is it wrong to leave the possibility of a happy accident open? Is it wrong to be a little hopeful prior to each month's Aunt Flo showdown?

Perhaps I would feel differently if we were pursuing domestic infant adoption, but we are pursuing foster adoption at this time, with the idea that International may be an option at some point in the future when money is not so tight.  To me, it feels natural to say that we are going to adoption classes in September, homestudy and application over the next few months, and a very long wait after that AND we are continuing to fly without a net so to speak.  If I get pregnant, I will continue to want to adopt, and I will grieve the delayed adoption a little bit.  If we adopt, if we never have a biological child, I will probably grieve that a bit too. This seems natural to me, but I am really interested in what other people think, what they would do in this situation.  What would YOU do if you were Wavybrains?   

Sick, more so than normal

So, I have some marital advice:  Just because you CAN send your husband to the store for anything does not mean you SHOULD send him to the store. 

Case in point:  Monday, I came home and collapsed, slept like four hours, woke up sweaty and pukey.  Tuesday: Home sick with the pukey and the sweaty, and Freak asks me if he can get me anything from the store.  This is ordinarily a dangerous, ice-cream laden question.  The mere thought of ice cream sent me running towards the porcelain god.  So, I asked, nay BEGGED for an EPT or something of that ilk.

Freak: "I think that can wait.  Maybe the weekend."
Wavybrains: "Must. Know. Now."
Freak: "What aisle are (whispering) "your things in"? 

So he brings me home the cheapest brand of test known to man.   I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that this store brand cheapy has had false negatives in 9 month pregnant women.  Anyway, no big suprise here when it was negative.   

Freak: "Why do I get you these things when you turn so ugly right after?"
Wavybrains:  "I'm not ugly. (Flapping arms and smashing box).  Really.  Not even mad." 
Freak: "SIGH." 
Wavybrains:  "In fact, I'm relieved.  Relieved that I have the flu.  Can you imagine 9 months of THIS?  No, not ugly at all." 
Freak: "Uh.  Huh.  Right."

Today, however,  flu was evil for the morning, much better this afternoon and still no Aunt Flo.   I,  being  the POS expert, am questioning Freak's dubious choice of brands here. But, for once, I really do think it was the flu.   Next month though, I do the shopping.