burnt toast life

today + one month = DD

Here we are, exactly one month until the big DD. Not that I want it to happen that day because of previously stated maternity leave issues, but technically, that’s the day marked on my calendar. Eeek!

I’ll be honest – and you can quote me on this – I think I’m going to go early. Space is LIMITED in the ol’ uterus. It’s really weird… I wake up and feel pretty decent/comfortable, but as the day goes on my stomach just gets tighter and tighter until it’s 7pm and I’m writhing around on the couch pitifully, insisting that someone needs to, “GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT OF ME RIGHT NOW.” Sometimes it literally feels like he’s just going to pop right out of there. It’s hella uncomfortable – like wearing an about-to-burst balloon that someone insists on continuing to inflate. Like, can’t you see there’s no more room in there? How am I going to survive for 4 more weeks?

Another reason I think he may come early is because he’s been head down for the past two months. So I think he’s ready (and is probably very cramped). I’m a little nervous that I won’t know I’m actually in labor because contractions have been described as a “tightening” and that’s something I experience on a daily basis. My whole abdomen is just… tight. It would be nice to know what it felt like but I don’t know. Remember with Molly I was induced, and the pain I felt was excruciating from the get-go. Now in hindsight I’m wondering if that’s because the abruption was happening. Would that make it hurt more? I have no idea. I just hope I realize I’m in labor and I don’t wind up on the news as some crazy person who gave birth at her desk at work because she was too stupid to realize what was happening. Especially for a second child. Plus… embarrassing, right?

Anywho…

Last night I posted the following status on Facebook:
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The funny part about it was that about 2 minutes after I posted, the person who posted the article I’m referring to commented her apologies. Funny/awkward that she totally knew I was talking about her!

I’m starting to hate Facebook these days and that’s one huge reason why. I don’t know if your friends are the same way, but for some reason, a huge number of people on my feed (and the girl in question from last night is not even close to the worst offender, if you’re reading this S, I’m sorry to keep calling you out!) feel compelled to share links to these horrifying news stories, but I cannot for the life of me figure out why. Like… what is the point? There’s nothing I can do; the damage is done. All you’ve done is confirm that evil people exist and now I have to be haunted with the knowledge that another terrible thing happened to another innocent person. So essentially, you’ve ruined my day and made me feel helpless and sad, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Thanks.

And before you say, “So just don’t click on the article,” know that most of the time I don’t click, but the title and photo tell me more than enough. In this case I did click in because apparently I love to torture myself. Hence the sobbing. And no I’m not telling you what it was about because I’m not mean like that. Go to sleep tonight happy knowing that you don’t know. It’s better that way.

In the realm of social media, Twitter confuses me/stresses me out because I can never “catch up” and it just makes me feel like I’m constantly missing out on something. It’s easier to just never log in. I’m way too old for Snapchat. LinkedIn is boring and possibly pointless (unless you’re job hunting). Is Google+ still even a thing? The only social media space I really love anymore is Instagram, so if you want to find me, that’s where I’ll be. Ok, rant over.

I was toying around with doing yet another post about friendship or lack thereof but at this point I’ve written about it so many times that you all probably think I’m a huge loser or something. So rather than make a big deal about it, I’ll just add in my thoughts here at the end of this long-winded post that most of you have possibly stopped reading by now anyway. Sound good? Ok, good.

Friendship. I did finally make friends at work (remember how worried I was about not being accepted at first?) and that’s been fantastic. Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm, I have a great group of girls to chat with, eat lunch with, and text randomness to. A few are actually cool enough that we could conceivably hang out after hours, but I live about 40 minutes away from where I work and all my new pals live near work, not near home. Soooo as much as I like the one girl, and as nice as it is that she has a fire in her backyard every Thursday and invited me to come, ain’t no way I’m going to drive the 40 minutes home, bundle up the baby and the husband, and then drive 40 minutes back to stand around in the cold.

In general, as I’ve mentioned repeatedly now, I really miss having close female friendships in my life. This is going to sound silly, but sometimes Molly is playing so nicely or just being so cute that I want to share her with someone. My God, does that make me sound crazy? But really. I’m proud of how good she is and how sociable and sweet. I know there must be other women out there with children around the same age and I can’t help but envision us hanging out together, watching our little ones play. But I don’t know how to find these people!

My sister got so pissed at me last time I wrote a post like this because she thought I was implying that she wasn’t my friend and that I didn’t want to hang out with her. Duh, anyone with a brain can figure out that my sister is my best friend. But sometimes I feel like a burden to her – like she has to be the default person I always call to do stuff with and maybe she doesn’t always want to hang out. Plus, she watches Molly all week long and while I know she loves Molly like one of her own, maybe she needs a small Molly-break on weekends.

In my little town, there’s an active mom’s club for stay at home moms that I can’t join because I’m not a stay at home mom (oh, the discrimination!). There’s that website I joined called Mom Meet Mom (I think they changed their name now?) that never amounted to anything. Then there’s MeetUp.com, which conveniently has nothing promising on it besides the aforementioned SAHM club. So… yeah.

My prediction is that once Molly is in school or starts doing activities I will naturally begin to meet and make friends with other moms with kids the same age. My problem, as usual, is just impatience. So at this point I guess I need to calm down and just classify this weird interim as “the friendless years” (which was the working title of my pathetic post that never got written). Or maybe I’m just no fun and I’ll be stuck writing rambling posts and having nothing but internet friends for the rest of my life. Hey! Stranger things have happened.

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.

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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.

Progesterone is a big fat bully

So I’ve been giving some thought on how to handle the next steps. Either this works and I have a few weeks of walking around like I’m made of glass, or it’s negative and I’ll be crawling into a dark cave and waiting for death (kidding. I think). But the fact of the matter is that I’m supposed to wait 12 weeks to tell the public. And that public includes Facebook, I would think.

Here’s what I’m going to do: I will continue posting on the blog, including early pregnancy, negatives and whatever else life throws at me, but I won’t share the links on Facebook as I have been doing. All you FB followers are welcome to add my blog to your Google Reader or just click on it sporadically, but from now on you’re on your own to find me. Until my big obnoxious Facebook announcement, anyway. Sorry… I’ve suffered through so many of yours, I just have to do one (suffered may be too harsh. I endured them. Stoically. Big gulps of wine helped immensely).

Just one more quick thing. If you do choose to follow me and know what is going on, please do not share it with your friends (Yes, your friends totally care. The bump watch on me has been similar to the one on Kate Middleton and I don’t want paparazzi all up in my grill) or exclaim loudly if we should run into each other in the grocery store. Let’s just pretend it’s not happening, for now, or you can simply give me a slight wink and nod. I will start posting again in earnest once we get past the danger zone.

OK, now with that out of the way, let’s talk about Progesterone. Oh…Progesterone. I’ve been creeping on so many other blogs lately and I can’t help but notice that mostly everyone gets this in the form of suppositories or even, (lucky bitches) gets it in pill form. Um… wtf? I get intramuscular (read: in the ass) shots of Progesterone in Oil every single day and those. mothereffers. hurt. The shot itself is fine, but afterwards? What can I compare it to? It’s kind of like willingly getting kicked in the ass by an elephant every day.

They started nine days ago and yes, I know, they are supposed to be “tricking” my body into thinking it’s pregnant. I figured I would have to keep doing them until maybe the second positive beta, then would get to stop because my body would be producing it naturally, right? WRONG. In the event of a BFP (that’s Big Fat Positive, FB), I have to keep doing this until the 9 week U/S. AND, as if that’s not awesome enough, this whole thing could be for naught if it’s a BFN (you guessed it – Big Fat Negative) and I get to start all over next month. Woo hoo!

sad buttWe switch sides every night but it seriously hurts to sit down and even walk sometimes. My whole lower back/upper ass is so sore. Oh, and I’m not even allowed to take ibuprofen anymore (just Tylenol). I also can’t lift anything heavy, drink alcohol or eat unpasteurized cheese. I feel like at least some of these things could help dull the pain.

Yes, I know that we can switch out and do my upper thighs for this shot. But the thought of that creeps me out and then my legs AND my ass would hurt – double whammy. I asked the nurse why I was the only person on the planet doing injections when clearly suppository (while not pleasant, I’m assuming less cripplingly painful) is the way to go. She said that above any other method, the shots work the best. When the suppositories don’t work, they switch the patient to injections. So really I’m starting out with the mack daddy of Progesterone delivery methods and I should be grateful thankyouverymuch.

Assuming this will all be much easier to take once I get that BFP. Or I can stop if I get a BFN. Either way… Progesterone is a big jerk and I don’t like it.

In other news I have been in a TERRIBLE mood these past couple of days and that’s probably why I’m bitching so much. I hope that’s indication of crazy baby hormones working overtime but I’m just not convinced. My dear friend and coworker talked me off the ledge earlier so I’m doing much better now than I was a few hours ago. I just expected to feel something. All I feel is bitter and irritated and mad at Progesterone. Boo.

I post my blog on Facebook (and I don’t give a shit)

photo credit: the berry

photo credit: the berry

I recently rediscovered all the infertility blogs. I’m not really sure why I ever forgot they were there. Yesterday afternoon I was bored and had just done a little redesigning on this blog, so I decided to head over to Stirrup Queens and start searching around. One hour of reading turned into seven.

As much as I appreciate all the kind words and support of family and friends, there’s something about reading tales of other IF journies that gives me contentment. The world of IF blogs makes me feel… normal? Yeah, that’s it. Like I totally fit in.

I remember back when I had my old blog, I used to feel a little thrill of shock when I saw someone posting with their real name and picture on an IF blog. I thought to myself, “Wow. Ballsy.” But now I’m one of them and I take it one step further – I post that shit on Facebook. Yeah, that’s right, all 308 of my friends and frenemies and old high school classmates know my most intimate secrets. Why did I start doing this? Well, for one thing Burnt Toast started out as a blog about living with dogs and chickens, not about infertility. That one bomb-drop post was sort of unprecedented.

I’m starting to realize that I posted spoiler alert because I’ve been incredibly cocky since we got accepted into the clinical trial. I can tell you I’d never be writing about this and sharing it with everyone if we weren’t doing IVF. On my last blog there was a lot of complaining and not a lot of problem solving, whereas here I’m actually going down a road. It may not be a guarantee, but it’s a hell of a lot better than just sitting around whining.

That’s not a dis to anyone who remains anonymous by any means. Sometimes it feels a little weird knowing that anyone on my friend list may know when I’m ovulating. But I figure I give enough disclaimers and clicking on the links is a conscious choice, so if you know that about me, it’s your own fault for looking. It’s not like I’m putting “Ovulation day – YAY!” as my status. It’s basically a good way to keep everyone who cares up to date with what’s going on.

I also wasn’t prepared for any backlash. Again, I’m not sure why I think I’m immune to these simple things. And 99% of you have all been supportive, so thanks for that. I’m hesitant to say anything about that other 1%, so I’m just going to leave it at that for now.

I noticed that I’ve been making my posts like little stories with intros, middles, and hopeful little end phrases. I don’t know why I keep doing this. Blogging is kind of hard because nine times out of ten I hate what I write three days later. It sounds less cheesy when I’m writing it, and then I post it, and then I go back and it sounds all chipper and happy and fake. I think a part of me is trying to maintain this veneer of perfection for all those Facebook followers just so no one gets uncomfortable. And that’s why it’s really refreshing to go back to my anonymous IF sisters and see the nitty gritty, which makes me want to get back to speaking from the heart with the good, the bad and the very ugly. Going through IVF is harrowing. It’s messy, it’s weird, and I hate it while simultaneously being so grateful that I have the opportunity to do it. So there you have it. If you came here looking for sunshine and roses, I don’t have any. I’m terrified out of my friggen mind. And if I recently showed up on your blog with a random comment, I want to thank you for reminding me why we’re doing this.