I had to get that out of the way so I could tell you what wasn't so super-awesome about BlogHer. It wasn't BlogHer's fault -- it wasn't anyone's fault -- but the problem was all the mommies. There were mommies with little tiny babies, pregnant ladies, and if you met a new blogger chances were pretty good that person was going to be a mommy blogger.
The conversation would go something like this.
The Mommy: Hi, I'm Betty. I write a blog at tylerandcaydensmommy dot com. What do you write about?
Me: Oh, I have a lifestyle blog at zeromusings dot com and ... I contribute to an infertility blog at tiredandstuck dot blogspot dot com.
The Mommy: Oh. (look of severe confusion)
Sometimes mommies would just outright ask if I had children and I would be forced to say No and then if I was feeling up to it I'd say, Actually I contribute to a blog about infertility.
Mommies have no idea how to respond to this. Some say, Oh, I'm sorry! One poor woman said, Sometimes I wish I were infertile! To which I answered, Don't say that, and then she said OhmygodI'msosorryIdidn'tmeanthat. She felt terrible. I felt terrible. We all felt terrible and then I had some wine.
Also not helpful: Premenstrual syndrome, which both Christina and I were suffering terribly from. We cried for about half the conference. Thankfully we were rooming together so we kept the crazy shut up at night in our hotel room.
One morning following Sparklecorn (a raucous party with loud music, glow sticks, and unicorn cake), I found that I was missing my conference badge.
Christina claims that when we arrived back at our hotel room after the party, I flung off a number of items -- glow necklaces, shoes -- and cried, "To the wind!" I have no remembrance of this. I hadn't had much to drink, but I also hadn't had much to eat, so maybe it all went to my head.
ANYWAY. The badge was nowhere to be found. I marched to the area of the convention center where a booth had been set up specifically for morons like me who lose their badges, and as I was waiting for it to be printed up, I realized that none other than Giuliana Rancic was doing a meet and greet in the Tropicana booth behind me.
I shout-squealed: "That's Giuliana Rancic!" The girl behind the counter looked disinterested and said something like, "Huh, sure is."
I knew I wanted to meet her and tell her how grateful I am that she's willing to share her infertility story with the world, how much it makes me feel like I'm not alone and not insane. And just thinking about this I began to tear up, and I knew I'd never be able to meet her without dissolving into a blubbering mess.
So I didn't. Christina did, though. She told her about our blog and told her I wanted to meet her but I was too much of a wreck. They took a photo together but Christina hated the photo so it shall probably never see the light of day.
I, however, took a couple of photos of Giuliana before running away in fright.
Giuliana is even more thin in person than she is on the television. She's also prettier in person.
This is a photo of her with someone I don't know. I wish I'd gotten a full body photo -- she was wearing an amazing pair of navy blue chunky heels.
I'm not sure if you've been keeping up with Giuliana & Bill, but as I mentioned in a previous post, Giuliana had discovered the very book we here on this blog are following -- Making Babies. She even met with one of the authors, Dr. David, who I would give an eye tooth to have a consult with. And now, per Dr. David's recommendation, she's started acupuncture. In the episode that aired most recently she said that during her session she felt blood rushing toward her pelvic region, which is good because increased blood flow to the uterus, etc., is nothing but good as far as aiding in conception is concerned.
In conclusion -- am I disappointed I didn't talk with Giuliana myself? Yes. But I know I would have just started bawling and probably frightened her. So in the end I'm glad I didn't.
And am I glad I went to BlogHer this year? Absolutely. But I hope to God that if I go to another one I'm either pregnant or have a kid.