Park Slope Promised Land

Little Bit of This, Little Bit of That; or, 4 Months!

2012-02-10T08:21:00.000-08:00

I hate to write a quick bullet-point post, but life has been hectic of late and I'm afraid that's all I can squeeze in right now. So here goes!

My Sweet Smudgie is four months old now. He is incredible: full of smiles and wiggles, so alert and eager to explore the world around him (especially if the piece of said world can be jammed in his drooly little mouth).

He's a wee little peanut, only 12 lbs 1 oz and 24 inches long. Definitely going to be long and lean like his papa. He had his four month shots earlier this week and was a total champ about them-- not even 30 seconds worth of crying and then he was back to flashing his huge, flirty grin at the nurse (this kid's a hit with the ladies, let me tell you). That night he was very drowsy and had some sad moments of crying, but overall he was great.

Twice a week, Smudgie is with our nanny and another little boy (who's just under two months old [ed. no, I mean two YEARS old!]). And Twice a week I criss-cross NYC: teaching a class in one borough, auditing a class with my advisor in another, fitting in a yoga class or a therapy session or errands or doctor's appointments in between. The days are so full that I don't have time to miss Smudgie too much until I see him again at night and my heart explodes. Then we only have a half hour to spend together before he goes to sleep, and I hold him close and nurse him and read to him and feel extr-super grateful that we get to spend the whole next day together.

It took some diligent effort on my part, but Smudgie is a total hero at napping in his crib. Starting at about three months, I made sure to put him down in there for at least one of his naps every day and to do whatever it took (rocking, shushing, patting, stroking, covering his face with a burp cloth--while I stood directly next to him the entire time, of course) to get him to fall asleep. If he only slept for 20 minutes, I still counted it a success so I wouldn't get discouraged and give up in desperation. I wanted him to learn to associate day-time sleep with the crib before I went back to teaching. And now, four weeks later, it's working really well! Smudgie takes three naps a day and I try very hard to make sure the first two (which are both 1 hour+) are in his crib. That gives me time to get some reading or lesson-planning or chores--or blogging--done.

Also right around 3 months we started cloth diapering him. I had bought all the diapers on sale over the summer while I was pregnant but wanted to wait until he was close to 10 pounds before using them. And then I just felt nervous about making the transition. But it only took a few days of trial and error to get the hang of it, and now it's going great! We still use sposies at night and when he's with his nanny, but the other five days of the week we are exclusively cloth. His tush looks so chubby and adorable in them, they are easy to put on and change, they don't blow-out as much as the sposies, and they are so soft and comfy. I kind of wish my undies were that delicious feeling. I also installed a diaper sprayer to our toilet water supply all by myself (with an assist from YouTube). See, motherhood does develop new skill sets!

The first day that we transitioned him he got very upset during diaper changes. He doesn't love new sensations, so I think he was just trying to process it. But the next day (and ever since) he's been fine. Our favorite of his dipes are his bumgeniuses--they are SO absorbent and fit like a dream despite being adjustable up to 35 pounds. When we have another baby, I will definitely jump into the cloth diapering faster now that I've seen how manageable it is.

Not much else is going on. Life is full of reading and writing and teaching and playing and doing laundry and pumping breastmilk and cuddling my perfect little one. I have truly never been this busy or this happy. I hope I can hold onto this feeling of deep contentment all my life--I know things will get harder (and easier!) at various points, but I want never to forget how blessed I feel right now.

And finally, what you've all been waiting for...Smudgie pic!

Mid-Month Mish Mosh; or, Names and other Items

2012-01-21T09:32:00.000-08:00

I haven't shared Smudgie's name in this space out of respect for his privacy (and also for my anonymity-- I've met a ton of new moms in this neighborhood in the last few months and I'm the only one who has a baby with this name), so I thought I would share a few of his nicknames.

While I do occasionally still call him Smudgie, it's rare and infrequent. Most of the time, Lawyer Guy and I call him Buddy or some variation of that (Buddy Boy, Buddy Bear, Bud, Budda). Despite being a skinny little fellow, he's got some adorable leg chub, so to encourage his further weight gain I call him Chunky Monkey, Chunka-Monk, Chunky Chicken, and just plain Chunka. When he was going through his bad reflux phase we'd call him The Spit-Up King of Chicago. When he's a happy boy in the morning he's Smiles Davis and when he's soiling a bib in an hour he's Drools Verne.

At (almost) 16 weeks Smudgie can lift himself up with his arms during tummy time and can sometimes flip himself onto his back. He smiles and chats with his guys on his activity mat and mobile and beams at the monkey clock over his dressing table. He loves when LG plays games with him, loves when I bicycle his legs, and is maybe starting to notice Bella. He holds onto rattles and toys when we place them in his hands and is quite good at ripping the pacifier out of his mouth-- and once he even got it back in!

We're working on his naps-- he takes at least one in the crib every day, even though he needs a lot of soothing and rocking to get him down. His nighttime sleeping is okay--not awful, not great. He averages an early stretch of 6-8 hours and then a 4-hour stretch between night feedings. No sleep training yet for us-- he's so little I want him to get as much nourishment throughout the day as possible. Plus, my SIDS fears are somewhat allayed by his middle-of-the-night wakings.

Next week we start transitioning him into our nanny share and the following week I go back into the classroom. He'll be with the nanny (and one other toddler boy) from 8am-6pm twice a week. When I think about having two days a week to teach and read and study or get my nails done, hit up a yoga class, go shopping, or run errands, I'm excited. When I think about being away from my baby boy for 10 hours in a row, I feel sad. I suppose that's normal, right? I'm glad he and I will still have three days a week together by ourselves in addition to the weekends as a family.

I'm not really ready for this special time to end, but I'm also very ready to start using my mind again and feeling like an independent person. Mostly I love watching Smudgie grow and change and discover the world. He is an endlessly wonderful part of my life.

One Year of Smudgie; or, January 13

2012-01-13T06:38:00.000-08:00

On January 13, 2011, I sat across from my husband in a Le Pain Quotidien on the Upper East Side eating a yogurt and granola parfait and waiting for the wizards at our fertility clinic to finish doing whatever voodoo they do to the samples before show time. LG looked at me and said, "This is going to work. This is going to be the one that works." He looked tense and sounded like he wanted to believe the words more than actually did believe them. I smiled a little and didn't respond.

Later that night--as LG likes to remind me--we tried to make some magic of our own at home, or at least some insurance in case the nurse's aim was off that morning. And at some point that day, this amazing, sweet, adorable, dome-headed, twitchy-legged, smiley, perfect little boy was made.

I think about the last year of Smudgie's existence and marvel that he has grown from a couple of teeny tiny little gametes to the warm, cuddly weight that curls against my neck when I hold him in my arms. I think about the girl I was on that day last year--sad, worried, afraid to hope, but determined--and can hardly believe that today she's a mother. A mother who, whatever frustrations and irritations she has to handle, is happy right deep down to her core.

Happy one year of being in this world, my sweet son. You have made it glow brighter than I ever thought possible, and I love you.

This Time Last Year; or, Champagne Wishes and Baby-Filled Dreams

2011-12-29T06:41:00.000-08:00

"This time last year" can have such a sad ring in our little corner of the internet: This time last year I thought things would be different. This time last year I thought 2011 would be my year. This time last year I had hope.

I'm remembering what I wrote at the end of 2009. At the end of 2010. How I looked back at years filled with loss and sadness and desperately clawed my way to whatever measure of peace and fulfillment I could. How I tried my damnedest to dwell on lovely vacations and home renovations and every happy moment with Lawyer Guy in order to fight back the darkness that threatened to overwhelm me.

I'm sure I don't need to say how stunningly joyful 2011 was and how gloriously grateful I am that this was, in fact, finally "our year." For me, there is an additional element of reflection, though: the cycle in which Smudgie was created started on New Year's Eve 2010. At every OB appointment, when they asked "When was the date of your last menstrual period," I remembered crying in the Bahamas as I watched the fireworks over the harbor. I remembered holding LG's hand as tight as I could and challenging the future to do it's very best to break me. And I remembered the surge of strength I felt in spite of my tears, knowing that I'd learned how to survive. And once that sort of reminiscence begins, it's hard to stop: I think of my first yoga classes two years ago, how I finished every session crying silently in shavasana and would walk home in the cold and dark praying that all we needed to get pregnant again was a little exercise.

For those of you with new babies or big bellies this year, I hope you spend New Year's Eve drinking in their sweet faces, their beautiful kicks: the most intoxicating champagne I can think of.

And for those still waiting and wishing and despairing, I hope 2012 is the year in which life finally turns sweet again. I'm proof that it can happen more suddenly than you'd believe.

Happy New Year.

Anger Management; or, Past, Present, Future

2011-12-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

I've met many new mothers over the past few months. We're all sleep-deprived. We're all adjusting to new routines, new emotions, new bodies. We bond over breast-feeding and bottles, over going back to work or thinking about staying home, about the amazing and exciting strides our little guys and girls make almost every day. Some are younger, some are older, but we've all got something in common.

Still, I don't know if anyone else lost babies. Or if anyone else knows what it's like to sit with pants off on a paper-covered table waiting for doctors to help you make a baby. Or how it feels to stare at your umpteenth negative pregnancy test. Or what it's like to cry as you buy another package of tampons at the drug store. Or how it somehow hurts even more when you stop crying and pick up the tampons like business as usual.

I'm sure there are other people with other stories like mine or stories that put mine to shame. This post isn't really about that. It's about one important discovery I made the other day:

I'm not angry any more.

I can hear about an accidental pregnancy without tears. Or learn that a friend was mostly just freaked when she saw the positive sign without wanting to shank her.

I'm glad my Smudgie was as wanted as a baby could possibly be. I'm glad I knew with every fiber in my heart how lucky I am to have him, how lucky I've always been. There are possibly sad times ahead (though possibly--hey, why not try a little optimism?--we've paid our dues already). But right now, every moment with my little man is a precious kind of perfection.

Thank you for healing my heart, Smudgie dear. I love you, sleepless nights, constant laundry, and all.

Autumn Afternoons for Two; or, Nine Weeks

2011-12-08T14:04:00.001-08:00

Smudgie and I are listening to Bach as the winter sun dies outside. Our Christmas tree (his first Christmas tree!) is glowing in the corner of the room. He had his two-month vaccines today, so he's a little out of sorts, fussing and sleeping in his swing.

It's been a busy but happy few weeks. We've met new moms in our neighborhood for walks and yoga classes and happy hours at local bars (nothing like 6 or 7 moms with pints and zonked-out babies occupying the bar stools with their diaper bags and ergo carriers). We've joined a knitting circle of new moms at a local coffee shop. It's both wonderful and heartbreaking how easy it is to meet people with a baby. In the past two months we've made more new friends than in the previous 3 years of living in Park Slope, which I love and feel a little guilty about. We're in the club now, and it's great, which makes the hardness of those years on the outside even sharper. Or maybe makes the happiness of this time even keener.

We've had lots of lovely autumn walks through the park together, just the two of us, Bella sometimes riding along in the lower basket of Smudgie's stroller. We've had lots of leisurely lunches at quiet restaurants chosen. He's a pretty great lunch date.

Smudgie is still teeny-- only 9 lbs 5oz today at 9 weeks and 22 inches. He's in the 25th percentile for length and the 5th for weight. The doctors tell us he's gaining just fine, perfectly on track, and that being small is not a problem. We think he's going to be long and lean, just like his daddy.

Smudgie loves to trade smiles in the mornings and he lights up when he's held up to see the colorful artwork over his crib. He stared mesmerized at the decorated tree last night, most likely captivated by the twinkling little lights. He can flip from belly to back and has been since he was 7 weeks. He's a tummy time champ. He's not the greatest sleeper, but we're getting one 4+ hr stretch a night and hoping he'll start to lengthen that soon.

We've also been dealing with reflux for the last few weeks. Smudgie's constantly wearing a bib these days. Tummy time may at any moment turn into an explosive situation. Spit-up has been known to coat his face and hair, though it doesn't seem to bother him. We've got a prescription waiting in my bag but are waiting to see if he improves at all on his own over the weekend and next week, as the past few days he's fussed and cried and spit up less.

Life with a two-month old is physically and mentally exhausting. But also very sweet.

Giving Thanks; or, Planning the Unplannable

2011-11-21T15:50:00.001-08:00

It's way too early for us to be thinking about second (or later) children. And yet it's also only natural to say things like, "We'll do x/y/z when we have another one" or "In my next pregnancy I'll [blank]."

We still qualify with the infertile if. "If we have another child." "If I'm pregnant again." People must think that we're undecided about having more kids, when really we are (or I am) just careful after learning in a hard school not to count chickens. Don't want the universe to suspect we're making assumptions. No good ever comes of that.

But I did assume. I assumed we'd approach the task of giving Smudgie a sibling with the same dedication we went after parenthood in the first place: everything on the table and all our chips in. Now, after a brief, preliminary, and by no means definitive conversation with Lawyer Guy, I don't know anymore.

He wants a second child (and is possibly open to considering a third) but perhaps there are limits to what he'll do to have one, limits that didn't apply in the same way to the first. He suspects he wouldn't want to adopt. Or at least not to blithely assume it's a possibility for us without giving it serious thought. IVF also is a question mark.

I want Smudgie to have a brother or sister. I also love my husband and need him to be comfortable with any family-building method we choose. We've tabled these conversations until we actually need to have them (i.e., not for at least another year and likely even longer). But for the first time, I'm considering that Smudgie could wind up an only child, a scary proposition to someone with three siblings.

I feel angry that IF and loss are still rearing their heads in our lives, angry that we can't plan out our family with the railway timetable precision that so many of our family and friends can apply. I feel worried and a little sad that I may never have the family of my dreams. I feel tired at the thought of more ART and the tough conversations it inspires. I feel hopeful that we wont have to fight as hard this time, that we'll conceive again on our own and this time it will stick.

Mostly, though, I feel grateful for my son. I held him this weekend and stroked his unbelievably soft little velvety head. And I thought back to that conversation with LG when Smudgie woke me for an unexpected third time last night. Because this might be it. This might be my one shot at mommyhood, my one time with a newborn, and I don't want to miss or wish away a single moment of it.

I guess that's true for everyone. Maybe I should also feel grateful that I, at least, know it.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Remembrance Day

2011-11-11T10:44:00.001-08:00

Sometimes when I think with excitement about how very much I have to learn about Smudgie over the beautiful decades of our lives together, I remember you and then I realize how much I know about him already.

I never got the chance to discover that you hiccup almost as much on the outside as you did on the inside-- at least four times a day all through the third trimester. I never felt your knees or elbows through the barrier of a tight swaddle and recognized their familiar pointiness from their poking against a very different kind of enclosure. I never compared your ultrasound images to your peacefully sleeping form, marveling at the little hands that extend above your head in your crib, just as they did before you were born.

I knew nothing, but I loved you anyway and missed you like my best friend when you were gone.

Today, two years later, I hold your sleeping little brother on my lap and don't know how to wish for anything more or anything different. When I look at him, I see perfection. But I don't want to say "It all turned out for the best' or "Everything happens for a reason." Because once upon a time you were here and then you weren't, and it broke my heart for me and for you. I wanted you to live and love and be happy. It is still so sad that you never got the chance to.

I wonder sometimes if I would love Smudgie in quite the exact way I do if it weren't for you coming and going first. I think of you when I look at him. I think of you when I hold him to my chest at night and kiss that smooth, precious place where his neck meets his shoulder.

Be at peace little one-- little ones. You are knit into the love that makes our family everyday. So you'll always be with us.

Calms and Storms; or, One Month!

2011-11-05T15:32:00.000-07:00

A good friend (with a four month old daughter) sent me a care package after Smudgie was born, and in this package was a novel, A Big Storm knocked it Over by Laurie Colwin, an author I love. I spent the past week reading the novel in fits and spurts-- a few pages in bed before collapsing to sleep, a chapter or two in a coffee shop around the corner from my house, a big chunk lying on the floor of the bathroom while Smudgie chilled out in his bouncy chair, lulled to sleep by the bathroom fan and running shower (yes, it wastes both water and electricity, but it calms him down so that's that).

Toward the end of the book, I found a post-it note in the novel left by my friend. She wrote: "To me, this is the perfect description of mothering a newborn." The paragraph she described is this one:

Motherhood is a storm, a seizure: It is like weather. Nights of high wind followed by calm mornings of dense fog or brilliant sunshine that gives way to tropical rain, or blinding snow. Jane Louise and Edie found themselves swept away, cast ashore, washed overboard. It was hard to keep anything straight. The days seemed to congeal like rubber cement, although moments stood out in clearest, starkest brilliance. You might string these together on the charm bracelet of your memory if you could keep your eyes open long enough to remember anything (Colwin 225).

My little boy has had quite a stormy day, which succeeds the calmest and easiest night since he was born 1 month and 1 day ago. (So long a time! And so short!). He weighs 7 lbs 10 oz, which is almost two pounds more than when he was discharged from the hospital. He's awake for longer during the day and notices more and more-- lights shining through blinds, the orange hanging squirrel on his activity mat, his puppy sister Bella, his mommy's and daddy's eyes. He has formidable neck strength and is lulled to complacency (most of the time) by a running hairdryer. Last night, Lawyer Guy and I laid pillows and blankets on the floor of his room so we could run the hairdryer until Smudgie slept without worrying about burning his room down.

(I felt like a kid who had made a secret fort. We kissed under the blankets and it was one of those perfect moments I know I'll never forget).

I figured out how to get out of the house on my own-- snap the baby in his car seat, carry it down the stairs, negotiate getting stroller base/baby/diaper bag (and sometimes dog) out the door in shifts and down to the sidewalk and putting it all together, and then walk or meet a new friend or sit and eat lunch and read. It does make a difference to see the sunshine. The time passes faster until LG returns home.

And yesterday, on his One Month birthday, I thought that Smudgie gave me his first smile. We propped him against the boppy to photograph him and he looked right at me and smiled. I smiled back and he did it again, and I snapped this picture:

And then he pooped. A lot and loudly. Which is maybe also a metaphor for motherhood.

Looks like there's a stormy night ahead. I'd better go and get him from his daddy so we can batten down the hatches.

Wild Man Blues; or, Three Weeks

2011-10-26T10:08:00.000-07:00

My little boy is three weeks old!

These three weeks have raced by-- it feels like I was just pregnant yesterday. But I also feel like I've been sleep-deprived and changing diapers for a year. My relationship with time is strange--days both fly and crawl. Moments can feel monotonous, but then I look at the clock and can't believe it's 5 pm already.

This is my first week alone without motherly assistance. It's going fairly well. I feel more confident about my ability to read Smudgie's cues and to keep my spirits up through the poopsplosions and crying jags. (I'm actually rather amazed that I feel so relatively calm and even-natured-- the postpartum blues were one of my biggest fears and I'm very grateful to have mostly avoided them so far).

My biggest emotional issue right now is feeling useless and unproductive. I haven't gotten the hang of the Moby or Ergo yet and our stroller is too difficult for me to lug it up and down the stairs of our walk-up and assemble myself, so I haven't been leaving the house much on my own. And when Smudgie falls asleep during the day, I'm lucky if I manage to get a few loads of laundry done, pump some breast-milk, or wash and sterilize some bottles. I mostly read on the couch or catch a nap or watch tv.

I can't shut off the guilty, need-to-accomplish-things part of my brain. I feel bad that I'm not baking pies with all the apples we got from our CSA or finishing knitting Smudgie's blanket or cleaning the apartment. I feel bad that I haven't figured out the carriers yet so I can run errands or walk Bella or just introduce Smudgie to the world. I had a phone session with my therapist yesterday, who suggested I try to just be in the moment right now and not think of this time as achievement-oriented, which I agree is wise and I'm trying to do. But it's hard.

Also difficult is the spate of the fussies that Smudgie has weathered over the last week. Once or twice a day, he'll have a three-hour span where he won't sleep, doesn't want to eat, doesn't need a change, and doesn't want to be set down. We call this his Wild Man Phase, because of the way he'll grunt and bang his head around my boob and flail his arms like a tiny dictator having a tantrum. The Wild Man phases, with their whining and crying, are really difficult for LG and I to deal with, especially when they happen at 3 am. But at least we know that they're temporary and rarely last more than 4 hours, at which point Smudgie falls asleep and is out for hours.

I also made the mistake a few days ago of reading a sleep training book someone sent me. It ramped up my anxiety hardcore. Do I not feed Smudgie often enough? Too often? Should I really be letting him cry it out at less than a month. (No way, I last about 30 seconds when he cries before I start crying too). I got really worried about doing everything wrong and decided to stop reading books. Smudgie seems to be growing well and sleeps okay in his crib at night (though he will only fall asleep in my lap for daytime naps). So I'm going to try to follow my instincts and hope for the best. (As my bff said, no one goes off to college still needing to nurse to sleep, so one way or another these things get fixed.)

There's so much more I haven't touched on: Smudgie's blisters (a staph infection acquired in the hospital--scary!--but nearly gone after antibiotic cream), our first brunch outing as a family last weekend (successful!), my struggles with the Moby wrap and Ergo carrier (majorly disappointing and inconvenient). But I'm juggling a wild man on my lap and my lunch with my one-handed typing, so I'll leave you with a photo of my little dude stylin' in his fall duds.

Notes From Week Two; or, Boobs, Blues, Bella, and Blisters

2011-10-16T08:34:00.000-07:00

Life with my Smudgie is slowly settling into a routine. A routine notably lacking in sleep but full of snuggles, kisses, explosive diaper changes, breastfeeding, and love.

Lawyer Guy returned to work last Tuesday after his week off. I was fairly terrified, not so much of being able to handle Smudgie on my own as much as worrying my mental and emotional state wouldn't be able to hold up to the hours of alone time sure to come. Fortunately, my mom and mother(s)-in-law either don't work, took off time from work, or were temporarily in the area, and have been visiting me every day LG is at work. Even if they're only here for three or so hours, it still gives me some adult conversation and a pair of arms to hold Smudgie for an hour or two so I can grab a little nap.

Thankfully, I think I'm doing well emotionally as a result of all this help. I had a little breakdown last week after a particularly exhausting night and an argument with LG. But a half-hour of crying, my mom's visit, and a quick solo walk around the block once LG got home helped me feel in control again. I didn't like feeling emotionally unwound like that, but I'm glad I was able to persevere through it and I'm hopeful that I won't have too many more such moments as my hormones re-regulate.

I also feel very lucky that breastfeeding has not been too much of a struggle so far. We learned last Monday that Smudgie had essentially regained his birth weight in only four days of feedings. My supply seems adequate and I treasure those early morning quiet times when I can kiss my baby's soft little head and stroke his hair. He latches on quickly and eats greedily--sometimes even choking himself in his hurry to get that milk down! There's a bit of pain at the beginning, but it's not unbearable and I'm working to get the latch exactly right to cut down on even that amount of pain. Our (non-flaky) doula recommended a local Lactation Consultant as well, and I'll be setting up an appointment with her if I run into any problems in the next few weeks.

Despite enjoying breastfeeding, I'm really looking forward to pumping next week and introducing the bottle in about 9 or 10 days. I can't wait to skip that one feeding each night and let LG take over and maybe get 4 or 5 hours of sleep in a row. Bliss!

We went for our first family walk around the block yesterday-- the whole family, including Bella! We picked up bagels and donuts from a local place, finalized our birth announcements order at the stationery store, and stopped off at the local breast-feeding/baby-wearing store to pick up breast pump parts and nursing tank tops. It was a crisp and lovely fall day, the sun was shining, and I felt so close to Lawyer Guy. I spent so many months walking those uneven sidewalks dreaming of this family that I now have. Amazing.

Bella's doing well with the adjustment, by the way. She spent over a week staying with her grandmas while LG and I tried to get into the baby-watching groove, but came back to the fold on Thursday. She's intensely interested in Smudgie, but as long as she can see him and see what we're doing with him she's content to sniff his feet or head and settle down on the couch or at the end of the bed for a snooze while I feed him. When he's crying and she can't see him--we're standing and he's in our arms or we're changing him or he's in his stroller--she gets worked up and barks. But she's made such strides over the past few days, we're confident that she and Smudgie will be grand friends soon. Already she runs to peep in his crib in the mornings after her walk.

The only real snag we've hit has been a strange case of blistering around Smudgie's diaper area. He gets little white heads that occasionally blossom into puffy, liquid-filled blisters. Our pedi sent us racing to the pediatric surgeon in Manhattan last week when she saw the first one, worrying that it was infected. But it turned out to be fine, which helped keep us calm when more blisters appeared over the following week. We'll be taking him in to a dermatologist tomorrow morning to figure out what exactly is going on, but we're trying not to worry too much since these blisters don't bother Smudgie at all appear to be totally harmless once they've burst.

There are little challenges all the time-- moments when I worry that putting him in a swing or his crib to sleep during the day rather than holding him the whole time is taking the easy way out or when I stress about over- or under-feeding him. But as of now, the good moments far outweigh the trying, and that is a wonderful blessing.

Smudgie's Birth Story; or, Updates from Newborn Land

2011-10-08T19:09:00.000-07:00

(I'm writing this post over a series of days because, yeah, they weren't lying. Newborns are awesome but exhausting.)

Here's a picture of the incredible view from the big reclining chair in my living room:

I had a feeling my boy would be able to rock a pastel pink butterfly swing with no problem at all. (It's a loaner from his girl cousins). The swing is not in motion, of course, though the sound component is on and lulls a swaddled Smudgie to sleep after feedings, allowing LG and I to catch some rest of our own. Or to eat. Or go to the bathroom. Exciting stuff like that.

Lawyer Guy and I have an okay system going on right now-- as much as a 5-day-old baby can respond to systems. We each try to spell each other once a day so the other can get in a substantial nap. His tend to be a wee bit more substantial, since I can breastfeed while he sleeps and the reverse isn't true (no, I'm not pumping and won't be for at least a month so as not to interfere with my supply). At night, he handles all diaper changes and fetches Smudgie from his crib next door so I can feed him. It's working okay so far, though we certainly have our moments when we miss the night nurses and nursery at the hospital!

As the stealthy lack-of-sleep-due-to-newborn coma steals over me, I need to narrate Smudgie's birth story. I don't want to gain too much distance from it and forget all the details. The short version of the story is: I had a great, successful labor, a good chunk of it at home, a good chunk of it eased in the hospital by an epidural, I pushed for slightly under a half hour, and here we all are: healthy and happy, if sore and ridiculously tired. The long story is longer....

I had a busy day on Monday before I came home and updated the blog about my Ob appointment. I'd had a therapy session in the morning, a super long, leisurely lunch with a friend, my appointment, a meet up with Fairy Tale Ending and her little boy afterward, and then the trek home to Brooklyn, where we arived around 7. I was feeling tired but very encouraged by the progress I'd made at the appointment. I was planning all the nice enjoyable things I'd do for the rest of the week while I waited for Smudgie to arrive.

LG and I ate dinner and I watched my guilty pleasure tv show, Gossip Girl. I was feeling awfully uncomfortable throughout the show, with a backache and lots of "Braxton-Hicks" (or so I thought), but I perservered for the sake of Chuck Bass.

I continued to fell really uncomfortable for about an hour, but everything was centered in my lower pelvis, not radiating throughout my stomach, so I didn't think it could be a contraction. LG had gone to bed around 9:30, and at about 10 I decided to settle in with a book and take my mind off the discomfort. I laid down and suddenly realized that these pains were coming pretty regularly. Maybe I should time them by the digital clock on my nook.

10:17. 10:22. 10:27. 10:32.

At that point I woke LG up, saying, "I think I'm having contractions." We timed a few more together (as he shook off his grogginess). Still 5 minutes apart.

At this point, we had a little debate over whether we should call our doula first or our doctor. We went with the doula. And...here comes a strange complication.

I think I posted here about our doula's initial flakitude--missing our first meeting because of attending another birth and not letting us know. We'd moved on from that, but I must confess I never 100% trusted the situation (why I continued with her is the subject of another post).

When I got home from my appointment Monday evening, I had e-mailed her to let her know the status and that I probably would be going into labor that week. Once LG and I realized we needed to figure out if I was actually in labor, I went to get my phone and saw that Flaky Doula had written me back.

She was bailing on us. She had recently become pregnant, had some latex allergy that had landed her in the ER, I don't even know what. She had found us a replacement doula and gave us her contact info.

Neither of us had the time or energy to really process this news. LG didn't want a stranger participating in the birth. I just needed information about what was going on and needed it quickly-- by this point, the contractions required me to stand and breathe to get through them. We called Flaky Doula anyway and told her that we were likely in labor right then. She patched in Replacement Doula.

Immediately, I found Doula #2's voice and energy to be calming, soothing, and in charge. I trusted her just from hearing her over the phone. I decided I wanted to just go with this sudden change and use her. We told her we would call our doctor's office and be in touch. LG was skeptical, but deferred to me. A good decision, since I was the one panting in pain.

The doctor on call (Dr. F, for those who know my practice) wanted us to observe the contractions for another hour and then call back. Because of the internal exam I'd had, there was the chance that this was a false trigger and that labor would slow soon. He didn't think it would, but it was a possibility.

And sure enough, it did. Within 20 minutes or so, the contractions were down to once every 10 minutes. I assumed things were dying down. I called New Doula and she said to keep an eye on this, that sometimes our bodies give us a rest before kicking into a new stage of labor. I lay down and tried to sleep between contractions, asking LG to time them to see if they sped up.

They didn't. They held at one every 10 minutes for the next two hours. But they became extremely intense. I started moaning. I started feeling nausea at the end of each one. I think at one point I turned to LG and said, "Make it stop, make it stop." I soon couldn't sleep between them anymore. I think at this point, I said "As soon as we get to the hospital I'm having an epidural."

At around 2:30 am they picked up the pace again and went back to every 5 minutes. I wanted to count them for a full half-hour before getting in touch with doctor and doula again. But after moaning through three, I was struck with the unmistakeable urge to vomit. I got out of bed and sank to the floor, knowing I wasn't going to make it to the bathroom. I puked all over the hardwood, somehow missing the dog bed and massive pile of shams and extra pillows next to me.

While LG cleaned the puke up, I cleaned myself up and bore through another few contractions in the shower. The doctor told us to come to the hospital as soon as LG told him about the vomiting. We arranged to meet the doula there.

LG drove like a maniac, running red lights and tearing down the highway. We made it to our hospital on the UES in only 15 minutes. After demanding an epidural from the person entering my info into the computer and puking all over the floor of the L&D room they gave us, I finally got into my hospital gown and was examined by the staff doctor.

I was 6 cm already. They stepped up the request for the epidural and our doula and office's on-call doctor arrived around the same time. New Doula helped me through the contractions I had while waiting for the epi to be administered and kick in, and I knew immediately that I was glad she was assisting at the birth. She was calming, soothing, comforting and all around great.

By the time the shift changed around 6 am, I was able to rest. Dr. S, one of the main Obs at my practice, took over and examined me. I'd gone to 8 cm in less than two hours. Things were progressing well.

Over the next three hours, I rested and talked to LG and the doula, who helped me switch from lying on one side to lying on the other over and over. They gave me massages and helped me fall asleep. LG contacted our families, who gathered in the waiting area downstairs. I slept for about 45 minutes, and when I woke shortly before 9, Dr. S came to examine me. I was 10 cm. Time to start pushing.

I freaked out a little and started crying. I was scared of it hurting and didn't think I could do it. New Doula calmed me, told me my body knew what to do, that I'd gone through the worst part, that I could handle this. Everyone got into position, Dr. S cranked up his pushing playlist, and we got started.

I have no idea how I did it. During the breaks between contractions, my brain told me that this just wasn't going to work. But during contractions, I let instinct take over and followed Dr. S's count and the nurse's instructions. Somehow, after 20 minutes of pushing, I realized the pressure had changed. I heard Dr. S. call for the receiving blanket (apparently they placed it on my chest, which I didn't notice at all). He told someone we would have a baby in the next five minutes.

I got the head out with the biggest push of my life--apparently Smudgie let out a cry before his body was even free. I heard Dr. S say, "It's a boy!" and suddenly he was on my chest and LG and I both were sobbing. I kept stroking his wiggly little body, thinking how I had felt it squirming inside me a few hours before. I saw his mouth and eyes and said to LG, "He looks exactly like you!" It was everything I had hoped that moment would be and more.

They topped of my anesthesia to stitch some tears. Our families came to meet our son. And then we started our lives as a family of three. But that will have to wait for another time, because I'm tired and Smudgie's going to need to be fed soon.

It's a Boy!

2011-10-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

Mr. Smudgie Sloper arrived at 9:36 am on October 4th. He weighed in at a bruising 6lb 6oz and 18 inches long. He looks just like his daddy and is a quiet little owl, taking in the world with big attentive eyes and barely making a peep. He's fed twice but seems much more interested in sleeping.

He's already our world.

Progress!; or, 39 Weeks

2011-10-03T16:55:00.000-07:00

I spent much of the past week feeling frustrated over last Monday's lack of progress. I worried about going overdue, needing to be induced or have a c-section, and just the uncertainty of not knowing when labor will strike. I began feeling a few more prelabor symptoms--backaches (sometimes coordinated with cramping, sometimes on their own), pressure in the pelvis, occasional exhaustion. But I still had enough energy and felt nimble enough to attend a wedding about 45 minutes outside of the city with Lawyer Guy on Saturday night. And to do it in 4-inch heels, no less (we lasted until they served a selection of pies at about 10 pm. I had to stay for the pies).

I fully expected to be told this afternoon that I was still high and closed and that the various aches and pangs and discomforts I felt all week had amounted to not much.

But no! I'm 3 cm dilated and the doctor felt the baby's head when she did the internal exam! (That explains the feeling that I've been carrying a bowling ball between my hip bones, I guess). I also started losing pieces of my mucus plug today-- delightful globs of what looks like creamy brown snot. (Too much information? I thought some might want to know for future reference).

The doctor thinks I'll likely go into labor on my own, possibly before my appointment scheduled for next Monday. I can't believe Smudgie could be in my arms in less than a week! Less than a week until we can hold him or her, give a name, find out who this little person is.

I know that I could be waiting quite a while longer--people have walked around many centimeters dilated for weeks. But this was the boost I needed to help me enjoy whatever time I have left until Smudgie arrives. Time with Lawyer Guy and Bella, time with myself, time to read and rest and dream of the little baby I hope will be with us soon.

Progress?; or, 38 Weeks

2011-09-27T07:48:00.000-07:00

It's been just over 2 weeks since I passed my oral exam, and I'm amazed at what we have accomplished in that time. In the span of about 18 days, Lawyer Guy and I:

Made two trips to Buy Buy Baby, acquired all the necessities we still lacked, made exchanges, and cashed in copious coupons to get about $550 worth of stuff for $150.
Washed, folded and stored all newborn and 0-3 month clothing, crib sheets and mattress pads, swaddlers, burp clothes, blankets, and baby towels.
Assembled an additional over-the-toilet storage unit for the bathroom, winnowed our toiletries and medicine cabinet down to the essentials, neatly rearranged the under-sink cabinet with stackable boxes, installed a new towel rack on the door, and cleared every bit of clutter off the bathroom floor.
Rearranged the coat closet to fit our umbrella stroller and reorganized the crap on the shelves into neat boxes and bins.
Purged and reorganized the utility closet, getting rid of inessentials, consolidating items into hanging under-shelf baskets, and moving items from kitchen cabinets to the pantry.
Purged items from the kitchen cabinets, clearing up two full cabinets for baby things (currently storing all the bottle sampler sets we got at our shower).
Catalogued all of the loose internet-print-out and magazine-rip-out recipes that were on top of the refrigerator into a big binder.
Catalogued all my Playbills from 20+ years of theater going into binders and put them away.
Had a cleaning service deep-clean the entire apartment.
Interviewed pediatricians and figured out which practice we prefer.
Installed the car seat and had it inspected.
Chopped, bagged, and froze half our CSA veggies for winter cooking.
Prepared and froze several casseroles, a tupperware of tomato soup, and a bag of chocolate chip cookies for after Smudgie comes.
Picked up the bulky baby things we're borrowing (like a swing and bouncy chair that we weren't planning to buy b/c of space issues) from my SIL and BIL.
Finished assembling all furniture for Smudgie's room.
Dropped off the art for Smudgie's room at the framers.
Packed hospital and diaper bags, excepting toiletries and items (like cell phone and keys) we need on a daily basis.
Got flu shots.

Which means I have finished literally everything on my pre-baby to-do list, with the exception of making one or two additional casseroles and uploading my CD collection to iTunes and purging the bulk of it (I know, really pressing stuff).

And now that my parents arrive back on the East Coast today for the next several months, I actually feel kinda ready for the baby to come. Somehow I had myself convinced that I needed to accomplish literally everything listed up above before I could bring a baby home. And somehow I did. So despite the fear or anxiety I still have about giving birth and caring for a child, in a deep part of myself I finally feel like this home is as ready as it'll ever be to welcome a little baby.

Which naturally means that my 38-week appointment yesterday did not give me the news I hoped for.

To preface, I got the best news of all at my biophysical profile: Smudgie looks great, shows good activity, I have lots of fluid, and baby is very happy in there. Perfect. I love hearing that word (especially when Smudgie decides to fall asleep and not kick me at all on the way to the appointment and then takes forever to wake up and show his or her stuff to the ultrasound tech. I swear, this baby loves to mess with us).

But when I got upstairs to meet with the doctor, I learned that he had to leave early for a family emergency and I'd be seeing one of the practice's midwives. I don't have any objection to seeing a midwife, but she won't be potentially delivering Smudgie, and I'd been looking forward to reconnecting with one of the two most likely doctors to be on-call when I go into labor.

Then I had my first internal exam. And after two weeks of increasing cramping, diarrhea, nausea, baby-dropping pressure, and cervical pain, I'm a fingertip dilated. I had convinced myself it would be more, so I was disappointed, I admit, even though I know that you can be many cm dilated for weeks or completely closed and go into labor the next day. I've thought the whole pregnancy that if I made it to full term I would go overdue and I still think that's true.

I'm happy to be here and I still like being pregnant-- I like having this special connection to Smudgie that no one else does. I also am enjoying spending time alone with LG and trying to make every day special for the two of us. So I'm not in a hurry for the pregnancy to end, by any means, and I'm not ready to talk induction or will be for a very long time.

But I'm also feeling finally ready to meet this little boy or girl and have that moment I've dreamed of for years: holding my child for the first time. It's so close I can almost feel the baby's weight in my arms, but also (I know) still so scarily far away.

It's been over 2.5 years since we started trying to have a baby. We've waited all this time to meet him or her. I know I can wait a little longer.

(The Smudgie and Nursery Pages have both been updated. The nursery is close to done but not completely-- we're still waiting for all the art from the framers, which should be ready in another week or two, and we're holding off on a few items like the curtains and hamper until Smudgie is born and we can choose either pink or navy for them. I'll post better pictures after the whole room is complete. And FYI: the mobile that's just barely visible over the crib is the Flensted bunny mobile, a shower gift and I love it).

Towing 6 Pounds; or, Okay, I'm Finally Willing to Admit I Feel Crappy

2011-09-19T11:04:00.000-07:00

Last week, I told myself I'd be happy to be pregnant forever. I felt great, if big, and I could do this for another 3/4/5 weeks.

This week...not so much.

I'm finally there: in waddling, can't get a decent night's sleep, carrying a bowling ball around inside me territory. I've also either got an attack of the worst fall allergies of my life or I've caught Lawyer Guy's cold-- I'm tired, run down, sniffly, sneezy, sore throat-y, and achey. As I flopped and strained in bed last night, my pelvis aching as my heavy belly pulled it toward the mattress, my bladder crying to be emptied for the 4th time, and my nose rubbed raw from the number of times I'd blown it, I thought for the first time that I'd be okay going into labor sooner rather than later. Even if all the closets aren't reorganized yet.

So I'm now in official count-down mode. There are 2.5 weeks left until my due date, 3.5 until a likely overdue induction date at 41 weeks. Crazy soon from a mental, emotional, and practical standpoint. Crazy far from a physical one.

The good news is, according to our appointment this morning Smudgie looks great. Good movement and tone and fluid (another 8/8 on the biophysical profile), and they estimated his or her weight at 6 lbs 5 oz. I pick my jaw up off the floor after every one of these sessions. What a big baby! Good job, Smudgie, keep growing big and strong!

There's unfortunately not much rest for the weary around these parts. After doctor's appointments all morning and afternoon, I've got pediatrician consults tonight and tomorrow night, and I'll probably have to attend at least one on my own because of LG's work schedule. I've got to finish writing my thank yous today or tomorrow, bang out a quick freelance writing assignment, and finally cut the tags and wash some clothes and pack our hospital bag.

But I'm also going to go drink a big glass of orange juice and take a nap. I'm going make sure LG and I get out to some dinners and movies. I'm going to read a trashy novel or two and get a prenatal massage and a pedicure. Feeling good (or at least a little better) is a worthy goal too, even it's effects aren't as tangible as last weekend's Reorganize the Bathroom frenzy.

You Will Meet a Short, Possibly Dark Stranger; or, 37 Weeks

2011-09-16T06:01:00.000-07:00

In case you didn't notice, the last two months of my life have been rather over-stuffed and frantic. Preparing to travel, traveling, multiple flights to multiple places, several different kinds of intense work and family events, studying, exam anxiety: there's been a lot on my mind.

I'm relieved to be done and proud that I did it all. And while I would not recommend this third-trimester schedule to any pregnant women in my life, it did take my mind off the aches and pains and fears, at least sometimes and for a little while. When you are pushing yourself to your physical and mental limits, you have to prioritize where you put your attention. Worrying about non-immediate threats was not an option for me.

Which brings me to today: 37 weeks. Full term. With nothing to do but clean and organize my house. And realizing...

Holy crap, I might actually be having a baby really really soon. Not the hypothetical "baby" I imagined during our years of trying and months of pregnancy. But a real, live, pooping, eating, crying, personal-identity-having baby.

Can I admit that I'm nervous? Not in the horrible throat-grabbing way that terror overtakes me when I worry that something is wrong with Smudgie (and I still have those days and those kinds of fears). But I think in the more general new-mom-to-be kind of way.

Am I ready for this? Will I get any sleep? How will I handle childbirth? Will it be awful and miserable? Will I miss my old life? Will I be any good as a mom? Will our marriage suffer?

I know I am terribly lucky to even be able to ask myself those questions. And a year ago, I would have thought they were all either stupid, irrelevant, or inconsequential. Of course it will be hard! Of course I won't get any sleep! Of course my marriage will change! Why even wonder?

I guess the biggest question that I'm finally confronting is about Smudgie him- or herself. Who is this little person I've been carrying for almost nine months? What will he or she be and do and like and want? We've been a part of each other for so long and it's almost time for us to separate and I am feeling that very intensely all of a sudden. I don't really know you, Smudgie, though I hope I get to spend a lifetime learning all about you. And yet you're the most dearly beloved and intimately known stranger I've ever encountered.

So much right now is mysterious and unknown. I'm excited to learn some of the answers, but also not quite ready to.

37 weeks and finally accepting I'm pregnant. Full term and not ready for it to end. Not sure how to transition from "Please let me keep this baby inside me one more day" to "Okay, time to let the baby out."

I focus on the minutiae of baby prep--choosing an infant tub and organizing shelves and knitting a blanket and setting up car seat installation inspections--because the bigger preparations seem too hard to grasp.

None of it was ever in my control. A lesson I thought IF and loss had taught me, but one I need to continually relearn.

I guess we'll figure it out together, Smudgie, LG, Bella and me. I guess we'll do our best.

ABD; or, ABB

2011-09-12T13:32:00.000-07:00

My goodness, what a busy few weeks it's been. I spent my days and nights cramming books into my brain as fast as I could in preparation for last Friday's big qualifying exam. It was exhausting and everything else--blogging, baby prep, socializing--went on hold until I finished.

Everything, that it, except my baby shower. Doctor Lady and her mother hosted it at her family's shore house the weekend before the exam. About 25 friends and family attended and it was utterly wonderful. I felt happy and loved and so very content. And, to make matters even lovelier, my dear bloggie friend Stef B. conspired with Doctor Lady to create some absolutely BEAUTIFUL bring-a-book-theme appropriate additions to the shower in my nursery colors of grey and yellow. She made crepe-paper poufs to hang from the lights; grey-and-white drinking straws with yellow flags bearing Lawyer Guy's (and Smudgie's) surname initial; favor bookmarks; and the most incredible library cards and sleeves for guests to fill out and affix to the books that they brought for Smudgie, listing the title, their name, and a little note about their hopes and wishes for him or her. I wish I could share the pictures of her amazing work, but they have LG's rather distinctive surname on them, so you'll just have to use your imaginations.

I kept my emotions together all day until the end, when I opened the gift Stef had sent after most of the guests had left. It's a framed quote from "Just Haven't Met You Yet" that she designed in the grey and yellow motif with which she decorated all the projects. I had to struggle to keep from bawling, remembering listening to that song last spring and summer and forcing myself to be hopeful and happy when all I wanted to do was sink into a hole in the ground and never come out (or rip the heads of small, defenseless creatures). I feel so blessed to be where I am today instead.

Then, five days later I took my exam. And for those who aren't down with the academic lingo, the first part of my post title means "All But Dissertation," which is what I am right now, which means I passed! And not only that, I passed with distinction! I am proud, relieved, and so happy to have time to think about other things. I'm also intellectually ready to put together my dissertation proposal, so the exam process definitely worked. In fact, I could probably bang out a draft this month, but I won't because of the second part of my title: ABB, or All But Baby.

I studied hard to get myself into the best position academically that I could before taking time off. Now I need to get myself and my house ready for Smudgie's arrival. LG and I spent the weekend working on that, stocking up on Saturday on necessary items (like the car seat and changing tray for the dresser) that we didn't receive at the shower. And then yesterday we took an all-day intensive birthing class. We had no time this summer to sign up for the weekly ones, so the 9-5:30 class it was. It was overwhelming but helpful to learn the admissions procedures at our hospitals and to get a sense of where we will be and how it might go. And after that class, meeting with our doula, reading some books, and speaking to our docs, I think the phrase "5-1-1" is tattooed on my brain. Contractions every 5 minutes, lasting 1 minute each, for an hour. Got it.

This morning we had our first biophysical profile and 36-week check-up. No growth scan (that's next week), so we don't know Smudgie's size estimate. But the bebe is still head-down (awesome) and got a perfect 8/8 in no time at all in terms of fetal movement, tone, and all the other things they look for. Everyone said he or she looks great which is beautiful for a still-too anxious mama-to-be to hear.

So, where does that leave us? We have all our weekly appointments scheduled through 40 weeks. I'm tackling a host of organizational projects around the house. I think I'm going to make myself cut the tags off the baby clothes and wash them once we hit 37 weeks on Friday. I'm going to finish knitting my baby's blanket, take a ton of prenatal yoga, walk with my husband, go out to dinner, see a movie (I don't care which one, I want to see something), have lunch with friends, and try to convince my stubborn brain, as much as possible, that this is actually going to happen and we are actually going to bring home a baby sometime in early- to mid-October.

All in all, a pretty wonderful month lies ahead.

The Brooklyn Beat; or, Odds and Ends

2011-08-26T20:01:00.000-07:00

Since lovely Irene is sweeping through town tomorrow, I should probably post something so everyone knows I made it back from California just in time for an earthquake and a hurricane. I'd been holding out for a longer post with lots of news, but I've been too overwhelmed with preparing for my qualifying exam (in two weeks exactly) to write anything substantial. So, in sum:

-- Napa with Lawyer Guy was incredible: gorgeous scenery, great food, relaxing hotel. I even got a prenatal massage, and lying on my tummy (propped up with special belly-craddling pillows) was utter bliss.

-- I did have one massive freak-out our last night and day in Napa when Smudgie decided to play coy with me and not move. Naughty baby. Scared the hell out of me. Now he/she is back to tap dancing.

-- My sister's wedding was utterly beautiful (I may post some shots of the reception site so you can see how gorgeous it was--outside on a bluff overlooking green, vine-covered hills). I had tons of fun dancing and didn't even mind not being able to drink. (Okay, true confession: I had half a glass of wine and felt like falling asleep. Then the waitress topped off my glass without checking with me first, I got nervous about losing track of my consumption, and stopped drinking altogether).

-- Plane ride with LG is much better than without. Plane ride with LG + wumping Smudgie is best of all.

--Smudgie looked great at the 33-week appointment. He/she is about 4.5 lbs and right around 30% for size, which my docs think is fine. The MFM estimated I'll deliver a 6.5-7 lb baby, which sounds pretty normal to me and I'm totally cool with that. I'm feeling really good, with lots of energy despite not sleeping well and very few aches and pains.

-- I scheduled all of my remaining Ob appointments, growth scans, and biophysical profiles for the remainder of the pregnancy. That was pretty intense, though it's good to have it all on the calendar.

-- I thought my old, small apartment building was in the early stages of collapsing during the earthquake last Tuesday. The thought of a natural disaster never occurred to me. I grabbed Bella and hightailed it to the street.

-- My studying just keeps getting derailed by natural disasters. I spent all day tracking Irene's progress, debating whether to decamp to my mother-in-law's in the suburbs (for now we're staying put), and stocking up on water and non-perishables. Doesn't leave much time for studying Walter Scott. I'm so going to fail.

-- Studying has also been derailed by the beginnings of setting up our nursery. We put down the rug and set up the glider, crib, and dresser this week. I managed to not hyperventilate and it's already my favorite room in the apartment, though I still get overwhelmed and nervous when I think about it too much (then I just shut the door and go back to real life). I really hope it's not destroyed by torrents of rain or a roof collapse tomorrow night.

-- I have nursery shots and a belly pic, but don't have the time or mental space to add them.

-- My shower is next Sunday out on the Jersey shore. I hope the hurricane damage is cleaned up by then (can you tell that this freaking hurricane derailing my last few weeks of pregnancy is really pissing me off? Because obviously it's all about me).

--- Hurricane also led to the cancellation of our birth education class at our hospital tomorrow. We've been rescheduled for two weeks later. 36 weeks isn't too late to learn about this stuff, right?

-- I'm 34 weeks today. Six weeks to go. Wow.

-- I reaaaaally need all four weeks between my exam (the day I turn 36 weeks) and my due date in order to prep. I have done NOTHING--nothing's washed, nothing's finished, we've bought barely anything. I desperately need to focus on school that last week after my shower, so I can't even start to take stock of what we still need until after 36 weeks. I'm probably the only woman alive who wouldn't mind being overdue. But just a little.

-- I am grateful grateful grateful every day for this sweet, squirmy baby inside me. I love him or her so much.

San Diego Sunshine; or, California Recap...So Far

2011-08-09T08:44:00.001-07:00

My Californian peregrinations continue with a 6-day stay at my BFF Doctor Lady's home down south. I'm once again wireless-enabled and checking in with my beloved blogs and tweeps whenever I can, but I'm also in a serious time-crunch with reading and paper writing prior to my exam in early September, so blogging and twitter are of necessity on the back burner.

The conference was incredible. It was also incredibly exhausting. It's an annual conference that brings together academics, funded graduate student participants (so my conference fees, room & board, and meals were all paid for by my institution), high-school teachers, college students, and members of the public with an interest in the figure whose work is discussed. Over the 9 days I was there, I attended 21 lectures, 12 of them 1-hr long keynote lectures. I participated in a writing workshop every morning at 8:30 and had a seminar with fellow grad students every afternoon. I attended a party with grad students and faculty every night that started at 9 and went to the famed ? of "crazy" birthday party invitations (I usually lasted until about 11:30). I spoke about my "project" more times that I can count and met some incredible fellow-students working in my field whom I hope I can encounter at future conferences and gatherings.

It was academically enriching, professionally fulfilling, and lots and lots of fun. I'm so glad I didn't let my fears keep me from going. But I also ran myself a bit ragged. I'm not good at saying no to things. About half-way through the week, I woke one morning to see a sudden shower of metallic spots filling my vision. I thought lightning bugs had infested my room until they disappeared after 20-30 seconds or so. After some frightened googling and a self-diagnosis of pre-eclampsia, I called my doctors' emergency number that evening after hours and was told it was most likely morning low-blood pressure and to keep an eye on things but not worry too much. I think my body was sending me a definite signal that it was time to slow down.

I'm resting a lot down at Doctor Lady's: reading on the couch while she and her husband are at the hospital for work and her adorable little boy (who has a total crush on me) is at day care; cooking easy dinners for them all each night to earn my keep; trying to sleep in and nap as I feel like it. It's wonderful to see her for an extended amount of time. But I am also so very happy that on Friday morning, Lawyer Guy and I will be reuniting at the San Francisco airport and heading up to Napa for some much-needed alone time before the wedding.

Wish me luck on the flight--my last solo journey before LG is with me again. They've been hard, but I think I'm coping okay. Smudgie kicks up a storm and I focus on those precious movements and that seems to get me through.

This Is Just to Say That...

2011-07-29T17:01:00.001-07:00

...I survived the plane trip/shuttle ride/walk around university campus.

...LG made it home Thursday morning and was able to spend all day and night with me yesterday and then drive me to the airport. And I didn't even cry until this morning.

...That Smudgie wumped like crazy almost the entire plane ride, which helped keep me (almost approximately) sane.

...That I am going to be super busy with reading and working and conferencing and traveling and weddinging for the next three weeks, but I will check in when I can.

Thanks.

Snowball Effect; or Inevitable Bad Days

2011-07-26T19:43:00.001-07:00

I'm having a rough night. After the honeymoon of last weekend, I am missing Lawyer Guy a whole lot. Plus, while he was home he made the mistake of telling me he thought the trial was going to end early and he'd get to come home Thursday night, see me before he leaves, and take me to the airport Friday morning. Yesterday he said the case is now going slower than expected and that may not happen. I got my hopes up about seeing him an extra time, and I've had a really hard time dealing with the disappointment.

I hate flying. I mean hate, hate, hate flying. I need to be in a doped-up stupor with my face buried in LG's chest just to make it through take off. Now I'm flying with no LG and no drugs. And I'm scared. I keep thinking that the plane will crash and I'll die and I won't have seen my husband before I go and we just ordered the crib and he'll have to return all this nursery furniture while grieving and my sister's wedding will be totally ruined. And I'll be dead, which will suck.

I'm so scared about this flight that it's making me crazy anxious about everything else going on, too. I'm supposed to meet with a professor tomorrow to discuss one of my orals lists. But I also have to finish and turn in an overdue paper before I leave in order to avoid any potential complications with scheduling my exam. I don't see how I'm going to prepare for this meeting and get enough done on my paper. But, but, but, but...

And then today I got a manicure and pedicure at the same time--it took about 30 minutes and I told them they needed to rush. Well, they rushed so much the girl working on my toes stabbed me with the cuticle cutter and I bled. They slapped some disinfecting ointment on there, but I'm still worried I'm going to wind up with sepsis or gangrene and Smudgie and I will die in California (notice a pattern to my hysterical anxious thinking?)

I'm so lonely without my husband. Why am I going on this trip? (Because it's really exciting to have been chosen by my school and I've looked forward to this opportunity for years and it won't be any easier to do when/if I have a baby). I need to take one task at a time, pace myself, and not let the worries start snowballing. But tonight, that's really hard to do.

Homecoming; or, My Rock

2011-07-22T17:09:00.000-07:00

Just a quick update to say that Lawyer Guy did in fact make it home for today's scan. My anxiety is already so much better just having him here (until Sunday morning!) to stroke my back or help me negotiate the subways in this wicked heat.

Smudgie looks grand--he/she was having a sleepy day and not moving much and stayed pretty chill during the ultrasound. But the growth is good, and as soon as LG and I saw that beautiful heart pumping away we let out a sigh of relief. Amazing how fixated we are on that little muscle. Smudgie is a hair shy of 3 lbs. Incredible--I am carrying a 3 lb. baby around in my abdomen all day long. No wonder I'm feeling so tired.

We put together another bookcase. LG helped bring up some packages that had arrived that were too heavy for me to carry up two flights of stairs. We're making some glorious no-cook meals tonight with our CSA produce. I'm really happy.

What Dreams May Come; or, Alone and Afraid

2011-07-19T05:07:00.000-07:00

I've been struggling these past few days without my Lawyer Guy, I have to admit. The first night he was gone, I was beset by terrible nightmares for hours. I've never had a dream like this--I would wake up to pee or to flop over in bed, catch my breath in amazement that I had only been dreaming and none of it was real, feel Smudgie thump me reassuringly, go back to sleep...and continue the nightmare right where I left off!!!

Smudgie was stillborn in my dream. I was at a hospital, wandering around and talking to a friend (who is in real life pregnant with a boy after IVF and due a few weeks after me). She had just given birth and was telling me about it when I suddenly realized that I had never finished giving birth to Smudgie. He or she was hanging out of my body as I walked around. I reached down and pulled Smudgie out and wrapped him or her in a blanket and looked at the waxen little face and tightly closed eyes. I then ran around the hospital desperately searching for the NICU, trying to find anyone who would help us. I finally found a nurse who told me he was dead--and a boy.

I was shaking when I woke up from that dream at 4am, disorientated and adrift, but Smudgie's kicks helped me fall back asleep.

And then for the rest of the night, I kept dreaming. I was wandering around dark city streets, waiting at a bus stop, crying because my baby was gone. I was at a party with LG's family at a huge hotel, trying to find a space to be alone and sob over the loss of my child while everyone around me celebrated. Toward morning, Smudgie's thumps must have infiltrated my dream-consciousness because even in sleep I could feel them. They became part of the dream, a refusal to accept that my baby was gone when I could feel him or her.

Finally at around 6:45 am, I hauled myself out of bed. I was exhausted from the terrible night's sleep but I was afraid to dream anymore. As soon as I got up, I started sobbing and shaking, completely overwhelmed by all those terrible visions. I texted LG to let him know I was scared because of a nightmare (I didn't want to call him crying and scare him) and we spoke while I cried and cried.

I eventually calmed myself down by watching CBS Sunday Morning (it was all about animals, very relaxing) and knitting. But I was unsettled and on-edge all day and worrying about Smudgie like I hadn't in a while. We're about to order furniture--I second guessed doing so. I over analyzed every thump or lack of thumps. I prayed extra hard in church.

That night, two friends came over for dinner on our roof deck and one of them slept over on our air mattress to keep me company. I slept much better and dreamed about nothing more frightening than wilted CSA produce (my pickup is today). And last night I slept alright, too. But it was terrible being so scared and so alone. And as hard as it is to be without LG here in my own home, I'm even more worried about my trip to California. What if I need to go into L&D while I'm out there? I've been lucky to have avoided that so far in this pregnancy, but so many women do, even women with perfectly healthy babies. Where will I go? How will I get there? I'm scared of being alone at a hospital, hearing bad news by myself. I'm scared of flying. I'm scared of hauling my suitcase (don't worry, I'm bringing our smallest one) up and down the California coast. I'm just really scared.

I'll end on a positive note, though. I'm feeling very well physically and I found out on Friday that I passed my three-hour glucose tolerance test. So no GD for me! It's a huge weight off my mind. And yes, I have indulged gleefully in a cookie or two since getting the news. The apartment is in shambles, but the renovation projects are slowly coming together and I'm hopeful that things should be much more orderly before I leave at the end of the month. And LG might be able to come up for the weekend on Friday to be with me at my ultrasound and to spend a wee bit of time together before we're parted again. I so, so, so hope he can.

28 Weeks!; or Third Tri!!

2011-07-15T06:46:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning with sore hips after flopping back and forth all night trying to find a comfortable place to rest this heavy belly and waking four times by my outrageous need to empty my bladder.

Yup, I'm finally in my third tri! I love this milestone: 90% chance of survival with limited long-term complications after this point. Less than three months to go. Three months until I might be holding my baby boy or girl in my arms, giving him or her a name, kissing his or her sweet little face. I'm in awe that we've made it this far. Last July I was counting down the weeks until our first RE visit with anxiety, sadness, anticipation, and a lot of anger. Lawyer Guy wasn't doing much better. This July--as stressed as I admit I am by having so many huge events (massive grad school exam, sister's wedding, cross-country trip, baby prep and due date) crammed into three months--I wouldn't change a thing.

Every Friday morning LG comes and wakes me up and together we read on his laptop about Smudgie's development for that week. This morning felt a little bittersweet, since he leaves for his trial tomorrow. A few days ago, I was feeling very sad about the upcoming separation and spent most of the day crying. But now I'm trying to look on the positive side. Next weekend he'll be home from my ultrasound Friday afternoon until Sunday morning. Then it's a week alone at home, a week at my conference in California (where I'll be super busy, I'm sure), and a week relaxing and studying at my BFF Dr. Lady's house in San Diego. And then LG and I are together in Napa! We can get through this, and the final 8 weeks of the pregnancy will be even more wonderful after being apart for so long.

Smudgie's room is now a soft, gentle grey and his or her closet (that must be shared with LG and thus needed a lot of modifications) will be finished on Tuesday. We've ordered one or two pieces of furniture and are waiting to pull the trigger on several more. I'm so excited to set up my baby's nursery. And I'm also very nervous and scared.

Not that I think doing so will jinx anything or make anything bad happen to Smudgie--I know the world doesn't work like that. And not because I think having to dismantle a nursery would make the pain worse should anything go wrong from here out. Nothing could make the pain of something bad happening to Smudgie worse, and it's silly to even think so. But there's something so presumptuous and arrogant about setting up a nursery. Like I assume everything's going to work out for the best. And I don't. I want to, but I don't.

Still, as I keep telling myself, I don't want to let fear of what might happen poison my enjoyment of what is happening. Right now I am a 6+ month pregnant lady who is excited to start preparing for her baby's arrival, who wants to make a safe and comforting and happy space for the little one that will show just how much we love him or her. So I'm going to go with that.

Monthly pic is uploaded to Smudgie tab. Nursery photos to come after the remodelers return and take the giant step ladder, the plastic sheeting, and the tubs of paint and liquid sheetrock out of the center of the room.

One of "Those Posts"; or Bullets Make it Better

2011-07-11T16:22:00.001-07:00

I didn't think I'd turn into one of those blogger who, when pregnant, ran out of things to say. The truth is, there's lots to say! But I'm so preoccupied with all the stuff I need to get done in my life (and the stuff I don't need to get done, but that is impinging on my life regardless), that sitting down and organizing my thoughts into a coherent post is low on my list of priorities. That said...um, here's a list of my thoughts:

There's been a lot of family drama going on in the last few weeks. I don't feel comfortable sharing it here, as it has nothing to do with IF/Loss/Pregnancy and isn't my news to share. It doesn't even really involve me, other than that I've been party to a lot of intense phone calls, confusion, sudden flights out to New York, and people either crashing on my couch or wanting to crash on my couch. I hope it's calming down, because I'm already so emotionally overwhelmed I don't think I can take much more.

I have an official date for my oral exam: September 9th. I will be 36 weeks pregnant. Yikes. It's nine weeks away. Double Yikes. It's the week after my baby shower. Triple Yikes.

I leave for California in three weeks. Next weekend, Lawyer Guy leaves for a two-week out-of-town trial. I'm spending three weeks in California (part of the time--thank God--with LG for my sister's wedding). That means that only one or neither of us will be home for the first five weeks of my third trimester. Needless to say, we've had to spend the last several weekends getting a LOT done around the apartment. I've also been sad. He and I are rarely apart, but now we'll be separated for an entire month, with the exception of the day of my 29-week ultrasound (he insisted he return for that). He's going to miss an entire month of my pregnancy with Smudgie. I suddenly have even more respect for military wives, who can spend an entire pregnancy apart from their husbands. So hard.

We attended our first childbirth education class last weekend, specifically a Yoga for Labor and Delivery class. LG thought it was just a boondoggle to force the husbands to massage their wives' feet. I wasn't complaining.

We've hired a doula to be present at our (MD-overseen, hospital) birth. We'll be meeting with her for the second time this Friday to start talking about a birth "plan" (I freaking hate that word because I have no plan. I do have some hopes, but I know full-well that hoping and planning are worlds apart). I suppose this means I need to actually read some books about labor now.

I still feel scared. I hear about a woman who lost her child to a cord accident and my heart clenches up. Or Smudgie has a sleepy day and I poke and poke the poor little thing, trying to get him or her to dance for me. I'm trying hard to enjoy every moment, though, and to not let fears of what might happen destroy my enjoyment of what is happening. Still, I worded my baby shower invitations very carefully so as to avoid any apparent presumption that I'm banking on a baby at the end of this.

The 3-hour GD test sucked and I'm still waiting for the results (and for the massive, plum-sized bruise on my arm to fade). But it's over and whatever the results are it will be fine and I'd do it 100 times again to keep Smudgie safe.

Smudgie has really cranked the kicking up to a new level in the past week. Now when I side-lie to go to sleep, he or she starts playing the timpanis on both sides of my ueterus at once. Not very restful, I must admit, but very cool.

And finally, the latest update on the Smudgie Room progress:

The stack of books in the corner will be going into our space-challenged bedroom once I order this nifty bookshelf. The big bookshelf in the room will be going to charity or craigslist once LG's trial is over. The other stuff is going into one of our many closets once we recover enough from last weekend's reorganizational frenzy to take care of it. The diplomas will be going somewhere sad and out-of-the-way until I have an actual office and an actual reason to display them. Later this week or early next, the closet will be renovated to fit LG's and Smudgie's clothes and the walls will be painted. And then I think we might actually have to order some baby furniture.

*Gulp*

I'll keep you posted.

In the Whirlwind; or, Updates at 26 Weeks (2 Days)

2011-07-03T05:41:00.000-07:00

I failed my one-hour glucose screening. Not by a lot: my practice's cut-off is 129 and my glucose level was 135. From what I've read, this is below the cut-off in less conservative practices. But the upshot is I'll be taking the three-hour Glucose Tolerance Test on Wednesday morning.

I was pretty upset when I got the results from the office. I had visions of testing my blood four times a day and of insulin shots. Of no more sweets or fruit or carbs. I felt like a failure-- I've tried to eat healthfully, with lots of fresh vegetables, next to no packaged or pre-prepared foods, and only the occasional treat. My weight gain has been a moderate, steady 2 pounds a month throughout second tri. How could I possibly have gestational diabetes?

This will sound whiny, so I apologize in advance, but I'd been feeling really good physically lately and was both grateful and proud of it. After all the struggle to get to this point, it was such a source of pride and comfort that my body seemed to like being pregnant. We might have had trouble making healthy babies in the first place, but once we (apparently, cross fingers) got one, everything seemed to be going well. The thought that my body was betraying me once again got me very down.

But after talking to various people, including my mother (who had GD after gaining 50 pounds in one of her four pregnancies), I feel a lot better. I've been able to mostly put the upcoming GTT out of my mind and focus on more immediate tasks and pleasures this weekend. I've also gathered that if I have GD, I'll probably be able to deal with it through diet modifications that don't seem too awfully restrictive. I should be able to manage them even while traveling in California. And there's a reasonable chance that I'll pass this second test (I hope so!), especially given the borderline result on the first.

And of course, the only important thing is that Smudgie is healthy. As long as he or she continues to thrive, I will take whatever comes my way.

* * *
Otherwise, life is busy but happy here in the Sloper household. We continue to make progress cleaning out the second bedroom--we've got bags and bags of books and CDs to donate next week. We're researching renovating that closet to make better use of the space and trying to find an affordable solution. We're thinking about ordering some baby furniture in a month or so. We did order (with my mother) the invitations to my upcoming Labor Day baby shower.

We also went Facebook official last weekend. After the 25-week growth scan, I consented to let Lawyer Guy say something (which he had been champing at the bit to do for months). While I'm still scared and worried about something going wrong, I also know that at this point I would want to publicly acknowledge Smudgie no matter what happens, so an announcement feels like less of a threat.

We bounced some ideas for what he could say back and forth for a while, but nothing really sparked. He wanted something more than a bare-bones "We're expecting a baby in October" post and I didn't want anything self-aggrandizing or too attention-seeking. Then last Saturday, while we were walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, we spotted a giant orange construction sign reading "Bump Ahead". So I posed in front of it showing the bump off in profile and we posted the picture without explanation and that was that.

The response to our announcement was sweet, but not over-the-top and I feel happy about the way we handled it. Because it was all so impulsive, I didn't have time to warn my friends still suffering with IF to hide my profile. But I hope that the post being so simple helped with whatever pain it might have caused. Over the past week, a few people have congratulated me on my wall, and I've thanked them as simply and briefly as I can. I haven't posted anything about the experience of being pregnant and I don't know if I will. I don't feel the need to, honestly. But I may post a few nursery pictures when it's finished and I plan to upload a picture of Smudgie after the birth along with his or her name, assuming all goes well.

* * *
In one week (on our fourth wedding anniversary!) I'll finally be in the third trimester. LG leaves for an out-of-town hearing in two weeks. I leave for California in four weeks. My baby shower is two weeks after we return. I officially take my oral exam (qualifying exam for my doctorate) on September 9th, the day I turn 36 weeks.

There's a lot to do and not much time to do it in. But there's also so much to celebrate, and I am so happy to be celebrating this summer. I may not have time to write much in the upcoming months until my exam is finished. But I am trying to savor every happy and special moment to its fullest.

June 26th; or, Juxtaposition

2011-06-27T05:42:00.000-07:00

I was feeling off-kilter and out of sorts all last week. We had our 25-week growth scan on Friday, and I was worried, as always, though it took a different form than usual. I found myself dwelling on early losses--reading stories, reliving the key points of our miscarriage experience, crying in therapy about how sad and awful I felt in late '09/early '10. Even with Smudgie obligingly thumping away against my pelvis and ribs--hard enough for Lawyer Guy to feel a subtle little kick for the first time!-- I still kept returning to the past.

It's funny how these obvious things suddenly click: Yesterday was the m&m's due date. The date I calculated myself based on my late ovulation that cycle. The date I've both never considered "real" because it didn't come from a doctor and the date that felt more real to me that any other during those painful seven post-miscarriage months. June 26th--it seemed like the perfect birthday to me then and it still does, even as I anticipate October with growing excitement, impatience, joy, and worry.

Maybe my bad, morbid mood owed more to the post-V Day crash in hope and enthusiasm I was experiencing and that I experience after every successful milestone, but I have to believe it was somehow connected to that tenuous little thread the m&m sent out into my life. In one sense, this is natural and right, I suppose. I loved that baby and bonded more whole-heartedly and unabashedly with it than I let myself with Smudgie. Miscarrying was like being hit by a truck when crossing what I thought to be a deserted street--shocking, devastating, requiring an entirely new perspective on the world and my place in it.

But at the same time, I'm still surprised. Perhaps because I never let myself play the would have/should have game following the m&m's death. I immediately deleted the "Your Pregnancy This Week" e-mails I signed up for from Baby Center (and I just realized I never signed up for them this time around, did I?). I as quickly as possible taught myself to forget what week I might have been at any point during that phantom pregnancy, and I succeeded. If called upon or inspired to figure it out, I'd resort to a calendar and some calculations and then quickly put both out of my mind again once the task was done. I've never once in the year since last June thought to myself "I should have an x month baby right now," because I never believed I "should" or "would" have had any such thing. I didn't have a baby. That was the end of the story. The rest was just pointless wheel spinning*

* To my friends who do follow their lost babies' wished-for progress, this is not in any way meant as a slight against you. It's just what I had to do to keep focused on my IF/loss path and the way my mind and heart wanted to handle things.

I didn't and don't think that any of these feats of amnesia helped me to "forget" the m&m or how much I loved that baby. That's not possible and wasn't even the point. But they did help me to cope, to move on with testing and treatments, to direct my thoughts toward the baby I hoped for rather than the one I no longer had.

But I could never erase June 26th. All I think of when I hear that date is my m&m. (This is probably why I refused to calculate an EDD for Smudgie until the Ob's office told me one at 10 weeks). I suppose that date will always belong to my first baby, the one who never had a chance.

It's strange to remember something so sad while living through something so happy and with such potential for even greater happiness. It's strange to lie on the couch crying as I remember the exam room where the ultrasound tech told us the heartbeat was gone while feeling my (apparently) healthy, strong, 1lb 11 oz karate master whomping on my upper belly. Other women have written much more insightfuly and movingly about the experience of mourning lost babies while celebrating the one that perhaps would not be here if not for the others. I don't even try to reconcile the two thoughts. I love my Smudgie. I can't wait for his or her healthy (pleasepleaseplease) arrival some time between late September and mid-October. And I'm also sad--not crushingly sad, somewhat wistfully and surprisingly sad--when I remember how ruthlessly my hopes and dreams of 20 months ago were dashed.

That may be all I can give you now, m&m. I hope it's enough.

Big Days; or V-Days

2011-06-17T13:57:00.000-07:00

First of all, I need to shout a little bit in honor of VIABILITY DAY!!! 24 weeks! Yeah, baby!!

Now Smudgie, this is by no means an invitation for you to come out and join us just yet. Aside from the fact that we're not at all ready for you (and you don't want to sleep in a shoe box, do you?), you're not ready for the world yet. You need to stay in there and get nice and chubby and build up your lungs and learn all sorts of new tricks before you're ready to come out. I don't care how many times you kick my cervix, my stance on this is not changing.

With V-day upon us, it's time that I faced up to a few things: a) there very well might be a baby on the way in roughly 3.5 months, and b) we need to step up our efforts to get ready for him or her, regardless of how scared we might feel.

That being said, it's time for an update on out progress in the potential nursery. If you recall the last time I updated on the room, things were looking dire. Well as of this afternoon, the room looks like this. Brace yourselves:

On the off chance this image leaves you feeling less than impressed, I must point out that it took us three weeks to: try to sell the desk and twin bed on craigslist; realize that people are too afraid of bedbugs to buy things on craigslist anymore; call around to a bunch of charities in the city; realize that nobody wants FREE donated furniture either; call a moving company; have them haul the stuff out of here and to the Salvation Army; learn that the Salvation Army has higher standards than one would assume; have the movers dump it all.

So we wound up paying to have perfectly good furniture thrown away, which offends whatever frugal parts of my soul lurk deep within. But what else could we do?

Bella is mildly traumatized by the ordeal of watching her bed and favorite chair (in the living room) be carried out never to return. I'm mildly traumatized by the fact that the prospective doula we were supposed to meet with last night never showed up and still hasn't contacted us. But these are subjects for a less momentous Friday.

And for anyone who is interested: fresh belly pics await.

Sizing Things Up; or, Brand New Body

2011-06-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

A changing relationship with our bodies (and body-image) is one of the central aspects of the experience of pregnancy, and yet I've written very little about it. Partly, that's because when I'm feeling down I don't want to come across as a whiner or as ungrateful and when I'm feeling up I don't want to come across as gloating. But there's a lot more to this evolving relationship with ourselves than just weight gain. A few recent events have highlighted that more than ever.

Two-thirds of the way through my second trimester (wow!), I'm feeling fairly strong and healthy and great. None of that first tri nausea, bloating, discomfort, and exhaustion. I wake up refreshed--even if I don't get enough sleep--and feel ready to physically and emotionally tackle the day.

It's hard sometimes to remember that I am under an unusual physical strain, and because of that, I often overtire myself. Last week, for instance, I decided it would be a grand idea to take a 30+ block walk from the restaurant where I met a friend for lunch to a midtown department store where I planned to buy new bras. To put this in perspective, 20 NYC blocks is roughly one mile. Being a New Yorker, I walk a lot and a trip of this length is really no big deal--I have frequently walked much farther than that, especially during the summer.

Of course, it was also mid-day and 98 degrees. Which feels like 115 when you're surrounded by pavement and bodies and glass buildings. Despite the bottle of water I diligently sipped during the walk, I was sweaty and exhausted before I reached my destination. And yet after that leg of my shopping trip was over, I continued running errands, hopping a subway down to the West Village to take care of ordering my sister's wedding gift and meandering around shady but circuitous streets for forty minutes. By the time I returned home, it was all I could do to crawl to the couch.

And about that bra-buying expedition: I'd put off buying any new bras until that point. I hadn't wanted to spend money on new bras at 15 weeks only to have to buy more at 24, so I was almost 23 weeks by the time I bought any. I'd been wearing my 34 B-cup bras on the widest settings for several months.

Turns out, I'm now a 36 D. After I picked my jaw up off the floor and selected a few cheap, comfortable, underwire-free bras in my new size, I was able to reflect on the fact that squeezing the girls into a bra two sizes too small probably had a lot to do with the massive red underwire welts that had start appearing on either side. No bueno.

Walking too fast, turning in the wrong way, or certain yoga moves all have the potential to set off a bout of sciatic nerve pain (which three weeks ago rendered me immobile for three days). I'm lucky enough to have never suffered a serious or chronic injury or dealt with long-term pain (something for which I'm newly grateful), and it's strange to have to be so physically careful.

Ultimately that's what this post is about: not that I worry I'm gaining too much weight or too little (both of which have applied at different points in the pregnancy) or that I feel I'm no longer attractive or am even more attractive (both of which I have also felt) or that I dislike being uncomfortable or love feeling physical proof that Smudgie is growing and that I'm pregnant.

Simply put, this is the first time as an adult that I've had to reacquaint myself with my body, and it's a disorienting and alienating experience. I don't like or dislike my new body--or rather, I like some things about it and dislike others. It's strange, both from the inside and the outside, to identify it as mine.

Obligatory Freak-Outs; or, My Reunion with LaWanda

2011-06-07T09:27:00.000-07:00

I suppose it was inevitable I'd eventually make a freaked-out emergency call to my doctor's off-duty line. Maybe I should feel happy it took me 22 weeks to get there.

On Sunday I was having a lot of uncomfortable cramping. Nothing super painful and not accompanied by any spotting or unusual discharge, but strong and consistent enough to worry me. The cramping started around 10 am, and by the time we got home from our weekend out at the beach (about 5:30ish), it was still going. I didn't think I was feeling any contractions, but since I don't know what they feel like, it was hard to tell. And Smudgie was a bit less active than usual. My worry was ratcheting higher and higher with every ache (and--I have to admit--with every webpage I consulted after googling "signs of preterm labor").

At 6:30, feeling like a fool but too scared to stop myself, I broke down and called the answering service. A few minutes later I got to speak with one of the doctors at my practice (the only one I've yet to meet in person, actually), and explain what was going on. The doctor was understanding and helpful. He said the symptoms didn't sound overly concerning and that the pain was likely due to a growth spurt in the fetus/uterus that occurs around this time and that I should rest. He said he would contact the office to get me in for a cervix check and ultrasound just to give me peace of mind. With this news, I felt my blood pressure lower and was able to send LG off to his baseball game and settle on the couch to watch The Bachelorette.

I went in yesterday morning already feeling a lot better. The cramping had subsided and Smudgie was kicking away. Lawyer Guy had a work meeting, so I went alone, which was fine, though I had to silence that little inner voice that whispered this was when things were going to finally go wrong. Smudgie's thumps and bumps on the ride over helped.

So, after a glorious reunion with my old friend Wandy and a quick abdominal scan (during which I managed not to see any baby genitals, hurray!), the upshot is that my cervix is long and closed and the fluid levels look good and the heartbeat is good and everything seems positive.

Phew.

The doctor I met with after the scan said to keep an eye on the cramping and to not be afraid to call if something worries me again, and I will. Better to go in for no reason than to stay at home fretting or not go in when there is a reason.

In celebration last night, I ate my weight in sour gummy peaches and reassured myself that I'm not an anxious freak at all.

Maybe?; or, Hoping for the Sun

2011-06-02T10:41:00.000-07:00

On days like today, when for some crazy reason I start to think I'll really be holding a living, squirming baby in my arms come October, I listen to this song and cry. A lot:

(Couldn't embed the original version, but I think Colbie is a good substitute).

Big Projects, Busy Weekend; or The Nursery, Part 1

2011-05-31T07:04:00.000-07:00

How were everyone's Memorial Day Weekends? Relaxing, enjoyable, and full of sunshine, I hope. Mine was definitely the latter two though not so much the first because we were BUSY.

Busy doing what? Going to the movies and dinner with friends and family. Cleaning up our roof deck in preparation for summer planting. Attending baseball games. Dropping off donations at a local thrift store. And, oh yeah, two big things: Starting a Registry (!) and Beginning to Prepare the Baby's Room (!!)

We went to Gi.ggle on Saturday afternoon to check out strollers and cribs. We wound up choosing a different stroller than I had anticipated walking in after we compared weight and ease of collapsibility, but we're both excited about it. And we started our first baby registry, stocking it with little clothes and toys and a few decorative items.

We didn't actually register for or purchase the stroller and crib yet. One will be a gift from my MIL. The other apparently only takes four weeks to be delivered and we are nowhere near ready emotionally or space-/planning-wise to be setting up baby furniture yet. But I'm glad we looked at a few options and made some decisions.

I have to confess that afterward, as we ate lunch in SoHo, I began to completely freak myself out about what we'd just done. Even though we hadn't actually bought anything, I still started to worry about jinxing things by registering before 24 weeks. Right now, that's the magical safe point in my mind, even though I know rationally that a) it's not all that safe and b) I have no compelling reason yet to worry about reaching it. Something about this month (weeks 20-24) is really amping up my stress and fear, though, and I'm over analyzing every cervical stab, weird back ache, and uterine twinge. I ran to the bathroom at the end of lunch to check my tp for spotting-- and it was clean, as it has been the entire pregnancy, despite my conviction that I'd felt myself bleeding.

My anxiety's calmed a little since then, though, so much so that Lawyer Guy and I were able to tackle our second big get-ready-for-Smudgie project of the weekend: clearing out his giant desk in preparation for selling or donating it. People, we uncovered some real crap during the process. I'm talking about receipts for $15 sushi lunches we had TEN YEARS AGO! Credit card bills from 1999 that somehow made the move to two different apartments. Tax returns from 1997. Actual credit cards that expired in 2008. Not to mention dozens of weekly, two page response papers from multiple English classes I took as an undergrad. Altogether, we collected two giant garbage bags of paper, old batteries, dry pens, and corroded rubber bands to chuck and made a neat little pile of important documents and useful office and stationery supplies to transition to the new, smaller desk we plan to get for the living room.

Which leaves Smudgie's (hopeful) future room looking like this:

Yeah, it's a not so impressive Before picture (and yes, Bella is a permanent fixture of this room and will be less than thrilled when "her bed" makes the trip to the big furniture warehouse in the sky). But we made a start, at least, which is something. Over the next month we'll dispose of all the furniture in there, find homes for the books and CDs and knickknacks that clutter up the place, and then we can begin the real work: renovating the closest, painting the walls, and putting up the window treatments.

We'll get it done in time, right? Don't answer that.

A Smudgie Quickie; or 21 weeks

2011-05-27T13:39:00.000-07:00

We had our follow-up anatomy scan this morning (21 weeks exactly). Everything looks good: all the things they wanted to check-up on are present and accounted for and Smudgie's growth is right on target (he/she is at 52% right now). Smudge was sleeping for most of the scan and did not want to be woken up, the little sweetie. Smudge sleeps the way I do--one arm flung over the head--and let out a big yawn at one point. Awwww.

I asked lots of questions of the doctor afterward: about some crazy awful pain I'm having in my tailbone, about my practice's policies for working with doulas and allowing med-free births (both of which I'm considering but haven't committed to), about movement and weight gain (too little?) and the like. The doctor gave me nice, thorough answers.

I have a lot to update about how I'm feeling and how things are going, but that can wait until after this holiday weekend is over. I wanted to let everything know that so far, things are holding steady. I go back in four weeks for another growth scan and my GD screen. Until I reach 24 weeks, I'm just going to try to hold onto the image of my sweet, sleepy baby.

Let's All Talk About My Uterus; or, Telling

2011-05-23T05:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, confession time: I may have just passed the 20-week, half-way point, but I am still pretty anxious about this pregnancy. Not all the time. Not even most of the time. But I can tell that this week is going to be rough. Over a month since I've seen my Smudgie! And an anatomy scan on Friday! And despite the fact that I have felt his or her thumps and bumps with increasing frequency and vigor over the past few weeks, I still have my days when I worry I'm making it all up or Smudgie's less active days that freak me out.

And in the back of my mind is always the fear of showing up for the scan and not seeing a heartbeat. I can't shake it, not even when I have physical proof that Smudge is dancing a jig in there.

So this is all in the background, but not really what I wanted to write about today. Today I wanted to write about the "Telling."

To be quite blunt, I suck at it. There are still multiple close friends (that live in other parts of the country) that I haven't told. They've gotten busy, I've gotten busy, I lost my cell phone and a lot of my contacts, blah de blah de blah. I could send them e-mails, but I somehow convinced myself I would call them. And then I don't. So they don't know.

Or take my neighbors. Most New Yorkers wouldn't tell their neighbors something like this anyway, but Lawyer Guy and I live in a small, 5-unit co-op building (hmmm, how to explain co-ops to someone not in New York. We all own the building together but only have leases on our individual apartments and the co-op board has to approve all sales of apartments). In my building there's one family with two small kids, two young, married heterosexual couples without kids, a gay, single 40-something guy (whom we're closest to), and us. We've all lived here upwards of two years.

We've told our Single Guy neighbor (who was totally sweet and excited for us) but I haven't told anyone else. Not only that-- I'm actively hiding it from them! I make sure to wear this swing-shaped, loose trench coat I own every time I leave the house to cover the bump. Fortunately it's been raining constantly the past month, so this isn't as weird as it might be otherwise. But this is getting ridiculous. I'm almost into my 6th month! What the hell is my problem?

I just told all my academic advisors last week because I had to reschedule my oral exam date and they needed to know about my time constraints. I've told a few friends at grad school, but find it weird and awkward to tell the randoms. And because so many of my fellow students are in their early-/mid-twenties and not yet to the bumpwatching stage, they kind of don't figure it out on their own. At our end-of-the year party last week, there was a perfect opening to tell someone-- she asked what my teaching schedule is for next semester and I responded, "Oh, I'm taking a break from teaching in the fall." Fortunately, my close grad school friend (who's pregnant after IVF) was like, "Tell her why you're not teaching, dumbass!" in not quite those words.

I could recite similar stories all day. I find the whole "telling" routine really awkward and uncomfortable. Why should conversations suddenly shift to involve my uterus? Why should extraneous people be involved in my pregnancy, the most private and intimate and sacredly special thing I've ever experienced? Is it okay to let the belly speak for itself? Is it rude? Awkward?

I just don't know how to do this very well.

What's for Dessert Tonight?; or Milestones

2011-05-20T05:56:00.000-07:00

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And a "Smudgie" tab with some belly pics to follow.

Rainy Monday Updates; or, Odds and Ends

2011-05-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

It's a glum rainy day here in New York and I'm still nursing this frightful cold. I want to curl up in bed under a bunch of blankets with a cup of tea and the blanket I'm knitting for Smudgie (oh, I can't wait to share it with you!) and watch the Cooking Channel all day long. But I have to write tomorrow's final exam and grade my students' presentations. And even if I could avoid those tasks, I'd still have to tackle the acres-high stack of books to be read by September.

But a quick blog entry won't totally compromise my Monday To-Do List!

- We're about 10 days out from the follow-up anatomy scan. The fears always creep back in, the terrible fantasies of how the day could go always emerge. But thankfully Smudgie has been thumping a bit harder the last day or two. This morning, he (or she) woke me up with some tentative tap dancing on the left side of my pelvis. I can't imagine a nicer alarm clock.

- Lawyer Guy and I have taken the first tentative steps of our own toward cleaning out our office/second bedroom in preparation for Smudgie's arrival. This consisted of a visit over the weekend to the apple store in Manhattan to pick out a new laptop to replace LG's cumbersome, centuries-old PC that currently resides on a massive desk exactly where we hope Smudgie's crib will soon rest. The PC is still there (as is the desk), but the plans to remove both are in motion. Still, as LG said, he needed a new computer regardless of the outcome of this pregnancy, so it wasn't exactly a massive leap of faith. Baby steps...

- I sometimes catch myself making mental plans of the "We'll get the walls painted by x date and then the crib in by y date and some curtains right around z" variety and have to stop to quell a moment of panic. I still can't fully believe that I will have a real live squirmy, happy, healthy baby at the end of this. I don't deserve this more than any one else. I don't know why we would be lucky when so many people aren't. I don't know why this time would end differently than the other times (even though I get the statistical evidence in our favor). I know that worrying and doubting won't protect me from pain and sadness, but it's an awfully hard habit to break.

- Every spring, a few sparrows try to build a nest on the living room window ledge under our air conditioner unit. Every year LG takes a broom and knocks out their early attempts at nest-building. Last year, he confessed to me that he thinks he saw some broken eggs in the remnants of the nest lying down by our garbage cans below the window. This year, back in March, I let him know in no uncertain terms that those birds and their babies are staying put! I don't care how much noise they make fluttering around in there. I'd feel like a monster hoping and praying to bring my own baby home while dashing those little birdies' efforts to pieces. And yes, I admit, I do feel like by protecting those birds and their nest I can protect my own baby, too.

- Last night, LG pulled a carton of Ben&Jerry's from the freezer. He had surprised me with a favorite flavor that I haven't had in a while, and while I appreciated the gesture, I asked him to put it back in. I think it will be much more appropriate to share with him on Friday.

- I'm 19w3d today.

Quickening; or, Updates at 18 Weeks

2011-05-10T10:18:00.000-07:00

Towards the end of last week-- right around the 18 week point-- I finally felt my first "I'm positive" Smudgie kick or wiggle. For a few weeks before I felt flutters or brushes that were too faint to tell apart from gas or other intestinal situations. But driving home from teaching last Thursday, I felt a distinct little "tap-tap-tap" low and on the right that I was certain was Smudgie saying hello.

Over the weekend I continued to feel a little poke her or tap there, and I loved every sensation, no matter how faint. But yesterday and today I've felt nothing, and I'm trying hard to maintain my sanity and calm. My doctors said not to expect to feel movement until 20 weeks, so feeling flutters and pokes at 18 weeks is just gravy. They said not to expect movement every day until 24 weeks, so this is absolutely normal, I know. But it's still hard to relax.

This up and down is the new normal, it seems. I've felt fairly confident about things since the 16-week anatomy scan. I've let myself pick up a onesie here or there when I found them on sale. I confessed my pregnancy to my fellow students at a conference at school last week (My belly was starting to attract some seriously quizzical glances). I notified the writing program director at my university that I won't be teaching next semester. I even told my orals advisor about the pregnancy (more on that later).

But this week, the combination of vanishing movement, 2 weeks since our last scan, and 2.5 weeks to go until the next scan has me worrying again. I love Smudgie so much. I wish I knew that he or she was safe in there. It's so hard to trust.

At least I am not stressing about orals right now. But--unfortunately--that's not because I passed. I met with my advisor last week to talk about pushing them back until the beginning of next semester (late-August/early-September). With all my first trimester anxiety and exhaustion, my studying was not at the level it needed to be for most of February and March. I studied hard in April, but it just wasn't enough to make me feel ready to move to the next stage of the process. So now I'll be reading seriously through the end of July, then reviewing notes while I'm in California in August, and then coming back and taking my exam. (And then, I hope, having a baby).

It will be a busy summer, but as long as my Smudgie is doing okay, it will be a good one.

Happy Mother's Day

2011-05-08T05:30:00.000-07:00

Today is a happier day for me than Mother's Day last year, when I spent the entire weekend sobbing over a pregnancy announcement/arrival of AF double whammy before having a breakdown in the card aisle of the Rite Aid in my hometown. I hope that this day next year will be even happier, though I know I can't take anything for granted.

I'm thinking about us all today, as I'm getting ready to go have brunch at one of LG's relatives house. I'll be surrounded by women who got this easily, who have a very different perspective on everything than I do, but I'll be thinking of you:

My friends who are holding their long-desired babies. My friends who are mourning and remembering the babies that they never got to hold or held for too brief a time. My friends who are waiting excitedly to welcome their babies into the world. My friends who are completing home studies and filling out paperwork. My friends who are gearing up for another cycle, an egg retrieval, an IUI. My friends who aren't sure what comes next, but who know what they want to eventual destination to be.

I hope that all of us can remember that whether we or the society we live in consider ourselves mothers yet, we are wonderful people full of love who are making a difference in the world.

Myths and Legends; or, Let's Hear It For the Boys

2011-04-28T16:04:00.001-07:00

Lots of bloggers in our ALI community have been posting in honor of NIAW (that's National Infertility Awareness Week, dontcha know), and I love reading what they come up with. These women have shed light on some of the most pernicious myths anyone who suffers to bring home a child grows all too familiar with: myths about how to get pregnant, how to stay pregnant, how easy it is to adopt, or how having a baby makes years of pain and heartache disappear.

I love being part of this community that takes advocacy so seriously and thinks through some really tough questions in a calm, rational (mostly) way. And I love so many of the women I've grown to know over the last two years.

But that's also the problem with this community, and the myth I'm going to bust. The myth that:

Infertility is a "woman's issue."

Infertility is not strictly a problem of female biology. We all know that 1/3 of IF cases with a clear diagnosis are due to male factor issues and another 1/3 are a combination of male and female. It's important that we get the word out about this. So women don't always assume it's their problem when things aren't working right. So men don't refuse to get the simple testing that could diagnose a problem early on. And so men who do learn that they have male factor infertility are not left lonely and struggling, feeling like freaks in a world of super-sperminators.

Infertility does not only affect women emotionally. Women are (usually) more open about expressing difficult emotions like sadness, despair, and anxiety. They're typically better at communicating with each other about these things (hence the huge number of women in the online ALI community and the much smaller number of men). There's an image in popular culture of the "baby crazy woman" driving her husband insane.

But men suffer just as much emotionally from the inability to have a child. Men struggle with their sense of failure from a diagnosis of MFI just as much as women do who are diagnosed anovulatory or with other conditions. Even men who do not physically contribute to the IF diagnosis suffer as part of an infertile couple--they sacrifice privacy in order to perform embarrassing tests in hospitals and clinics, they wonder if they will ever get to be a parent, they suffer watching their partners undergo painful treatments and painful failures, they grieve miscarriages and infant loss.

Infertility is not only a woman's issue socially. As humiliating and difficult as it is for women to be open about their struggles to conceive or carry a child to term, I believe it is even more difficult for men to speak about this. I think this is partly because so much of the reporting, so many of the representations of infertility in popular culture, are focused on women. Are women waiting too long to have babies? Is surrogacy a great innovation or a terrible repudiation of nature? Do infertile women make better parents?

We need to bring more men into the conversation. Not only because, let's face it, politicians listen to men. But also because maybe having a more open acknowledgment of the male experience of infertility will help our husbands, brothers, and friends to find the kind of support we all receive from each other.

* * *

I wrote this post in honor of my husband, who went through more with me to achieve this pregnancy than he ever anticipated. I am so sad that, for the most part, he dealt with this alone. I wish he had some "fake friends" (as he calls all of you) of his own to help him through the past two years.

And I firmly believe that while he would have been an amazing dad no matter what, infertility and loss have helped him to appreciate my pregnancy tenfold. He's the most present, supportive partner I could ever ask for, and I love him so very much.

Happy Days; or, Ten Fingers and Ten Toes (Plus a Lot of Other Body Parts)

2011-04-26T05:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was one of my best days ever!

It started with Part 1 of our anatomy scan (at 16w3d). I was anxious beforehand, as was Lawyer Guy, but we both did a good job of keeping busy over the weekend and keeping our mind off the fear--and everything turned out great. Smudgie looks perfect: we saw the brain, four-chambered heart beating away, the spine and stomach and bladder and kidneys (two of them, phew!). We saw veins in different parts of his or her body. The tech counted fingers and toes and measured arm and leg bones. Everything you can see at this point looked good.

I had the follow-up bloodwork for the sequential screening, but the OB we met with yesterday feel confident that the results are going to be good. We scheduled Part 2 of the anatomy scan for 21 weeks exactly, 4.5 weeks away. I did NOT schedule an intermediate peace-of-mind scan. I'm going to try to make it the entire month this time (and hope that I start to feel some reassuring movement in the meantime). And I learned that I've only gained a pound in the last three weeks, so the run-away weight gain of the first tri appears to be settling now that I'm eating more fruits, veggies, and proteins. Hooray! Happy happy all around!!

At this point, we finally feel comfortable going public. We're letting our parents tell friends and extended family, we're telling far-off friends, I'm telling people at school. It's very scary to take this plunge, but I think it's time. As Doctor Lady said when I saw her last week, statistically, our odds are as good at this point as they will be at any point. And I've got to start coming clean eventually, right? We are still keeping mum on Facebook, though.

(And speaking of Doctor Lady: thank you for your support on my last post. As I suspected, I just needed some time to process the news. She came into town for Easter week and it was amazing to see her and to talk about this experience with her. I am truly excited now that we get to share this time after all these years of waiting).

After the scan, my happy day continued! LG had to head to work, so I grabbed a healthy, yummy lunch and hit the streets for a favorite, and long-neglected, activity: Shopping!!!

I stopped off at lululemon and picked up some yoga leggings and looser work-out tops and a bigger sports bra to last the rest of the pregnancy. I've heard such good things about how comfortable their clothes are throughout pregnancy, that I decided it was worth the investment. And as a plus, I can continue to wear these clothes postpartum (fingers crossed) and after.

I also stumbled into a crazy 80% off warehouse sale at one of my favorite chi-chi stores on the Upper East Side. And this sale was FULL of loose, drapey, light, cotton and linen and jersey summer dresses and tops! I bought a whole bunch that I can belt under the boobs and wear in the summer, and then have taken in a little afterward to continue to wear once the pregnancy is over. I love it! Other than some maternity bras, a pair of maternity jeans, and a few stretchy shirts and camisoles (all of which I still need to pick up), I've got all the basics for an awesome pregnant-wardrobe and I haven't stepped foot in a maternity store!

I also picked up two little things for Smudgie. One is a gray Primp thermal onesie with panda bears on it that I got at the warehouse sale. The other was a pair of cotton footie pajamas with little grey designs all over them that I got at my favorite French children's clothing store, jacadi.

(Yes, I have a favorite French children's clothing store. Yes, I am a New Yorker. Yes, I am crazy.)

I almost cried when I bought those pajamas. I have gone into that store so many times over the last few years and touched all the little cotton clothes and the little shoes and wondered when it will be my turn to get something. Buying that little item felt so special and important (even if I haven't cut the tags off, nor will for a very long time).

I feel good about buying those little things. They're easily stashed and stored and easily ignored should something go wrong (as I learned with the m&m--we've had two onesies in a desk drawer for 18 months now). It's not like buying a stroller or a crib or a rug, none of which I'm even close to doing yet. But these purchases felt like purposeful statements of hope, rather than blind optimism. And that's a place I'm okay being in for the moment.

One last thing to say before I return to my reading. We could have found out Smudgie's sex today, but we have decided to keep it a mystery until the birth.

(For which LG should be eternally grateful, because I swear, if I had just found out the sex and then walked into jacadi, there would have been a consumer binge the likes of which has not been seen since Vivian Ward discovered Rodeo Drive.)

People keep asking how I have the willpower to resist finding out--and my MIL has threatened to come to the next scan with us and force the tech to tell her. But it isn't a matter of willpower for me. I like not knowing. I like having this time to let Smudgie just be Smudgie--a sweet little baby, not a boy or a girl yet, just a special being that I love so much. Maybe deep down I like that not knowing the sex keeps everyone else at arm's length from the pregnancy. Maybe. I don't know. But I'm finally happy to be asking a question with only good answers.

An Unexpected Post; or, Scared of Perfection

2011-04-13T07:15:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, My best friend and I dreamed about the day we would have children. We were married one day apart, we planned to start trying within a few months of each other, so of course we would have babies on the same day! They would grow up to be best friends. Everything would be perfect.

Everything was not perfect.

She got pregnant her first month trying, and I...didn't. I threw her baby shower and then four days later had a miscarriage. She gave birth to her son, and I cried tears that were both in celebration and mourning. But through the next months and years, she was there for me. She even sent flowers on the m&m's due date, the only person in my life who remembered (and yes, this includes Lawyer Guy). She was the first person I told about Smudgie, at 5 weeks, when I was losing my mind with fear. She knew just what to say to comfort me without giving false hope.

She e-mailed me last night. She is 12 weeks pregnant. Her husband wouldn't let her tell anyone before now. She is due three weeks after me, also in October.

This is great news. I've mentioned before that she is a navy doctor and she was in fact scheduled to be deployed to Afghanistan this summer. That is now, thankfully, off the table, for which I am beyond glad. Babies are always good news, right? Always a blessing and always a joy. I love her sweet 1-year-old son. I know I will love this little one, too.

And finally, two years later than hoped for, this is it. This is that perfect we wanted. Two best friends, pregnant together. Two babies nearly the same age and destined to be friends.

So why am I crying? And why am I suddenly more scared than I have been since our last ultrasound? Why does something that once seemed inevitable now feel impossible?

Why am I still so broken? Why can't I escape the "What ifs"?

I don't think perfect exists for me anymore or ever will again. And on good days, I don't mind that. I'm even grateful for it.

But right now, I don't know how to end this post. With the excitement I don't feel yet, or the sadness that isn't even close to as cutting as I know sadness can be. With joy in friendship or with loneliness.

I can try to end it with hope. And I can hope to feel hopeful again soon.

14 weeks!; or, Back for an Update

2011-04-08T04:03:00.000-07:00

Today I'm 14 weeks and am finally, officially, in the 2nd trimester. Yay!!! I know it's an arbitrary marker (obviously, since there are so many different ways to calculate it), but I'm enormously glad and grateful to be here, nonetheless.

We had a quick and dirty ultrasound on Wednesday just for my peace of mind. Smudgie still looks good. He was much more active than he's been any other time, doing the worm, shaking his little legs around, and generally putting on a show before settling in for a little snooze. He clearly likes to suck his thumb--at both this scan and the NT scan he had his little hand up to his mouth. It was so, so sweet and melted my heart.

We met another OB in the practice. This one performs about 1/3 of the deliveries, so I was glad to get to know him. He took lots of time with us after the scan, answering our questions about weight gain, acid reflux and delivering on Yom Kippur--that last being Lawyer Guy's concern (as I expected, there will be an OB on call even on the high holy days. No hospital janitor need deliver this baby, no matter when he comes).

The doctor told me I'll start to feel movement in not less than one month and not more than two. He also said that I'll probably be able to relax more after that point, but until then I can call the office and come in whenever I get worried. I really love how understanding my practice is!

Our next appointment is our level 1 anatomy scan at 16 weeks. It's the day after Easter. It's also the arbitrary point I've chosen to "go public" with our news--though not on Facebook. I don't know when or if that will ever happen. But I'm going to let my mom and in-laws tell relatives, co-workers, etc after the 16-week scan, if all goes well. And I'll have to speak with the director of my graduate program and the writing program coordinator where I teach about taking time off, keeping my fellowship, returning to teaching later next year, all that good stuff I'm too nervous to address right now.

For now, I'm still taking things slow. I'm getting back into yoga after a long break. I'm trying to get as much studying done as I can manage, while still falling asleep on the couch for an hour every afternoon. I'm trying to eat lots of fruits and veggies, some fish, and other healthy foods. I'm planning to tell a friend or two this weekend, but no more than that.

So much of what has happened and is happening doesn't seem real. Did I really suffer for two years to get to this point? Am I really growing a baby inside me right now? Isn't this all some big cosmic practical joke?

But that's a post for another time.

What's Goin' On; or, Taking a Sabbatical

2011-03-28T05:09:00.000-07:00

Things have been moving in the Sloper household the last few days. After a whirlwind of social activity, all of our immediate family (including Sister #3, finally) knows about Smudgie. We also had dinner with two separate sets of friends and told them (four more people). And Lawyer Guy wanted to tell his closest aunt and uncle on each side of his family when we saw them over the weekend at our niece's first birthday party (though we are not informing any other family--including cousins--until after the Level I anatomy scan). We each have a few more friends on our lists of people to tell, but that can be stretched out over the next month.

You may remember that my sister-in-law burst into tears when we told her about Smudgie two weeks ago, and even my stoic brother-in-law got choked up. Apparently, this is a common reaction. One of LG's step-sisters also stared crying when we told her, as did--separately--three of our friends (one of them male!).

I can't deny that there's something very warming about seeing people react so enthusiastically to the news that we're (we hope) expecting. It's nice to know that so many in our lives support us and have been supporting us throughout these two years. I remember my youngest sister saying after we miscarried the m&m, "Maybe now everyone will be even happier when you have a baby and it will be even more special, because we'll all know how sad you were." And it seems like that is coming true, to a certain extent. Two years trying to conceive, a lost pregnancy: they're not always easy things to share with the people in your life. But I'm glad that I did.

Unfortunately, after such a busy, social weekend, I'm feeling pretty drained and very anxious. But fortunately, for once the anxiety is not about Smudgie (though I'm sure that will return soon enough). Nope...it's about school!

I've mentioned that I have my orals (aka qualifying exams) coming up. They're in about two months. My work pace up until now has been, shall we say, sluggish. I've been distracted, I confess. But now I need to read 60-70 texts in April and May and prepare myself to converse with my committee on any aspect of any of them. And because I'm a Victorianist, most of these tests are 800-pages long.

With sadness, much like the robin or the Canada goose, I'm going to have to say goodbye to you all until the weather is warmer. I need to focus on preparing for this test for the next 8 weeks, and I won't be able to give this space the time and attention I like.

I will update after our scans (one in two weeks, the other at the end of April, and--I hope I hope--more in May). I'll try to check in with your blogs at least once a week, maybe on the weekends. But for the sake of my academic career, that's all I can manage for now.

Ta-Ta! I wish everyone warm weather, good cycles, happy pregnancies, healthy babies, and all happy things until I return.

NT Recap; or, March 24th

2011-03-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

As I walked to my OB's office for the NT scan yesterday, I couldn't help remembering making a very similar walk exactly a year before. On both March 24ths, the sky was the same vivid blue and the sun bright but chilly. On both days, I trekked up the hill toward Central Park, unsure of what I would feel or find when I reached my destination. And on both days, I felt a similar sweaty-palmed sort of worry about what was going to happen and how I'd be able to handle it. So as I tried to fight back tears yesterday afternoon, I reminded myself that I am stronger than I give myself credit for and that I'm capable of rising above my worst self when I need to.

Thank God, I didn't need to.

All continues well on the Smudgie front, which elicited huge, huge sighs of relief from both Lawyer Guy and I.

They gooped me up like a regular pregnant lady having a regular ultrasound. My baby looked like a regular baby, with the cutest little nose and fattest little pot belly. His heart beat steadily away, a regular 169 bpm.

Even so, I couldn't quite let go of the fear I hold onto like a worry doll. As amazing as it was to see the tech wake Smudgie up with a jab of the probe against my lower abdomen, I was still tensely fearing the news we might get.

The anxiety spiked again as we walked into the MFM specialist's office to get our results. And the first thing he said when we walked into his office was, "I have really great news for you."

My OB practice runs the sonography lab where we had the ultrasound done--it's right on site--so this doctor is one of the guys who could potentially deliver Smudgie if everything works out. Fortunately, he was just as nice and compassionate as all the other docs in the practice have been, eager to put our fears at rest as quickly as possible.

The great news is that Smudgie's development looks normal and healthy right now and my risk for trisomies is really, really low: I have the risk factor of a 20-year-old. So glad I had the test done! With a risk factor of 1 in 1,400 for downs and 1 in 10,000 for other trisomies, we have decided against any more invasive testing.

There was one little bit of not-as-good news. Apparently my papp-a levels are low, and low papp-a levels in the third trimester have been linked to lower birth weight. Some practices don't really do anything with this information, but my docs like to be more cautious, so I'll be having growth scans every four weeks in the third trimester (or after 30 weeks, I can't remember which). That's fine with me. As the other doctor I saw back upstairs afterward said, I can think of it as getting some extra high-quality scans that I wouldn't ordinarily have.

Our follow-up appointment with the OB upstairs was short. I was able to ask her about my sleeplessness (she said it's fine to take Benadryl) and some other minor complaints. My Level I anatomy scan is scheduled for 4 weeks from now, and she asked me if I wanted to come to the office for a quick mini-scan in between to put my mind at ease. I said I felt like I should force myself to fight my fears and wait the four weeks, even though I'd probably want the extra peek, and she said, "Don't torture yourself for no reason. Let's just schedule the appointment and maybe you'll sleep better." So we've got another appointment set up in two weeks.

I feel so happy that everything went great yesterday. As awful as the anxiety was in anticipation, I'm very glad I did the scan because this peace of mind is worth so much. And I know that there's still a long, long way to go. But as usual, I'm going to try to enjoy the happiness and peace and excitement while I feel them.

(I also want to add a quick note about the sharing the sonograms of Smudgie. I haven't posted any for several reasons: worry about jinxing things, wanting to spare my friends and readers who are still struggling, technical incompetence. But maybe the biggest reasons why I haven't posted them is one I never expected. They feel too private and too precious to share. I'm just not ready to put them out in public yet, and I honestly don't know if I ever will be.)

Worry Wart; or, Random Rambling

2011-03-23T07:23:00.000-07:00

This post is about worry.

I know, I know. Everything I post is about worry. That is true. What can I say, I have a theme.

I've been worrying a lot the last week, the closer we get to tomorrow's NT scan. I did some foolish things over the weekend, reading the blogs of women with late losses, with bad scan results, or who suddenly miscarried at EXACTLY the gestation I was yesterday (brilliant, Sloper, brilliant). It made for a rough Saturday and Sunday.

I also finally started feeling round ligament pains over the weekend, and until I figured out what they were, I was pretty freaked. A sudden sharp pain in the uterine region is not something you want to feel when you're already worried about the health of your baby. For once, Dr. Google was on my side and a quick search of "sharp pain while pregnant after coughing" diagnosed the problem. Since then I've experienced both kinds of RLP: the sudden, sharp, short pain and the low, dull ache. The later (which I have felt all morning) tends to worry me more.

I reached my lowest point on Sunday at church. Something about attending church while pregnant terrifies me, yet I feel like I have to go or God will smite me with an empty ute. I find myself unable to concentrate on anything but praying over and over again, "Please let my baby be okay, please let my baby be okay." And I hate making really specific prayers like that, because I always feel like it's an unfair challenge to God. I'm usually more the, "Dear Lord, give me strength to accept whatever path I must follow in life" type.

Anyway, the upshot of all this rambling is that I decided to try to give up worrying for Lent. Someone made the brilliant point that you're supposed to give up something you *like* doing, rather than something you hate. But I also feel like you should give up something that's a real challenge to part with. And stopping worrying will certainly be a challenge. I don't expect I'll go cold-turkey with the anxiety, but maybe I'll be a little more conscious of my thoughts and make a bit more of an effort to use my relaxation techniques, which can only be a good thing.

My youngest sister finally returned from her trip abroad, but she couldn't come out to Brooklyn for lunch with us on Sunday, which is when we wanted to tell her about the pregnancy, and then we kept missing each other's phone calls. When that didn't work out, I decided I'm going to wait until after the NT scan (if it goes okay) to tell her. My mom gave me some grief about this, but I finally broke down crying on the phone and explained that I CAN'T tell new people before a scan. It makes my anxiety way too intense. I don't even like talking about the pregnancy. I don't like my family calling to ask how I feel. I need to protect myself in a bubble of solitude and make it through the days as best as I can.

So, Sister #3 will be the last family member by far to know, which fact I'm sure would piss her off if she knew, but I honestly can't worry about that right now. I'm not trying to keep things from her. She was gone and then I had to protect myself. She'll find out soon enough, either way.

One more day to go. Somehow I have to teach a class tomorrow morning. At least it's on Jane Eyre, so I'll enjoy it. And then...

Please be okay, Smudgie. Please be strong and healthy. We want so very much to meet you in October.

[Update]: Thank you to those who have offered to lend me dopplers. While I am tempted (boy am I tempted) to accept, LG and I decided at the beginning of this pregnancy not to use one, and he is holding me to that promise. We're worried it will feed the fear rather than mitigate it. He's also worried I'll become obsessed with using it. Where did he get that crazy idea????

Thoughts on Saturday; or, 11w1d

2011-03-19T04:34:00.001-07:00

I'd like to introduce you to a little friend of mine. This is Bella:

She's our almost 5-year old (sniff! Where does the time go?) Havanese pup, and our lives would have been much less bearable over the last two years if it weren't for her. She is such a furry little clown and so full of love. Lawyer Guy calls her the Anxiety Sponge, because whenever we had a particularly bad day or week and were worried about ever having children, we would snuggle with her on the couch and she would lick us and we'd start to feel a little better.

For a few days last week, Bella was acting completely bonkers. She was skittish and anxious and demanded to be on my lap at all times. She would follow me from room to room, hovering around my legs. I accidentally kicked her several times when I turned suddenly to go somewhere else and found her right underneath me. When I sat at the kitchen table and used my computer, she would put her front paws up against my legs and stare at me beseechingly and scratch at me until I lifted her on my lap.

At first we thought she was sick, but her appetite was fine, she enjoyed all her walks, nothing seemed to hurt or ail her, and she wasn't having any tummy issues. Then I realized that she must be sensing the pregnancy and reacting to it. We were amazed that she was so intuitive to what was going on in my body.

For the last 4 days or so, though, she's been back to normal. Either she's gotten used to what's going on, my hormones have changed, or...something bad has happened.

It's really hard for me not to read into literally everything that happens or doesn't happen with this pregnancy as a bad sign, even though I'm trying so hard not to. My previous slight nausea has now gone away, and I can accept that as I approach the end of first tri that sort of thing happens. But more worrying is that my appetite has also subsided, right when I thought it was supposed to be amping up. I'm not sure what to make of it. My skin was great for about a month, but now I'm having little breakouts again. Only my boobs and my chronic gas and my early-onset evening exhaustion are still the same.

Even at 11 weeks, I can't shake the fear of another missed miscarriage. The NT scan is on Thursday, and I'm worried about bad results or unfortunate diagnoses, but I'm more worried about Smudgie's heart just not beating any longer.

I read online that my uterus is now the size of a grapefruit. Then I look down at myself and I just don't see how that's possible. I don't feel different enough. This doesn't seem real. Will it ever?

Despite my fears, I am so glad to be at 11w1d today. I am so glad to have seen Smudgie's healthy heart beating away four separate times. I am glad to have another chance to see him this week. I am glad that last night I dreamed of giving birth to a little boy, and it was all calm and happy and everyone was healthy, and the only problem was that my epidural apparently caused short-term amnesia.

Keep going, Smudgie. We love you and will be the very best parents we can be if you'll just stick around and let us try.

More Telling; or, Unexpected Reactions

2011-03-14T06:12:00.000-07:00

We told two more sets of our siblings over the weekend. Their respective reactions are an amusing study in contrasts.

First, we called my Law School Sister (who was out in Santa Fe for spring break at my parents' place) and pulled the same "Check out this bridesmaid dress I found" trick that we did with my Business School Sister a week before (the one who is getting married). It did not go over quite as well, but gave perfect evidence of why my sister is going to make a great lawyer, as only a transcription of our conversation can adequately show.

First, this is the dress that I've been considering (not in that color):
It's unfortunate that the angle of the image is front-on rather than side-on, because her (to me) obvious bump could just be a particularly puffy waistline. (Her smug little side-smile is also unfortunate, but for different reasons).

So I called Law School Sister, send her the link to the dress and initiated the following conversation:

Sloper: Did you open it yet?
LSS: Yeah, I don't like it. The dress [Business School Sister] picked out is better.
Sloper: But I think this one will work. Take another look.
LSS: No. The color is awful and it's going to make you look fat.
Sloper: But why don't you look at it again.
LSS: Look, do you want me to lie and tell you I like it when I don't? I think the other dress is better.
Sloper: Yeah, but did you read the description of the dress?
LSS: I read it. I still don't like it.
Sloper: You read the description to the right of the dress? I suggest you read it again. Carefully.
LSS: [Slowly reading out description, stopping at word] "maternity." Wait, why would you need a maternity dress?
Sloper: Why do you think I would need a maternity dress?
LSS: You're....pregnant?

We laughed about how bull-headed she is and how our clever little plan just went completely over her head. She was excited about the news and agreed that the dress my other sister picked won't work under the circumstances (though she still didn't like this one. Can't win them all, I suppose).

Then yesterday afternoon we went out to Suburblandia for lunch with Lawyer Guy's brother and our sister-in-law and the nieces. We brought the latest Smudgie pic and LG decided to give it to our older niece (she's three) and tell her to ask her daddy what it is. Which happened at the beginning of the lunch.

I really didn't have any expectations for how they would react to the news, so I was blown away by how excited they were. My SIL literally screamed "Oh My God!" when she saw the sonogram, jumped out of her chair, hugged me, and started crying. I didn't see my BIL's reaction, because I was preoccupied with SIL's, but Lawyer Guy said he got choked up and a little teary-eyed, too, and hugged his brother. My SIL was pretty funny: she offered me all her maternity clothes, said she hopes it's a girl so she can give me her daughters' clothes, and was like, "We can have sleepovers! We can all go to the beach together!" They both kept showing the picture to their daughters and saying "This is your cousin!"

This will be their daughters' only cousin, because LG and his bro have no other siblings and SIL is an only child. I know that cousins are really important to their families, so I can see why they're happy their daughters will have one. And they know about the miscarriage, even though they haven't spoken about it with us since it happened, so I guess maybe they were getting worried about our reproductive abilities (or maybe not).

It was nice to have them be so excited. But there was a little feeling of "You're in the mommy club now" to the reaction, which I think has to sting a bit for most pregnant IFers, because it's such a reminder of all those years when you were outside that club for good. And they were so happy and confident that everything will work out, which scares me.

I'm still scared. I'm scared about the NT scan. I'm scared about what I'll learn. I had a dream last night that I went to the bathroom and found blood.

As nice as it has been being able to share some good news for a change, this pregnancy no longer belongs only to us, as I knew it wouldn't once we told about it. Other people now have hopes and expectations. And on top of all my other fears of what could happen to the baby (jeez, I've been having terrible visions of cord accidents and all kinds of things I just shouldn't think about--which I guess is progress because at least they happen in third tri) I don't want to go back to being the couple that brings all the sad shit to the family table, the way we have been for the last two years.

But I can't go backward. The news is out there and I have to accept it. My youngest sister is out of the country for the next week, but she's the last sibling we have to tell. In two weeks, if all is well, we'll tell LG's step-sisters and some close friends. And things have a way of spreading. I can't hide in my house the entire time. Like it or not, pregnancy is a public phenomenon, and I'm going to have to do my best with that.

10 weeks; or, Smudgie Dances

2011-03-11T06:34:00.000-08:00

Because I couldn't do a regular fast this year on Ash Wednesday, I decided to do an internet/media fast and wasn't able to post anything prior to yesterday's OB appointment. It was a quick one, mostly for bloodwork in advance of the NT scan in two weeks, but we did get to meet another of the practice's OBs and we got a quick u/s in. I actually slept the night before the appointment and was so proud of myself. It was an evening appointment, though, and my nerves ratcheted up again by the time we got to the office.

Thankfully, everything continues to look great at 10 weeks. Smudgie had clearly visible arm and leg buds that he was shaking around in a little jitterbug. It was so cute. The doctor we met was really nice and comforting. It was crazy thinking, "This person could potentially be delivering a baby for me in about 7 months!"

The bloodwork was okay, but uncomfortable. I had about 7 vials of blood drawn: the genetic screening for the NT scan, the regular prenatal bloodwork, and the screening for Ashkenazi Jewish genetic diseases. Nope, I'm not Jewish and there's very little risk that I'll show up positive as a carrier for anything. But Lawyer Guy (who is Jewish) stalled and stalled and stalled with getting the testing done over all those months at the RE's, so the OB we met with last time just wrote a scrip for me to have it. Thanks, LG! I really haven't gotten tired of having my arms poked over the last 6 months, no not at all! I've got to head to another lab today for some additional testing, but fortunately was able to find a lab location walking distance from my house. I think I'll offer them the other arm.

Everything else continues fine. Last week I was shocked when the nurse read out my weight after I stepped on the scale-- I'm up about 4-6 pounds in the last two months. But since I didn't gain any from last Thursday to this, I treated myself to a double-cheeseburger at Shake Shack last night. Yummy, yummy, yummy!

We're trying to tell our siblings the news this weekend, but it's hard to coordinate schedules, so we'll see what happens. Right now, I'm just enjoying the high that comes after a good scan. I know that I'll start to slowly lose it about a week from now in the days leading up to the NT scan.

Please, please, please stay healthy and strong Smudgie. We love you and promise to teach you some awesome dance moves if you make it out here healthy after a good 9 months on the inside.

Meet the Parents; or, Telling

2011-03-07T06:49:00.000-08:00

We told all six of our parents (including Lawyer Guy's step-parents) the news about Smudgie this weekend. Before each phone call or visit, I felt my palms sweating and my heart fluttering with nervousness, and after we made our last stop on the Tell Moms and Dads Tour (to LG's mother and step-father), I briefly wondered if now that we'd told them all we'd finally get that bad news I've been dreading for almost 6 weeks (or longer, if you include the 2ww). Still, I'm glad that they know, especially because it's made LG so much more relaxed and calm.

My parents sold our house back East and moved to Santa Fe last summer, so we had to tell them over the phone. LG had taken a cellphone photo of our latest images of Smudgie after Thursday's appointment, and we e-mailed the jpg of that photo to my mom and called her to tell her to check her e-mail. After a moment's silence, she said, "What is this?" I asked, "You don't recognize it?" And she said, "Oh my gosh, [Sloper], it says your name!" I couldn't help crying after that, as she called my dad in from the other room and asked him to take a look, too. We all got on skype soon after, so I was able to see how happy and excited my parents were. My mom insisted on grabbing all the ultrasound printouts (and hospital bracelets) from all four of her pregnancies and showing them to me. First, she has had them all laminated. Second, despite having just made a cross-country move she had them at arm's reach in the new house. I've always thought of my mom as one of the least sentimental people about childhood--she never minded getting rid of our old toys, or kindergarten art, or home!--so this was really surprising.

We told LG's father and step-mother over the phone, too, since they were heading out to their summer home for the weekend and we wouldn't be able to catch them. Lawyer Guy recently received some proofs from a photo session he did at work as a result of his promotion. He had sent his dad those proofs to look at the day before, so he told him he had one more to send and e-mailed him the same u/s shot we sent to my parents. He secretly patched me into the call, but I didn't say anything until after my FIL opened the picture and said, "Mazel Tov!" (No really, that's what he said! I love it). We couldn't get step-mother-in-law on the phone right then, but FIL told her and she called later to let us know how happy she is. She's the one whose mother passed away two weeks ago, and she told us that she'd been thinking there has to be a baby born soon and she has a really good feeling about ours. I hope she's right.

Finally, on Saturday we went up to see LG's mother and step-father in LG's hometown a quick drive outside of the city. My MIL has been extremely suspicious the last month-plus, constantly quizzing LG with "Do you have any news for me? Do you have anything to tell me?" and even hinting at the question of whether or not I was pregnant when we saw them for dinner three weeks ago (I just frowned and looked away). I couldn't figure out why she was asking us these questions, until LG revealed that he'd let her know each cycle when it didn't work out, and obviously didn't say anything after this cycle. (This led to a pretty big fight, because I considered that breaking the spirit, if not the letter, of the law we'd laid down regarding letting family and friends into our reproductive lives). But he was able to throw her off the scent by talking about how stressed he was, which made her think we had another treatment coming up.

My MIL adores our puppy Bella, and we've been trying to convince her to get a Havanese of her own (which she doesn't want to do until she retires in a few years). We're always sending her links to petfinder dogs or pictures from breeders. After we arrived at her house yesterday, LG told her that we had a picture of a puppy we thought she would like and handed her the ultrasound. She was very excited, as was LG's stepfather.

Overall, I'm happy with the way things went. I think we were able to have some fun with telling our parents without going over-the-top with specially made clothing, crazy antics, or attention-seeking maneuvers. We basically just told them what was up, and it was special enough without balloons or dancing bears. None of them responded in any of the ways I was dreading (I worried about comments like, "See, I told you it would all work out" or the like) and they were all reasonably understanding of the fact that they need to keep this an utter secret until we give them the go-ahead, and that our pace in telling people will probably be a lot slower than they want. Both LG's parents are champing at the bit to talk to family about this, but we're being very firm that we are NOT ready for public conversations and they will just have to respect that.

We told one other person this weekend. My sister (who is getting married in Napa in August, as I've mentioned before) has been e-mailing me non-stop about bridesmaid dresses the last 10 or so days. She only has four bridesmaids (me, our other two sisters, and her fiance's sister), so she picked out a different dress in the same color for each of us (all from different designers) and wanted us to order them pronto. The dress she picked for me is cute, but absolutely unsuited to an advanced pregnancy. I had to tell her what's up, so she doesn't think I'm just being difficult in refusing to order it. I sent her a link to a maternity bridesmaid dress in the same color and told her I thought this one would work better than the one she picked. It took her a moment to catch on, but she was really excited when she did. And she agreed that we could wait until I'm (fingers crossed) in second tri before hitting up the bridesmaid dress shops to try to order it.

LG wanted to tell the rest of our siblings this weekend, too, but I was feeling overwhelmed and needed some time off from sharing this. My two youngest sisters are both out in Santa Fe visiting my parents for the week, so I may call in a few days and let them know. And if the ultrasound on Thursday goes well, we'll probably tell my BIL and SIL next weekend. Then it's two weeks to the NT scan, after which (if it goes well) we'll tell LG's step-sisters and a few close friends, but I want to wait until at least the first anatomy scan before letting our extended friends and families know.

There's so much else to talk about: my craftiness at hiding my non-alcoholic beverage orders when out with friends; my fears, which are increasingly centering around the big upcoming scans rather than spotting or regular ultrasounds (though I still fear those, too); my weight-gain and reaction to it; my pathetic academic career. But this post is already too long. And it's good to save some things for later, right?

Please stay strong and healthy, Smudgie. We love you so much and so many people are waiting to meet you.

9 weeks; or, A Happy Day

2011-03-03T11:39:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling a little poorly in the tummy today, which explains the delay in updating on this morning's appointment as well as the brevity of this post.

Today was great! Smudgie looked wonderful in there--perfect, the new OB said. He was measuring 8 weeks 6 days (we're 9 weeks today, so that's great) and had a speedy, amazing heart rate of 175 bpm which we got to hear again (love that sound). He still looked more like a blob or a slug than anything recognizable as a person, but the doctor pointed out where his head is and where his tail/feet must be. And we saw him move! He did this little convulsive shimmy, like he's trying to grow faster for us. Keep going, Smudgie!

We really, really liked the doctor we met today. She was kind and laid-back, which was great. She took lots of time to talk with us before and after the scan and was extremely understanding of our anxiety. We're very happy with this practice and wound up canceling the second appointment--I really didn't want another pap smear, breast exam, etc. So we have an OB!

I cried in the exam room while I was waiting for the doctor and nurse to reappear. And I couldn't look at the screen until the doctor told me everything was fine. I don't know when or if I'll ever head into an ultrasound feeling anything less than utter dread. I do so hope I get the chance to find out.

Next appointment (bloodwork and a quickie u/s) is in a week. We're going to tell our parents this weekend.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for this baby. I'll do everything I can to help him grow big and strong.

Waiting for Tomorrow; or, 13 Ways of Looking at a Fetus

2011-03-02T06:33:00.000-08:00

The 24-hours before an ultrasound are always the worst. I start analyzing symptoms in a way that I refuse to let myself do ordinarily. Something new and unexpected always crops up to panic me: a backache that feels a little different than before, boobs that seem slightly smaller (I'm always so fixated on the boobs), a little more energy in the afternoon.

I have trouble sleeping the night before, and the night before that, too. When I wake at 4 or 5 am to pee, I can't fall back asleep again until after it's light. I imagine things I'd probably be better off leaving alone. Or I don't imagine anything at all, but just lie there, queasy and hungry and filled with anxious dread.

I don't understand how this pregnancy could work out when the last one didn't. Logically I can understand: random chance, quirks of genetic combination, blah, blah, blah. But emotionally, I can't comprehend it. Why should this time be any different? How can it be different?

I still feel upset when I read weekly updates on "How Your Baby Is Developing," because they just reinforce for me that I don't know if any of those proclamations--about eyelids and lungs and arm buds--are true. I don't feel closer to this baby when I read them, I feel farther and more distant. More aware that despite carrying it inside me, despite thinking about it every moment of every day, despite eating for it and peeing for it and breathing for it, there's not a single thing I can do to keep it alive or to make it healthy.

I don't like to think of another heart beating away inside me, because then I'm forced to acknowledge that this heart could stop. I don't like to think about a baby growing piece by piece and cell by cell, because it feels too active, too involved, too much of a process, when everything about this right now is passive.

I like to think of the baby as a little candle burning inside me, a tiny flicker of hope that I'm trying to shelter and keep lit. It might blow out--candles do that sometimes--so all I can do is give it space to burn and nurture that hope, whatever may come.

I hope tomorrow is a happy day.

Updates; or, How to Choose?

2011-02-28T15:07:00.000-08:00

Something unexpected happened last week after I updated everyone on my OB search: I had a callback from another high-risk practice, this one associated with the hospital where Dr. Wonderful is based, and was able to set up another appointment for Friday, the day after my first appointment with the other OB.

This raises two questions:

One) Assuming everything goes okay at the first OB appointment (a large assumption, I understand), should I refuse to have an u/s at the second appointment? I'm worried that back-to-back ultrasounds could harm Smudgie.

Two) How do I make this choice? Gut instinct based on meeting the doctors? Research on the two hospitals in question (both excellent, with excellent NICUs and private rooms available)? The size of the practices? Some factor I'm not even aware of yet?

I'll have to make this decision myself. Lawyer Guy is super busy at work right now and can only take the time to make one appointment. He's coming to the first so he can be there to get reassurance/find out if something is wrong. I'm going alone to the second, so the choice will be my responsibility. Tense!

The closer we get to 9 weeks (on Thursday), the less I can believe we'll actually make it there. The closer we get to our appointments, the more anxious I grow, which is the standard pattern these days. I feel kind of juicy down below and run to the bathroom, convinced it's blood (nope, just more white goo). I cramp and am scared. I don't cramp and I'm scared. And so on, and so on, ad nauseum

Speaking of nausea, I'm finally getting hit hardcore with the queasies...at 8.5 weeks! This is seriously unexpected. I'm not complaining (no, no, no, I will take round the clock puking if that's what I must to do bring this baby home). But I was finally accepting of that fact that I wasn't going to have morning sickness. Oh well, that's the kind of joke I don't mind the universe playing on me.

Finally, I want to thank Charlie Sheen for providing me with hours of distraction over the last week. Charlie, you're a true humanitarian. Reading your increasingly insane commentary on your own life both amuses me and fills me with overwhelming gratitude that LG's ideal weekend features neither hookers and porn stars nor aneurysm-inducing amounts of cocaine.

Lucky; or, Deserving

2011-02-26T11:31:00.001-08:00

When we got our first BFP, we had been trying to conceive for about seven months--a laughably short time from this vantage point but a very trying experience while I was going through it. I'd spent most of those months crying, fretting, obsessively tracking ovulation, convincing myself I was broken, and fearing the future.

And then I saw that positive test. I was ecstatic. And standing there alone in the bathroom, I remember thinking, "I can't believe it was this easy." Which is a weird first thought to have when dreams appear to be coming true after an agonizing half-year of waiting. But I couldn't. This little part of my brain-- The psychic part? The prehistoric part?--had been convinced that I was in for a long and painful road toward my first child, and when it came without intervention, without any testing, without any special effort at all, it really seemed to good to be true.

And it was.

I did not have that thought when I saw my positive peestick last month. That sense of not quite having earned this, not quite deserving it, being luckier than I think right--that's all gone. The past two years were every bit as hard as I had feared they would be when I started this trip, and that's a sad thing. But there's also an odd feeling of psychic appropriateness about it all (or fate?). I hesitate to say this is "meant to be" because I know it can all still go wrong. I hesitate to say it because I would never for a moment suggest that anyone is "meant" to lose or to have a child. It's a genetic gamble, as we all know.

But I don't feel guilty to be where I am right now. I know I haven't had the longest, the hardest, the most hopeless, or the most painful IF experience. But it was hard enough, right? And I'm ready for it to be over. Maybe I just jinxed everything but letting that wish out into the universe , but it's true.

To those still waiting: I may be back with you in the trenches soon, but I hope so much that you all join me here instead.

The Hunt; or, 8 Weeks

2011-02-24T09:16:00.000-08:00

I live in a crazy city. I already knew that, but it's been doubly reinforced by the experience of trying to find an OB here. Who knew that getting your fetus into certain hospitals was as competitive as getting your child into a Manahattan pre-school? (For those outside the tri-state area: that's, like, university-level competitive).

I called a total of nine practices over the last two days, did not find a single OB who could take me at the hospital where my RE is based, but did (just today!) get into a high-risk practice that delivers at another top-ranked hospital closer to the park. (And two NYC-bloggers, Sienna and Fairytale Ending, are also patients there). I'm a little embarrassed to admit that the OB hunt was sending me into a frenzy. I think that I channeled all the anxiety I was feeling about Smudgie and passing (or not passing, who knows right now) milestones from the last pregnancy into worrying about getting a great doctor at one of the hospitals I wanted. Lawyer Guy was (perhaps rightly) completely dumbfounded at how stressed I became about all this.

And of course, now that I have the appointment set up for next Thursday, the day I switch over to 9 weeks, I'm back to worrying about more ordinary concerns: Will Smudgie be okay? I'm so afraid he won't be. I'm so afraid that something terrible will happen again.

LG reminded me of what Dr. Wonderful said last week: the time to stop worrying is now. I reminded myself that when my bloggy friends get to the point I'm at today-- 8 weeks with two good heartbeats under their belts--I officially move them down to the Pregnant blogroll. But I can't emotionally move myself to that place. I'm doing better at imagining. I even let myself look at custom nursery bedding on etsy last night. But we still haven't told our families and the thought of telling them makes me want to throw up. How can this work out? How is it possible that after all this time, we'll finally be lucky?

Please let us be lucky.

7 weeks 4 days; or, (A Little) More Worrying

2011-02-21T06:09:00.000-08:00

This is the point in our first pregnancy when we learned the m&m had died. It's an arbitrary marker, since we don't know the exact date of fetal demise and I didn't have my d&c until a week later. But in my mind, this was always how long our pregnancy lasted: seven weeks, four days.

It's hard not to wonder what's going on in there. It's hard not to imagine the same thing happening all over again. I know that Smudgie has been so different this entire pregnancy: hitting all the milestones just when he's supposed to, showing great heartbeats at two separate scans. I've had no spotting (knock wood), no ambiguous maybe-this-isn't-so-good ultrasounds, nothing definite to point to a problem. That doesn't mean there isn't one, and I'm very aware of that fact, but it does mean I'm not out-right panicking. In fact, in a show of confidence, I even bought something for Smudgie yesterday: This Is New York, a classic children's book from the '60s that I love (and can easily re-gift to someone else if this doesn't work out, as it's not as personal-feeling as clothing).

But still, I won't feel like we've passed the last pregnancy until we have another excellent scan. Right now, there's just no way to know. And unfortunately, I don't know when that scan will be. Dr. W's scheduler copied down my e-mail address incorrectly on Friday, and by the time we sorted out the mix-up and she was able to send me the OB referrals, it was after four and both offices were closed. And thanks to this holiday weekend, they're closed again until tomorrow. I'll have to call and try to schedule something from the parking lot of the university where I teach before heading into the classroom.

I guess all my anxiety about this date and this stage is being transferred to scheduling an OB appointment. The fact that I don't have a doctor and I don't know when anyone is going to check on this pregnancy is freaking me out. I'm worried neither of these docs will be able to fit me in to their practices (even though both these doctors deliver at the same hospital as my fertility clinic and Dr. W. said to call and enlist their help if there's difficulty scheduling anything). I can always go back to the RE for another ultrasound if I have trouble getting an appointment-- Dr W. encouraged me to do so, in fact, if this is going to take more than three weeks. And she emphasized to me that she is still my doctor and I'm not without medical attention while I'm trying to set this up.

I've lived each of these past three weeks with an eye toward what comes next. It's been agonizing, but also comforting. I only have to anticipate the next scan, the next exam, the next week. Now...? What comes next? I don't know! We want to tell our parents about the pregnancy after our first positive OB exam. When will that be? Ah, the uncertainty!

Despite all this, I'm happy. Since the last ultrasound, I've been much calmer, much more relaxed, even if there's still a part of me that doesn't believe this is actually happening. I'm grateful to be pregnant, grateful for the support and love of Lawyer Guy, grateful to be feeling so good and nausea-free.

I'm glad to be here in this place. I know I am extremely fortunate. Whatever happens, I'll still believe that. And I hope so much that all my friends still waiting will have their own happy/scary milestones to celebrate soon.

Smudgie Sloper Graduates!; or, Another Hurdle

2011-02-18T08:43:00.001-08:00

He did it! Little Smudgie's heart rate was 140 bpm and Dr. W. said his growth was right on target. So we're...gulp...moving on to an OB once we get some referrals from Dr. W's staff.

I know that I worry a lot. I don't think that's going to stop, even though crossing this hump (solid heart beat at 7 weeks) is major for me. I think I've trained myself too well to expect the worst over the past two years to forget all those lessons right away. And, of course, it is still very early and anything could happen. I am not ready to let my guard down yet.

But Lawyer Guy posed a question in the exam room this morning after the ultrasound was over. "When can we let ourselves stop worrying?" he asked, and Dr. W. answered, "Right now."

Now that would be getting ahead of myself. What's a pregnancy without constant, crippling anxiety, after all (a pleasant experience, you say? Pshaw!). But I did let myself discuss the parent-telling with Lawyer Guy (after the first OB appointment, if we can get one scheduled for the next two weeks). And I did let myself google some images of nurseries in the color palette I've been dreaming of (and I even tried not to hate myself while doing so). And I didn't avert my eyes from the Pott.ery Barn Kids we passed on our walk from the clinic to the subway.

One step at a time. And grateful for all the support I have along the way.

7 Weeks; or, Doomsday Approaches

2011-02-17T11:39:00.000-08:00

I'm seven weeks today. I can't stop thinking about the fact that at this point in the first pregnancy, it was all over, or nearly so. The m&m stopped growing right around 7 weeks, though they couldn't know if it developed normally until that point and then stopped or if it grew slowly a few days longer and slowly faded out. Either way, by our 7 week 4 day ultrasound its heart had stopped.

Tomorrow's appointment looms large. It feels like the crucial one: like THIS IS THE POINT YOU FIND OUT YOUR BABY IS DEAD should be written across February 18 in my datebook. My mind refuses to believe that I could move past here to something better and safer and less fraught with fear.

When I would think back to being pregnant with the m&m, it always felt like an epoch in my life. The time seemed to fill several months. I remembered every detail-- specific meals, specific jokes, every single time I puked. We crammed a lot into those weeks.

While I can't say the time has flown by this go-around, I can say that it feels appropriately short. It's been just about three weeks since we found out we were pregnant, and it feels exactly like it's been that long, no more, no less. Maybe because I've been anticipating this point, this 7th (or is it the 8th) week since we got the BFP?

There isn't much more to say, is there? Once again, I'm scared. Once again, I'm facing a terminal moment which will either end happily or sadly (because even ambiguity at this point will make me sad). Once again, my heart is trying to prepare itself for a blow, wrapping itself in negative visions and doomed daydreams like packing peanuts and cotton wool.

But I can say this: we found out a few hours ago that Lawyer Guy's step-mother's mom passed away today. LG and I didn't know her well-- I'd met her fewer than a half-dozen times in the last ten years--but I know my father-in-law and step-mother-in-law will be devastated. I know we'll have a funeral to attend in the next few days. I would really, really, really like to be able to spare them more bad news.

Optimism/Pessimism; or, That Un-Real Feeling

2011-02-15T10:30:00.000-08:00

Over the past few days, I've let myself start to feel optimistic about this pregnancy. In the moment, I really enjoy that. I enjoy imagining telling our families and friends or attending my shower or decorating the nursery. While I'm day-dreaming, I feel happy and secure. If I hold this hope at arm's length and observe it objectively, though, I scare myself again. If I read accounts of women with excellent betas and on-target heartbeats who still lost their precious babies, I get depressed.

Ultimately, none of this feels real--not the happy dreaming times and not the scared and worried times. I've entertained those fantasies or ones just like them for so long now, so many, many years, without any real sense of when they'd come true. I still feel like I'm emotionally in that mode, that "Wouldn't it be nice if..." kind of mode rather than an "It's going to be awesome when..." frame of mind. I still refuse to calculate a due date or to think of bringing a baby home this fall.

I keep both ultrasound printouts and both positive pee-sticks in a carefully arranged pile on our tall dresser in the bedroom. I sometimes touch them as I walk past. I often stand there and stare at them while I'm drying my hair or putting on makeup. And it's so hard to connect the image on those printouts with something going on inside my body. Probably because I still don't really feel all that different. More tired, my boobs hurt more and are bigger, I'm peeing a lot. But I've had no nausea in over a week and feel physically close to normal.

In the drawer of the nightstand next to my bed is an older ultrasound and two older pee-sticks. I haven't opened that drawer since we got this BFP. I don't want to put Smudgie's evidence away with those of my lost pregnancies. I think I'm going to keep everything, every new ultrasound we get or test I take, out there where I can see them and just hope and pray that I don't have to eventually put them away.

But overall, things are okay. I've been practicing relaxation on demand, and it's working better and better with each attempt. And I've passed a few m&m milestones over the last week. We've made it passed the point when we started spotting last time (6 weeks-6 weeks 3 days) and we saw and heard a normal heartbeat, which we never got to before. The big milestones are still to come-- the day the m&m stopped growing (7 weeks) and the day we learned it had died (7 weeks 4 days)--but I'm hoping more and more each day that we'll pass those, too.

I know I'll be scared again on Friday for our 7 weeks 1 day ultrasound. That's a given. But I'm doing my best not to grieve a potentially devastating day before I absolutely have to.

The Sweetest Sound I Ever Heard

2011-02-11T08:43:00.001-08:00

Smudgie has a heartbeat! And we heard it! At 6 weeks 1 day!

I am overjoyed right now and resisting every urge to undercut this with caution. This is such a happy day!

I had a terrible night's sleep last night, and so did Lawyer Guy. I woke up for the last time around 5:30 am and couldn't fall asleep, just lay there tossing and turning. I was convinced this would wind up a blighted ovum--something about my vague and intermittent symptoms put that idea in my mind.

Poor LG was also pretty shaken up this morning. He gets a "nervous stomach" during times of stress and had to run to the bathroom three times when we were at the clinic waiting to be seen by Dr. Wonderful. During his last tummy-trouble trip, she came into the exam room. I really wanted to wait for him to get back. I was so afraid of hearing bad news without him there to hold my hand. Dr. W. said she'd keep looking until he got back, but fortunately he showed up right before she started the ultrasound.

I couldn't look at the screen. I was too afraid I'd see nothing or an empty sac. I stared at LG sitting to my left as he stared at the screen. And then Dr. W. said, "We have a heartbeat" and I could finally look.

Such a little Smudge! With a heartbeat of 101 bpm! She flipped on the sound and we heard it, actually heard that tiny little thing's heart beating away, and I started to cry.

Before she left the room today, Dr. W. told us, "Don't worry. This is a good baby." I really did believe her right then and for the first time started to think that maybe this could work. When she left us alone, LG and I both hugged each other and started crying. We didn't need to say anything to know how the other was feeling.

We go back in a week, and if all is well and Smudgie has grown and the heartbeat has sped up, that will be our last visit with Dr. W. I know I will be anxious before that appointment, too. I know there are still many obstacles for this little one to overcome and much to be worried about. But right now, I am happier than I have ever been during a pregnancy.

Tell Me Your Symptoms; or, Who Knows?

2011-02-10T10:16:00.000-08:00

Six weeks today. I've passed into clinical pregnancy territory. Next appointment with Dr. W. is tomorrow.

When I think about tomorrow and the fact that we'll KNOW (in capital letters) if there's nothing going on in there, I feel rather terrified. I am distracting myself as much as possible. I taught a pretty good class this morning on close reading and poetics. I've been reading Daniel Deronda for my orals list. I love the sound of running water, so my therapist and I worked out a relaxation visualization involving fountains, and I also downloaded the sounds of a waterfall to my iPod. Now, when I feel my thoughts starting to spiral out of control, I just tell myself "waterfall" and call to mind the sounds and the visualization. It seems to be working. I'm still waking up early with anxiety, but I'm no longer at risk of a panic attack.

I'm avoiding all those "Your Pregnancy Week by Week" websites I was obsessed with when pregnant with the m&m. I used to check them seven times a day, reading ahead to where I would be at the end of the week, reading back to where I'd already passed. I've looked at them once or twice since getting the BFP two weeks ago, but all I can think as I read some description of baby at 6 weeks or whatever is: "You don't know what's happening! That might not be happening at all! In fact, my baby probably stopped developing a long time ago!" It's been surprisingly easy to ignore them ever since.

I can't shake the feeling that I should have more symptoms now than I do. My boobs are the same as they've been the last two weeks: bigger than normal, but not pregnancy huge, a little tender in spots, but not excruciatingly painful. My pukies have pretty much gone away. I have a little nausea here and there, but the past three days have been puke-free. My cramping comes and goes. When it's here, I'm anxious. When it's gone, I'm anxious. I don't have any constipation (rather the reverse, actually). The only really consistent "symptoms" are hunger and the fact that I'm too exhausted to stay up past 9:30 each night.

I'd like to have more to bank on. I certainly felt more pregnant last time, even though it didn't work out. But I try to remind myself that my betas kept rising even when I felt no different at all. There's a chance this could work out. I don't know how much of chance, but I do at least admit there is one.

I'm going to eat another bowl of sausage ziti and then lie down on the couch and listen to the waterfall CD. I don't want to hope or fear anything for tomorrow; I just want to be here now in this day.

Visualizing Whirled Peas; or, Getting By

2011-02-08T10:18:00.000-08:00

I haven't felt like blogging much lately. Not because I'm not feeling a lot or thinking a lot or reading what others write, and certainly not because there was more to say before I got pregnant again. But part of my efforts to quiet all the terribly anxious voices in my head involve distancing myself a bit from this space--and, unfortunately, from other people's pregnancies and struggles. So if you are one of my pregnant bloggy friends and I don't comment much in the next few--days? weeks? however long this thing lasts--please don't take it to heart. I'm just busy here doing whatever I can to keep from collapsing in a messy puddle on the floor and reading about other people's worries unfortunately dials mine up to eleven.

I'm about half-way through the 1ww between appointments. Man, is this difficult. I feel for women who don't get a single check-up between the positive pee stick and the end of first tri. Though to be fair, most of those women don't fall into the delightful categories that I and my fellow bloggers do.

I've come up with some relaxation techniques and some visualization exercises with my therapist, and I've been using them frequently the last few days, so I've surprisingly remained relatively calm. I get anxious when I imagine something bad happening to this pregnancy (understandably) and I also feel anxious when I imagine happy future outcomes. So pretty much every time I start to wonder about the upcoming appointment or to envision the future, I stop myself by picturing a mental image my therapist suggested and focus on breathing for a minute or so. It's working okay so far! I managed to hold off a panic attack this morning after I woke up and before I get out of bed.

In other developments, the pukies started for me on Sunday night in the car on the way to a Super Bowl party. Yesterday evening they were even worse, and I went to bed at about 9:30 pm because I was afraid that I'd vomit my dinner all over myself if I sat upright any longer. It's all very similar to last time--I throw up in the evenings, not the mornings, and it's worse when my stomach is empty--except with the m&m it started after I was 6 weeks along, so this is about a week earlier. Part of me takes it as a hopeful sign that this little smudge is busy making hormones and my body is responding to them. Then the other part of me remembers that I puked constantly up until the day we found out the m&m was gone, so I can't read too much into it. Then I start my visualization exercises again. Today I feel fine, though that could change at any moment. I'm trying not to read anything into that, either.

I hope so much that we have good news after our appointment on Friday. We've got a bunch of "milestones" from the last pregnancy coming up in the next few weeks: I started spotting right around 6 weeks, we had our first bad ultrasound at 6 weeks 5 days, and we found out at 7 weeks 4 days that the heart had stopped. I hope so much that I can pass them all with no fear and nothing but confidence and happiness for the little life that is growing inside me.

Mantras; or, Sunday Morning

2011-02-06T04:50:00.000-08:00

- Healthy pregnancies begin this way, too (from Adele).

- There's nothing I can do to affect this outcome.

- Less than two weeks until we know for sure.

- The odds are in our favor.

- One of these days, something will work for us, and it might be today.

- I'm strong enough to handle whatever comes.

- One day at a time. Every normal day is a good day.

- Pregnant until proven otherwise.

Please stay strong, little smudge. You've done such a good job so far. Please keep growing strong and healthy for us.

Another Hurdle; or, One

2011-02-04T09:26:00.000-08:00

Things are still looking okay. We spotted one gestational sac in the ute, measuring appropriately and right where it belongs. I had convinced myself that I would have and that I wanted twins, but I'll be quite thrilled to be lucky enough to bring home a healthy singleton, no question. No disappointment here, at all. Nothing but relief.

Dr. W said that everything looks good so far, but that it's still early and we just have to wait. Lawyer Guy insisted that I ask her about my boob size/pain concerns and cramping fears, and she responded that I should pay no attention to any of that because "it means nothing." The most important thing is to rest and relax and try to distract myself. There's nothing we can do right now (as I well know) but wait, so I might as well make the waiting as tolerable as possible.

There's also nothing I can do about my cough, though Lawyer Guy asked if it was okay for me to take some old prescription cough syrup with codeine he has lying around. (Dr. W and I looked at him like he had two heads. Um, narcotics are not really on the list of approved medications during pregnancy, sweetie). I might get a humidifier for our bedroom today, because the dry air hurts my throat with every breath.

Our next appointment is in a week. These upcoming two appointments (and these upcoming two weeks) are going to be especially hard, because starting around 6 weeks is where things began to go pear-shaped last time. But I can't go on torturing myself like this. It's not good for me or for Lawyer Guy or for the baby. I've got to do my best to relax and follow my good friend Egg's lead:

Zen zen zen zen zen.

A Short List; or, Facing Up or Wallowing In?

2011-02-03T14:01:00.000-08:00

I'm 5 weeks today. My first ultrasound is tomorrow. Here are the things I'm afraid of:

- I'm afraid that the dull ache I've felt today primarily on the left side of my pubic bone down to the top of my thigh means that this pregnancy is ectopic.

- I'm afraid that my lack of hunger today isn't a result of my debilitating head-cold/chest-cough combo, but is a sign that Dr. W. will find nothing in my uterus tomorrow.

- I'm afraid this will turn out to be a twin pregnancy with one in the uterus and one in the tube and both will be lost. (Yes, I have imagined this scenario in great detail).

- I'm afraid of that moment when I'm lying pants- and pantyless on an exam table and I learn that my world has just ended, again.

- I'm afraid that my cold is going to kill this pregnancy (even I realize this is ridiculous).

- I'm worried the two cups of herbal tea (chamomile and peppermint) I drank today as my only cold meds will kill this baby (hey, I drank chamomile tea when pregnant with the m&m, too. Coincidence?)

- I'm afraid that we'll make it through tomorrow's test only to fail the next one or the next one or the next one after that.

- I'm afraid that I will lose this baby.

- I'm afraid that I will lose every baby I manage to conceive.

- I'm afraid I will have nothing left inside of me to carry on if this doesn't work.

- I'm afraid of becoming Broken Miscarriage Girl again when I worked so hard for so long to be better than that.

The pregnancy chapter in Melissa Ford's book (Navigating the Land of IF, as though you didn't already know that) suggested writing down all your fears to try to make them more manageable. I know I should only fear one thing at a time (i.e., worry about tomorrow's scan, not next week's and certainly not my eternal future of childbearing) but they're all so wrapped up in each other. A bad result tomorrow will knock down all the dominoes, bringing me right to the last one.

And I know that statistics favor this pregnancy working out fine. But statistics favored healthy 28-year-old me getting pregnant in four months. Statistics favored my first pregnancy working out okay, too. I hate statistics. The statistics in my head go more like: 90% chance of tomorrow's ultrasound ending in catastrophic disappointment; 10% chance of tomorrow's ultrasound being okay; too soon to call on the whole taking-home-a-baby thing. Yeah, there's probably a reason I study literature and not numbers.

I feel so wretchedly sick and I can't take anything for it, so I canceled class today and stayed home and slept. And did some orals reading, but mostly obsessed over dull throb of my pubic bone. Left side. Left side. Left side. Left side. Finally! Right side. Damn. Back to Left side. Do not google "ectopic pregnancy after doubling betas." Do not google at all (and I didn't google it, if you can believe me).

I stirred myself to head to the coffee shop down the block to meet and interview a prospective student of my alma mater for our alumnai admissions team. And the whole time I'm asking this high school senior about her academic ambitions and the books she's read lately and what she wants out of her Ivy League Experience, I'm thinking, "Don't be dead, little bugger, please don't be dead. Please don't be ectopic. Stay strong, little bugger."

When I think about having a baby in October, my heart clenches and I want to slap myself across the wrist. Don't imagine stuff like that! You know what happens when you start imagining! When I think about not having a baby in October I feel...fine. I don't mean when I think about having another miscarriage. That makes me want to slit my wrists. But just not having a baby at some indeterminate point in the future? Yeah, I know how to deal with that. That's familiar. That's almost comfortable.

One day at a time. Every day I'm still pregnant is a good day. Maybe eventually I'll believe it.

One Day At a Time; or, Hanging In There

2011-02-02T05:02:00.000-08:00

Things have been mostly okay in the Sloper household the past few days, other than the wicked head cold I'm fighting and the snoring it has unfortunately produced. The worry is always there, of course, but it's been like a little pebble wiggling around in my shoe rather than a massive cinder block crushing my chest. My boobs appear to deflate and grow less sore: pebble of worry. I have a sleepgasm (seriously, what is up with those things?) and wake to intense, if momentary, cramping: pebble of worry. I think about the shower that my best friend said she and her mom will throw for me or decorating the nursery or having a baby nine months from now: pebble of worry.

But at least I am letting myself imagine those things, just a little, even if I always immediately qualify them in my mind with a disclaimer: "WARNING! Idle Daydreams to not constitute a guarantee of success. Fantasize at your own risk."

I don't think I fully realized how traumatic losing the m&m was until this week. I knew that I grieved very hard for that pregnancy-- the months of sobbing in parking lots and at family gatherings and on my couch (not to mention the over-eating) were testament to that. But I thought that over the past, let's say, nine months I'd processed and accepted and put it behind me and moved on.

Ha! Ha?

I said to Lawyer Guy this morning that I feel like we both have PTSD. It reminds me of the months following 9/11, when we would jump at every loud noise and when something as simple as getting on the subway or a city bus felt fraught with danger (I stood several feet away from every subway trash can out of worry that they might contain an IRA-style bomb). LG works downtown only about ten blocks from the Trade Center, so he saw/heard/felt some incredibly disturbing things that day, including the deafening impact of the second plane hitting. And it took him *years* to not automatically panic at certain similar sounds.

Despite the obvious differences in scale and significance and national importance, this feels very similar. I feel like I'm reliving everything terrible that happened 14 months ago, and I'm a little paralyzed by it all.

But I'm trying to get better.

I mentioned my best friend (Doctor Lady, whom I've written about here before). I spoke to her on Sunday night and told her what is going on. She's not only a great listener and extremely sympathetic, she also has a detached, rational response to things and medical expertise that make her really great to talk to in situations like this. She never blows smoke, but she can be reassuring and factual at the same time, and she doesn't get whipped into hysteria even while she feels for me. So I'm really glad I told her.

We have not told any of our parents (or anyone else outside the ALI on-line community, for that matter), for several reasons. For me, the most important is that I desperately want to be happy and excited when I tell my parents this news. I didn't get that last time. I told my mom and dad about the m&m after our first ultrasound with no heartbeat, when things were looking worrisome and my doctor gave us a 50-50 shot. There was a lot of crying and comforting over the phone that night. That's so far from how I dreamed of the experience of telling my parents they're going to be grandparents, and I want the experience of my dreams. I want something to be normal in all this. If that means I have to wait until I'm 12+ weeks to tell them, then that's what it means.

The other issue--and this pertains more to my mother-in-law, despite the fact that I adore her--is that I am not ready to let anyone else into this space Lawyer Guy and I are sharing. I'm not capable of dealing with someone else's worry or excitement or expectations other than ours. I'm trying to take each day as it comes and deal calmly with all my fears. My mother-in-law is wonderful, but she can't keep her mouth shut. I'm partially worried she'd tell people about this before we were ready, but I'm mostly certain that she would call to check in on me and tell me I need to be calm and want to talk to me about this a lot and I JUST CAN'T HANDLE IT RIGHT NOW.

This is a source of some tension between Lawyer Guy and me. He thinks of his mother as his best friend (other than me) and he's been struggling, too, with worry and fear. He really, really wants to tell his mom. I really, really don't want him to. He thinks I'm being selfish, and he's probably right, but I feel like this is something I need to stick to my guns on. I'm just not ready.

This turned into a much longer post than I intended. Thank you so much for reading along with me and e-mailing me or tweeting at me with your encouragement over the last few days. It truly sustains me right now. And to my friends who are struggling and perhaps hurt by my inability to feel the joy that must seem so appropriate to this situation: I am sorry. I need to be honest in this space, always, but I know how hard it is to read things like this when you would give anything to see two lines yourself. I completely understand if people want to stop following along or take a break from commenting, and I won't be hurt.

So Far, So Good; or, Second Betas

2011-01-31T18:14:00.000-08:00

So first of all, the most important news: second betas are in at 686 at 18 dpIUI. That's a tripling time of 72 hours. Not bad!

It was a rocky day getting to that point. I woke up around 3 am this morning to pee, tossed and turned for an hour after returning to bed, woke up again at 7 (to pee again), and had to get ready and get Bella to her doggy daycare so I could get to the RE's and spend the day in the city. After the blood draw, I went down to the library and tried to study--and I did manage to work for an hour or so. But I couldn't resist the lure of Dr. Google and he led me straight into the center of a panic attack. The tech who had drawn my blood had said I'd get the beta call between 2 and 6 pm. The closer we got to two o'clock, the tighter the knot in my stomach grew and the less I could breathe. I felt my heart racing when I pressed my hand to my chest and I could barely keep from crying. I was just so sure the PA would give me terrible news when she made the call, and I was losing my mind a bit from worry.

The office still hadn't called by the time I had to get to my therapy appointment (around the corner from my school) at 3:30, so I silenced my phone and went to the session. As soon as I told my therapist I was pregnant, I burst into tears. I then cried pretty constantly throughout the session. I told her all my fears: how this is going to end just like my first pregnancy did; how I'm obsessively imagining every potential future negative moment in this pregnancy and every past one with the m&m; how I can't imagine what the cells inside me are like because every time I try to picture them (as I did with the m&m) I think, "It's probably dead already, so what's the point."

(PS: I just read that last paragraph and realized that, the few times I've talked about this so far, I keep saying "I was pregnant" not "I am pregnant." Like, "On Friday, I found out I was pregnant." Gotta love amateur psychology).

Anyway, my therapist was great, as always. I am so glad I switched to her almost a year ago. I feel like our sessions together have made a profound difference in the way I cope with stress, not that you can tell from the way I've been acting lately. She said it was completely understandable why I would feel this way, but that I am making things emotionally worse for myself with my need to control the situation. I tend to need control to feel confident and not anxious, so in my anxiety about the uncertainty of this pregnancy, I'm seizing onto all my memories of the last one in order to convince myself that I know what's going to happen. And in the process, I'm mentally torturing myself into a bloody stump of a human being (my words, not hers).

Anyway, she proffered the radical idea at the end of the session that I assume for the time being that this is all going to work out. I'm not there yet. But I'm going to try to get there.

I had planned to wait until I got home to listen to the clinic's voice mail with Lawyer Guy, but in my new-found, post-therapy calm, I decided to just do it myself right there. Again, I limited expectations. I told myself that as long as the number didn't go down, I'd be okay with it. And then again it exceeded my wildest dreams! I never thought we'd get to 500, let alone almost 200 points above that!

I'm happy right now. That rush of relief after a good result is so wonderful and addictive. I'm not ready to read any more into this result than being happy that things are okay right now. But that's a lot better than I felt six hours ago.

Some of All Fears; or, Waiting's Never Easy

2011-01-30T05:57:00.000-08:00

This weekend has been a combination of great and really rough, and I'm sorry to say that right now the rough is winning. I realize this may sound like hideous whining to someone who would give anything to ever even see a positive pregnancy, and I'm sorry for that. Pregnancy after loss is a tricky beast, but I do know that I am lucky to be having these fears. I do know that.

I've tried to capture moments of zen, and here and there I have. The hours after the nurse called with our beta numbers were wonderful. Lawyer Guy and I had told ourselves over and over that we would be content with 30 or 40, so to hear 225 was way beyond our wildest dreams. I almost started crying in the middle of crossing 47th Street! Things seemed so good and so hopeful.

But now I wake up each morning around 5 or 6 am with a knot in my stomach and a quickly beating heart. I'm obsessively analyzing every sensation of my body. Is this occasional cramping a good thing or a bad thing? Have my hunger pangs subsided? Is it just my imagination, or do my boobs hurt a little less than they did yesterday, and yesterday did they hurt a little less than the day before? Is that terrible? Does that mean my betas are plummeting?

I keep imagining getting that call tomorrow afternoon and hearing the nurse say, "I'm sorry..." As soon as I imagine it once, I can't keep from imagining it continually: "I'm sorry," "I'm sorry," "I'm sorry."

I have to keep it together. I have a meeting to run tomorrow night. I have my first class to teach Tuesday. I have a massive qualifying exam in May to study for. I can't let myself lose my mind, and whatever I happens with this pregnancy, I need to stay grounded and focused.

But I've got doubts and fears lodged deep in my soul. I don't believe I'm going to get a baby out of this. I don't know how to believe that. I would love to be proven wrong! (Please, please, please).

Lawyer Guy and I have tried to seize on the good in this situation, whatever it's ultimate outcome is. We're delighted that two of our three IUIs lead to a conception--that's a way better track record than we've had on our own. Yesterday, I took out the bag of Gonal-f in my fridge and held it, reminding myself that however this turns out, I've got options and hopes and places to go from here. LG and I have taken to pretending I'm not pregnant at all. We say things like, "When you/I eventually get pregnant..." We smile a little as we say it, but something about the words does feel natural and right.

I'm going to church in a few hours. If there are no atheists in foxholes, I guess there are few church delinquents with questionable pregnancies. Nothing like fear of a(nother) miscarriage to get my ass in a pew.

If you've read this far, thanks for bearing with me. I pray so much that I have good news to report here tomorrow, but I know either way I return here to find the incredible support all of you have given, and that will help me get through.

Here We Go Again... [UPDATED]

2011-01-28T05:28:00.000-08:00

Those were the words I woke my husband with at 4 am after waking to pee and seeing this (forgive the terrible cell phone pictures):

Yes, I took two tests. The first (up top) is my last remaining test from the March '09 stash; the second is a FRER that a message board friend sent several months ago. As the first test is only days away from expiring in February, I thought I needed some back-up.

I broke every single one of my rules. I didn't wait until my period was late to test (I'm 15 dpiui and last time I started spotting mid-afternoon on day 15); I sat on the bathroom floor and watched the tests change rather than set the timer and leave the room (it was 4 am, what was I going to do?); I woke Lawyer Guy up and told him right then and there rather than planning some elaborate surprise as I did with the first pregnancy.

I'm calling Dr. W's office in a half-hour or so when they open, and then I'm going in for betas. If I had to describe the way I feel right now, it would be "cautious." Not cautiously optimistic or cautiously hopeful. Just cautious. This is like walking across black ice: You measure each step carefully, feeling your way across the slippery surface, because letting yourself think two or three steps further will send you flat on your butt.

I really, really don't want to fall on my butt again. So when LG asked me this morning if we could get a little excited and start daydreaming, I told him I'm not ready. I know how hard it will be, but I'm going to try to focus on the same things that got me through what's already come of this cycle: writing, reading, studying, teaching, friends. Then, if this doesn't work out, I'll at least have something under me to fall onto.

[UPDATE]: First betas are in. 225 at 15 dpiui. I go back Monday.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Now You See Her...; or, A Little Beethoven While We Wait

2011-01-24T08:00:00.000-08:00

I'm going to have to disappear for a while. I start teaching again next Tuesday and in the next eight days, I need to plan a syllabus for a course I've never taught before, finish my last remaining incomplete paper, read for my orals, and maybe even work on the novel a bit (though that's going on the backburner until February), in addition to living my life.

I'll be back, I'm sure, to let everyone know after I get my period. In the meantime, some lovely music!

How Do You Know; or, Instincts and Intuitions

2011-01-20T08:06:00.000-08:00

We all know couples who describe their first meeting as a moment of absolute confidence and assurance. Maybe you're even part of one of those couples. My sister-in-law insists that by the end of her first date she knew she was going to marry my brother-in-law (though I wonder how she knew he was going to marry her). She's only one of many friends and family members with similar stories: I met him/her and I just knew.

I didn't have that. I met Lawyer Guy when I was twenty years old and a sophomore in college. He was twenty-six and an actual lawyer with an actual job who had actually graduated from an actual graduate school. I liked him right away (I mean, I went home with him that first night, so I hope I liked him!), but my brain told me there was no real future for the two of us. We were at different points in our lives. It just wasn't going to work out.

Except: I couldn't picture us breaking up. I knew we would, of course, but I couldn't imagine it happening, and as the weeks went on and we spent more time together, that imaginary break-up became less and less conceivable. A few months later, we both confessed that we loved each other and by the end of our first year dating, we were convinced we'd wind up married. But it wasn't like that at the beginning.

So what does this have to do with IF and fertility treatments?

I think of the conception stories of the parents and pregnant people I know as similar to "How we met" stories. Every reader of the New York Times Sunday Styles section knows that couple stories fall into a few recognizable categories (starting as friends; instant attraction; missed opportunities before the final clinch). From what I've seen over the last two years, conception stories do too. There's the "Nailed it on the first try" story (totally our favorites to hear people squealing over, amirite?). There's the "Miracle BFP after IF" story. There's the "We were on a break" story. There's the "Right before we started IVF" story. And on, and on, and on.

None of these stories feels right to me. I don't believe I'm going to get a Miracle BFP. I don't believe I'm going to get a While We Were On A Break baby. I don't think I'll tell the Right Before IVF tale.

It's the same feeling I had when I first met LG: a gap in imagination when I attempt to envision something I feel certain must happen. A break-up. A baby. Both equally inconceivable.

Maybe this means nothing. Maybe this is my subconscious awareness that I will never have a biological child. Maybe this means that the story of our path to baby hasn't occurred to me yet--that there are options and avenues I haven't considered.

I'm pretty sure it means I'm not pregnant right now. I'm pretty sure I'll be calling Dr. W's office in a week or so to set up the What Next? appointment. Maybe that's why I can't picture this. I don't know the next steps of the dance yet.

Waiting; or, X dpIUI

2011-01-17T07:47:00.000-08:00

This will be a quick post. Not much to report here. The waiting continues, but fortunately, the writing continues, too. The studying doesn't continue quite as swimmingly, but I aim to change that today.

Lawyer Guy and I kept busy this weekend. On Friday, I had dinner and drinks at Eataly (Mario Batali's awesome new food hall near the Flatiron Building) with a friend. A few too many drinks, if I'm being honest, but we all have our little lapses. On Saturday LG and I saw The King's Speech, which we loved. On Sunday we met the BIL and SIL and their kids for brunch in New Jersey and then came home and cooked dinner together and watched the Golden Globes.

And throughout, I've been peeing on sticks, which is definitely not how I usually spend the two-week-wait. But the four (now two) hpts remaining from the stash I ordered back in March '09 are set to expire next month. I hate wastefulness. I also hate seeing BFNs. Testing the trigger out seemed like the perfect solution to this problem. I've been taking a test every two days and the line is fading steadily. I've got two tests left and I imagine it will have disappeared by the time I take the last one. Conversely, LG might take the last test for us to use as a control in the future.

Perhaps some of my more experienced pee-sticking friends can offer some advice. In the past, I have always PIAC before testing, as that seemed to allow for the highest level of control and accuracy. But now that the results really don't matter, I've just been holding the stick directly in the urine stream for a count of three. And it is getting SOAKED. The entire testing window is suffused with liquid, though when it dries the test looks normal. Am I doing this wrong? Holding it too long? At the wrong angle? I'll go back to P-ing IAC if I ever take another test with a legitimate shot at being a BFP, but I'd still like to know what I'm doing wrong here.

I'm not tracking how many days post-IUI we are. I haven't tried to calculate an EDD. Sometimes I feel certain that I'm pregnant (that I just have to be pregnant), and most of the time I'm certain that I'm not. I feel content when I consider either possibility until the thought of moving on to injects or IVF intrudes. I'm not sure that I'm ready for next steps yet. I've just gotten used to this one. But I'm also sure that whatever happens this month, I'm equipped to deal with it.

Tea and Sympathy; or, the Next Two Weeks

2011-01-13T16:54:00.001-08:00

Lawyer Guy and I had breakfast this morning at Le Pain Quotidien, in what is becoming a while-they-mix-the-magic-sauce-up tradition. He's always very relieved when his contribution is over, so it's a nice time to check in with each other and decompress a little. We talked today about what might come next and about how we've both been coping with it all. Then as we were finishing, he said, "This is going to work. This is going to be the one that works."

As he said the words, I realized how much I wanted to hear them. This is strange because I never say those words, not even to myself, not even in the quiet spaces of my head or while I'm walking alone through the snowy city streets. I try even to avoid "If this works" constructions and focus instead on everything we will try next month or the month after when this avenue fails for us, too.

But perhaps I'm not afraid of hope so much as I'm afraid of being hopeful. And if someone else is willing to carry that burden of hopefulness for me, I'm willing to partake of some vicarious optimism.

The procedure went well. The nurse was super fast, which made it all much more bearable. LG's sample was again quite good: 77 million and 87% motility post-wash. I didn't have another ultrasound after my disappointing one on Tuesday so I don't know how things were going ute-wise at insemination time, but I've been chugging red raspberry leaf tea by the barrel-full the last few days. I'm hoping that the lining has plumped up closer to 10mm. I'm hoping that the 13mmer follie took some steroids and swelled up like Barry Bonds before it popped. I hope I have two potentials this month, but I'm trying to be okay with only one.

I'm drinking a two-bag cup of tea right now, since it's the last day I'll let myself drink any before giving it up in the two-week wait. My yogi brand tea bags inform me that "Whatever character you give your children shall be their future" and "Happiness comes when you overcome the most impossible challenge." My impossible challenge for the next two weeks is to center my mind on writing and studying and all the dreams that are at least partially in my control. I'm sure that happiness will come when we overcome the most impossible of our challenges and that perfect happiness (or the closest thing to it) isn't achievable until that challenge is met. Still, I'm going to give this not-perfect happiness thing a try in the meantime.

More Dispatches from the Clomid Train; or, My Underachieving Ovaries and Me

2011-01-11T14:03:00.000-08:00

After getting my follie-centered hopes up at Sunday's appointment, today's was a rough fall back to earth. I've got two follies on my left ovary (a 17mmer and a 13mmer) but I suspect that only the larger one is in play. There's nothing but a giant cyst on my right ovary which the doctor said has apparently been there a long time-- in fact, I think the same doctor noticed this cyst back during monitoring in November. And my lining blows. It's at an impressively awful 5.9.

I have to go back tomorrow morning for my trigger shot in the middle of a blizzard. No way I can drive, so I'll have to hope the subways are running. IUI will follow on Thursday.

I admit, I'm bummed. I thought 150 mg of Clomid would get us a number of follies to write home about. I'm not sure why, but my ovaries appear to absolutely hate this drug. At least I'll never have to take it again after this cycle. I'm sick of the headaches and the emotional turmoil and the thin-ass lining. Gonal-f has to be better, it just has to.

I've been telling myself I'm detached from this cycle. I've been convincing myself that I'm focused on my orals studying and my novel writing and that babies can take a mental backseat for the next six or so months. I'm disappointed enough today to suspect that none of that is true. But I am going to try very hard the next few weeks to focus on other, more fulfilling parts of my life than this one. And I'm going to try to forget about the tough conversations we'll be having with Dr. W next week if IUI #3 doesn't work.

Full Psycho; or, Weekends With Crazy

2011-01-09T15:53:00.000-08:00

People, this past weekend was seriously intense.

For starters, I think I finally learned firsthand about the Clomid Crazies. All week, I'd been feeling so cheerful and optimistic and pumped about getting back into writing and taking pleasure in crafting stories again. And suddenly, out of nowhere, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. Friday morning, I finished a book I really, really liked by a relatively new author and was filled with this strange mixture of self-loathing shame and reckless ambition. I careened between hating myself for even thinking I should write when I would never compare to this author and spurring myself on to write more and more frequently because her book was such an inspiration.

I even e-mailed the author to let her know how in awe I am of her talent and (as her bio mentioned she is also a doctoral student as well as a writer) to ask her for some time-management tips. (And she wrote back the loveliest, kindest, and most helpful e-mail the next day, so now I adore/hate her even more!)

And from there, my mental state just fell off a cliff. For the rest of the day, I was either sitting on the kitchen floor sobbing about my lack of talent, my idiotic self-sabotage of my writing career, and my total worthlessness as a human being or I was running around the apartment, pulling out old manuscripts and books on writing and frantically e-mailing everyone I ever knew who could help me with my career (i.e., "Hi editor at prominent publishing house who offered to take a look at my book two years ago when we chatted at an industry event. Remember me? No? Wanna read my book anyway? I'm finally ready to stop being a chicken-shit and send it to you!")

My emotions were utterly out of my control. Lawyer Guy and I had plans for dinner and a movie that night, but as I spent most of dinner fighting tears, he begged that we just go home afterward. I could not understand why I was feeling and acting this way when only a few days before I'd been suffused with a calm and steady sort of ambition and a willingness to take each step as it came.

Then I remembered: Clomid. I was bumped up to 150 mg this cycle. I had no anxiety on it before, but this utterly manic and uncontrolled behavior is so not like me, I have to believe it stems from the drug (the anxiety is all too familiar, unfortunately). Once I realized that, my panic subsided a bit. I no longer felt like I was a victim of my emotions, and things have been better since.

I'm still writing and still feeling hopeful about my writing (when I'm not feeling worthless, as I mentioned before, but I think that's the inevitable pendulum for any sort of artistic endeavor). My long-term critique partner and I had a phone chat on Saturday and agreed that we're both fully rededicated to the quest for publication. I've worked out a writing/academic research schedule that will take me to the end of the summer, at which point I'm hopeful I'll have both a dissertation prospectus ready for approval and some quality manuscripts I feel excited about shopping around. I wonder if I have any talent and if my work will ever live up to the books that exist in my head. But writing is the hardest and most miserable thing I have ever loved to do, so I don't have much of a choice. I can either half-heartedly write, not succeed, and always wonder what I could have done or go all out and fail spectacularly and, if I'm lucky, improve a little with each year and each book.

The rest of the weekend was calmer, if still emotionally strained. I wrote and finally finished my grading from last semester. LG and I had dinner at our friends' place where I drank just a little too much for the sake of my head at Sunday morning's 7 am monitoring appointment in Manhattan. I had a hot date with Wandy, who revealed some promising developments but nothing definitive yet, and then yesterday afternoon I went to a NYC-area blogger meet-up at the home of the hilarious Jay of The Two Week Wait. I got to meet Jay and The Infertility Doula and Lady Pumpkin along with another area blogger (who's an actual real-life friend of mine, so she and I don't read each other's blogs). All of the women were funny and lovely and we had a great brunch and a chat about all this crazy place we find ourselves in. I hope we can meet again!

So now I'm back to the familiar patience of cycling. The IUI will likely be this week, with more waiting to follow. But despite my emotional eruption on Friday, I've been feeling more calm about IUI#3 than any of the previous. It helps that I've got such thrilling and engrossing things to think about these days: I spent all my waiting time at the clinic yesterday working through a thorny plotting problem in one of the books I'm mentally figuring out right now. I hope I can spend the two-week wait similarly occupied, and that if this cycle ends in a failure like the others, I can cheer myself up with the thought of an extra month of writing time nine months in the future.

Unblocked; or, Things I Didn't Accomplish Before I Turned 30

2011-01-06T10:21:00.000-08:00

I kind of don't recognize myself these days. Or I do, but the self I recognize is one that's been gone so long, I didn't think I'd ever see her again. It's the reader self. The writer self. The dreamer self.

Back in the dark ages, before grad school, before marriage (though not before Lawyer Guy), before babies and all their many disappointments, what I wanted with an all-consuming fire was to publish a novel. On my 25th birthday, I sat down and wrote a list of the Things I WILL (underlined three times) Accomplish Before I Turn 30! and Number One on the list was: Get Published.

Lest you think I've turned into a complete stranger, Number Two was: Have Baby. So, awesome, thank you The Secret; empirical evidence that you're full of shit.

I think Number Three: Get into Doctoral Program is the only one of the goals I actually did manage to achieve before the deadline. But the longer our baby chase took and the sadder I got, the less I cared about my lack of publication. I stopped writing for pleasure, except on this blog. I stopped caring that I'd given up on a dream I'd shivered over since I was seven years old and read The Secret Garden for the first time.

So what the hell has gotten into me the last few months? I've been writing again! After a nearly three-year break! And this winter vacation, I've been reading like I haven't since I was in junior high. I've been reading like a crack fiend: staying up until 3 am to finish one book and then starting the next one when I wake up at 8. Reading a book and a half per day. And all this reading is filling me with ideas for novels to write and with that gnawing, gripping ache in my heart that means: I want this so much I will truly die, just burst apart with a pleasurable kind of pain, if I don't make this happen.

And yesterday, for the first time in ever, I thought to myself that maybe it would be okay if I couldn't have a baby soon. Maybe I still have other dreams I can pursue. Maybe I'm still young enough not to throw in the towel on everything.

I had a lot of chances in the past--meetings with editors and authors--that I squandered out of lack of confidence, self-sabotage, and just plain not being ready yet, so I don't think this will be an easy road. But I want to fight for it. I have the will to win at something again and the need that's maybe strong enough to overcome the fear.

And it's nice to not think about the empty ute for a little while.

(ps-- The cleanse has been modified. It was turning into a starvation diet. I've reinstated dairy and moderate amounts of wheat).

Hope and Hunger; or, How I Spent My Winter Vacation

2011-01-04T08:19:00.000-08:00

So here we all are. Back together again. New year, same us. Four days in and I'm all ready to sum up 2011 with one word: Hungry.

That's probably because I began an intense 28-day detox/cleanse yesterday, the day we traveled home from the Bahamas, and I have had no wheat, soy, eggs, corn, dairy, alcohol, caffeine, packaged foods, or added sugar in the last 24 hours. I started taking 150 mgs of Clomid a night the day before the cleanse began. So I'm malnourished, hormonal, and travel-fatigued: yup, about ready to rip off my own arm and eat it raw with just a little salt. After I finish typing this post, I'm off to the grocery store to stock up on all the things I'm allowed to eat during these weeks of torture disguised as self-improvement.

But I'm hungry for a lot of things right now, not all of them carbs. I'm hungry for success and accomplishment and satisfaction. I want to feel good about myself again, inside and outside (but today, strangely, mostly inside). I want to feel again like I'm the girl who goes after her dreams and wins. I want to look at my reflection with pride instead of disappointment.

But where was I? Of course, How I Spent My Winter Vacation. In all the lovely ways one would expect: with lots of reading and sitting by the pool or beach and drinking rum cocktails and dressing up for dinner and getting a massage and even hitting the gym multiple times. True to lovely form, my period showed up on New Year's Eve, which part of me wanted to take as an awesome sign that this was the LAST period of 2010 and there won't be any in 2011 and part of me wanted to take as a dreadful sign that the next year will just be one failed cycle after another.

But it wasn't a sign of anything except the fact that I'd ovulated 14 days before and wasn't pregnant, so I stopped thinking about it as soon as I could.

That night, we ate at a great sushi restaurant and then Lawyer Guy played blackjack while I drank and cheered him on (I don't mind watching other people gamble--even with our joint money--but I don't like doing it myself) and then we got more drinks and watched the fireworks over the harbor at midnight.

And I remembered that last year, I felt such relief when the calendar switched over and in the days later, even an incredible joy. Losing our m&m at the end of 2009 was such a deep stain on the year that I couldn't wait to change the clocks and switch the date to something that was bound to be better and happier. I had a whole year to get pregnant again, and I was certain it would happen.

And now I've got no certainty and not always much optimism, and I felt such failure as the yachts all around us started blowing their horns and people were cheering. One whole year later with nothing to show for it and me no closer to my dreams.*

*And of course there's much to show, and of course I'm closer every day, but that didn't matter at the time.

We kissed, and I started to cry a little, and I know LG was worried and a little frustrated that we'd been having a good time and all those inconvenient feelings had to rise to the surface, so I pushed them back down and looked back over the water and thought to myself:

"Okay, 2011. Do your worst."

Which was perhaps the sort of blithe dare I should have learned by now not to make, considering all the evidence I have of fate's awful sense of humor (and all the fairy tales I read as a kid). Maybe, at about 2 minutes and 30 seconds into the new year I doomed myself to twelve months of disaster. But I still feel invigorated when I think the words to myself. I feel strong and competent and resourceful and all the things I want to be because it's abundantly clear that 2009 couldn't break me and 2010 couldn't break me and 2011 won't either, whatever the tricks it has hidden in it's New Year's top hat.

New Year's Non-solutions; or, The New Year of Hope and Achievement

2010-12-29T05:57:00.000-08:00

I won't be around to post on New Year's Eve-- since I'm leaving TODAY for the Bahamas (yipeee!)--so I thought I should take this time to update my Non-solutions from last year with new Intended Achievements and Intended Explorations. As a reminder-- these are not things I "resolve" to do or to change about myself, but a mental grocery list of sorts for what I would like to accomplish or enjoy in 2011. Only things that I can actually achieve with some effort are included in this list (i.e., no NYC Marathon for me!).

2011's Intended Achievements:
- Resolve final incomplete grade
- Pass Oral Exam
- Begin (and ideally submit) Dissertation Prospectus
- Create Systematized Budget on mint.com
- Complete Whole Living 28-day Detox
- Create a Weekly Meal Plan (and stick to it)

2011's Intended Explorations:
- Cook one Entirely Vegetarian Meal per week.
- Run a 5k
- Visit Europe and Napa w/ Lawyer Guy
- Join either the Park Slope Food Co-op or a CSA
- Rediscover Love of Knitting

Last winter, I dubbed 2010 the Year of Hope and Achievement and at the time the hope was that I would achieve a baby. That didn't happen (obviously), but I still feel good about the hope that still lives in my heart and the growth and happiness I was able to achieve in often difficult situations.

So why not roll it over to next year? 2011, you are hereby named the New Year of Hope and Achievement. You may not give me everything I hope for, but I certainly won't go down without a fight

Inside/Outside; or, Let It Snow

2010-12-27T07:30:00.000-08:00

We returned home last night from our ad hoc Jersey shore Christmas with my family, beating the worst of the storm by a few hours. Now we have two days until we leave for our Bahamas New Year's trip and lots to fit into that time (brief writing for Lawyer Guy and grading and lots of errands for me).

I'm glad that these weeks have been so packed. I haven't had much time to worry over the unlikelihood of this month's natural cycle yielding anything or begin stressing about the final Clomid IUI. I've had too much to do with holiday parties, cookie baking, presents buying and wrapping, and travel planning. On our drive back to Brooklyn yesterday, Lawyer Guy actually solicited information from me on how I'm feeling about our chances this cycle. "You haven't talked about babies and pregnancy much in the past few days," he noted, "which is unlike you."

(And, for the record, I am 10 dpo and don't have any strong symptoms either way. As usual.)

If I wasn't talking about babies, it's because I was trying to (and mostly succeeding at) not think about babies. When we're with my family, that's always easier to do. None of my sisters are married or have children yet or think much about children or talk much about children. And while I know my parents would love grandkids, they don't put any pressure on us or talk about it, either.

It was a strange Christmas, nonetheless. Our first since my parents sold the house we all grew up in. It felt very on-the-fly and we missed many of our traditions. While that was hard, it was also helpful, I suppose, because the Christmases I imagined with baby--when we thought about being pregnant or found out I was--were not Christmases spent at my best friend's family's home on the Jersey Shore. So as a consequence, I didn't think at all about "what might have been," though I couldn't stop myself from imagining what might be in the future (these days, it's twin boys named Simon and George).

And similarly, as we approach New Year's I'm trying equally to avoid thoughts like "This will be our year" and "Last year was such a disappointment." As I've written before, I have faith deep in my heart that one day something will work and LG and I will have a biological child. And as I've also written before, I have no confidence that it will happen soon or easily or without much medical intervention. I'm trying to tune out the distractions and fears and external signs of time passing and dwell inside and live with this little bundle of hope and pain I've been carrying around.

The snow has stopped falling and the sun is bright, but the wind is still howling. It's cozy and comfy inside the apartment. I'm going to stay here as long as I can today, but I know that eventually I'll have to leave and brave the chill again. I guess that's what makes the lazy, warm mornings spent inside even nicer.

God Bless Us, Every One

2010-12-25T05:48:00.000-08:00

"Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea--on, on--until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him."

Dickens, A Christmas Carol

I'm remembering all those at a distance today, especially all of you. Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year.

Christmas Packages; or, What's in the Fridge?

2010-12-20T08:18:00.000-08:00

Do you know what this is?

That's 2,400 iu of Gonal-F that's currently sitting in my fridge just asking one of my sisters or parents or in-laws to visit and get all confused and concerned about it. And I am freaking excited!

I mentioned a few weeks ago the upcoming conversation that Lawyer Guy and I will need to have with Dr. Wonderful about whether to go for an injects+IUI cycle or straight to IVF. I think I also mentioned that a lovely friend of mine from my loss/IF message board is now pregnant and was looking to unload some unused Gonal-f. In the beautiful manner of todays' interconnected world, these eight 300-iu Gonal-f pens made their way from one end of New York State to the other. I can't thank her enough for sending them. Our insurance doesn't cover injectible meds, so a stash this big would have cost us quite a lot.

You know, as sad as this may sound, I think this package of meds and needles may be my favorite Christmas present this year. As long as Dr. W. agrees, we can now afford to go ahead with one (and possibly more than one) injects+IUI in the spring at no cost. We've got some real options other than IVF, and options are what makes IF most bearable.

I'd be tempted to ascribe my jolly mood to the meds in the fridge, but truthfully, I've been feeling optimistic and happy and hopeful for several days now. This is unusual: I'm in a two-week wait. I'm set to get my period on New Year's Eve. This will be our 11th failed month of TTC since last year's miscarriage. And I've been a massive Grinch up until now, as has probably been clear from this blog.

But I ovulated! And we had sex! And even if that doesn't (and there's a 97% chance it won't, according to our docs) make a baby, it still means we're starting a new treatment cycle in less than two weeks. And that really might make a baby! And once we're done with the Clomid route in February, we've got the wherewithal to try something new! And we'll save all we can in the intervening month to lessen the financial blow of IVF, if it comes to that! This is really going to work for us!

I've finally caught a bit of the Christmas spirit. Thanks to a ziploc bag of needle pens I pray I'll never have to inject into my stomach fat.

Happiness Is; or, More Year In Review

2010-12-17T07:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, Pissy gave me my first Peak reading of this natural cycle. (Day 18! Not bad for me unmedicated!) And last night, Lawyer Guy and I did what baby-making people do on Peak days. And two weeks from today, I think we all know what's going to happen:

I'm going to get my period on a beach in the Bahamas.

But at least I'll be on a beach. That will make me happy. And at least I'll have my bottle of Clomid close at hand and can start popping pills three days later with an actual sense of hope about my January cycle. That makes me happy, too.

As I think back over the past year, so much of it did make me happy. And not just the usual "Husband, Dog, Family" kind of happiness--some really great things happened in 2010! And whaddayaknow, here's a list of them:

- We got built-in book shelves and our pantry closet redone. Both of those things make me *so* happy. I open the closet and just stare at it sometimes or sit on the couch and look at the shelves. I love feeling like we are turning this apartment into a real home (and I love storage space in a way that only long-term New Yorkers can understand).

- I had the best birthday ever and the best birthday party ever! Turning 30 was kind of great-- good food, great party, lots of people who love me surrounding me, and the feeling that I am entering a new phase in my life.

- Lawyer Guy got a promotion at his firm. He had been feeling frustrated about aspects of his job the last few years, and this was such a reward. It helped restore his pride and sense of accomplishment at a time when he really needed to feel good about himself.

- I didn't fail out of school! I was actually productive and got some academic shit done! I have not yet permanently destroyed the scholastic dreams of any of my students!

- Two of my sisters moved to NYC, and I now get to spend so much more time with them. It's such a blessing to have them close by after years of being dispersed across the country.

- I spent lots and lots of time at the Metropolitan Opera, my favorite place in the city. Everything about being there makes me happy.

- We started working with a fantastic RE at a great clinic, and she helps me stay hopeful and optimistic by being confident in our future success and so damn competent.

- I got to go on a bunch of cool trips to cool places with my wonderful husband (our cruise; our Scandinavia trip, weddings in different parts of the country). I love traveling with him so much--we get to be a little more adventurous and spontaneous than in our normal lives. (We've also got some great trips in the works for this upcoming year that I'll spill about in a future post).

- I got to know some incredible women through the ALI community, to laugh with them and cry with them and know that we're all together when we succeed and when we fail.

- Okay, yes, and the husband and dog made me very happy, too.

There were also a lot of moments of quiet happiness this year not related to any specific events. Just times of walking outside and feeling at peace and feeling grateful for that peace because the memories of overwhelming grief were fresh. I think I'm coping better with all of this than I ever have before (or thought I could). And that makes me happy, too.

Looking Backward; or, Last Year's Wishes

2010-12-14T08:52:00.000-08:00

I gave up on the idea of New Year's resolutions a year ago. The fact that nothing I wanted out of 2010 could be gained through resolving to gain it just showed up the emptiness of the concept. I want a baby. Obviously. More than anything. And I will do whatever it takes to get one. And that might not be enough. And I don't have much control over when it will happen, if it ever does.

Sucks. But that's life.

Instead of resolutions, I made a series of posts about my wishes and my plans for the new year. And I figured I'd look back now--just a few weeks away from flipping to another new calendar--to see how things panned out.

Let me be blunt. My wishes didn't come true. I did okay with some of the less specific ones (like wishing that I'd appreciate my body for the things it can do rather than what it can't), but I just threw those in so I wouldn't seem totally grabby and But-I-want-it-NOW-y anyway. The big stuff, the real wishes, those didn't come true.

(Well, I guess technically I did get pregnant this year, too, which was Wish #1, but considering I never even got to feel excited while looking at the pee stick, I'm calling that one a draw).

I'm not even going to bother with writing out a new list of wishes this year. Just look up the old ones and plug in "2011" for "2010" because they're all the same. Oh, but you can change the first wish to "Get pregnant with a healthy baby that doesn't die or have serious genetic abnormalities."

When I look back over my plans for the year, though, the story is different. I did pretty well! I broke the plans into two different categories: Intended Achievements and Intended Explorations. I purposefully set pretty modest goals for each category (not "Lose 20 pounds and Run a Marathon," for example). And I managed to accomplish almost everything I set out to do.

I completed all of the scholastic tasks I set for myself, with the exception of taking my oral exam. But I have a date set for that in May, so I'm feeling pretty good about my progress.

And I accomplished all of my Intended Explorations! I started a regular yoga practice--I may not be an expert yet, but I've grown stronger and more flexible and I've stuck to a work-out program for almost a year. I did go to Scandinavia with Lawyer Guy, and we made an effort to check out the Brooklyn culinary scene. Not bad!

Re-reading my hopes for the year and seeing that I was able to fulfill so much of what I set for myself is a nice little boost in a depressing season. My wishes didn't come true, but that doesn't mean I was unsuccessful in everything in my life. I'm going to make a similar list for 2011 in an upcoming post with similarly modest goals. I may not feel the incredible surge of pride that I would if I resolved to swim the English Channel or finish my dissertation by next year and then succeeded. But when what I want most feels so out of reach, it's nice to have a few goals I know I can accomplish.

Reminders; or, Fun with Pictures

2010-12-12T15:42:00.000-08:00

From Busted Kate:

Christmas Ghosts; or, Two Is the Loneliest Number

2010-12-09T15:30:00.001-08:00

As everyone in America with eyes, ears, and/or a brain has by now realized, Christmas is coming. I know I don't need to tell you how overwhelming and even depressing it can all be: the commericals filled with beaming babies, the orderly rows of children in the holiday cards on the mantle, the emptiness between the two stockings hanging over the fireplace. The trials of holidays for the barren are familiar and well-documented, and I'm not sure what I can add to the story.

Other than my observations of the differences between this year and last year. Last year was awful. I had miscarried only a few weeks before and was still dealing with crashing hormones for all of December and most of January (it took nine weeks for me to get a normal period after the d&c). Lawyer Guy and I were fighting, both so on edge with grief. I cried most mornings before I got out of bed and every morning in the shower. I cried most afternoons, too. During that winter break, LG would come home from work to find me huddled in a ball on the couch, my face red and swollen from tears and a permanent groove etched in the cushions from my refusal to move for hours at a time.

And yet, in some ways, this year is worse. My emotions are more settled, but less intense. I'm not aching with grief, but I'm also not buoyed by hope. Even though I was sunk in misery a year ago, I was also acutely aware of how beautiful Christmas was and how much I needed it. I took such pleasure in decorating my tree and listening to the Charlie Brown Christmas album on repeat and drinking hot cocoa in front of the fire and walking through the freshly fallen Brooklyn snow on New Year's Eve, listening to church bells ringing in the quiet and telling myself that a new year was coming with the promise of something better, that if I could just survive the awful pain I was in I would soon be rewarded.

At the end of 2010, I know that isn't true, and I'm terribly afraid that a new year signifies nothing except new ways to be disappointed. I force myself to go through the motions: pulling out my decorations, lighting Chanukah candles, trimming my tree, picking out gifts, and designing a holiday card. But it lacks the joyfulness I have always felt in the past at this time of year, that extra sparkle that gives life its special glint.

For example, the past three years, I have insisted we send out cards with our pictures, to show that we're a family just as much as anyone else. Last year I sent out a card with THREE pictures, taken on our vacations in Rome and London (my little "Fuck you, I get to go to Europe whenever I want" to everyone with babies). And this year, I just don't have the heart to pretend anymore. I can't find a single picture that I like-- I look fat in all of them, or sad. But that's not even the real problem, which boils down to the fact that every picture of the two of us is missing someone and looking at them reminds me of the fact. And every ornament I hang on the tree isn't one that I picked out for my baby. And every Christmas song I play on the iPod isn't one that I'm introducing to my child for the first time.

I guess right now I'd prefer grief to gloom because even in the depths of misery we know that it has to end, but lethargy and discontent can go on forever.

And yet I do have some hope, however flickering, a little candle's worth, that maybe saying the magic words "This time next year" will work. And I do like the card we're sending out, picture-free and everything: two little birds in a tree, all alone except for each other.

Past and Present; or, How to Handle a MTHFR

2010-12-06T09:38:00.000-08:00

Thanks to everyone who commented or e-mailed me with your advice on last Friday's post. Your suggestions were invaluable and have helped clarify some things for me. I'm so grateful to have a community of women who have been in this position to turn to when things become challenging.

Lawyer Guy is going to find out the max allowance for the FSA today, which should help clarify matters. He's also going to confirm that fertility treatments are permissible expenses (I'm sure they are, but we want to be extra-sure). Additionally, a friend of mine from my message-board support group (who is currently pregnant) offered to mail me several unused gonal-f pens of hers, enough it seems to get me through one round of injectibles+IUI. Given all this, we're leaning really heavily to putting $5000 or so in the FSA (or whatever the max is) and trying to do at least one, maybe two IUI cycle with injects. If the meds are free for the first it will be quite reasonable to pay for both, and I agree with all my bloggies who said it's a good way to test out my response to the stims before the high pressure of an IVF cyle commences.

Obviously, this is all contingent on the outcomes of the next few cycles and our conversations with Dr. W. But I feel like I have some perspective on the situation and a plan, and that always helps.

Also giving us some clarity (though not as much as we'd hoped): Dr. W's office called with the results of my RPL testing today. I tested positive for hetero MTHFR mutation, but everything else was normal. The nurse said that Dr. W is not concerned about the hetero mutation and doesn't fall in the camp that associates it with higher risk of pregnancy loss. The only snag is that the lab didn't test my homocysteine levels, so I need to have another draw to test that when I go in for monitoring for my January Clomid+IUI cycle.

While I'm a little nervous about the hetero MTHFR, I'm beyond relieved that I have no translocations or abnormalities on my karyotyping (and that LG is also free of them). Hetero MTHFR seems to be very common, and I've seen many women identified with it who have healthy pregnancies, so I'm going to hope that it won't cause any harm and that my homocysteine levels come back normal-- or, if they don't, that there's an easy fix for that.

Other than some reflection on hypotheticals and a smattering of test results, not much is happening reproductively right now. I should be getting back together with Pissy in a few days. I think she'll be happy to see me again, but you never know with her. I'm still buried under a mountain of student essays to grade, and after I finish that comes the preparations for Christmas, and then our New Year's trip to the Bahamas, and then AF right when we get back. And then it's 2011 and a new year and a new cycle, and this time a new year is going to actually signify something new for us, dammit.

Money, Money, Money; or, What Would You Do?

2010-12-03T11:45:00.000-08:00

Lawyer Guy and I are facing one of the no doubt many practical conundrums we'll encounter as we move forward with ART. I could use some advice from those of you with more experience in these sorts of things.

So, to set the stage first for where we are right now, LG and I are doing a natural (i.e. break) cycle for the month of December. I'm on CD5 and unmedicated will ovulate anywhere between days 18 and 27, though it's usually more in the range of CD 21-24. I will most likely, then ovulate the week before Christmas (though earlier or later are always possible) and won't get my period until the first week of the new year.

In January, we begin our last Clomid+IUI. If that fails, we'll be meeting with Dr. W. in early February to discuss next steps.

Our options, as she laid them out to me briefly, are either to move to injections+IUI (which has an increased risk of triplets that worries her) or straight to IVF.

All of this is very hypothetical at the moment, and there's no reason to spend tons of time stressing or evaluating or deciding what we'll decide to do in Feb/March, when there are cycles to get through right now and conversations waiting to be had (and test results--from the RPL panel--that still haven't come in).

But there is a complicating factor at play. While our current course of treatment is covered by our insurance, we have zero coverage for IVF or injectible meds (the IUI procedure and all monitoring/testing/doctors' visits would still be covered). We have enough saved to handle the both routes for at least a few months and parents who we could turn to for help in a pinch (though that's a last resort scenario) but would obviously like to do whatever we can to keep costs down (and I don't believe our clinic offers any shared risk or other incentive programs).

LG does have a flex spending account for medical expenses. And his benefits coordinator just let everyone know that they need to specify the amount they want to put in it by December 20th. And, of course, whatever is unused in the flex account at the end of the year is lost.

So, how do you think we should handle this? As of now, there's still a chance that Clomid+IUI could work and we wouldn't need to go out of pocket for fertility expenses at all. But it's highly likely that we will be paying for medications at the very least in 2011. We don't know anything about the pricing of IVF at Cor.nell, since we haven't officially had a chat with Dr. W about that yet, but I'm thinking $12,000-$15,000 is pretty standard. And maybe $2,000-$4,000 for the meds, a little less if we're just doing an IUI? (Hard data on these figures would be appreciated.) If we knew for a fact we would be going the IVF route, I'd want to put in enough to cover one whole cycle, but since we don't know anything yet, it may be too big a risk to lose that money at the end of 2011.

Advice needed!

Gimme a Break; or, Return to the Beginning

2010-11-30T16:38:00.000-08:00

It's funny how my perspective can change so completely in such a short time. Four months ago, I was diligently tracking my ovulation and body signs and anxiously hoping to time sex in exactly the right way to ensure the pregnancy that absolutely had to be around the corner.

Now, neither Lawyer Guy nor I believe we'll be able to get pregnant again without medical intervention. As he put it, "If we're not getting pregnant with help, how are we supposed to get pregnant without it?" So we're facing the prospect of a brief return to unassisted conception with something less than confidence and very little hope.

We didn't have an easy time deciding to take a break for the month of December. A large part of my heart wanted to barrel forward regardless of any possible impediments or scheduling complications. But Dr. W. didn't want to do an IUI with a frozen sample, because she said they are less successful. She advocated trying to squeeze in an insemination the morning of LG's flight to Vegas. But knowing the unpredictability of my body's ovulation schedule--even on Clomid--I foresaw a stressful week of sweaty palms and racing pulse at every monitoring appointment as I hoped even more than usual for progress.

Given that this is our last chance at getting pregnant without injections, we want to give it the best shot possible. So I'm reuniting with Pissy the CBEFM for a month, and then we'll tackle our last Clomid+IUI in January. Taking a month off will also give us the benefit of a later ovulation than I would have had on medication, so if my some divine miracle we manage to get pregnant this cycle and not miscarry, our due date will be a week or so later, which will make attending my sister's wedding next August more likely.

The Sloper household tends to struggle when there are difficult decisions to be made, so these have not been an easy couple of days. LG was worried that I will resent him for going on this Vegas trip and pushing our plans back, which I assured him I won't. He kept trying to get me to tell him whether I thought he should back out of the trip or not, and I refused to do that. I want him to have a nice weekend after dealing with so much stress the last several months. I also want to do everything possible to have a baby. So I just told him to do what felt right and I'd support him in it.

(And now that he booked his trip I'm having my typical horrible premonitions of plane crashes and disaster, but I'll just have to deal with that).

I guess if we have to go on a break, December's not a bad month to do it in. I've got masses of grading to finish over the next three weeks, and Christmas shopping and present wrapping, and cookie baking, and carol singing, and cocoa-drinking, and then Christmas with my family. I'm promising myself that this is the last year I will spend in limbo like this, so I should make the most of the time with LG while I have it.

Wait No More; or, Right Place, Right Time

2010-11-28T10:28:00.000-08:00

Some days, you find yourself in exactly the right place at the right time to hear what you need to hear.

This morning, I was 15 dpiui with no sign of AF. I'd been expecting to start spotting every day since Friday, but despite the delay I wasn't feeling optimistic about this cycle. If my boobs felt dense and hard (and very, very pregnant-like) with last month's beta of 12.5, I knew that my utterly normal-feeling chest didn't suggest anything promising. But still, as each day slowly ticked by, a little spark of hope grew brighter and brighter. My period was late, really officially late, and I hoped as hard as I could that this meant something, even as I told myself and suspected it didn't.

Then, shortly before I left for church, I saw it: the faintest sign of discoloration on my toilet paper. The confirmation that Clomid had indeed given me a longer luteal phase, but that a healthy pregnancy still eluded me.

I jumped in the shower trying unsuccessfully to keep from crying. Over ninety million sperm were injected right into my uterus and they still couldn't match up with an egg. What possible chance could anything short of IVF have of working for us? I felt so tired and worn out and sick of trying and so hopeless. But I got myself dressed and dragged myself to church, anyway.

The priest's homily was about patience and about the tension he identified between living with longing and living with the understanding that we cannot control whether or not we achieve what we long for. The Gospel reading was about waiting for God's time and trusting in his love for us.

I'd been making bargains with God all week. "Just let me get through tonight without spotting," I prayed on Friday as Lawyer Guy and I arrived at his brother and sister-in-law's house, "and I promise that I won't complain when I get my period tomorrow." Even as I said it, I knew I was a liar. And of course, making it through the family even without my period wasn't enough.

But sitting in church, I realized that the priest was right. I do have faith that I will be a mother one day, despite all evidence to the contrary. And I want to live in a place of patience and peace amidst all this terrible, overwhelming longing.

We're going to pick out and decorate our tree tonight. Yesterday LG and I booked a trip to the Bahamas over New Year's Eve. I've got two weeks left of the semester and Christmas to look forward to and operas to attend. I'm going to survive this. One day, this struggle will be over, and I'm going to do my best to find a place of peace in my heart until we get there.

Thank You Loss and Infertility

2010-11-25T06:23:00.000-08:00

...for showing me that my husband and the immense love we have for each other means more than anything, even having a baby.

...for helping me see that a family of two is as strong and intimate and important as one of three or four or five or more.

...for making my marriage into a partnership and a true team.

...for revealing to me the incredible sympathy, compassion, and kindness in the hearts of "strangers" all over the country.

...for encouraging me to reach out to people I see suffering around me.

...for convincing me that I am strong enough, brave enough, and determined enough to not only be a mother, but to be a great mother.

....for curing me (almost) of my materialistic fantasies and focusing my dreams where they should be: on the baby I want to love and care for, not the clothes to dress it in or the crib to put it in or the stroller to wheel it around in.

...for forcing me to smile through tears, search for rainbows in storm clouds, and write lists like this one on the off-chance that they might be true.

Post-Thanksgiving Premonitions; or, 11 dpiui

2010-11-24T05:33:00.000-08:00

This may be one of those post-every-day kind of weeks. I've just got a lot on my mind, I guess. Right now I could use some bloggie advice.

As the title says, I'm 11 dpiui. And I'm quite sure it didn't work. My boobs don't feel pregnant, which are the only indicators I ever have. My skin is also very, "Ha ha, your period is coming." Everything else is perfectly consistent with getting my period, and after going through this 17 times now, I've gotten pretty good at figuring out when that's going to happen.

Since I would rather whittle my peestick into a shank and plunge it directly into my heart than see one line on a pregnancy test, I won't be testing until AF misses her train. Which usually means not testing at all.

So here's my dilemma. Normally, I start spotting about 14 days after my LH surge and get full flow the following day (I was never positive whether I ovulated the day after or two days after my LH surge, so I counted from the first peak day, which seemed less equivocal). Because of the chemical pregnancy last month, I don't know if being on Clomid will change my luteal phase at all, but as I'm not taking progesterone or any other suppositories, I have to assume it won't. Thus I project that I'll begin spotting on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.

Now, thanks to Lawyer Guy's parents' divorce, we spend every day-after Thanksgiving at his father's house having a second Thanksgiving dinner (this year, if you count Fakesgiving, it will be the third) with LG's father and stepmother and the infamous BIL/SIL clan. Long-time readers may recall that at this event last year (only about a week after my d&c) I broke down crying and ran from the table, which action was greeted with rather deafening silence. Not the best communicators, that side of the family.

Anyway, this year the event is not going to be at FIL's house. I'll give you three guesses where it was moved. Are you thinking? Thinking really hard? If you guessed BIL's house you are right on the money! Apparently having two small children makes it extremely difficult to take a half-hour trip across the Tappan Zee Bridge on a holiday weekend, and everything has to revolve around making their schedule easier (Sorry, my bitter is showing. Excuse me while I pull down my skirt a little).

LG and I were anxious and upset when we find out the event was moving there. As he puts it, "It automatically goes from a family event on neutral territory to one that is about them and their kids." We thought about telling his father how uncomfortable we are and asking him to switch it back. We thought about doing a lot of things. But we couldn't think of a way to address this issue that didn't sound petty and like we just didn't want to go to their house. Or a way that wasn't basically forcing his father to choose between the desires of his two sons, a position in which he is not very comfortable. We also thought about not going and then decided it would cause too much fuss not to go.

Compounding all this, we learned on Sunday at our lunch in the suburbs that the family has chosen this event as their Channukah gift exchange day, because everyone's schedules are so full in December.

Yes, we found this out on Sunday. Five days before we're supposed to exchange gifts on Friday. And no one would have told us if I hadn't innocently wondered when we'd all be getting together for the gift-giving. Scrambling ensued, and I picked up a bunch of gifts and ordered others online. We now have gifts for all the adults, but the nieces' gifts won't arrive until next week at the earliest.

So to sum up: a post-Thanksgiving dinner at the home of our least supportive relatives where we will be exchanging gifts we didn't have time to procure on the day I'm due to confirm that this most recent IUI failed.

I don't know what to do. I don't want to start spotting in the middle of dinner. How will I possibly handle the devastation around everyone? We'll have to leave and it will cause such a scene. I suspect that if I start spotting earlier in the day, I'll just want to hunker down and be alone to lick my wounds and start the moving-on process. Lawyer Guy said he'd go to the dinner by himself, but I hate when he has to do that. I hate being the sad, fragile basket-case who can't handle ordinary human interactions. And I hate being left alone at home when everyone else is together.

I just wish I didn't have to think about any of this. I wish I were stronger and better able to push forward through uncomfortable situations. I wish LG didn't feel like he had no choice in whether to go or not and I wish that I felt confident everyone would understand our situation--yet I don't want to tell people exactly what is going on. I don't even want BIL and SIL to know we're seeing an RE!

I've got a few days to figure this out, and I'll be tp-scanning (and smelling, which is usually my earliest sign of impending-AF, as disgusting as that may sound) like mad. I'm giving myself permission not to decide what to do until Friday and to just say screw it to everyone's reactions. But a strong part of me still feels like the right thing to do is go and if I stay home I'll be weak and giving in to bad, selfish impulses.

Such a long post to say essentially so little. If you managed to slog through the tedium, I'd love to hear your advice or thoughts.

Saturday and Sunday; or, Reversals of Fortune

2010-11-23T04:40:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there's so much to say, I can't find the heart to sit down and write about it. Last weekend was that kind of weekend. We had dinner with friends on Saturday night in the neighborhood and then met for lunch with my BIL and SIL and nieces on Sunday at their country club.

I was dreading the family visit all weekend. My mother-in-law had called the day before and told me that she had lunch with J (the BIL) that Saturday and that he had asked if "there were any babies yet" for Sloper and LG. My MIL responded by telling him he needs to speak with us to learn about how things are going, and he said, "They didn't have another miscarriage, did they?" in a worried one of voice. Again she told him to talk to us about what's going on, but that we're "struggling."

My MIL brought this story to me like it was some amazing evidence of how deeply my BIL and SIL care about us. "See?" she said. "He's thinking about you. I know they want you to have kids."

Yeah, I kind of figured that already. Obviously they want their kids to have cousins, and LG and I are the only way they're getting any. And they're not evil. I know they don't wish us ill.

But hearing that he made what basically amounted to small-talk chit-chat at lunch about our problems (over a year later!) isn't evidence of some extreme compassion and sympathy. I'm not angry that she told me this, but it also doesn't change that I think their reaction to our situation has royally sucked. It doesn't change the fact that I think they are incapable of having real, human connection with us on this point, or that they don't put their own events, needs, and desires over our incredibly deep sorrow. As I said to my MIL, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this information." Go out of my way to inform them and make them comfortable with this? Um, no.

So I was not feeling super charitable about this lunch visit and was wondering why we were making the effort to head out to Suburblandia and see them. And yet, it was fine. I held the 8-month-old niece, who is very sweet and smiley, and I saw that she has the blue eyes neither of her parents do (eyes like mine) and managed only a twinge of sadness. Our three-year-old niece was sweet and funny and very cuddly once she got over some initial shyness. LG and his brother disappeared to another part of the club for a while (a sports bar, it turned out, where they could watch some football) and I thought that maybe J was going to bring up the last year and ask how things were going. But he didn't. And LG thought that maybe S (my SIL) was asking me how things have been. But she wasn't.

Still, for all my dread of these situations, I'm very good at getting in and getting out with minimal fuss and distress. And if I wasn't my usual bright and sparkly self, if I was a little more quiet and subdued than usual, I don't think it was extreme enough for anyone but me to notice.

So Sunday was alright, despite my worries. But Saturday...

We had dinner with, among others, our Queens friends and their one-year-old son. These are the friends whose son was born the day we had our first bad ultrasound with the m&m. They are the friends who miscarried their first pregnancy almost exactly two years before we did, then tried to conceive for over a year before finally hitting the jackpot with an IUI. We are very close to them, and while we don't talk about IF and loss frequently, there's a current of understanding that flows through all our interactions and helps make things comfortable.

I noticed at dinner that Queens Wife wasn't drinking, and my radar went up. But Queens Husband was, so I thought that perhaps they designated a "Sober Sister" (as it were) to watch their little boy and drive home.

But as we peeled off from the rest of our party and walked them to their car a few blocks away, they confirmed my suspicions. They were twelve-weeks pregnant, unexpectedly but quite happily. They were due in June, just like her first pregnancy and mine.

I didn't feel that sharp spike of jealousy in the gut the way I usually do. We hugged them both and asked some questions and told them how happy we were. And in that moment, I truly was. Something raw and pointy lay underneath that happiness, but I pushed it far down. Lawyer Guy and I left them at their car and walked home to our apartment, and the night was very crisp and clear, and we both talked of other things and knew we were thinking the same thing, and it felt good to be together, whatever the circumstances.

I didn't let myself think much more about our friends' pregnancy the rest of the weekend. And then Monday morning, Queens Husband texted LG. They just had their NT scan. The results were not good--the baby's skull didn't form right. They had to terminate.

We both cried for them and ordered a basket of food to be delivered to their house and texted and e-mailed and offered to help them with anything they needed. She had the procedure yesterday and tomorrow they leave for Thanksgiving in New England.

As much as I may have felt jealous and a little sad when they told me their pregnancy news, I am devastated that this is the result. It seems so unfair--that they've had to undergo two very different but equally traumatizing losses, and even their beautiful, hard-won son doesn't make up for that. I find myself wondering why this kind of suffering has to be concentrated on the same people over and over again. Why can't it be one miscarriage per customer, no exceptions, and no more than one for everybody? Why can't it be lost pregnancy or IF, never both? I know the world doesn't work that way, and I'm sure people with ordinary, loss-free fertility would be horrified to think I'm "wishing miscarriages" and problems on them. But wouldn't life be easier to navigate if we could all share this burden?

Like losing a parent--it happens at different (more or less tragic) times for different people, but if you live long enough, your parents will die. I think we have tremendous sympathy for those whose parents die because of this sense that it will be us facing the same thing one day. But reproductive troubles aren't like that, so they're easier to dismiss or ignore. It's horrible to wish they were more universal, and yet I do. Hey, I'm surviving them, so Ms. Fertile Franny can too.

I'm rambling now because there's no real ending point to this. Lost pregnancies suck. Infertility sucks. Lack of sympathy sucks. Having to trudge on when you just want to scream sucks.

This all sucks.

Hamster Brain; or, 7 dpiui

2010-11-20T07:22:00.000-08:00

I know from past experience that there's no way to know the State of the Uterus at only 7 dpo/iui. I know that having negative, down hunches about a cycle isn't a good predictor of whether or not it succeeded. Nothing is a good predictor of that, which predictably sucks.

But still-- I'm a little constie, so maybe that means something! Except, I've been that way in plenty of failed 2wws. I'm not very hungry at all, so clearly nothing is going on. But I wasn't all that hungry last cycle either. (And I was barely pregnancy last cycle, so again, not such a good sign).

I don't think I'm pregnant. I wish I were so, so, so much, but I just don't feel like I am. However, I know that things can change quickly and I can't really be sure until 13dpo. If my boobs start hurting then, it worked. If I start spotting, it didn't.

Despite the squeaky little hamster wheel spinning and spinning, I have been able to distract myself from dwelling on this fairly well so far. I had a movie date with some friends last night that was a lot of fun and a great way to occupy my mind. I've got shittons of student papers to grade this weekend, more dinner plans with LG and friends tonight, and Thanksgiving and all its preparations to focus on next week.

And then, right after Thanksgiving, I'll know. And it will hurt a lot, I can already tell. If we can't get pregnant with a perfect IUI, I'll pretty much give up on anything short of IVF working for us at all. But Christmas is right around the corner and long nights in front of our fireplace with hot cocoa and a twinkling tree will go far toward restoring my joyfulness, even if there's no baby in the manger yet.

I hope you are all having weekends that make you happy and sane.

Time Keeps on Ticking: or, 4 dpiui

2010-11-17T07:11:00.000-08:00

This going to be a bit of a random hodgepodge post, since nothing much is going on other than my slow, steady descent into irreparable madness. Every three seconds, I think to myself, "I have to be pregnant. I can't be pregnant. I must be pregnant. It's impossible that I'm pregnant."

And on and on and on.

In the meantime, Lawyer Guy accompanied me to the opera last night (more like, was dragged by me, but who's counting). It was the Met's recent production of Carmen, and I loved it. I spent most of the rest of my non-teaching time googling every bit of news that came out about William and Kate's engagement. A fun distraction from testing out my ute goggles.

* * *

Based on the two data points I now have to go on, I know that I won't have much of an idea if AF is coming or if something else is until 13 dpiui. Both positive test cycles I was positive I was going to get my period right up until that day. I keep trying to remind myself that there's just no way to know yet and that I should try to enjoy myself right now, because the tension only increases the closer to D-Day I get.

Oh, right, and I should start spotting the day after Thanksgiving, which I'm spending with LG's family this year. Awesome.

* * *

What else is there to say as I try to kill time? I'm leaning toward skipping treatments in December, but not because of my sister's wedding. After last month's chemical pregnancy I was determined to plow forward no matter what, and felt really good about that decision. But then LG received that most dreaded (to wives) of husbandly invitations: A Vegas Bachelor Party. And it's scheduled for the exactly the weekend we'd have to be on call for an IUI.

If I begged and pleaded and insisted, Lawyer Guy would refuse the invite. But I know how much he wants to go. Many of his friends have moved from the NY metro area and now have kids, so he doesn't see much of them. He confessed recently that he's been feeling kind of lonely--he's one of the only non-dads left in his circle and everyone's too busy to do the kind of socializing they used to. I know it will mean so much to him to be able to have some relaxed time with them all. And I think he would appreciate a break from having to jizz in a cup, too.

There's still the option to freeze the sperm and do the insemination while he's gone, but that doesn't appeal to me for a lot of reasons. So it's likely that December will consist of fruitless (but fun?) au natural attempts and we'll be back on the treatment horse in January.

* * *

Tick, tock, tick, tock. For now we just keep waiting. Though not as long as Kate Middleton waited for her proposal. I'll take her as my inspiration and dub myself Waity Slopie, invest in a series of figure-hugging colorful frocks, and head to a polo match. That should help pass the time.

Crazy Comes Early; or, How to Survive a Two-Week Wait

2010-11-15T08:36:00.000-08:00

I think I am good at many things: writing, reading while walking along crowded sidewalks, singing, knitting, cooking, taking standardized tests, picking outfits for my dog, correctly punctuating compound-complex sentences, listening to people, hugging, and wearing short skirts. But there is also a long list of things I am terrible at: calculus, chemistry, running, athletics of all sorts, spelling, showing up places on time, planning and timing a meal, housekeeping, putting on a poker face, losing belly fat.

To this latter list, you can add meditation and relaxing.

I have never been able to relax on command. At the end of a yoga class, when I feel stretched out like a noodle, I still have to clench my fists in corpse pose because otherwise the palms of my hands and my fingers literally begin to itch, so strong is my compulsion to move them. In health classes as a kid I was never able to relax my mind enough to feel the crazy effects of the self-hypnosis videos we would occasionally watch.

Just now, in an effort to mitigate against the extreme anxiety of the two week wait, I listened to one of the Circle+Bloom relaxation CDs that a friend sent me when I started working with an RE. I couldn't even concentrate on the woman's voice. I lay here in an extremely comfortable chair with my eyes closed and as she told me to let my body sink deeper into a metaphorical hot bath, the soles of my feet started twitching and I had to press them together. My stomach rumbled. My eyes fluttered under my eye lids. My mind spun like a top.

I suck at this.

I am pretty much a ball of tightly wound twine at the best of times, and waiting for the results of a cycle only exacerbates it. This cycle is doubly hard because everything (with the exception of my minimal egg production) is going so damn well. Not only did Lawyer Guy produce a rock star sample for the IUI, but we had sex TWICE afterward that day. (I'm not at liberty to share what helped make this cycle so much better in that regard. Let's just say it was awesome). Last cycle we had fertilization for the first time in a year, which has raised the expectations for IUI way high. And some googling turned up various studies that all agree the greatest predictors of success in an IUI cycle are total motile sperm counts and timing, both of which were great for us.

And yet mentally, I add all this up together and it equals: BFN.

Over the past 20 months, I have had more "perfect" cycles than I can count-- or as close to perfect as my body can get. Well-timed sex, and lots of it, with clear ovulation. Over and over again, I would think, "This is it! This time is the time! Everything's going so great, it just *has* to work."

And over and over again, reality would sledgehammer me over the head at the end of my wait.

Strangely, I do believe Dr. Wonderful when she tells me that I will get pregnant and I won't be her patient for long. I do believe that a healthy pregnancy is in the cards for my future. Just not yet. Just never right now. Not this cycle, not this time.

I would really like to put down this emotional armor, this chain-mail of doubt and negativity and fear and refusal that I've been carrying around for over a year to deflect the blows of IF. It's tiring and weighs a ton.

Next cycle's the one when I'll start to feel positive. It's always next cycle.

Sperminated; or, R&R

2010-11-13T08:47:00.000-08:00

Having an IUI done on a Saturday morning is infinitely preferable to a Tuesday. Instead counting the minutes as they slipped past (each one taking me closer to another canceled class) or watching Lawyer Guy obsessively responding to work e-mails on his Blackberry, we were able to stroll in, have him do his thang, have a lovely early breakfast at Le Pain Quotidien, get a vial full of sperm injected in my cooter, and return home.

There was less hilarity but also less stress this time around. LG produced the sample without trouble--and what a sample it was! 95 million and 50% motility pre-wash, and 92 million with 90% motility post-wash! We couldn't believe the numbers were right when we saw the sheet, because that is such a jump from his usual 30-35 million. But we'll take it!

I let down the side a bit on my end. Yesterday at triggering I still only had one 19mm follie on the left. My lining was better this time, though, at 10mm. Still, I don't have high hopes for the outcome. One egg, one shot. Plus, I really don't think it's possible for us to have a positive result on every IUI cycle. Since we technically did have a positive beta last time, I'm going to write this one off ahead of time as a necessary loss.

LG and I had some interesting and important conversations about our future that I'll share at some other point. Nothing earthshattering was discussed or decided, but the way we talking about it all gave me confidence that we are as solid a team as I've told myself.

Now we're lying in bed with our puppy and a crossword puzzle. We've scheduled an afternoon of lounging and napping (and maybe even some grading for me) and are discussing dinner and movie options for tonight. I love my husband and I love our life together, whatever comes of this morning's adventures in medically-assisted reproduction.

Veterans of Another War

2010-11-11T15:12:00.000-08:00

Today is Veteran's Day. It's also the anniversary of the worst day of my life.

Things are both harder and better today than I could have anticipated on November 11, 2009. I drove home from the doctor's office that morning, sobbing the whole way, and lay on my couch in a stupor of misery and over and over again I told myself that things would get better soon. As the weeks passed and I tried to recover and move on, I promised myself that "this time next year" things would be different. I knew we could get pregnant, it was only a matter of time until it happened again, I had just lived through one of the worst things I could imagine and life had to (had to) take a turn for the positive.

If I had suspected then what I know now--that a year would pass and find us still in the same situation---I would have been horrified.

And yet, I am better and stronger right now that I possibly could have imagined twelve months ago that I would become. I struggle continually to feel optimistic, but I force myself to carry on with trying to make a baby regardless, so there's obviously hope in there somewhere. I can face the thought of more losses, more waiting, more sadness without enthusiasm but with a knowledge that I'll survive whatever comes and confidence that I'll weather whatever storms I must until we have a baby.

I can look at my husband and know that we have seen each other at our worst and our best and we have held each other up when it felt like the ground fell away beneath us.

So I'm okay today. It's a sad day but ultimately it's just a date, no better or worse than the ones before and after it. I didn't want my journey to take this long. I didn't want to have to turn to an RE and ART to have a child. But I do and I did. And now there's a 16 mm follicle and 8 mm of lining in my uterus and an IUI scheduled for this weekend and just maybe a baby waiting to be created from hope and heartache and resolution.

Too Much; or, Not Enough

2010-11-10T05:07:00.000-08:00

Things have been quiet in Purgatory these last few days, but not because I don't have anything to say or anything going on. There's been too much of both: too much to think about, too much to plan, too much to do, too much to feel, and not enough time to do it all in.

Some of it has been dull: grading 40 papers and teaching classes and running three Junior League meetings in the span of a week.

But some of it has even been good.

On Sunday, Lawyer Guy and I cooked a Fakesgiving feast for most of my family (my parents, two of my sisters, and one sister's fiance). We used our All-Clad turkey roaster for the first time and made our very first turkey, a 12-pounder that turned out perfectly, succulent and juicy and golden brown. Go us! We also made two kinds of stuffing (sausage & sage and caramelized onions & herb), pureed sweet potatoes with molasses butter, roasted brussel sprouts, green beans in a mustard-bacon sauce, arugula salad with roasted butternut squash and cranberries, kale chips and fennel parmesean dip as appetizers, and a caramel cake for dessert. And we made every bit of it from scratch (except a pumpkin pie, which we bought, and the gravy, which my mom made). We had bourbon/apple cider cocktails and champagne and it was a great time, even if it took us four hours to do all the dishes (we did them together while I simmered a turkey-carcass stock in our giant 12-quart stock pot).

This was all made more difficult, though, by the fact that I had--and still have--a really nasty headcold: sore throat, hacking cough, sinus pressure, stuffy nose. We were supposed to go up to West Point with my family on Saturday for the Army-Air Force game, but my cold was at its worst so I stayed home to rest up and ideally recuperate. I am doing better now, but am still pretty uncomfortable. I'd love to take a sick day from teaching, but I've had to use them all for fertility related appointments.

Which, speaking of, I had another one of on Monday morning (CD 10). I'd been feeling really disconnected from this cycle--I feel like I'm still getting over the disappointment of the chemical pregnancy and haven't been enthusiastic or engaged in this current cycle at all. I also wasn't feeling the same intense ovarian reactions that I did last time (despite starting the Clomid three days earlier) so I wasn't terribly optimistic about how things would be going.

Turns out, I know my body pretty well: I had one (count 'em, one) follie at 14 mm on my left ovary. Nothing else over 10 on either side.

Ho hum.

I know one is better than none. And I'm glad that my lining was at 6.9, which seems okay for CD 10. But I couldn't get a good pregnancy out of last cycle, and I had two follies then. I don't have much hope for one. Plus--I fully admit this is irrational--both times I've gotten pregnant it's been from my right ovary. I have this feeling that the left is not capable of stepping up to the task (then again, both those pregnancies didn't last, so maybe the left side would have a better track record in that regard). I go back tomorrow morning for more monitoring, to see how things have progressed. Dr. Wonderful suspected the IUI would go forward this weekend, but she said if there hasn't been any progress at my next appointment, they'll give me another dose of Clomid and the egg will drop the weekend afterward. I'm feeling some sensations in both ovaries, so I suspect that some growth will have occurred, though I obviously can't predict how much.

After the ultrasound, Dr. W. sat and talked with me for about ten minutes about last cycle and how I'm feeling about everything. She is so amazing. She told me she definitely views last cycle's outcome as a positive. She said she knows that the psychological torture of waiting is the hardest part in all of this and encouraged me to embrace my hobbies and do whatever I can to help distract me during this time. She also said "There is light at the end of the tunnel. You are going to be pregnant." I really love working with her and I'm so glad we followed our instincts and chose her.

I've been a little freaked out, though, I have to confess, and it's entirely my own fault. I asked Dr. W. what comes next if this cycle doesn't work. While she said that she wants to go one cycle at a time and not get ahead of ourselves, she still gave me an indication of what she's thinking will follow: one more Clomid+IUI and then...IVF!

Ah! Those letters! They strike fear into my heart.

Now, Dr. W. said she would advocate for IVF as the next step because she fears the risk of triplets is too great for my case if we do IUI + injectibles. But she also said we'd have to talk about everything before making decisions about what to do. And I know how kind and lovely she is--if we tell her we're just not ready for IVF I think she'd let us make an attempt with injectibles/IUI just to see how it goes. And she's right, triplets are not an ideal outcome. My anxiety would be off the charts if I were pregnant with three babies, plus I'd likely have to be on bed rest for a very long time, which has complications of its own. And then, you know, three babies.

But the risk of triplets is only three percent (which doesn't sound like much to me). And everything in an IVF cycle (meds+procedure) would be out-of-pocket for us. We're financially capable of doing IVF at this stage, but not financially prepared: the lovely In-Case-of-Baby cushion we've rebuilt over the two years since buying our apartment would be reduced by jumping into an IVF. We'd need to talk about this a lot and save more money and possibly chat with our parents before embarking on such a step.

I'm also not even close to psychologically prepared. I still, if you can believe it, don't actually think of us as infertile! There are still many times when I think to myself that all this happened because I worried too much and put too much pressure on Lawyer Guy at the beginning and couldn't take things easy and (yup, here it comes) just relax.

I just have to cross my fingers and hope that one of these Clomid cycles will be the trick for us. I'll just have to pray that poor Lawyer Guy can hang on to his ever-fraying confidence and sanity and endure just a little bit longer. During a phone chat with him on Monday, I reassured him that "We are going to be such great parents because of going through this, and we are going to be so unbelievably happy because of how sad we are now."

And he replied, "Yeah, we've been telling ourselves that for almost two years."

So my consolations are a little thread-bare and my hope is definitely dented and my heart is very bruised. But my doctor says there's a light at the end of the tunnel and some days I almost think I can see it.

Sad Goodbyes; or, People in Your Neighborhood

2010-11-04T19:36:00.001-07:00

This morning, my downstairs neighbors' little dog was hit and killed by a car right outside our apartment building. She was a two-year-old Manchester Terrier they'd had for about a year. They'd rescued her from a shelter and worked with a trainer to help cure her of her excessive anxiety. They'd done an amazing job--she was so well-behaved, and getting better all the time. Somehow her leash broke or came undone and she ran into the road.

When Lawyer Guy returned from walking Bella this morning, he told me they had taken the dog to the animal ER . Later, when I arrived on campus to teach, I got a bbm from him telling me she had died. I started crying.

I don't know why this has affected me so much. I feel so very bad for these neighbors. I keep picturing myself in their position, thinking of my little Bella and how I would feel if all her toys and her food dishes lingered here as reminders that she was gone. It makes me sick inside. I imagine that moment when they were told she was gone, and it makes me cry again.

I saw their light on when I returned home this afternoon and knocked on their door to give them a hug and my condolences. They'd clearly been sobbing for hours. We all cried together and I said what I could to give them my sympathy, told them how much we would miss her.

I felt oddly tempted to tell them about the miscarriages, though of course I didn't. We live in a small building with only a few apartments and we have one of the two remaining dogs living here. I have to think that seeing us walking Bella and hearing us take her out every morning and evening (their apartment is closest to the front door) will sting so much and remind them of their lost little pup. Maybe I wanted to tell them so they'd know that I understand sadness and loss. But telling them would have been for my comfort, not theirs.

So I just hugged them and went back upstairs.

This and That; or, Wishes and Horses

2010-11-03T18:57:00.001-07:00

Not much to say tonight. I made a wish on a star while out walking the dog--I don't see so many of them in the city, so I felt I had to seize my chances. I revised the wish about three times just to make sure it was conveyed without any ambiguity. We can't be too careful about these things.

There's a lot on my mind. I'm wondering when we'll do the IUI. I'm wondering about December and whether we should go forward with treatments that month or not. I'm reeling a bit from a badly timed pregnancy announcement last week that I'm not quite sure what to do about and don't have the energy to blog about yet. I'm trying to hold Lawyer Guy up while he tackles some doctor's appointments he's dreading. I'm trying to get 80 papers graded. I'm trying to prepare a faux-Thanksgiving feast for this weekend. I'm trying to enjoy my life as it is right now.

It never holds for long, but I seem to have reached some kind of stasis. I take it where I can find it.

And with that, I'm off to bed.