Giving Thanks; or, Planning the Unplannable

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.

Homecoming; or, My Rock

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.

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

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.

Sperminated; or, R&R

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.

A Long Two Weeks To Go; or, No News Is Not Always Good News

I'm back from Shelter Island, a little battered and bruised emotionally. I can only say this: the timing this month wasn't good. Getting pregnant based on our recent "schedule" isn't impossible, of course, at least not according to TCOYF. But I'm a realist here. Yay! I Can't Believe It Happened Like This! bfps aren't in the cards for us. We had one month of excellently timed sex that led to a pregnancy. We've had months and months of excellently timed sex that led to a big fat nothing. And we've had months and months of not-so-well timed sex that yielded nothing as well.

I'm probably about 1 dpo and I already know I'm not pregnant. I can't tell you how much that hurts, to feel like we've given up before we've even begun. To feel hopeless right off the bat. I'm now positive that we will be going to our RE appointment next month. And I'm now worrying overtime about my sister's wedding next summer and whether to delay treatments because of it. I'm fretting. I'm crying. I'm grieving the baby-without-assistance that I don't think we'll get to make.

But Lawyer Guy and I are closer than ever right now, and we've had some amazing moments of communication in the last 24 hours. If we ever do get the baby that we want so much, that kid will so lucky to have two parents as unconditionally crazy about each other as they are about him or her.

Temporary Sanity; or, Weekend Update

What a nice weekend! Lawyer Guy and I had dinner at the "secret" back courtyard restaurant a few doors down from our house on Friday night. On Saturday I went to a great yoga class and then had dinner in Manhattan with LG followed by a screening of His Girl Friday at Film Forum. Yesterday I went to a fantastic new church--progressive, friendly, with great sermons and beautiful music--and then read 500 pages of a rather ridiculous yet entertaining mid-Victorian novel and cooked dinner for LG, who was at the office preparing for a hearing. I got a little too ambitious and made pate brisee, with the intention of whipping up an apple and pear tart, but ran out of time for baking it. So the dough is in the freezer and I'll make the tart sometime this week.

I also... (drumroll please)... OVULATED!

Because I'm TMI-ey like that (and because I know all you pervs totally want me to overshare with you), I must point out that LG and I had sex every day last week. No, hold your applause, it's appreciated but unneeded. And of course I did have my mandatory freakout that we were having too much sex, as our BFP cycle we had sex only once during my fertile period. But then I reminded myself that if LG and I are having fun, that's the most important thing and I really shouldn't look a gift...um...horse in the mouth.

So now here I am, starting the last week of my twenties. Starting another two week wait. I feel really good. Today I doubt that I'm pregnant, but I feel good. I've got my birthday weekend to look forward to (and my meetup with SuchAGoodEgg here in NYC!). Things feel okay right now.

I can pretty much guarantee that after my 30th on Sunday I'll fall into the 1ww vortex of hope and despair. And AF's due to show on Mother's Day, which should be a nice red cherry on the top of that Sunday.

But for now, like I said, things are okay.

(And coming to a blog near you soon: potential birthday sparkle dress pictures!!)

Backsliding; or, Having the Hard Conversations

Last night was rough. Very, very rough.

It started with the revelation that Lawyer Guy's 26-year-old cousin is pregnant with her third unplanned pregnancy. It ended with an hour-and-a-half of tears and soul searching in bed.

Despite my best intentions, pregnancy announcements knock me on my ass. I recover eventually (even quickly) and suck it up and smile and muddle through. But the first day I hear about a new baby on the way? Let's just say "poise" is not a word I'm worthy of in those moments.

This announcement was especially bad for several reasons: I'm deep in an increasingly pessimistic two week wait; I'm the only one of the 4 married cousins on that side of Lawyer Guy's family to not have a viable pregnancy in the past year; everyone in his family kept this a secret from me for over a month.

Yup, my husband has known about this since before we left for our cruise on January 14th. He's so worried about my mental fragility, he hid this from me for six weeks. And the worst part is, he's right. Learning about it sent me into a tailspin.

And about that mental fragility-- there's been a major backslide this week. I underestimated the psychic stress of getting back into trying to conceive after a miscarriage. My longing to get pregnant is even greater than it was before (if you can believe that) because it feels like the only thing that will make my miscarriage bearable. The waiting has worn me down over the past six days. I'm increasingly in despair (that's not an overstatement), increasingly convinced that this cycle is hopeless, increasingly convinced that I'll see red at the end of this.

So I've been moping a lot and crying a lot and generally in a funk. But I know that this is only the first cycle and that while getting my period sucks, I'll come out optimistic and hopeful (even if scared) the next cycle, and the next, and the next.

But for my husband, this backslide has been very upsetting. And last night, as he came into the bedroom, he told me that "I don't seem happy in our marriage."

Cue copious tears. Our marriage is the only thing that makes me happy. Our marriage is the rock that holds me up. So we talked and talked, and cried and cried and both said things we've been thinking for a long time. Ultimately, he said he's been scared by something I said in the days following the miscarriage: that I don't think I'll ever be happy until I'm pregnant again.

And while I don't feel exactly that way three months later (I'm happy sometimes, even frequently), I know there's a sadness in my heart that won't be erased until I have a baby.

And maybe not even totally then. Maybe I'll always have this sadness, but counterbalanced by joy.

We didn't come to any resolutions, but it was important (even though stressful) to share these feelings with each other.

I just hope the failed cycles are more tolerable with time.

Updates; or Odds and Ends

A huge and hearty THANK YOU to everyone who commented on yesterday's post or e-mailed with advice. You have made me feel less alone, less like one half of the freakish couple with sex problems. Taking some of your suggestions to heart, I had a calm, difficult, but loving and productive chat with Lawyer Guy last night before bed, and we have made some decisions about what to do to make this process less stressful on both of us.

Rereading my post, I'm struck by the anger in my tone. Truthfully, I do not usually feel that way about my husband, not even around this issue. I suppose that's why the feeling shocks me so much when it springs up in the aftermath of a difficult moment--I am pretty much the least anger-prone person alive. I'm in a much better headspace today (probably as a result of our good conversation last night) and am back to my usual loving self.

Also, out of respect to my husband, I won't be discussing this issue again. He knows of my blog and has agreed not to read it, but I still feel some guilt about sharing a concern of his that he would NOT like the world to hear about (that was a pretty constant refrain as we talked about our husbands, wasn't it? If only they could all get together and have this chat). So know that I appreciate your advice and support and that he and I are working on this as we move forward.

* * *
I've been through the wringer the last few months with trying to get the tissue test results back on the m&m following our d&c. Unreturned phone calls, misleading information, multiple calls to multiple doctors offices. I thought the situation was FINALLY resolved yesterday when I called my office to get the results (12 weeks after the procedure). And yet another road block has been put in my way: I never signed a release form for the office that performed the d&c to send the results to my regular doctor's office. And I never signed a form because they never told me to or gave me a form to sign! And it took a month and a half for them to let me know this (the results were in after 6 weeks)!

Now I need to fax a letter giving them permission to release the forms, wait for them to send the forms to my doctor, and I'm sure hurdle over another carpenter's horse before I learn what made us lose our baby. At this point, it's not even about the results, which I doubt will be all that informative, surprising, or helpful. It's the principal of the thing--don't make a grieving non-mother wait a FULL TRIMESTER to put her dead baby to rest.

***
Finally, today it has been three months since we learned we lost the m&m. I had a little breakdown yesterday, brought on partly because of the stressful marital situation but mostly because I just miss my baby.

Days get easier and the world seems brighter all the time. I'm committed to my schoolwork, loving my marriage, and finding a peace through yoga that feels enriching and well earned. I'm truly hopeful that I'll be pregnant again sooner rather than later and will have a baby at the end of those nine months.

But I will never have my m&m. I can accept what life has given me and still mourn what might have been.

Today; or, Good Things

Today we're going to decorate our Christmas tree.

Today I'm going to put the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas on repeat.

Today I'm going to drink hot cocoa and cook with my husband.

Today I'm going to grade my students' papers.

Today I'm going to sit in front of a warm fire on a cold night.

Today I'm remembering why I love living in this neighborhood.

Today I'm going to be happy.

Home; or, Hindsight

Home.

I never thought I would feel a sense of dread thinking that word. But walking up the stairs to our apartment tonight--the night outside dark and the world inside empty--I felt my heart sink with sadness as I approached the door. I'm alone and nothing seems right.

I'm waiting for my husband to return from California. He's somewhere between Dallas and New York right now, and thinking too much about his exact location in the sky activates my plane phobia and terrifies me that I could lose him, too.

He shouldn't have gone to the wedding. I needed him this weekend. I was glad to be with my family, glad to have my mom to coddle me and my dad to hug me and one of my sisters to make me laugh. But I needed my husband to grieve with me. I needed him to hold my hand and talk with me about the baby and work through this together.

I didn't even realize I could miscarry while he was gone until the morning he left. I wasn't thinking. My mind didn't work quite right those first few days. And then he was at the airport and I suddenly pictured myself bleeding and going to the hospital and him being 3,000 miles away. And I realized how stupid the whole situation was.

I was a cranky bitch to him while he was gone, but it was only because I missed him so much. And it felt so utterly wrong that I was sitting with my family crying while he was off at a wedding full of happy people. Not that I thought he was one of those happy people--I know that he wasn't. But we should have been together, dealing with this together. Not on some sort of weird marriage sabbatical just when we needed each other most.

I've cried a little since walking back through the door, and now I just feel blue and blah. I have to walk the dog, fix something for dinner, and maybe even get some teaching prep done for next week, though I haven't decided if I'm going to teach Tuesday yet, or not. And at some point, he'll come back home. And I think things will be better then.

Emotionally Drained; or, Still Hanging In There

This has been the most emotionally exhausting 24 hours of my life. I apologize for leaving you (or just Stef, if you're the only reader) hanging, but I needed to process and deal with my emotions and fears before I could post.

We went in to my gynecologist's yesterday at 4:30. My doctor performed an exam first and found the cervix closed, so she said the blood had not come from my uterus. Then she did an u/s. Almost immediately, we saw the embryo--big and totally obvious. My husband gripped my hand with relief. I felt oddly detached. And then she said, "Let me just find the heart beat. Hmm, I can't find the heart beat."

She referred us to a diagnostic sonography place for today. She said she gave our chances at a viable pregnancy at 50-50. She spoke a little bit about our "options" if the pregnancy wasn't viable. But then she stopped herself. "Don't think about it any more tonight," she said. "Just go home and rest. We don't know what's going on yet."

My poor husband had almost fainted when he heard her say there was no heartbeat. Literally, he had to go lie down in another exam room (Can you tell we're cut from the same anxious cloth?). I felt numb and calm. We left the office together around 5:30 and began walking down 2nd Avenue.

Our close friends had given birth the day before and were in a hospital 30 or 40 blocks south of my doctor's. We had planned to visit them after the appointment to meet the baby, but at that point we didn't know what to do. I suggested we just walk for a while. While we were walking, I called the other doctor's office and set up an appointment for this morning at 8:30.

After I made the appointment, all my fear hit me. I started crying, gripping my husband's hand. At the same time, I was aware more than ever of how much I loved him and how grateful I was to have him at that time.

We walked, and sometimes I cried, and sometimes I didn't. We decided to visit our friends--who suffered a miscarriage about 2 years ago, then tried for over a year afterward before conceiving this child. We are both so unadulteratedly happy for them, it seemed like the right, unselfish thing to do. And the visit was good. For a little while, I put what was going on out of my mind and just felt happy for two people I care a lot about and their very cute little baby boy.

And then we went home. And I fell apart. Sobbing, vomiting, I was a mess. I wound up calling my mom and I spoke with her and my dad for about an hour. They were comforting, reminding me that we can't know God's plans for us and just have to trust in him. And that hardship comes to every life, but that I'm strong and will survive it. My mom said she would go to morning mass for me today.

We fell into an exhausted sleep at 10, and then I woke to pee at 2 am--I didn't sleep again until 4 or 5, waking for good at 6. I puked all morning and cried into my tea as I got ready for the drive back into Manhattan.

Even though my doctor had given us 50-50 odds, I felt like they were 90-10. I was sure this was not a viable pregnancy. I sobbed the entire car ride to the office. I imagined how difficult hosting my best friend's baby shower tomorrow would be, and attending my husband's family wedding the following weekend in California, and getting through Thanksgiving and Christmas. I felt heartbroken. But I also knew I'd be able to survive whatever came.

We had our ultrasound with the doppler. It lasted forever, at least 10 minutes, and was actually painful by the end of it. The u/s tech didn't say anything throughout. She had told us she wouldn't, but she spent so long looking at everything, I was certain she was searching fruitlessly for signs of life. She stopped the exam then, went to find the doctor, came back and said, "I see an embryo. And I see a heart beat."

My husband started to cry. I just felt--nothing. Not sadness, not joy, not even relief. Nothing. Tired. Spent.

We met with the doctor after I dressed. He was concerned that we were measuring two weeks behind based on my last menstrual period. I tried to explain that I always have longer than average cycles and this cycle I ovulated especially late. Even so, he wants us back next week to check on the progress.

And he told us the heart rate. 92.

I came home and ate McDonald's with my husband and slept for two hours.

I feel like I've had a stay of execution. I feel released. I don't feel happy or sad right now. Just peaceful. The baby is still alive for now and that's a good sign. I honestly did not expect to get this news today. So it's enough for now.

Though my cervix is letting me know it did not appreciate 2 vaginal ultrasounds in as many days.

How I Told My Husband; and, The First Doctor's Appt

What an amazingly busy 36 hours I've had! And most of it had nothing to do with this pregnancy. Meetings yesterday, teaching butt-early today, my first post-pregnant appointment at the gyno's, class this evening, and homework--it's 1 AM and I finally have time to update. Phew.

So to begin, how I sprung the big news on my husband! Lawyer Guy works in Lower Manhattan, which is only a 20-minute subway ride from our apartment in Park Slope. He's always asking me to come in and meet him for lunch, and I usually am so busy (or lazy) that I don't. But yesterday, I called him and suggested that since I had to go into Manhattan anyway for a therapy appointment and my Junior League committee meeting, I should meet him by his office for a quick lunch. After some heming and hawing about all the work he has to do (and he has been working incredibly hard on a case the last two months) he agreed. The plan was in motion!

I had figured out how I would do this so long ago, I didn't need to weigh any options. I went down to Brookl.yn Ind.ustries, where they have these cute "Made in Brooklyn" onesies (my husband has gotten very into Brooklyn since we moved her last year). Unfortunately, they only had that particular onesie in the 12-18 month size. Not going to cut it! So I got a navy blue onesie with red piping and red "Brooklyn" letting and the image of a water tower. I've thought for ages that my first kid will be a son--but even if not, I'll put a daughter in navy. I live dangerously.

I asked the cashier for a box to put it in. He only had large, rectangular boxes (the kind you'd put a sweater in if you were giving it as a gift). No problem--it would only add to the deception. I had him put the pee stick in with the onesie (cap on, of course), wrap it all in tissue, and give it to me in a shopping bag.

Then I went into Manhattan and met my husband outside his office. He was surprised to see the shopping bag--I told him that I bought him a gift because he'd been working so hard recently. We went to the A.u B.on Pai.n across the street (so romantic), found a place to sit immediately (I could not wait to let him order food), and I gave him the box. He almost jumped out of his chair when he opened it and saw the pee stick. "Seriously?" he asked. He stared at me for about four minutes straight. Then he kissed me, and I started to cry, and everyone at A.u Bo.n Pai.n wondered what the hell was wrong with the crazy couple in the back.

We talked for about 40 minutes about how I found out, what we were each feeling, what plans we wanted to make, what the next steps were. I had already eaten, but he hadn't--and he could barely get any food down he was so excited! We said goodbye and he went back to work while I took off for my meetings.

Last night I was exhausted. I fell asleep at 10 pm, which I never do. I guess my body just needed the sleep. Good thing, as I was up at 6:30 this morning to go teach.

Then, this afternoon, my husband and I went to my doctor's office. My doctor started laughing at me as soon as she walked in the door, since I'd just e-mailed her the week before freaking out about my inability to become pregnant--not realizing I was pregnant at the time (it was a bad week). We knew it would be too early to see anything, but she didn't an internal u/s anyway. She confirmed that I am definitely pregnant, though it is still very early. She pointed a little dark blotch that she is pretty sure is the sac formation--my husband is calling it the M&M (since we had always referred to any unconceived babies as our jellybeans). She gave me a prenatal vitamin scrip (which I dropped off at a pharmacy uptown and forgot to pick up) and told me I should eat whenever I feel hungry. "If you feel like eating the whole cake, eat the whole cake," she said. I will try very hard not to eat the whole cake--or the whole cow, since I am craving red meat like whoa and like damn.

My doctor warned me not to get too "psychologically attached" to the pregnancy yet, since it's early and anything could happen. I know that. I know it's possibly short-sighted of me to take such wholehearted glee in this. And I've begun to worry a bit in the last 12 or so hours. But there's nothing I can do to keep this pregnancy going except eat and drink water and avoid motorcycle gangs that like to punch women in the lower abdomen. So I might as well enjoy it, right? Tomorrow will be tomorrow. Right now I'm pregnant.

There was an embarrassing incident at the end of the appointment. Because I'm so early, she wanted to do a blood draw and test my hCG level. I've mentioned my anxiety issues on this blog before--I'm not only a chronic worrier and procrastinator and seriously afraid of flying. I'm also phobic of needles. And not just any needles. Shots are fine. I don't like them, but I can do them. I even used to do electrolysis. I'm not afraid of needle-poking pain.

I am seriously psychologically upset, however, by needles staying inside my body for more than a second. So having blood drawn really bothers me--it generally makes me throw up in distress. And IVs--forget it. Still half-under from general anesthesia, I will be clawing that thing off my hand as I come to. I'm more scared about having an IV in my arm when I'm admitted to the hospital than I am of giving birth.

I really tried to keep it together for the blood draw. I didn't watch; I held my husband's hand; I tried to talk and think about other things. And I also had a full-blown panic attack that nearly culminated in me fainting. As I was hyperventilating and as my lips, fingers, toes, and chest went completely cold and numb, the nurse took the needle back out without having drawn any blood.

My doctor is SO sweet. She and the nurse got me a blanket and made me some tea and helped me get my breathing under control until I didn't feel faint any longer. And the upshot is, they didn't get a blood sample so I'm going back in at the same time next week instead of two weeks later so she can do another u/s and check on the embryonic development.

When I switch to the OB (after we hear the heartbeat) they'll have to do a full blood work up. So that gives me a few weeks to figure out how to woman-up and stop being such a loon. My therapist has her work cut out for her.

The Other Side of Six; or, the Benefits of Action

Now that I've been officially trying for over 6 cycles, I feel like I've reached a milestone or crossed a bridge. I will either get pregnant within the next 6 months or I will be diagnosed with infertility problems and begin serious testing. I obviously would prefer the first outcome, but I'm glad to know the second is in reach, too.

I've always been a person who wants to know. If something's the matter, I want to be told. I'd rather work toward a solution to my problems, struggle after my dreams, and deal with sorrow and pain, than wait around in idle ignorance, letting life pass me by. The thought of "only" having six months left to conceive naturally doesn't scare me and it doesn't make me anxious. It encourages me, because however things shake out, I'll start to get some answers and make some progress. That's my coping mechanism: making a schedule, setting up the steps.

My Cle.arblue Ea.sy monitor came yesterday in the mail. My period stopped today. I'll start pee-sticking in a few days. And then--I ovulate or I don't. Depending on the outcome, this journey takes its path.

I feel good about peeing on this stupid piece of plastic, because it's a concrete action. My husband is feeling pressure, though, and we know he does not do well with that.

So those are my goals for the month: pee on sticks, see if/when I ovulate, keep my husband from knowing what the monitor says, and make things fun and relaxed for him.

Wish me luck, oh silent internet world!

It Had to Be You; or, the Pleasures of Marriage

Things have been rough the last few days. I'm going to get my period any day now and lose whatever faint hope I had for this cycle. The stress in the bedroom has not improved.

But...yesterday marked two years since my wedding, a day that makes me so happy every time I think about it I can't help but smile. Despite the difficulties and frustrations right now, I am so grateful to be with my husband, can't imagine anyone more perfect for me. He's my partner and my best friend and the one man in the world with whom I want to have a family.

I know our time will come, and until then I'll try to take comfort in how good we have it.

Taking Care of Business; or the Head-Shrinker's Tale

I went back into therapy today. My new therapist seems lovely, even if we spent much of our first session chatting about my family history of anxiety disorders (it's quite extensive) and my own history of panic attacks, general anxiety disorder, and occasional bouts of depression. I feel good knowing that I'm doing something to get my mind back on track and my emotions under control. I also feel good that she's an LCSW rather than an MD-- I really don't want to go back on anti-anxiety meds when there's a chance I could become pregnant.

Things are also going well with my husband and me (I have now dubbed him Mr. Lawyer for the purposes of this blog). We've taken a step back from sex for the past week because he is spooked and worried ever since losing his erection last week. Mr. Lawyer and I have been having "fun" in non-baby-making ways to get back into enjoying sex rather than thinking of it as a chore.

Ultimately, I feel like we're taking care of necessary business right now. We can't make a baby the way that I thought we could. Meaning, we can't control this. I can't make it happen faster by reading Taking Charge of Your Fertility or obsessively analyzing my cervical fluid. Maybe there's a chance that I'd conceive marginally faster that way, but the toll it takes on my sanity, Mr. Lawyer's emotions, and the health of our marriage is not worth it.

My therapist told me I'm feeling the emotions and suffering the reactions common to couples going through infertility testing. And this is only after 4 months. I need to reset the clock, throw out the calendars, rethink this process. I need to relax.

Right now, I'm working on forgiving myself and my husband for not conceiving yet. A sex break isn't what I wanted, but maybe it's what we needed.

Let's see where we are six months from now.

It's All in the Timing; or Embracing Imperfection

I'm starting to accept that this whole conception project may, can, and likely will take longer than I had originally anticipated. Cycle four is most likely a bust as we had an old and dear friend visiting us in our little (thin-walled) apartment while I was ovulating. And when I told my husband that we had to have sex the day before J arrived--he kind of panicked from the pressure and it didn't happen. He feels crappy, anxious about his ability to get the job done, and sad for disappointing me. I feel disappointed, frustrated that I can't control this, and sad that my control-freak tendencies are hurting him and his self-esteem.

I can't go on like this. I can't spend every month biting my nails in anticipation of joy or sadness. I need to learn how to go on with my life, treat conceiving a child as just one part of a busy, full, happy existence. To start, I have put away the basel body thermometer and stopped obsessively tracking cervical mucus. I know generally when I ovulate. I have very strong secondary signs (ovulatory pain, among others). "Perfect" timing didn't work the last few months. A little bit of calm might.

And now, a list of things I'm happy about, even though we couldn't have sex at the right time this month:

- I'm glad my husband had a good weekend catching up with one of his closest friends, whom he rarely sees.

- I'm glad my husband and I are communicating openly about our worries and feelings about trying to conceive.

- I'm glad I have an opportunity to be a loving, supportive, and nurturing wife right now, which is more important that seizing every possible baby-making opportunity.

It's a beginning.