burnt toast life

wimpy white boy & the tiny warrior princess

It’s been 84 years…

We are going to conveniently ignore the fact that it’s been exactly 1,018 days since my last blog post.

And somehow that felt appropriate because the topic of my last entry was how stressed I felt trying to work full time PLUS parent three kids full time. That’s all been going on for the entire 33 months I’ve been absent — and it shows.

Now I’m on a brief work sabbatical also known as maternity leave. That doesn’t mean I have time to dig in and start blogging again — if anything, I’m way busier than I was in August 2018, the time of my last update — but with so much going on, I felt like I had to get down some thoughts and provide a centralized place for people requesting updates on the babies. I can’t keep track of who I’m telling what.

And obviously, I want to look back in 1,000 days and remind myself how miserable I was because life will be much better then. Right? Right.

Welcome to our renovation nightmare

Ok so quick, quick update on the last 3 years: We considered moving but decided to stay after losing out on our dream house (7 offers in 48 hours) and realizing the housing market is totally out of control. That led to embarking on an agonizing, drama-filled, six-figure renovation that included multiple shady contractors, skyrocketing costs of materials amid the pandemic, broken appliances, and lots of other bad news every day. Nightmare isn’t even the word. It’s a never-ending horror show.

Six months later and it’s still not finished. However, we’re finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I could go on for pages about this saga but at the moment I’d rather be talking about my other big news. The moral of this story? (Most) contractors suck, renovations are expensive, and if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.

Suffice it to say we are never, ever moving and it will all be beautiful when it’s done, thanks to the literal blood, sweat, and tears that we (and when I say we I mean Eric) put into this project. And even though we spent wayyyyyyyy too much money on it, technically we still have equity and aren’t forced to overpay for a crappy house like so many other buyers right now. Small blessings.

No embryo left behind

The reason I’ve been very unhelpful in the construction department, besides my complete lack of manual labor skills, is that I’ve been pregnant the entire time.

After going back and forth and agonizing over the last two embryos for years, I finally decided the time had come. I got the go-ahead from my OB to implant two embryos at once (“But will my uterus literally explode if I’ve had 3 c-sections already? No? Are you sure?”) even as my RE Dr. L tried her damndest to talk me out of it.

“They could split and you could get triplets. You could get QUADS,” she warned.

However, I’ve said all along that we abide by a “no embryo left behind” philosophy. I also reasoned that these were the worst quality embryos of the group. There was a decent chance that only one would stick. Or none would stick! It was a $5,000 gamble I was willing to take, especially since it nicely coincided with a generous work bonus.

And then both embryos stuck. And then we had twins.

The pregnancy was both eventful and non-eventful. There weren’t any major concerns until the third trimester other than cholestasis, which was an itchy nightmare, and extreme discomfort for my 5’1 frame carrying two growing humans. My back ached, my feet swelled, and apparently, I had a short temper with everyone (in my recollection, this part is exaggerated, but all my family members agree that ‘Amanda while pregnant with twins’ is super bitchy).

It’s gonna be May

Everything was uncomfortably yet smoothly sailing along fine as we passed the 30 week mark. But then I started having some concerning growth scans that showed Baby A, the girl, was experiencing IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction).

We already knew I’d be delivering early because of all my risk factors — twins, IVF, repeat c-section, cholestasis, advanced maternal age, etc., etc. But all along I had the goal in my head of making it to 37 weeks. The twins were due 6/24 — the day after Molly’s birthday, how full circle is that? — and if I got to 37 weeks, I would at least be in the correct month for their due date. Meanwhile, my OB said to prepare for delivery between 34 and 35 weeks even before the scans. She’s clearly psychic in that regard.

Finally, baby girl started having issues with cord flow and the perinatal doctors insisted the babies had to arrive no later than 36 weeks. They started using terms like “stillbirth” and scared the crap out of me. I called my OB to get her opinion on when to schedule the surgery. That’s when I found out she was leaving for a humanitarian trip to Africa in mid-May. My last day to schedule the surgery with her was Monday, May 17 – when I would be exactly 34+4 weeks. It felt like a sign from God that it was the right day.

And so it was. Surgery went great, recovery was a bit rough but manageable, and the babies were super cute. Lucas Russell was 5 lbs 6 oz, which happens to be Molly’s exact birth weight at 40+4. He clearly would have been my biggest baby if we had let him cook longer. Meredith Jane was 3 lbs 3 oz. But then they got whisked off to the NICU and they’ve been there ever since.

Today is the 12th day without my newborns.

Welcome to the NICU; no one wants to be here

It’s a surreal feeling that’s inspired me to compose so many NICU-related posts in my head ever since our journey began.

I want to write, “The 1 Question You Should Never Ask a NICU Parent” (Spoiler: It’s “When do you think they’re coming home?” I know this question is very well-intentioned and is one I would have been asking before I knew how it felt to hear it. But the constant update of, “we don’t know, we don’t know, we don’t know” is so emotionally draining.)

I’m also considering one titled “10 Surprising Benefits of the NICU.” Having highly trained professionals caring for my babies while I recovered my old, tired, 37-year-old body from major abdominal surgery was pretty nice. During my hospital stay, I could go visit and hold them whenever I wanted, but when I wanted to go to my room and shower, rest, and watch HGTV for an hour without interruption, that was also an option. The real guilt and hardship didn’t begin until I left the hospital empty-handed.

Our adorable wimpy white boy

When we found out Lucas would be over 5 lbs and Meredith would be 3 lbs if she was lucky, a few people mentioned there was a chance he could come home with me while she would definitely be stuck in the NICU. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was Lucas not coming home, but he was actually faring worse than his teeny tiny sister. It’s all because of a phenomenon known as “wimpy white boy.”

So many people have said this phrase to me both in the hospital and at home. It refers to the fact that Caucasian males tend to fare worse in the NICU regardless of their size or gestational age. So even though Lucas looks like he’s fine, he’s actually doing terribly at handling life on the outside. He’s a wimpy white boy.

His main issue is bradycardia events (“bradys”) where his heart rate drops and he has to be roused by the nurses. He was having so many he had to be put on a CPAP machine for a couple of days. The doctors also put him on caffeine to help prevent them, and as long as he doesn’t have any bradys today he will be taken off caffeine by end of day.

But he still has to be brady-free for a 7-day stretch post-caffeine, or 5 days regardless. So if he has an event on Sunday, the clock resets and we have to hit that 5 day stretch. Little man has only managed to make it 2 days without having an event so far.

He’s also being lazy about eating, which is typical for a preemie (and a wimpy white boy). He had some reflux issues but those seem to be getting under control. I’ve been diligent on trying breastfeeding whenever I’m there for his care times, but he just kind of latches and stares at me, like “What do you want me to do with this thing?” Then he falls asleep.

However, he’s freaking adorable. All the nurses are in love with him. How could you not appreciate that handsome face?

Little lady is a fighter

And then there’s Meredith.

She has that NICU baby look with virtually no fat on her body and the tiniest little hiney I’ve ever seen in my life. It took some time for me to feel comfortable changing her diapers because I felt like I would break her legs by accident. She’s just soooo small and fragile looking. But looks can be deceiving. What Meredith lacks in size, she makes up for in determination.

Baby girl has never been on oxygen and never had a brady. The first time I put her to breast she latched on and went for 15 minutes solid (she hasn’t been able to replicate that since; I think she’s still recovering from the Herculean effort it must have taken).

The only reason she is still in the NICU is that there’s a 4 lb minimum to leave (that’s for car seats) and she’s still only 3 lbs 5 oz after losing weight post-delivery and then working like hell to gain it back.

She also needs to work on eating but has been doing decent with the bottle and breast. She’s also very, very cute even with that slight alien look.

Baby steps, literally

I have so many reasons to complain about being trapped in the NICU but just as many to be grateful. I love that it’s 10 minutes from my house. If these babies had been born prior to January 2020 I’d be commuting 30 minutes each way which would have made life so much harder. Plus, I’m in some twin mom groups where the moms mention their closest NICU is an hour or more away and they can only go every other day. I just can’t imagine.

The staff at St. Luke’s is wonderful; I love all the nurses. I love the new building with the private NICU rooms rather than just being in one giant area. If there’s anywhere to be stuck, it’s here.

But progress is slow and I’m impatient. It doesn’t help that my 3 big kids need me at home while my 2 small ones need me at the hospital. No matter where I am, I feel like I should be somewhere else and like I’m letting someone down. We won’t even discuss my husband who has been trapped in the basement working alone for weeks now while I try being everything to everyone. Even my lack of attention/help for him makes me feel endlessly guilty, guilty, guilty.

Nurse Proper

As much as I love all the NICU nurses, I inevitably have my favorites, especially the one who insists on posing the twins and doing newborn photo shoots every time I’m there.

For a while one of my least favorites was a nurse I nicknamed Nurse Proper because she had a very precise way about her. It’s hard to explain… she says “beneath” instead of “under” and just has an extremely formal, competent manner. Of course, this makes me feel like a total schlub in her presence and even though I’ve become adept at NICU care and protocol in the 2 weeks we’ve been there, I always seem to mess up when she’s around. I guess she brings it out in me.

After the fourth night shift in a row with her assigned to my babies, she changed my whole perception. It was 10PM and I was about to go home and finally get some sleep. As usual, the older kids had put themselves to bed (remember, Eric is still stuck in the basement, probably painting something) and I was wondering if they’d really brushed their teeth.

But then Nurse Proper pulled up a chair, looked me right in the eye, and said, “Hey. How are you? I mean, how are you?”

I gave the usual response of “Fine! Great! Surviving!!” And then she said, “I want you to know you don’t have to do this if it’s killing you; it’s OK to take a night off, or not come here twice one of these days. We aren’t going to judge you if that’s what you think. We know you have other kids and a life at home.”

Deep down I knew I was feeling this — the obligation to always show up twice, once for day shift and once for night shift. This is both for the twins and for optics because God forbid I become known as the mother who never visits her babies. I still haven’t gone a day without visiting twice but at least she acknowledged and knew how I was feeling more than anyone else. Maybe Nurse Proper isn’t so bad after all.

Hello, my name is Bessie

I was terrified of not producing enough milk for twins. Ha. Haha. HA! I cannot believe the amount I’ve been getting.

The nurses said the whole NICU fridge is nothing but my bottles and they’ve had to start freezing it. The twins started out on donor milk when they were first born but haven’t had to use it since their first three days of life. I am an absolute pumping machine and while it’s annoying, and feels bovine, at least this is one thing I know I’m doing for my babies that’s legitimately helping them grow and thrive.

I pump every 3 hours and typically get 8-9 ounces each time. That’s double what I used to get pumping at work for Molly and Liam when they were babies. I credit my diligence at sticking with the every 3 hour schedule (even in the middle of the night when the last thing I want to do is get out of bed) and my new Spectra breast pump, which makes my old Medela clunker look like a tool from the Stone Age. Plus I’m assuming my body knows it had twins and needs to produce twice as much to feed them.

I hope I can keep up supply once they come home. I could never be an exclusively pumping mom… it’s so much work without the reward I want, the bonding and the convenience of breastfeeding. These kids have got to get their latching skills down soon.

This too shall pass

I look back and laugh at how pissed I was when they wanted to keep Molly in the hospital two extra days after she was born. The horror! Obviously I overreacted at my extended stay. And even now, as stressful as being a NICU parent is, I am trying to maintain perspective.

The twins are premature but they are healthy. Plenty of parents wind up in the NICU because their babies have serious medical complications and must stay for months and months on end. My babies are just early and they need more time. Meanwhile, thanks to the state of the renovation, we need more time too. Their clothes are still in boxes, their bassinet is at my sister’s house, and their various accouterments are in the attic. In a couple weeks that should be a very different story.

The earliest they could possibly go home is 7 days from Lucas going off caffeine — one week from today. Incidentally, that’s about how long it should take Meredith to gain what she needs to gain. I’m thinking, realistically, they’ll be home in the early part of June and one day I can read this post and look back at what a small blip it was on our radar.

Hashtag blessed

Another thing I’m grateful for? Last night was the first time I even had to think about what was for dinner. So many friends and family members have been dropping off food and we’ve never eaten so well. I never had to worry about having a ride to the hospital even before I was cleared to drive; my mom and sister happily shuttled me back and forth no matter the hour and what else they had going on.

Others offered to take the big kids for playdates and distractions amid the chaos. We are surrounded by help and support constantly and for that, I cannot be more thankful.

My heart is torn in half right now. But every day is progress toward our goal: paint on the walls, babies in our home, and a relaxing summer.

Oh wait, just kidding, I’m going to have newborn twins. I don’t think “relaxing” will be part of my vocabulary for at least the next 20 years.

And that’s just how I like it.

It’s good to be back, friends. I can’t guarantee I’ll blog all the time (actually I can guarantee I WON’T blog all the time). But I can say I’ve missed this space a lot. Don’t be surprised for a random post here and there when all is calm on the home front. Thanks for still reading along one thousand days later.

mexico

mexico

My whole working life all I ever wanted was to go on a business trip. It always sounds so glam, so fun. Every job I’ve ever had promised “the opportunity for travel” and I always latched onto those words and waited with joyful expectation. But those trips never materialized.

I realize that most of the time business trips aren’t really exciting. People go to lame conferences in boring cities and pretend to pay attention. But then I got this job as a journalist (technically speaking) where I sometimes write about travel and a coworker/friend mentioned this magical thing called “press trips.”

Did you guys know about these? Because apparently, they’re a thing for bloggers too. A press trip is an all expenses paid trip to a resort or some other awesome locale that press members or photographers go on in exchange for coverage. And once you go on one, you get put into some secret database that allows you to get sent on others. I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be talking about it (?) but you can all google “press trip” easily enough and see they’re real things that people get to do. Lucky people, anyway.

I’ve gotten a few things from PR people thanks to my job — a box of free Tide comes to mind (that one was useful). But so far, no press trips. Until today, when my friend who told me about them in the first place offered to let me go in her place to a luxury resort in Mexico.

My first inclination was to scream yes. But then I remembered how I have three kids who all need me 24/7 and a husband who has never been left alone with the whole screaming, needy lot for longer than a few hours. Right.

I actually just missed out on a mom’s trip to the Jersey shore because of Madeline. Long story short, she’s a boob snob who has never taken a bottle and gags dramatically whenever you put one near her mouth. I tried to get her to take one, but I’ll admit I didn’t pull out all the stops to make her do it. After a few attempts and a lot of gagging, I gave up on the trip and forfeited my deposit. I’ll go next year, right?

But THIS. Especially Mexico! In 2007, I planned a trip to Riviera Maya with two of my best work friends. We went to the travel agent and then counted down for months in anticipation, emailing each other photos of margaritas and palm trees every long, excruciating work day. We were so freaking excited.

Finally, the day arrived. We packed our bags and stayed at my friend’s apartment in NYC to catch our flight out of La Guardia. Got to the check-in counter only to find — my passport expired. Dun dun duuuun…

So, I didn’t go to Mexico. At my insistence, they did. I called Eric (my ex at the time, but hey, I was depressed) to come pick me up and get me drunk, quick. We stopped at a hole in the wall bar and I did tequila shots until I was puking out the window of his Nissan Stanza while crawling through rush hour traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel.

It was not my finest moment.

That was not my time to go to Mexico. But the more I think about it, the more I see the sweet faces of my young kids, who say, “I missed you, Mommy,” when I’m only gone for an evening — I know I can’t go now either. Right? I can’t.

It’s funny, we live in a culture that’s so obsessed with self-care and women figuring out who they are separate from their kids and partners. But when I try to picture who I would be, who I could be, in Mexico with zero attachments and responsibilities (beyond work, of course), I’m coming up blank. Motherhood is so ingrained in every action of every day that I don’t even remember what it’s like to be alone. I’d miss them terribly. Though I don’t think I’d be too miserable at an adults-only, all-inclusive resort with room service. I mean, I highly doubt it.

Anyway, I’ve been bugging everyone for their opinions on this all damn day and I just finished my latest book (reading books is like 90% of the reason I don’t blog in my free time), so I figured I’d write about. What would YOU do? Just curious.

Some of you will say go and some will say don’t go but ultimately, I know I’m the one who must decide. My husband said he could handle the kids alone but I’ll be honest, he doesn’t seem keen on the idea. I know with certainty that he’d be 1,000% more excited about the prospect if I could bring a plus one. Not that I blame him — if he ever went to a resort without me, I’d be super pissed.

Which is part of the reason why I obviously have to turn it down and miss out on Mexico again. That’s definitely what I have to do.

…right?

 

here’s why she’s not getting any new toys for Christmas (seriously)

toy-2217280_1920

There’s something undeniably pathetic about the pile of worn, pre-loved presents that I set aside to wrap for Madeline. Do I not love my third child enough? the critical voice in my head demands.

I felt guilty about it for about five seconds. Then I move on.

I remember Molly’s first Christmas well. She was six months old and even though Eric and I promised that we wouldn’t go overboard because she didn’t need anything and wouldn’t know any better, we swiftly broke our own rule. Somewhere, in my iCloud, there’s a video of both of us excitedly ripping open the same presents we wrapped a few days before as a bewildered (yet adorable) infant gazes on. Predictably, she only wanted to play with the boxes.

This year I actually stuck to my word for several reasons. The first is a matter of practicality. Eric is a consultant who only gets paid for hours worked, which has never affected us before but has suddenly become a real and important detail of his job. Almost zero billable hours available in December has meant a round of layoffs (which he survived, thank God), several people quitting, and the two of us gritting our teeth and having to make a few tense phone calls to people like our mortgage company.

But don’t fret for us too much — this is all supposed to magically turn around in January (and if it doesn’t, he’ll have to look for some other sort of employment). Of course, when we’re literally counting pennies while grocery shopping, it doesn’t leave any wiggle room for extras like Christmas gifts. I was forced to rein it in this year.

The second reason is my desperate pursuit of minimalism, or as close to it as I can feasibly get with three kids. If you think about it, our financial crisis couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve gotten really good at limiting the number of new items coming into the house (see above, re: our income took a nosedive), but not so great at purging all the stuff I accumulated before my minimalist epiphany.

There is a medium-sized basket full of baby toys that I know Madeline will play with and enjoy. Since my firstborn was female, most of the toys are even pink and stereotypically girl-themed (a fact which never bothered infant aged Liam in the slightest). The only reason I’m putting forth the effort to wrap them is because of my 3-year-old, who will surely cry if her beloved baby sister doesn’t have any gifts from Santa (I can just imagine the conversation now: “Mommy, was she BAD? Does Santa think our baby is a BAD BABY?”)

As for the explanation over Madeline receiving pre-loved gifts, I’m still trying to figure out how I should explain it (and am open for suggestions if you have any). For now, I’m thinking I’ll tell her that Santa knew she would love Molly’s toys better than any new ones and so he stopped by, brought them to his workshop to polish them up, and brought them back all wrapped and ready. Or, Molly will be so enamored by her own presents that she won’t even notice.

The other two did get brand-new-purchased-from-the-store toys… but not very many. Ask Molly what she wants for Christmas and you’ll be rewarded with a list of three items that has not changed one bit since early November:

“For Christmas, I want Shimmer and Shine a big giant LOL Ball and Satin and Chenille.” Now imagine this said in one giant breath as if she’s being timed on it.

Shimmer and Shine are characters from a Nickelodeon cartoon that I’m almost certain she’s never seen. Satin and Chenille are from Trolls. A big giant LOL ball is a total ripoff and also one of the hottest toys of the Christmas season. It’s sold out everywhere and enterprising Ebayers are gleefully charging double what they paid. Obviously, I got her one (not from eBay).

She also has a couple other things I saw and purchased because the girl is so dang easy to shop for. Liam is the total opposite. He’s not really “into” anything yet, besides the show Beat Bugs on Netflix, so he got some appropriately-themed items. We also picked up a used Strider balance bike from my SIL as his big gift for the year. (Cost = free).

Eric and I agreed not to purchase anything for each other either. Overall, it’s going to be an extremely light Christmas, gift-wise. But I’m getting to be OK with that.

I’m trying so hard to be grateful every day for what I have. A friend of mine just shared a link about the horrible situation going on in Venezuela where children are literally starving to death thanks to a corrupt government. I read things like that, or articles about real poverty in our own country, and I can’t help but feel ridiculous for complaining that my kids won’t have mountains of presents on Christmas morning. Money may be tight, but for God’s sake we’re eating. I don’t go to bed at night wondering if my children will starve to death. I just cannot fathom.

So that’s my spiel, a.k.a. justification for skimping out on baby Madeline’s first Christmas. I can’t feel too bad for the kid since the only thing she’s interested in is boobies and, lately, examining her hands. It’s a fact: 4-month-old babies don’t care how many presents they get on Christmas morning.

Madeline, if you’re reading this in 20 years, know that mama loves you immensely. You might not have stacks on stacks of brand new presents, but you do have a pre-chewed Sophie the Giraffe.

And that is enough.

here in the state of bliss

It’s fairly chaotic going from two to three kids. Anyone who tells you differently is lying (or medicated, or blessed, or has older kids).

But it’s also amazing.

The thing about newborns is that they sleep a lot. At least mine does. She’s either eating or sleeping or pooping in her sleep (or pooping while eating). She’s awake for, let’s say, 10 minutes per day. The chaos comes from corraling the preschooler and the toddler, trying to keep the dogs from eating precious Shopkins that are strewn about (the eternal struggle), an endless cycle of meals and snacks, laundry, nursing, keeping a close eye on the newborn in her rock ‘n’ play because any day now she’s likely to be smothered in hugs (literally) by one or both older siblings. Did I mention dishes and laundry and cleaning? All of it. Chaos 90% of the time.

But… but. The sweetness is nearly unbearable. I gave Liam way too little credit when it came to adjusting to his new sister. I thought for sure he’d be annoyed at her presence; I figured he’d act out and push her away and generally treat her like some kind of intruder. But in fact, he loves her. He is enchanted by “Baybee!” and is concerned when she cries. This could very well change as she gets older and needier but at this moment, I could not ask for better adjustment from him. And of course Molly is enamored/obsessed/helpful as I knew she would be.

I suppose I owe you all a birth story for Madeline but I fear that a planned c-section simply isn’t as exciting as a surprise birth. We made it to the date we planned for – Friday, 8/25, 2 weeks ago today. We arrived at the hospital at 6AM for our 8AM surgery. I expected to be bumped in favor of emergency c-sections or other more pressing births since the end of summer is the start of “busy season” in the maternity wing. But instead of waiting, they were actually ready for me at 8 sharp. Unfortunately, I was not ready because once again it took 4 freaking people to get my IV in. Have I mentioned how shitty my veins are? I swear, I dread getting an IV more than the actual surgery. I was crying and shaking and had almost passed out by the time they finally got one in. Now two weeks later both forearms, hands, and wrists are still covered in ugly purple and yellow bruises from all the poking.

Meanwhile, the more serious cut is healing beautifully. It seriously seems like each c-section gets easier, or maybe it’s just that I know what to expect. More likely it’s that I don’t have time to be incapacitated with 3 kids to care for. Eric took a few days off work but even when he had to go back, the fact that he works from home has been an eternal blessing. He can be full-on working and still within shouting distance. Also it has proven invaluable for naptime errand running because I can just leave the house with one or two or zero kids and know that he can keep an ear peeled for the sleeping ones. It’s very convenient.

The only other big news from the birth was that I’m no longer allowed to go past 37 weeks. Apparently just like last time my uterus was super thin, but this time dangerously so. I mentioned that next time I wanted to put in two embryos and my OB/GYN said it really wasn’t a great idea. She said then she’d have to take me even earlier, and we’d likely be stuck in the NICU, with 3 kids at home… overall, just unwise. But when I asked her if I could safely have two more pregnancies she said she didn’t see why not. Five c-sections sounds excessive but if she says it’s OK and if my body continues to heal as well as it does, I guess it’s not the worst thing. The thought of being pregnant two more times is extremely exhausting but it’s also not something I need to think about right this minute. My baby is 2 weeks old. I can just chill for a minute.

As much as I fought the notion that I’d need to take time off work, I am glad I did. This week has been a little nuts with Molly starting preschool – which so far she LOVES. Me, I love being able to drop her off and pick her up, and love that I’ll be able to continue doing so even after I go back to work.

For some reason I recently clicked on that really old super secret blog I had years ago. I kept writing there for about a year before abandoning it and starting Burnt Toast. The last day I posted? August 25, 2011. I mean… how weird is that? If you would have told me then that on August 25, 2017 I’d be welcoming my third baby to our family I would have been so skeptical. I was thinking that the other morning when I had Madeline sleeping on my chest and the other two cradled in my right and left arms. I was immobilized because I was literally covered in children. And I realized that’s all I ever wanted to be, and there I was, living out my dream. It’s weird to feel so content in what I have… given the choice I’d definitely want more money, less debt, and thinner thighs. But overall I am totally happy with what I’ve been given and couldn’t ask for more.

And it’s funny too because I was reading some past posts where I talked about having a kind of pre-midlife crisis, wondering about the Point of It All and just generally feeling blah, but now six months later I feel completely different. Proof that the real problem was simple: I hated my job. Once that one thing changed, everything else felt a million times better.

A part of me feels guilty posting stuff like this because it feels kind of like bragging — oh look at me, everything is SOOOO perfect. Trust me, it’s not. Lots of mini dramas and crappy things going on currently, and even motherhood isn’t always the best time ever. I definitely yelled at Molly for not listening the other day. She went silent for a few minutes and when I looked over, she was just sitting there with huge eyes and silent tears streaming down her face. I said, “Oh my gosh, Molly, what’s wrong??” and she said, “You YELLED at me!” in the most accusatory voice. I guess she’s not used to being yelled at? It was so funny/sad. But also very telling. Even perfect angels like Molly aren’t always perfect. (Her latest thing is to question everything I tell her to do, and give long-winded explanations why she should be able to do it her way, so now my phrase of the moment is “Stop arguing with me!” which she often parrots back to Liam, who seems confused).

Anyway. I feel like I’m rambling and since the other two monkeys are sleeping, I’m neglecting this precious small amount of Mommy/Maddie cuddle time (because I’m usually too busy to just sit around holding her. This poor third child). I’ll leave you with some of my favorite photos from the hospital, which if you follow me on social media you’ve already seen, but oh well. I am obsessed with them and am currently planning a total photo wall redo just to incorporate them.

one of my favorites

one of my favorites

our beautiful Madeline Grace

our beautiful Madeline Grace

what did I do to deserve all of this? how can I possibly thank God for these precious gifts?

my gratitude for these blessings is infinite

work. life. balance.

I’ll open with a joke.

A good and God-fearing lady found herself in financial distress.
She decides to pray and says, “God, I need your help, please let me win the lottery.”

When she doesn’t win, she prays again the next week and says, “God, I really need the money, please oh please let me win the lottery.”

Once again, she doesn’t win, and once again she prays, “God, I have always served you faithfully, please tell me why you won’t let me win the lottery?”

Finally, God replies in exasperation, “Lady, help me out here and go buy yourself a ticket!”

That’s totally how I feel sometimes.

I want to trust in God’s plan for my life, but at the same time I know there is some expectation for me to make things happen. I can’t just sit around waiting for luck to befall me – I have to put in some effort. But also, perplexingly, I need to leave it all up to God.

It’s not easy figuring out where that line is.

This is all leading up to finally, finally discussing that huge problem I was having that is now somehow miraculously solved literally 2 weeks before it all exploded.

The problem was childcare – or rather, lack thereof. My sister can no longer care for my children post-June. I half-heartedly researched daycares many months ago and then decided that the absolute only solution to my problem was that I needed to figure out a way to work from home.

There’s really no reason that I CAN’T work from home. I’m a writer, and 95% of my workday is spent in solitude. As weeks passed, I became more and more resentful that I wasn’t working from home, and that other writers were working from home while I commuted 45 minutes each way to do work that I could just as easily accomplish from my living room.

That’s not to say I asked my current employer if it was an option – for some reason there’s a stigma associated with the practice, and I just got this vibe that it wouldn’t be well-received, even though it was just that – an assumption. Instead, I became obsessed with finding a new job that was remote-based. I suppose if I hadn’t successfully done that, I would have swallowed my pride and had the conversation, though I doubt they would have allowed me to do it five days per week. My current boss telecommutes three days, and I would say that’s their limit. Even that is better than being in the office full-time.

All along I was freelancing for a remote company and months ago I had interviewed for a full-time position with them. I thought that was my ace in the hole – but alas, I didn’t get the job. I got switched to a new team in that company and was busily submitting articles (part of the reason I never blog, because working full time + mom of two + freelancing = zero free time) and hoping another opportunity would present itself.

Weeks went by and my editor let me know that a part-time position on her team was opening up if I was interested. I gave an enthusiastic yes! Then… the waiting started. Each week brought another delay of figuring out details… checking with someone… the hiring process is just longgg and sloooow which of course is standard and not their fault but remember I had a deadline, so… I was in a panic. It got to the point where I’d keep my email tab open all day at work and check it the SECOND a new email came in. I can’t tell you how many times I cursed out Shutterfly for getting my hopes up for absolutely no reason. My stomach was in knots for two solid months.

I kept praying and asking God for the work from home thing to work out. I lined up my little sister Allie as a potential au pair for the summer, too. I figured if I could just get someone to tend to the kids while I worked, it would all be fine. Allie just turned 12… young enough that I don’t feel comfortable leaving her with just Eric (who works from home full time but is often stuck on long conference calls and holed up in the office unavailable) and the kids, but old enough that I know she could be enough help to keep the kiddos occupied while I got some serious writing done.

After many, many weeks and days of having a panic attack every time I got an email, I received word – I was hired part time to work from home! Amazing.

The next hurdle was telling my current employer AND convincing them to let me stay on freelance (since I still need to maintain the same salary, or as close as I can get). Luckily, they agreed to it immediately. Beginning June 5th I will be working part-time for the new company, freelancing for my current company, and at home 100% of the time.

Yay!

As excited as I am, I’m a little nervous about how it will all work out. I have never done anything like this and will need to keep track of billing my freelance customers, keep track of all my hours for the part time role, and really just stay on top of things. Plus, I’m worried the work will dry up. I’ve always enjoyed the security of working full time and not worrying about that. Then again… no job is guaranteed, as I found out the hard way last November when I got laid off.

I’m very excited to be home more with the kids. I won’t be wasting so many hours sitting in traffic, or so much money on gas. I think it will be busy, and hectic, but I am totally romanticizing how nice it will be to be able to preheat the oven for dinner at 4:30 rather than not even stumbling in the door until 6 (by which point Liam is screaming hungry with no concept of “raw chicken must cook”). Or how about how I can throw in a load of towels at 12 noon on a Wednesday? My world is opening up. Domestic goddesshood, here I come. (HA. HA!)

I’m not naive though… Eric’s biggest complaint about working from home is that he’s always at work. If a client emails or calls him at 7PM, he’s expected to answer, and there’s no leaving work at work when your work is at your house. But I figure it’s a fair tradeoff. Also, my job is less stressful than his. I actually enjoy the articles I’ll be writing for this part time gig – they’re fun and not incredibly difficult to write.

Also, I do need to figure out a long-term solution for when Allie goes back to school in the fall – and I will have three kids, not two. But at least by then I will have figured out a rhythm to the work and will have a better idea what hours need to be covered. For now, I’m trying not to think about it. I’m just grateful it worked out with not a day to spare. (Literally – my sister wanted her last day to be June 6th, and I’m starting this job June 5th. That is an incredible coincidence).

New theme song: We can work from home… wo-ah, wo-ah.

….even though that song is DEFINITELY not about working.

minimalism on my mind

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This post has been ruminating in my head for so long that it actually feels silly to write about it now. It seems like old news.

As I’m prone to do, I caught on to the “new” trend towards minimalism a full five years after everyone else. OK, not quite, but basically.

A few things happened that made me move from “minimalism sounds sort of interesting” to “yes, I’m going to pursue this.”

  • I started following blogs and watching Netflix documentaries on the topic. Turns out it’s fairly addictive. The irony is now that I have so many thoughts churning, it’s actually stressing me out, which I realize is HIGHLY ironic because the whole movement is supposed to make you feel more calm and peaceful.
  • My makeup collection includes eyeshadow from ten years ago. Seriously. I don’t wear it (ew), but I hold onto it because hey, maybe my 6 months pregnant 30-something-year-old self WILL need bacterially questionable jet black eyeshadow for a night on the town one day soon. Also, it was expensive.
  • I just keep thinking of a funny story about my mother-in-law. For a really long time she had this gigantic collection of cookie tins lining a wall in her dining room, stacked up to the ceiling. She took them all down a few years ago when the room was being repainted and she had every intention of putting them back up but never did. Once they were down she saw it looked way better without them.

I feel like I have a similar relationship with my “stuff” – it’s there now and I’m used to it, but if I could just bring myself to box it all up and see how the room looked without it, I know I’d like it better.

  • Sometimes I get super jealous of my friends’ kids’ toy collections. I mean, some are truly staggering. Wall to wall bins of every imaginable plaything… kitchens with all the handcrafted wooden play food, bins upon bins of Barbies and action figures, train tracks and train tables and Legos, costume closets with adorable mini dresses and shoes, garages packed with scooters, basketball hoops, and Power Wheels, you name it. It makes my own collection feel truly inadequate.

But then I watch my kids playing. The other night they occupied themselves for several hours with some old birthday party decorations they found in a cabinet. Molly took a plain piece of string and invented a whole backstory and life of fun for her “snake” while Liam walked around gleefully with one of those colorful weights you use to hold down balloons. Meanwhile, I know for a fact that some of the friends who have mountains of toys have a hard time getting their kids to put down their iPads. So…

It all fits in nicely with some new research I’ve seen about preschools and kindergartens taking away toys for periods of time to force kids to use their imaginations again. Sure, it sounds extreme… but is it?

My kids definitely have toys and now that I’m reading all this stuff, apparently too many toys, but I think the point is that they play with what they have and the only person who sees what they have as inadequate is me. Then again, I might just be adopting this mentality because I’m too cheap/poor to compete with the mega toy moms. Minimalism is the trendier and cheaper option.

  • One of my big holdups was always my husband, a collector. He likes to be surrounded by souvenirs and has a collection of graphic t-shirts large enough that he could avoid doing laundry for at least 3 months and never wear the same one twice. I knew he wouldn’t see the appeal of minimalizing with me, so I figured doing our house half-assed wasn’t worth doing at all.

But then one day this month without warning, he totally gutted his closet and made it into a minimalist’s dream. Space between hangers! Nothing extra at all! Oh AND he got his pile of crap off the dresser so now when I look with disdain at all the trinkets still left there, I only have myself to blame. Apparently, he is on board – at least for certain things. Who knew?

seriously, you should have seen it before

I grew up in a collector’s house. I won’t use the “H” word (ahem…hoarder), but let’s just say my parents don’t get rid of A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G and they buy A LOT of stuff.

This was really nice growing up because I was very spoiled and whenever you see those lists of toys that will make you nostalgic for your childhood, it’s guaranteed I will have owned 85-90% of them AND even better, could probably still find them with a few hours of digging in my parents’ basement.

True story: I wanted to take my old Dream Phone game on vacation last summer and wouldn’t you know, my mom totally found it in her basement. So you can see that the saving tendencies come in handy when a group of 30-somethings want to drink wine and relive their girlhood.

Despite genetics, I’ve always been more inclined to want less stuff/clutter and have been frantically picturing all the places where de-cluttering needs to happen in my house. I know what needs to get done – mentally, I’m there. But time wise I’m strapped. Besides working full-time during the day and being a mom from dinnertime to bedtime, the weekends are packed full and I never want to start a project I can’t finish or feel rushed doing it.

And I realize now that part of minimalism is actually finding more time in the day and clearing your calendar of all distractions… but it’s hard. All the things I’m doing are pretty fun and I’m sorry not sorry that I’ll never be willing to skip a birthday party so I can clean out my linen closet, no matter how badly I need to get rid of old towels.

As I’ve been cryptically hinting for months, I’m still working towards a solution that would give me more time to be at home and less time spent on the daily grind. Unfortunately, I’m no closer to solving that particular problem, though I know once I do I can fit more minimalist pursuits into my life.

I have tons more to say on the topic and I do want to document my “journey” once I finally get it the hell started, so who knows, maybe this will turn into a blog about going minimal. I’m sure that’s more riveting than long rambling posts about what my kids have been up to – or worse – not posting at all because I can’t figure out what to say.

I’ll never be that super awesome Insta photo with white walls and bare floors because, hello, this is real life. That level is beyond me. But I am working really hard on caring less about the stuff I don’t have and appreciating the stuff I do have. It all boils down to the fact that the stuff will never fill the void – only love can do that.

How about you? Are y’all a bunch of minimalists, or have I secretly-not-so-secretly envied your toy collections?

 

 

A girl went in for a routine medical procedure. One week later? You won’t BELIEVE what happened next.

Sorry not sorry for the headline. I am so horrified yet fascinated by clickbait that I had to try it out for myself.

You may be wondering how this morning went.

I had a dream I was taking a pregnancy test. As I always do, I peed, then set the test next to me on the sink face down until I was mentally ready to face the results. That moment stretched on and on. Finally, I stood, and just as I was about to turn it over…

My alarm went off.

Then I remembered I got to do it for real, today.

So I went through all that same steps in actual life, only this time I stood at the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I was shaky and nervous. I want this, I don’t want this. I do want this. Of course I want this.

I flipped the test over.

It was positive.

That’s right, we are four for four on embryo transfers, though to be fair only 5 of the 6 embryos we attempted to implant stuck. I’m so glad to report that lucky number six was one of the sticky ones.

Today was significant because I looked back over my timeline and realized that I always do the HPT on 6dp5dt. (For the non-infertility vets: that’s home pregnancy test on six days past five day transfer). So I knew I had to take the test today for luck or superstition or just because I was sick of waiting.

I have a blood test Thursday, but then I’m not sure what happens after that because I assume the office is closed on Christmas Eve, so I won’t get to know about doubling betas and all that good stuff. We’ve been faithfully doing the injections but my progesterone levels were low last week so I had to increase my dosage from 1mL to 1.5mL daily. As far as symptoms… same as last time. Some cramping/tugging/pulling sensations all weekend that could have been the literal feeling of implantation or my overactive imagination. Interestingly, I’ve been getting up in the middle of the night to pee these past few nights, which is something I never do unless I’m pregnant or hungover. Again, could be my subconscious waking me up, or the anxiety over what the answer would be.

I’ve spent the last few days doing fun things like Googling pregnancy complications from multiple c-sections, and queries such as “How many c-sections are you allowed to have, anyway?” (As one woman on a message board enthusiastically reported, the answer is 9 or more, at least for her, which made me cringe). I’m not too thrilled about having another but I don’t have a choice in the matter. Also, funny how I’m worrying about this when I’m only about 5 minutes pregnant. Anything could happen between now and then, even if I have been avoiding gluten so well.

I became obsessed with the idea of the embryo implanting in the c-section scar, which is a very scary thing that can happen but doesn’t happen often. Not that there’s anything I can do to prevent it anyway, and worrying gets me nowhere. Still, I worry. And lately it’s been worry over the very real problem of my kids needing their mother and what if I die and on and on… you should get inside my head sometimes. It’s quite a place.

Next up… I don’t even know. Blood test I guess, then go from there. Eric was not at all surprised I was pregnant but I kind of was. We are due for a negative and I figured this one would be it. (Not that it works like that. Obviously).

You know the drill… prayers are appreciated as we wait and hope for this little one to burrow deep and grow. I will do my very best to keep you posted on happenings. If all goes well, by the end of August 2017 we will have three kids under 4. Phew.

I hope you all have a beautiful Christmas!

I’m pregnant. AHHHHHH!

round four review

Maybe I just have a lot of significant dates in my life, but it’s oddly creepy how they keep aligning with current life events.

I woke up this morning to the sad reminder that today is the four year anniversary of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting. I will always remember that date because it happened on the exact same day that Eric and I began our IVF journey at New Hope. I remember sitting in the waiting room watching the news coverage, feeling helpless and awful and terribly self-absorbed to be worrying so much about my own problems.

Of course, I didn’t remember that today was the anniversary, or that the embryo transfer was happening so close to that date. Yesterday I went in to work normal time, left the office around 10:45, had the procedure, laid flat on my back for one hour, got up, got dressed, and was back at my desk by 1:30. I made the joke to some friends that I was probably – but not definitely – the only person in the building using her lunch break to get pregnant. And then, yes, I joined my coworkers for after-work drinks because why the hell not. Did I partake in a glass of red wine? Maybe. (Yes).

So I’m PUPO. That’s always been one of my favorite acronyms. Dr. L said the embryo thawed perfectly and looked to be of really good quality, so that’s a relief. I’m staggering around from the soreness of the PIO injections…it’s been a few years, I forgot how much those buggers hurt! But it’s all worth it in the end of course. If I can restrain myself, I’m going to wait to test until Tuesday morning. I went back through my timeline to see when I got BFPs with the other 3, and it looks like one week post transfer. I can live with that.

Part of me is optimistic over the fact that so far I’m 3 for 3 on FETs, while another part is nagging that I can’t possibly have a 100% success rate and I’m due for a failure one of these times. At least I know I did everything I possibly could. I gave up gluten two weeks ago and stayed strong, even as the delicious appetizers at happy hour were being waved under my nose.

On the job front, some news: I got one! I actually had two offers, which was exhilarating and honestly a bit of an ego boost. I have never been a great advocate for myself and suck at negotiating, so having those two offers really helped boost my confidence and gave me the courage to ask for what I want. I am really excited about this new role (I start on 1/3) and hope they won’t be too pissed if I’m pregnant. All of the people I talked to seem really nice and accommodating, so I’m betting on they won’t mind too much.

Not too much else going on! I mean, new job and potential pregnancy, plus Christmas craziness is enough excitement for one month, I suppose. The kids are great, we went to see Santa last week and Molly was obsessed with him. She told him what she wants (an Elsa and Anna doll) which is thankfully the same thing she’s been asking for consistently for the past two months, and I have it on good authority that the exact dolls she asked for will land under our tree on Christmas Eve. Liam was terrified of Mr. Claus but I loved every minute of it. The crying Santa photos are always my favorite.

This was the Awesome Santa I mentioned before, where the spots sold out in 3 seconds and we got put on a wait list. I hate to admit it, but he was well worth the hype. The best Santa I’ve ever seen and great with the kids. I’m in love with our photos.

All right, I’ll be back in a week with a pee stick pic! Gross, right?

In the meantime, some Santa photos for those of you who don’t follow me on social media:

best of friends

best of friends

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santa-016

santa-031

santa-034

the good with the bad

This is a hard post to write, literally and figuratively.

So much has happened over the past few weeks that I feel exhausted just thinking about getting it all out of my brain and onto my blog. Big things – both good and bad – are going on right now, and the longer I wait, the more that happens. So I’m just going to dive right in and finally update this thing with the news of right now.

The first big (bad) thing that happened is that I lost my job. I know… it’s truly awful! You’ll remember that I’m working at my dream company, a place that I actively targeted for five years before finally breaching the seemingly impenetrable walls of the fortress.

This comes as no surprise, however. I started at Rodale as part of the e-commerce team, retail being a new endeavor that they were hoping to grow but which sadly had to be pared down and restructured for a multitude of reasons I won’t bore you with here. Long story short, almost my entire team got laid off (except for 3 survivors who now face the daunting task of doing the work of 12 people), so you know, nothing personal. I’ve never lost a job before so this whole experience has been very enlightening.

One nice thing is that the company gave us six week’s notice, and I am still employed until 12/30. Coming in to work the day after the big announcement was definitely awkward, but as days passed we all just got used to it. It’s not uncommon now to pass by a coworker’s screen and see a draft of her resume blatantly displayed, or overhear conversations about job interviews and LinkedIn connections. It’s all at once funny, sad, and weird.

Mostly I’ll miss the people I’ve been working with every day for the last two years. I always miss the people most of all! We have such a great group of ladies who are all so talented, and while I’d love to believe we’ll stay in touch, the reality is that it’s unlikely. It’s scenarios like this that force me to admit how useful social media can be.

Anyway, I’m remaining surprisingly upbeat despite this setback. Maybe it’s naiveté and maybe it’s just optimism, but something in me is convinced I won’t remain unemployed for long. I had one interview yesterday and have another Monday (for an internal role), and I have a couple other prospects I’m waiting to hear from. I truly believe something will work out for me.

As for the other thing… the baby thing… no, I’m not putting that on hold, even though I probably should. For one thing, I’m about to lose my infertility coverage (unless I get that internal gig) and for another, I’m not going to start planning my life around work. I like working, but I’m never going to be a ladder-climbing career gal, if you know what I mean. Motherhood comes first, work second. I have no idea how this will all play out and I learned long ago that my best-laid plans can all be dashed in an instant. So… it may be crazy… but the transfer is still happening this month.

Part of me is thinking it’s dumb to be posting this on a public personal blog. But again – whatever! If a potential employer somehow sees this and decides not to hire me based on my desire to have more children, then I’m glad to know that up front. Because my intention is to have more kids and there’s no company in existence that would change my mind on that.

I just started my daily Estradiol and my PIO shots are in the mail and should arrive today – yay. I’m picking up the cryo tank from my new fertility clinic Thursday night and heading into Manhattan (with a good friend chauffeuring) early Friday AM. One nice thing about being laid off is that things have become super lax as far as hours are concerned, and literally no one cares about me leaving early or coming in late (hours before were super flexible – now it’s a total free-for-all). I’m very nervous about this whole ‘picking up the embryos’ thing going smoothly. The new clinic required 12 pages of legalese signed, initialed, and witnessed just for me to think about bringing the embryos in the door. Checking them out from NYC only requires a one page form, but it does need to be notorized (to-do list addition: find a notary). I’ve been going nuts trying to coordinate and plan all the bits and pieces of this event, from forms to weekly monitoring appointments and everything in between. I will definitely feel a lot more relaxed on Friday afternoon when embryos are safely where they need to be at the new clinic. I’ll feel even more relaxed mid-month when one of those embryos is all the way where it needs to be – a.k.a., my uterus.

What else? Oh no big deal, it’s December and I haven’t started Christmas shopping, plus did I mention I’m unemployed? We have something going on every night this week, I’m supposed to be relaxing and mentally preparing for this embryo transfer, ALSO I’m frantically job hunting, and we need to put up and decorate the tree, and take Christmas photos, and mail out cards, and continue with the little details of daily life… ahhh! It’s enough to drive any sane person absolutely bananas.

And as if that wasn’t enough, we had a birthday brunch for Liam last Sunday on the day of his first birthday (which I had to plan, shop for, cook for, and clean for). Yes, my son is ONE! What! The party was just for immediate family, but even then the guest list included 15 adults and 13 children who all crammed into my tiny house. It was crowded, noisy, and lovely, and Liam definitely enjoyed himself and smashed his cake in his own good time (5 minutes after everyone stopped taking videos and wandered out of the kitchen).

He’s been getting much better at walking and can do the mummy-esque shuffle across the length of a room. He falls a lot, but gets right back up, and you should see how proud he is of himself. I can’t believe how big he’s getting. I can’t believe how much I’ve forgotten to write down. Oh, the poor, neglected second child.

That’s really it for now. If you could all say a few prayers for me I would truly appreciate it – that the embryo moving day goes smoothly, that the embryo transfer works (looking like right around 12/13 or 12/14, and hopefully I’ll post again before then but with my track record I’m not making any promises), that I find a job, that I find space to relax and breathe, and that I don’t lose my ever-loving mind in the meantime. Thanks, friends.

Here are some party pics of my big man:

he kept the hat on for approx 4 seconds

he kept the hat on for approx 4 seconds

he knows how old he is

he knows how old he is

yay - cake!

yay – cake!

cake = smashed

cake = smashed

need a ride?

need a ride?

three on the move

Hi there.

I’ve been a mess lately trying to work out the logistics of a big situation. It’s still not completely figured out but we’re getting there. I’ve been waiting to share until I was sure it would work out, and even though I’m still not 100% positive, I am fairly confident now that it will happen. Very soon.

I’ve mentioned many times now that no embryos are getting left behind and that we are planning to implant all three of the remaining little frosties at some point. Well…the time has come.

There are several time-related and financial reasons for the rush. First, don’t laugh, but I’m feeling old. As of four days ago I’m 32 and a half which of course is not old, but is kind of old when you’re facing the prospect of three more pregnancies. (Or two more… that’s a whole other issue). Especially considering that every one of those deliveries will be a scheduled c-section, which will be harder and harder to recover from as I get older.

Financially, the time had to be now because of boring insurance reasons. Thanks in large part to Eric’s multiple ER visits in April, we managed to meet our gigantic deductible for 2016. I know, who would have thought? Because we accomplished this feat, all future medical visits and procedures for this year are covered at 90%, and now that we have coverage for ART despite it not being state-mandated (HALLELUJAH), the embryo transfer has become – dare I say – affordable.

Of course, as of January 1st our enchanted carriage turns back into a pumpkin and we’ll need to meet that big scary deductible all over again before we can enjoy that awesome 90/10 coverage. So even though mentally I’d feel better about doing the transfer in 6 months, truly, what’s the difference? December, June, who cares? Going from two kids to three kids is going to be a giant change no matter what. If we wait until we’re truly ready we’ll never do it. At this moment, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and I’d much rather take advantage of all the money I’ve paid into insurance so far this year.

We had our consult last week with the new/old RE. She’s the one who originally diagnosed our infertility issues in 2011. We went to her for all our initial testing and then promptly did nothing about our crappy diagnosis because we didn’t have the money or the coverage. It was pretty funny giving her updates on our situation at our most recent appointment. Five years later things couldn’t be more different.

Considering the fact that New Hope is two hours away, it was an easy decision to leave them. Also, they are not an in-network provider with our insurance, so meeting our deductible for the year would mean diddly squat in terms of out-of-pocket expense. Interestingly, and I believe I’ve mentioned this in a prior post, doing the transfer at New Hope is about half the price as doing it at the local clinic. Yes, bizarre! But yes, I also don’t care, because again I’m only paying 10%. So whatever.

As Dr. L was going over my history she had some matter-of-fact observations, as I knew she would. First she asked that I manage my expectations. “There is very little chance of you bringing home three babies from these remaining three embryos,” she cautioned. She reiterated what I already knew – that these were the worst quality of the bunch. Of course I realized their likelihood of sticking was much less than the first five we tried. She was also alarmed by my history of repeat pregnancy loss and asked if I’d be able to handle another miscarriage. “I’ll handle it. I’ve handled it,” I said, but her words really got me thinking.

I’ve not yet experienced a miscarriage since having my babies and I wonder what the difference would be (if any). I know I would be incredibly sad regardless, but I do think it would be a different kind of sad. When I lost the twins and the next pregnancy I was mourning their loss, obviously, but beyond that I was mourning the potential of never getting to be a mother. I had no consolation in the form of living children because I had no living children. Now, I won’t be mourning both things, because no matter what happens I am a mom and no future miscarriage will change that. It makes the prospect significantly less scary. I hope I’m not making is sound like miscarriage would be totally fine and easy. I would still be an absolute wreck; I know I would. But I also feel like these past three years have given me so much perspective and I do think I’d handle it better. Even though I think I handled it pretty damn well the first two times around, considering.

Sorry, tangent. Back to the topic at hand. We went in for our little discussion, yada yada, and Dr. L wasn’t even that surprised when I mentioned the whole ‘let’s get this in by the end of the year, insurance, deductible, etc.’ song and dance. Apparently we’re not the only ones trying to get the most bang for our buck from insurance companies. I had a quick U/S on the spot to check my ute and c-section scar (man, was it weird to be back in that chair again) and was sent off with instructions to come back in a week for a lining check. The plan is to go forward with my next cycle – the last possible one of the year – which would make the transfer date sometime in mid-December. Cue the cautiously enthusiastic music here.

The next big hurdle lies in transporting the embryos from Manhattan to Pennsylvania. I have three frustrating options for this:

Option 1 – Rent a tank from the PA clinic. Pick up the tank in PA, drive to NYC, drive back to PA, drop off embryos + return tank. Tank rental cost: $300 + $1,000 credit card hold that would be refunded with the tanks safe return (are people seriously stealing these things?)
Option 2 – Rent a tank from the NYC clinic. Drive to NYC, pick up the tank & embryos, drive to PA, drop off embryos. Drive back to NYC within 1 day to return the tank. Drive back to PA. Tank rental cost: $100
Option 3 – Pay to have them safely and securely shipped. Shipping cost: $750

Ok, that last one is obviously off the table. I’d be a nervous wreck the whole time and the cost is insane.

Do you see my dilemma, though? Eric said I need to weigh the cost of making the trip back and forth four times vs. paying triple the price for the tank rental – for example, with Option 2 I’d be paying for gas, paying for parking, and paying to go through the Lincoln Tunnel multiple times which was like $12 last time I did it. It’s a big pain in the butt. But $100 vs. $300 rental fee? Come on…

I also need to figure out if I’m driving myself or taking the bus. I know it sounds completely effing insane to be riding a public bus with my embryos in a cooler tank but truly, isn’t the situation just as bizarre no matter how I do it? The alternative is, what, strapping the cooler (and yes I am literally picturing a Coleman camping cooler right now) into Molly’s carseat and driving down the highway? Either way… it’s weird. Totally weird.

The bus sounds pleasant because 1) I wouldn’t have to drive and 2) I wouldn’t have to park. Also, have you ever driven in Manhattan? It’s terrible. I’d much rather zone out with a book, Coleman cooler + embryos safe by my side on a comfortable luxury bus than white knuckle my minivan through midtown traffic and pray a cabbie doesn’t hit me.

So that’s where I am right now – trying to figure out how to get those little embryos from point A to point B. Once they are back in PA I’ll be much happier because the cost of storage will drop from $100/month to $60/month, and then once they’re moved to long-term storage that will further reduce to $40/month. No more paying exorbitant Manhattan rent, hooray!

As we cautiously approach a December FET, we’re managing expectations (haha, not really) and hoping for miracles. If all goes to plan, I’ll be able to test the week of Christmas.

What an amazing gift a double line would be to end this crazy year.