burnt toast life

the butterfly effect

The-Butterfly-Effect-2004-704815The other night I was trying to explain the butterfly effect to my mom. In case you’re unfamiliar, besides being a thought-provoking and highly dramatic 2003 movie starring Ashton Kutcher and Amy Smart, the butterfly effect is (according to Wikipedia): “the sensitive dependency on initial conditions in which a small change at one place in a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state. The name of the effect, coined by Edward Lorenz, is derived from the theoretical example of a hurricane’s formation being contingent on whether or not a distant butterfly had flapped its wings several weeks earlier.”

That seems a little far-fetched, but if you watch the movie, it puts into more practical applications and helps the whole thing to make sense. Basically going back and changing one aspect of your life, even a small one, can impact everything else in ways you can’t even imagine. Our lives are intricately woven tapestries made up of the choices we have made up until this point, and changing one small thread could impact the pattern beyond recognition.

Anyway, when I was discussing it with my mom, she immediately said she’d love to go back and go to college rather than starting her career right out of high school. We talked about how if she had done that, I would not exist, nor would any of my siblings. Each one of us was created at a specific moment, and had anything else been different, it could have so easily gone another way – a topic I can’t think about in too much detail or I end up saying, “Ew, gross.” (we are talking about parent sex here).

But that got me thinking about my journey. I could go on for days about all the major life choices I would have done differently – in high school, in college, in relationships, with money. So many things I wish I could have a redo on.

But here’s the part I find interesting.

A lot of times this whole “butterfly effect” thing is used to justify shitty situations. Like, you needed to go through some tough times to get where you are today, et cetera. So in my case, one might argue that if I hadn’t had those two miscarriages, I wouldn’t be having the baby I’m having right now, so I should be thankful for THIS particular baby.

Except that I would.

Because this is IVF.

All 8 of my children were created at the same time, in a petri dish (ever notice how older people still call them test tube babies? That really annoys me for some reason. But pertri dish is acceptable), and all of my pregnancies have been the result of FETs. So essentially, I could have had this baby – this exact child – right now, or 6 months from now, or a year from now. I could have had this exact child via surrogate. This exact child was literally waiting for me (on ice).

So it feels like I’m “playing God,” so to speak, and in my opinion, I certainly should not have this kind of power. But then again, who knows… who knows. Would we ever have been able to mentally and psychically have all 8 kids if it had worked the first time and I wasn’t miscarriage-prone? What if there’s a fire in the lab and everything is destroyed tomorrow? (This is a worry that keeps me up nights, actually). What if having *this* child 6 months ago would have resulted in SIDS, or a car accident, or some other disaster, so really now is the only time to have him/her? Yup, I do get morbid when I’m hypothesizing. But I’m just trying to believe that despite my meddling, things are still happening the way they’re supposed to.

I don’t really know the answer, if there even is one. It’s just so crazy to think that timing has almost nothing to do with it, and if I choose to have another child in 2 years or 3 years, it doesn’t really matter because I will be getting the exact same child. The butterfly effect may hold sway over other aspects of my life, but for this one thing, it does not.

Science. Damn.

any questions?

Here’s something that’s been bugging me for years – why do people say, “Oh, from behind you couldn’t even tell she was pregnant!”

Who looks pregnant from behind?

I get it. These people are talking about ladies of a small build who have huge baby bumps that are shocking to behold. I have a friend like that – she’s super thin, and while pregnant it looked rather dramatic, like she swallowed a watermelon seed and somehow it sprouted inside her. But come on. Even larger women don’t look PREGNANT from behind – a little fat, maybe, but not pregnant. I’ve never looked at the back of someone and said, “Oh yes, she must be pregnant.”

It drives me crazy. Maybe it’s because I gained back all the weight I lost from going gluten-free (an all-sweets diet does have that effect), and not just in the belly, but in the hips and thighs. Maybe I’m bitter. But you know what’s really cool? I can wear any shirt I want and it all looks good now. Like before I had a pile of shirts that accentuated my stomach fat, so I put those aside for when I got back to my “thin days.” Not anymore! Now, it’s the tighter the better, and all those spandex-y shirts that made me cry hot tears into my bowl of ice cream are back out in their full glory. It’s GOOD for me to have a big fat belly. And even when I gain some weight in my thighs, my stomach is so big by comparison that it doesn’t look as bad. So far, besides the baby itself, this is the best thing about being pregnant.

At my last OB/GYN appointment, the doctor kept asking if I had any questions or concerns. She seemed disappointed that I didn’t, to the point that I found myself racking my brain for something – ANYTHING – to ask about. But the truth is, I got nothin’ (besides the whole ‘pregnant from behind’ thing).

I thought by now I would have devoured What to Expect and would be endlessly poring over nursery idea boards on Pinterest. I’m not. I’m just kind of stuck in the middle, and trying to figure out if my lack of intensity (not enthusiasm, mind you, because I sure as hell am excited) is because I don’t believe it’s actually happening, or if it’s because everything still seems a long way off.

Look, I’m a procrastinator. I work well under pressure. I sincerely doubt that we’ll have the baby’s room done in a timely fashion…I’m picturing nailing up artwork and frantically painting the trim in between contractions. That’s just how we roll. Right now I’m at a weird in-between stage and it seems to be going soooo slowly. Because something weird happened after I spent all that time waiting to get pregnant… now I don’t want to be pregnant anymore. I just want to meet my baby. Maybe I’m destined to always be impatient about something. Last night we were at Eric’s sisters house, the one who is now a week past her due date and eagerly anticipating baby’s arrival. I was super jealous that she gets to meet her baby – this week! I know I need to chill out and just appreciate this time (hey, I slept in super late today and have been a lazy bump on a log for most of it), and of course appreciate being pregnant. And I do. But the more real this baby becomes, the more I want to see him/her.

Realistically, it wouldn’t make sense to start on the baby’s room anyway because we still don’t know if we’re going pink or blue (theoretically). Only a little over a month until we find out. Insanity. Eric is team blue, and yeah, I am totally team pink. Of course I say, “as long as it’s healthy…” but I mean, no duh. I think anyone who has been following along can figure out by now that I’ll take a boy, a girl, an alien, whatever. I just want something. But deep down, I always pictured having a girl first.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about why it’s so important for me to have a girl, and what I came up with is that if I was ONLY able to have one child, I would definitely want a daughter. But I think we will have more than one. We still have three embabies on ice and I’m slowly becoming more confident in my body’s ability to sustain life. So a girl, eventually, would be all right. At the church Christmas service I tried to pay special attention to the message that God sent his only SON to save the world. Then there was a pageant of first graders acting out the nativity story and the wee lad who they had cast as the little drummer boy literally brought tears to my eyes. He was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. A boy would be good. I’m happy; I’m happy either way.

Alert: abrupt topic change! So I’ve been wondering – any bloggers out there have this problem? I’m out and proud and lots of my real life friends and family read this blog. That’s cool. But sometimes I have issues that I simply can’t discuss because I’m not anonymous. Like right now this HUGE thing is going on that I would love to vent, bitch, and moan about, but I can’t because of certain people who read this blog. It sucks! Sometimes I yearn for anonymity. It’s not even that you guys would be able to help with my problem, it’s more that I get so many warm fuzzies from your commiseration that it would really help me out just to have that. I’m sorry for cryptic blog posting, that’s really mean of me. 98% of you can probably know my issue, so if you’re dying of curiosity, shoot me an email and I’ll tell you. It’s not even that interesting, it’s just annoying, and is one of the (few) things going on right now. It feels weird that I can’t blog about it. I’m an open book about boobs and vaginas, but when it comes to personal matters, some things must remain secret.

Related to that, I’ve been thinking a lot about my last post and I’m hoping I didn’t come off sounding like a total bitch. As I said, a lot of the ‘mommy club’ friends read my blog and there I was whining about not being part of their club. Well, the mommies I know are nothing but accepting and understanding, and while I still maintain that I’ll never really be part of the club, that’s not for lack of their trying. I’m the one who feels awkward and inferior, but not because they try to make me feel that way. Just the opposite, in fact. A few have even said things like, “I have no idea what you’re going through, but I want you to know I’m here for you.” Yeah, there’s nothing better than hearing that. So to my mommy friends, I’m really sorry if I sounded ungrateful for your friendship. You’ve all been amazing at making me feel loved, and asking all the right questions. Sometimes I write without thinking, or think I sound a certain way when really I sound like a huge ungrateful jerk. Again, I’m sorry.

I suppose I should do a little bit of year-end recapping. A year ago yesterday I started my Lupron injections. I showed up to a New Year’s Eve party late because I had to swing by my mother-in-law’s to get the shot (the first of how many – hundreds?). I remember that day so well – taking the bus into the city, rushing uptown to the pharmacy to fill the script before it closed, hurrying in to the party and breathlessly explaining what was going on. At the time it felt like things were happening so quickly. How could I possibly know what 2013 had in store for me? So many ups and downs, so many periods of time that dragged and so many that flew by. I can’t help but believe that this year will be so much better, and that when 2014 comes to a close, I’ll be holding my daughter or son and marveling at how it all happened.

Wishing you all a joyous, drama-free new year that’s filled with love and happiness (and babies to everyone who wants them). Yeah, it’s cliche, but I mean it. We all deserve it.

I’ll never be part of the club

Oh, drama. Why must you torment me?

I’ll start off by saying that everything is fine (which of course you already know based on my expletive-free post title). I wasn’t even planning to write about my OB/GYN visit today because I figured it would be very routine, and I had other topics from the weekend to discuss. I’ll get to those in a moment.

So first of all, I made Eric come along to the appointment because I (wrongly) assumed I’d be getting an ultrasound. We went back into the room and quickly figured out that this wasn’t the case. Apparently “normal” folks don’t get ultrasounds at every visit. Who knew? So I sent him home with a kiss and waited for the doctor to come in.

We chatted, all was great, and then she whipped out the doppler to check the heartbeat. Five minutes of scanning…nothing. I told her I had one at home and sometimes it took me up to ten minutes to find the damn thing. She laughed and said, “Yeah, but I’m not going to spend ten minutes trying. Let’s just give you an ultrasound.”

Yay. I mean…damn. Sent hubby home for nothing.

At this point I was mildly concerned, but not overly concerned, as I had just found the heartbeat yesterday afternoon (once again I say, PRAISE GOD for dopplers). But still… she should be able to find it better than I can, right? Then the nurse popped in and said someone else was in the one and only ultrasound room, so I would have to wait a while until her appointment was done. The doctor came back a few minutes after that and said she would try again with the doppler just so I wouldn’t have to wait.

Scan, scan, scan…nothing.

Seriously?

So I had to sit there, alone, for about 30 minutes waiting for an ultrasound. It was awful. I started having flashbacks. I tried to reassure myself with the fact that I had heard it the day before, but anything can happen in the space of 18 hours. I know that all too well. I was half tempted to hop off the table and try to find it myself, or go down the hall and hustle the other person out of the room through fear and intimidation.

I had mentioned that the brand of prenatal vitamins I was using was making me sick, so at one point during my wait the doctor came back in with a bunch of different samples for me to try to see if any of them worked better. This was also reassuring because I figured if she was truly concerned, she’d wait until the appointment was over before giving them to me. As it was, I was picturing how terrible it would be to have to hand them back at the front desk on the way out. And let’s not even talk about how devastating this news would be to hear two days before Christmas. The thoughts running through my head were pure torture.

Finally, I got to go in the ultrasound room. For one heart-pounding moment I saw a huge dark blob with nothing in it… and I thought, “That cannot be. It cannot be.” But guess what, guys? That big dark blob was my bladder. Which turns out was the root of this whole fiasco. My full bladder had pushed the baby way up high, and the doctor was scanning down near my pubic bone where the heartbeat is normally found. Baby is fine, somersaulting away, heartbeat is at a solid 145. Nothing to fear. Phew.

Panic over, crisis averted, composure restored. Now on to my topic of the day.

It doesn’t matter that I’m pregnant, it doesn’t even matter if one day I actually have a baby. Because the “Normal Mommy Club” is just something I’ll never be a part of.

We went to a Christmas party this weekend. It’s a party that I would have fled from screaming/crying had I not been pregnant right now. There were three pregnant chicks (including me) and the hostess has a three-week-old. Yes, she has a three-week-old and a two-and-a-half year old and managed to plan, coordinate, cook for, and host a Christmas party. Talk about super-mom.

I didn’t get the memo that you’re supposed to get a cute, Christmas-themed maternity shirt to wear around this time of year if you happen to be “with child” (and where do you even buy these)? I went to Walmart and got some oversized, tacky shirt that said something about being naughty in glitter letters. It didn’t occur to me to dress the bump adorably.

It was just so weird. Everyone talking about kids and pregnancy and babies, and for once I got to be included in the conversations. I felt like an imposter. I don’t even know how to answer the questions half the time, or how to reciprocate appropriate questions. I feel like at any moment I’ll be revealed for what I am: so decidedly not part of the club. And pretty much everyone there reads my blog, so it’s not like they don’t know my backstory, but still. I’m pregnant, yet I still cringe every time I hear a cute baby story or see a bump out of the corner of my eye. Will that ever change? Am I scarred for life?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be crawling out of the trenches of infertility. I guess what I’m saying is that no matter what point I get to in life, the scars will still be hiding just beneath the surface. I don’t think I’ll ever freely gush over being pregnant or having kids or any of that. I’ll always be on high alert when it comes to all the stuff that used to make me scream on the inside. You can take the girl out of the infertility war, but you can’t erase what’s already happened. I’m forever changed based on this journey.

Just wondering if anyone else feels the same, and assuming that most of you do… I haven’t seen any of you morph into eternally happy mommy bloggers overnight, even those of you who gave birth recently.

I often think about what this blog will become post-baby, and I hope that it stays real and relevant. I’ll never be crafty and organized and vigilant, pureeing all-organic kale into baby food while simultaneously recording every detail in a handmade baby book. I’ll never be great. But I hope that I do stay honest, and irreverent, and humble, and grateful. So, so, so damn grateful.

hummingbirdAs a P.S. – Today I received a gorgeous hummingbird ornament in the mail from Teresa at “Where the *bleep* is our stork?” She so graciously nominated me for The Stork Award a few weeks back, and I swear it has been on my to-do list to finally answer all her questions and nominate some more lovely ladies as well. Teresa, thank you so much. This community makes me feel so warm and accepted. Talk about being part of a club… yeah, this is it for me. No matter where life takes me, I’ll always be one of you.

it’s taco tuesday!

Oh hey, y’all. Is it weird that we only eat tacos on weeknights that start with “T” because I’m that obsessed with alliteration?

Is it also weird that the most interesting thing I have to talk about is what I had for dinner tonight?

And furthermore…is it weird that I looked forward to this aforementioned meal all damn day? This is what my life has become.

Fact is, my food tastes have changed dramatically from what they used to be. I’m operating on some kind of “food craving pendulum,” where one particular meal that’s so amazing right now will be much hated in a week, but then could potentially become essential a week after that. That’s why I had to throw out a whole batch of those peanut butter cookies…because as much as I loved them a couple weeks ago, right now I cannot bear the thought of them. And what’s weirder is that despite my affinity for burnt toast and my conviction that inanimate objects have feelings, I’ve had absolutely no problem throwing away food lately. This is completely out of character for me.

While I don’t have any cravings per se, I can tell you that all I want is carb loaded items (GF pasta and Annie’s GF macaroni and cheese) and sweets of all kinds (GF cupcakes, granola bars, cookies that aren’t peanut butter, brownies, and the like). If it’s loaded with sugar, sign me up. I don’t want vegetables. I don’t like salmon! It’s so bizarre to still be myself but to not want to eat the foods I usually love most in the world. I feel like my body has been taken over. These particular cravings coupled with how I’m carrying both have my mom convinced it’s a boy… and truthfully, I think she’s right. And that mystery shall be solved on February 3rd (woo hoo)!

14 weeks

14 weeks

Speaking of… I’m overdue, so to speak, for a bump picture. I don’t think it’s that different from the last pic I posted, but this shirt really accentuates it with the stripes. I’m going to add a “bump pictures” tab to the blog simply because it’s something I ALWAYS gravitated towards on other people’s blogs when we were TTC. I think it was part masochism, and part obsession with when I might realistically start to show when I finally got pregnant. I used to bump-stalk people and live vicariously through their photo progressions. So I’m here to satisfy that curiosity for any other bloggers who feel the same, and to record this unlikely journey for myself, too. That said…while I do think my bump is excessive in the grand scheme of bumps, I am only 5’1. There’s not much room for this uterus to expand besides straight out. I accurately predicted that maternity clothes would become necessary sooner rather than later.

And for those of you on symptom watch or disappointed at your lack of symptoms, I’m here to say that I still have very, very few. I get nauseated from my prenatal every morning (which is something that often happens even when I’m not pregnant), but other than that, the weird food aversions, and the bump, I’m just feeling regular. I don’t even pee that much! I scaled back on my impressive 2 gallon/day water consumption, so now I’m back to hitting the bathroom a normal amount.

Yeah, that’s really it. This week is freakin’ dragging…I took off the two days after Christmas so I’ll have a nice 5 day break next week, and I’m really looking forward to it. My husband has off straight through from the 20th – January 2nd (jerkface). Oh, and our next ultrasound is on Monday! Isn’t it funny how I’m not so obsessed with ultrasounds anymore now that I have my handy dandy doppler? I mean, it’ll be great to see the baby on screen again, but I’m no longer counting down the days with bated breath. It’s such a nice feeling…I think it’s called confidence? Weird.

Gotta go, I’m off to stuff my face full of ice cream and cookies! Nom, nom, nom.

we’re not getting a tree this year

At first I was disappointed, but I’ve come to terms with it.

Here’s the deal: we have been married for three and a half years, and the past three Christmases together we have had Christmas trees.

In 2010, we got a dinky little fake tree from a present exchange that actually fit perfectly in our dinky little apartment. It was adorable.

small, sparse, and special: our first tree

small, sparse, and special: our first tree

In 2011, we got all ambitious since we had just purchased a house and went to a tree farm to cut down our own tree. It was hard work (not that I did any of it besides voice my opinion, ha). The experience proved interesting because we actually had a nest of praying mantis babies living in the tree, a phenomenon that occurs in approximately 1% of all trees sold or something crazy like that. Praying mantises are said to be good luck, so I took it as a sign that 2011 would be *our year* and that we’d finally have our baby. Yeah, you can see how well that worked out.

overcompensating for the previous year?

overcompensating for the previous year?

I don’t remember exactly why, but last year we were feeling a bit Grinch-like around the holidays. Eric didn’t want to get a tree at all. Since I’m a huge sucker for Christmas, I finally convinced him to let me go down the street and buy one from the Boy Scouts who sell trees outside the gas station about a half mile from our house. Despite its sketchy origins, it was the best looking tree so far and a fantastic bargain at a cost of just $30. Gas station trees: don’t knock ’em til you try ’em. (And as a side note, there are still pine needles embedded in the back of my car from that half mile drive back to the house. No clue how that’s possible).

the perfect gas station tree

the perfect gas station tree

That brings us to 2013. I’ve made no secret of the fact that money is tight around here, and the impending arrival of this child is a very real and pressing financial concern. Spending $30 on a tree is just something that isn’t logical at the moment. And sure, my parents would probably buy one for us if I really wanted them to… but Eric also brought up the good point that since we agreed not to exchange gifts this year, it seems a little depressing to have a tree with no pretty presents underneath it. I totally get that logic. And what’s more, I know one thing for certain…this will be our last year without a tree.

Yes, next year (God-willing), we will have a baby at home. A six-month old who will certainly have gifts from Santa piled high on Christmas morning (OK, piled modestly. Still piled), so clearly we’ll NEED a tree. And the year after that, (s)he may even have an idea of what’s going on. Each year thereafter will get more and more magical, and if all goes to plan, we’ll add more sweet babies to the mix as the years go by. Christmas will never be the same again.

So how can I be sad? Even if we don’t exchange presents on December 25th, I’ve already been given the greatest gift I could ever hope to get. And even if we made the financially responsible decision and decided to “skip” Christmas this year, I know that we will never do that again. For once, I can wait. I can make it through the rest of 2013 with dreams of 2014 dancing in my head.

That’s enough for me.

the best $50 I ever spent, and some other updates from this weird new world

Greetings from surreal-ville, the world in which I now live.

Today was my first appointment at the perinatal center. Everything looks perfect (God, I will never get sick of typing that phrase). Baby is still measuring 5 days ahead, 13w3d. Best of all, baby looks like a baby. Arms and legs waving all over the place. It’s just so crazy how much (s)he is moving around because of course I can’t feel anything yet. Everything was so good, in fact, that I don’t have to go back to perinatal until the level 2 scan (GENDER SCAN!) in February, like a normal person. Did you hear that? I’m a normal person.

So now back to that $50. My doppler arrived on Thursday and yeah, it was pretty much like Christmas came early. It is so freakin’ amazing. Anyone out there contemplating a doppler, I’m here to say, “GET ONE. GET ONE RIGHT NOW.” Big shout-out to Jane, Lentil, and Amy for giving me tips on how to find the heartbeat. My biggest challenge was distinguishing between my own pulse (which I found out at today’s ultrasound is the sound of blood flowing to the placenta) and the baby’s, but once I actually found it, I could definitely tell the difference. Baby’s heartbeat is so much faster than my pulse. It’s just incredible. And yes, I have used it every single day since I got it. I’m gonna have to stock up on the gel, because there ain’t no way that little 3 ounce tube is going to last me very long. And side note – with the Sonoline B, I kept getting a read of 125 or so, which is low, but today at the appointment the heart rate was 165. So I wouldn’t put much weight on the actual readout, just the fact that it’s there. The doctor even cautioned me against going into a panic if I ever couldn’t find it because it is rather early, and my tools are mediocre at best. Apparently he doesn’t know me at all because OBVIOUSLY I would freak out if I couldn’t find it. But so far, so good. I’ve found it every time without too much trouble.

TMI paragraph ahead – be warned. Keep reading at your own risk.

Just because I got a doppler doesn’t mean I’ve been drama-free. As you may imagine, Progesterone suppositories come with a fair amount of “leakage,” so the sensation of “stuff coming out” has not been shocking or alarming these past few months. However, Saturday morning I was outside taking the dogs out when suddenly I felt a “whoosh!” of fluid that was like nothing before. A quick check revealed that it wasn’t blood, thank God, but it was clear and was definitely not pee (which message boards all seemed convinced it must be for other women that this has happened to. I find that condescending – like, wouldn’t you know if you peed yourself? But I digress…). Because I’m ready for doomsday at any moment, my mind immediately jumped to the worst: amniotic fluid. I ran upstairs and heard the heartbeat, which was nice, but I know you can lose amniotic fluid and still have a live baby for a little while. Anyway, I spent the next two days Googling it, and from what I found amniotic fluid has a distinct smell, is straw-colored, and is not sticky. None of these things matched what happened to me… but still, weird. The only thing that I can chalk it up to is that Eric and I had sex the night before it happened for the first time in like forever (giggity)… so perhaps we shook something loose? I don’t know. All I know is that they measured the amniotic fluid today at the appointment and it was all good, plus when I mentioned it to the doctor he said it was normal, and not to worry. I just wanted to share this story in case it happens to anyone else and they freak out. It can turn out OK.

Isn’t it funny? I knew that at today’s appointment they would find a heartbeat (because clearly I had just found it hours before), but I was still freaked out. I can’t escape the anxiety. I’m starting to be convinced that there will ALWAYS be something to worry about (as many of you who are further along have warned me about). But at least it’s getting better.

Another reason for my worry over the appointment is that today, December 9th, is historically a bad day for me. It’s the day in 1988 that my grandfather had a heart attack while driving me to a friend’s birthday party. It’s the day my beloved pet prairie dog died (yup, I had one of those! Best pet ever). A boyfriend broke up with me on December 9th and I was appropriately devastated for an overly dramatic, overly attached teenage girl. As my mom says, “December 9th has just never been a good day for you.” She takes great care to not mention its approach, but is always half expecting me to call her on that day with some kind of bad news.

Because of this, I contemplated changing the appointment, but I felt silly. I don’t really believe in superstition. Now I’m glad I didn’t, because today went so well that I’m thinking perhaps the December 9th curse is broken. I can only hope.

Lastly, I posted the big news on Facebook today. I KNOW. It’s not even that exciting because basically everyone knows anyway, but it still felt like a gigantic milestone. I had written out exactly what I wanted to say weeks ago, something that didn’t go into too much detail but that definitely honored the long road we’ve taken to get here. Not gonna lie, I got a little teary hitting submit, and even more choked up when the comments and likes started flooding in.

facebookpost

Five days from today will mark one year since our very first consult at New Hope. I could never have imagined that this past year would go quite this way… for one thing, it feels like a lifetime ago. I’m a completely different person from that naive girl who fully expected IVF to be the magical solution to all her problems. But I am happy, and I am hopeful, and even a tad bit optimistic that I’ll actually get to take home a baby at the end of all this.

It’s just crazy.

on the eve of the second trimester

Since the day that second line appeared, December 4th has been etched in my brain as “the day.” If I could just make it there, everything would be fine. I pictured having a mini party, posting my announcement on Facebook, maybe even cracking a bottle of bubbly (and you know… having half a sip or something). I figured December 4th would be the best day EVER.

But alas, it is not. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. That’s the kicker, isn’t it? I have no idea what’s going on in there. And I can’t help but assume doom and gloom because… well… that’s all I’ve known so far. I don’t know how to be hopeful and optimistic. I don’t know how to just assume that everything is just as it should be.

Here’s how it goes: the day of my ultrasounds I feel elated, joyous, hopeful, gratified. Those warm fuzzy feelings continue throughout the whole day and into the next, and then gradually start depleting and getting replaced with hopeless anxiety and an overwhelming sense that something could go wrong. Things could be going wrong at any moment, and how would I know? That’s how it happens. It could be over in an instant. So within a week I’m all in a tizzy expecting the worst, and by the day of the next ultrasound I’ve just come to accept my fate of whatever, half expecting there to just be no heartbeat at all. That’s how I’m feeling right now. So damn scared.

Yeah…I need the doppler. I broke down and ordered it today, and even just seeing the little confirmation email pop up to say that it shipped made me feel a tiny bit better. If there would have been a personal pick-up option, I might have driven to Atlanta tonight to get it (and this after a 16 hour round-trip jaunt to Virginia last weekend to visit family). Anyway, estimated delivery time is between Thursday and Saturday. I’m a bit concerned at what might happen if I can’t find the heartbeat myself using it (cue panicked emergency calls to the OB/GYN) especially since at this point I really SHOULD be able to. I was on the verge of going out at lunchtime to get one at Babies ‘R’ Us but the reviews on that one are so terrible that I was sure it wouldn’t work. I ended up going with the Sonoline B, a mere $50 on eBay. Now it just needs to get here. And find me a good, detectable heartbeat so I can stop freaking the hell out.

What else is going on? I love when people ask me that. As if freaking out over assumed tragedies isn’t a full-time occupation. Well, I had a good Thanksgiving, deliciously gluten-free. As mentioned earlier, my whole fam traveled down South to visit my dad’s side of the family, so that was cool. There was a Cracker Barrel at every exit… I’ve never seen that many Cracker Barrels. And yes, we did stop to eat there…twice. Other than that, not much. I have a slew of Christmas parties coming up and this will be the first year that I can’t drink at all. It’s not that I’m some huge drinker, it’s just that a glass of wine here or there really helps to get me nice and sociable, you know? I tend to be shy and reserved at parties and sometimes I have a bitchy look on my face without trying to (ever hear of Resting Bitch Face?) So yeah. I hope I can be fun and have fun while stone cold sober.

Such problems to have, right? To have this go well, I’d gladly give up drinking for the rest of my life. I don’t need liquor to be happy…I need this baby. Come on, doppler… ship faster!

It’s the eve of the second trimester, and all through the house…yeah, I have no rhyme for that. Sorry.

it was the best day…

I’m blanking for blog post titles. I’m blanking on a lot of things, actually.

So we went for the ultrasound today and IT WENT PERFECTLY! How am I getting so lucky with this? Is it luck, or something else? I laid in bed last night planning out my outfit. I intentionally did not wear maternity pants or a maternity shirt in case the appointment went badly (because it would be so much harder getting dressed into them and not being pregnant anymore, ya know?). Even though I did a bunch of grocery shopping yesterday, I didn’t buy the gluten-free pumpkin pie because I didn’t want to waste my money if by Thursday I wouldn’t need special food. But everything was fine today. Better yet, Baby Crumb is looking less blob-like and more baby-like. Wow.

babaycrumb

Today I am 10w5d, but I’m measuring ahead at 11w2d. Second trimester is within spitting distance! I will have ultrasounds every 4 weeks with my OB/GYN and the next will be on 12/23. But since I’m kind of high risk with my history, they’re also referring me to a specialist who will be doing another scan on 12/9. I’m happy for that because I really want to actually see the baby at 12 weeks and verify that I made it past that hurdle. Plus, as mentioned, Eric refuses to let me tell the world ‘o Facebook until we hit that day. I agree with him. So there it is.

Speaking of the hubs, he seemed to enjoy the whole ultrasound experience and was impressed with how much the baby was moving all around. I’m glad we got to do this on his birthday. It really has been an amazing day so far.

so much GF goodness!

so much GF goodness!

After the appointment I stopped by the grocery store to get that GF pie and holy. smokes. It was about 12 p.m. on a Monday and the place was mobbed like Thanksgiving was tomorrow. Nowhere to park. Shopping cart traffic jams. Almost every single register was open. So glad I didn’t wait longer! While I was there I kept finding gluten-free goodies and could not help myself (don’t they say to never shop when you’re hungry?). Pumpkin muffins. Spinach ravioli. MAC AND CHEESE. Oh, it was glorious. I think I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: I could not be happier that going gluten-free is so hot right now. All I want to eat is carbs/sweets, and I can safely do that with all the stuff they have. I can even have pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving. That’s like my favorite thing ever.

I’ve noticed a trend lately. Most of my posts have more reads, but fewer comments. I’m not complaining… it’s just funny, because posts are becoming harder to write now that things are going well. And I do the same thing – I’m definitely more compelled to comment on sad posts than happy posts. It just seems like people who are going through tough times need you more, right? So I’m not sweating it, though I do appreciate all the comments that I get. But even if you have nothing to say, that’s cool, too. I’m sure eventually I’ll find stuff to complain about again and commenting will be easier.

Well, it’s 2:30 and I have the day off, so I think it’s nap time.

Can you freakin’ believe we made it here?

slow and steady and oh-so-thankful

This is the longest week EVER.

I know there’s a lot of conflicting theories on whether it’s better to have a fetal doppler or not have a fetal doppler, but in my case, I think I need one. I cannot go this long without some kind of reassurance. The only reason I haven’t picked one up yet is that it’s still too early to really hear the heartbeat with one (according to reviews) and I cannot handle the panic that would go along with me not hearing it when trying to find it. Well, that and the fact that the girl selling one on Craigslist never got back to me. Jerk.

Four more sleeps until the ultrasound. I’m not feeling much of anything right now – anxiety, I guess. A tiny bit of stomach upset in the morning but not as bad as a couple weeks ago. Random pangs of breast tenderness and nip itchiness. A few minor cramps/twinges in my abdomen. With the way everyone goes on and on about the first trimester, I would think that the whole thing would feel a heck of a lot more dramatic than it actually does. But as it stands, I just feel like me…but with a fatter tummy.

8w5d VS. 10w1d - is there a difference, or am I crazy?

8w5d VS. 10w1d – is there a difference, or am I crazy?

My stomach remains my #1 reassuring factor through this entire thing. It’s definitely big, even bigger than last week. And it wouldn’t continue to grow if the baby wasn’t still growing, right? This is what I keep telling myself. Overall I feel good about everything, but also very aware of negative outcomes. It’s an excited terror.

I also hate the feeling that I’m just biding my time between ultrasounds. Like, why do I have nothing else to talk about here? It does feel like I’m holding my breath between each appointment, and I’m too damn scared to talk about anything else. I had an easier time focusing on other topics between cycles when nothing was going on. Now that this appears to be happening, my inspiration is blocked up tight. I pretend like everything is going fine, but on the inside I’m just a big bundle of nerves. That’s why I need the doppler. So that I can go on with my day to day life without existing in a constant state of panic. I can’t tell you how many times this week I *almost* called my OB/GYN to request an early ultrasound for peace of mind.

As predicted, I’ve been pretty much “outed” at work. I was really proud of myself because while talking to two coworkers who just found out about my condition, there was opportunity for me to say, “Well, it was a really long road. Infertility treatments, and two miscarriages this year. So we’re very grateful.” They were appopriately sympathetic and supportive. I dunno… it feels dishonest to just gush about everything happily and act like it was so easy to get here. That’s not who I am, and that’s not my story. This was a saga, not a fairytale. I’m just hoping for the fairytale ending.

And of course I can’t help but feel awkward about people knowing. Because God forbid we get bad news on Monday, then there are that many more people to share it with. Admittedly, getting to 8w5d was a huge, huge accomplishment. It made me feel better. But I’m not 100% confident, and I fear I never will be. Not until this kid is out, anyway. Right now it feels so intangible and whimsical, almost like planning out all the crap I would buy if I won the lottery. But I never ACTUALLY win the lottery. I just have a heck of a lot of fun thinking about it.

Most days I’ve been sitting at my desk daydreaming about the future. Our little gender reveal party, my shower, all that stuff. I constantly pull up my desktop calendar and stare at particular days or flip through the months and count out how far along I’ll be throughout next year. I actually started stressing out over when my baby shower could possibly happen because the spring is already full-to-packed busy. We have my sister-in-law’s wedding and Easter in April, a work event, Mother’s Day, my little sister’s First Communion, and Memorial Day in May, and then June… well, that’s baby time. Oh, well. Why am I worrying about this now? Probably because it makes it more “real.”

I took the day off work Monday because of the ultrasound and Eric’s birthday. I also have a lot of cooking to do for Thursday even though I’m not hosting because I want to eat well despite my dietary restrictions. So, I’m bringing a bunch of gluten-free goodies. Next week should be great – a nice, short two day work week, a reassurance fix with the ultrasound, Thanksgiving with my whole family, yummy food, and tons of leftovers. Now this week just needs to hurry up and end.

Four more sleeps. I just have to make it through four more sleeps.

workin’ that bumpage

Yesterday I attended a conference in Manhattan. How strange it was to be going into the city for something other than fertility treatments! Not only that, but I took the same train DOWNTOWN that I usually take UPTOWN to go to New Hope. The symbolism of that was not lost on me.

In this conference of approximately 200 people, mostly women, not a single one was visibly pregnant. Like, when does that happen? Oh, of course not when I’m emotionally distraught and seeking solace, but rather when I’m in a good (and pregnant) place. Of freaking course. You know if this was mid-July, there’d have been at least 4 pregnant chicks. And they’d all be seated next to/in front of/behind me.

Anyway. I went with one other coworker who knows my, ahem, situation, so I decided to dress in an outfit that didn’t necessarily show, but didn’t necessarily hide my little bumpage. I swear, it’s even grown in the couple of days since that last picture. Looking in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think, yup, pregnant.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I thought about this all day long. Every time I got up to refill my herbal tea or stand in the bathroom line, I was thinking, “Does the person standing next to me think I’m pregnant, or just chubby?” I even took pains to push the bump out, especially when standing, so that no one would think the latter. Of course it doesn’t matter. Of course no one probably noticed or cared in the least. But to me, someone who has yearned for this privilege for years, it did matter. I wanted to finally feel special. Because there’s a teeny tiny voice in my head that’s saying, “What if this is all you get? What if it ends soon?”

I know, “SHUT THE HECK UP, TINY VOICE!” I mean, truth be told I’m feeling really confident about the whole thing. But I’ve never had a bump. It’s a weird feeling. On some level I feel self-conscious, especially if anyone around me is struggling or hurt to see someone with a bump. I feel like it should come with a disclaimer, something like “I was infertile for a long, long time. Please don’t be mad at me.”

At work I’ve been dressing in baggy, loose clothing and I probably just look like I’ve been hitting the donuts too hard (again, not that anyone probably notices, but still). Today, emboldened by my outfit yesterday, I wore a tight black sweater and a pair of maternity corduroys that I scored at H&M for $5. Really, I wore them because they’re very comfortable, even if the belly part is a bit too big for me and kept sliding down. That made me feel silly. But still… they were comfy. In the tight sweater from a side view, I look legit pregs. Straight on, I just look lumpy. Obviously no one has said anything… I’m definitely not at a point where people would feel sure enough to ask. And I’m not sure what to do when they do… I’m terrified to acknowledge this pregnancy, yet proud of it at the same time. It’s a conundrum.

I think I will end up out of the closet next week when we move desks. All this time we’ve been talking about and planning for me to move in with my team, so I have to imagine there will be some questions when I don’t wind up sitting with them. I don’t want to be the girl who “just, like, can’t deal with all that cigar smoke,” because that’s clearly not a popular mindset in this industry. I might as well tell the truth about why I’m not going to be sitting with them. I wish I had another ultrasound on Monday just for sanity’s sake, but oh, well. I guess I just have to trust that this fat belly is proof enough.

One more fun thing today: Eric’s office got treated to a bunch of BBQ sample items from a company who’s trying to get their business for catering. He was telling me about the amazing mac ‘n’ cheese, brisket, and the like (God, do I love me some good brisket). Anyway, he was saying how we need to go there once I’m able to eat real food again… then revised his statement to say, “Screw that, we’ll have to have them cater in the delivery room.” This made me laugh. So far, the delivery room menu we’ve planned includes (but is not limited to): bagels, a tray of brownies, a chocolate cake, a pizza, eggs benedict, and now a heaping order of brisket and mac ‘n’ cheese. Oh, and ice cream. But the point of this is not the food, it’s the fact that we’re planning for the delivery room. I can picture it. And it’s exciting me.

On my way home last night I dragged my coworker to a gluten-free pizza place I had found online and boy, was it amazing. I’ve really been missing pizza. The crust was good – not as good as real crust, but definitely worth my while. Worth the $5/slice. Yup, that’s New York.

Oh! And weird coincidence yesterday. So I was on the bus ride home when I got a phone call from New Hope. I should mention here that no one bothered to call or email me with next steps or results or anything, despite the fact that I sent two inquiring emails. A response to the second just said, “We will contact you in a few days with further instructions.” I mean, can you imagine if the lab hadn’t told me all was well? I’d STILL be waiting to hear from them. Anyway. Phone rings while I’m on the bus, dumb stupid iPhone battery is down to 7%. It’s Dr. Zhang himself, the man behind the entire study, and someone who I haven’t personally dealt with for more than 45 seconds. He asked if anyone had called to congratulate me on my pregnancy yet and whether I had time to talk. When I explained that I was in public, on a bus, and with a dying phone, he promised that one of his associates would call me today. Here it is 8:30 p.m. and no phone call. Whatever. I did think it was nice that he called at all.

So that’s all for now. I’m sure in a couple weeks I’ll look back and laugh at my silly self trying to work this minuscule bump for all its worth. I need more patience. I’ve never been good at being patient.

Come on, second trimester… hurry the hell up!