An Oversimplification of Everything I Know About Pregnancy Volume 1

Happy Saturday, ladies of interwebs.

I reread that title and not to sound the dreaded spoiler alert alarm but the answer is NOTHING.

I know NOTHING.

I caaaaaan, however, give a run down of what it was like for me. Which still means close to nothing because if I've learned anything it's that the yet-to-be-pregnant infertiles are far more qualified than I (like I've said before who gets out of the arctic waters and into a lifeboat first is completely illogical) and that the ever-so-boring adage of 'pregnancy is different for everyone' is unfortunately/fortunately true. I did mid-pregnancy attempt to record some observations here, but now I have the benefit of hindsight and something resembling sanity.

I'll still give the rundown for a few reasons. First, I was scarcely present during my pregnancy. Second, I need to be more present now and we have some catching up to do. Third, and most important, if/when you're pregnant maybe you'll run across one thing and go 'yesssss!!!!' because I myself found catharsis wildly helpful.

So again let's rewind many-moons so we can get to the present one. Forgive me for my utter lack of logical order, and for spreading this across a few entries.

(My pregnancy in a nutshell - note the excessive amounts of sweat and desperation).

1. If you have to do PIO shots for many weeks, don't panic your ass may eventually go dead. Mine did. The first week was a nightmare - Bub complained (HA) that you could actually hear the needle ripping through layers of skin, and it regularly felt like he was hitting my tail bone. We need to start making "IT GETS BETTER" videos for this.

2. Don't have a birth plan, or at least have a very loose one. Okay that sounded bossy. Forgive me. The argument for my case - the whole labor and delivery process is like riding a fucking bull. By all means, visualize the hell out of it if it eases some anxiety before mounting it. But if you try to choreograph every one of the 8 seconds  from the point of your toes to the flow of the bulls hair, while that's adorably type A it will probably be utterly useless information mid-ride and only serve to create unneeded anxiety. Just mount the damn thing and hang on for dear life.

3. No matter how pregnant you are when it occurs to you maybe you should change your Doctor - if it occurs to you at all, change him.

4. You may go completely batty. I don't mean adorable romantic comedy about a pregnant woman batty, I mean someone should be chasing you with a giant butterfly net batty. 

An Example: Stork is not the most emotional of beasts in her natural state. I maybe have 2 good cries a year. I have that man-quality of if you have a problem, solve it. 1 + 2 = 3, what goes up must come down, etc. etc. 

At one point when I was very pregnant, I was retrieving something out of Bubba's car when I saw a single, solitary dry noodle in his passenger seat. It took five seconds for my brain, hopped up on hormones, to conclude that this CLEARLY meant he was having an affair with some noodle eating whore. Obviously some boney ass harlot had enchanted my husband, and insisted he buy her cheap Chinese take out before doing her high-on-lo-mein twerking routine on his crotch. I do not exaggerate when I say that this was the ONLY LOGICAL EXPLANATION MY BRAIN COULD CREATE.

So after approximately 75 heated texts to him, he simply responded 'I know you're not feeling well, but are we really getting divorced over a noodle?' to which I replied 'What's the bitches name?'

5. You will spend weeks looking paunchy but not quite pregnant. On some visceral level you will know that you're one of those obnoxious girls sticking out a post-pizza-belly and saying "OMG I'm so huge look at this". Conclude you will never look or feel pregnant. Then one day, you or someone will take a picture of you and as if it happened overnight - holy shit you look pregnant.

( Bedroom prior to demolition.)

6. Your baby will move when you're trying to sleep and sleep when you want her to move.

7. You will have a symptom. You will get used to said symptom. You will finally feel relaxed in that you know what a healthy pregnancy feels like. Said symptom will totally disappear causing panic. Symptom will be replaced by totally foreign symptom, causing even more panic. Wash, rinse, repeat until Doctor says "she's crowning".

8. Take a gawddam babymoon. This is more important than a birth plan. This will be the last time you will be able to have sex with traditional sound effects, no rush, and no one wondering if the 3 week old lump in a bassinet has any concept of what is happening. And on the subject of things that are more important than birth plans, get a membership to Amazon Fresh.

9. If during your pregnancy you have any passing flirtation with a summer or late spring month, check that your air conditioning is in working order long before. Check that shit. Check it now. On a 100 degree day I came home, found that it wasn't working, hurled myself on the ground in an epic temper tantrum and declared I would be spending the rest of my pregnancy at the Beverly Hilton. I had the emotional maturity of a two year old until some sainted swarthy Russian man agreed to come fix it within the hour. We are all lucky there were no casualties.

10. All the things you said you would never do or feel as a pregnant infertile, you will do them and you will feel them. Forgive yourself.

Birth Story Part 3

The Grand Finale...

The young nurse literally has her hand still in me, and is calling for the older nurse. (I NEED AN OLD PRIEST AND A YOUNG PRIEST).

(Source.)

They explain to me that the baby is ready to pop out and that the Dr. is on his way, we're just going to hope he makes it.

There is a flurry of activity around me - they're setting shit up for an actual BABY TO BE IN THE ROOM.

Let's pause on how strange that is. 5 years of trying to get one of these things, a pregnancy that went by in the blink of an eye (during most of which I was completely insane but we'll get to that in another entry) and there's going to be a baby soon. My baby. In the room. Just like we were. I had spent all night looking at her little bassinet in the room not being able to put that together.. and now she was going to be here. It was like if someone authoritatively said "the unicorn and leprechaun will be here soon - we need to get the pots together to collect gold and chop chop with setting up your cameras so you can take pictures of their choreographed dance of celebration". WHAT. ARE YOU. TALKING. ABOUT.

I remember the nurses hand was in me as if she was holding things together (it was awhile - if it were the 50s she would have had to have pinned me by now so as to not create a social scandal). Around this time Bub started to look peaked.

Correction... Looking back, Bub looked increasingly peaked that whole night starting from when my water broke and I completely went off the pain rails. It's a moment where I completely and utterly handed over alpha status to him, I think (normally we're pretty even stevens - I don't do damsel in distress, but boy was I in distress). They say that a woman becomes a Mother the moment she learns she's pregnant (and in my experience, years before then, really) but a man becomes a Father when his child is born. This, in my experience, was 1000 % true. I don't think Bub viscerally got what was happening until those last few hours (which makes me pity men, really, because that's quite a short little period to have it sink in).  So I didn't really notice it at the time, but in hindsight he did start to get this wild, panicked look in his eyes when things started moving along. 

And he's a type 1 diabetic so looking peaked generally means shits hitting the fan, anyway. So I remember even though I was about to push a HUMAN BEING FROM MY LOINS they were thrusting juice at him and insisting he sit down because he would not be the first father to hit the ground.

I was aware of way more people being in the room than moments before, and that this was probably the most attention I was ever going to get in my life. The older nurse sort of took over in the event that Heisenbaby popped out while the Doctor was parking.  

I was on my back, a nurse holding one leg and Bub holding the other. Mind you, after an epidural your legs are USELESS. And I was approximately 948 lbs at this point and Bub was on the particularly useless right side (I don't think the epidural fully kicked in on my left side) which meant I was not helping him at. all. She explained to push like I was going to poop.

I realize poop is taking a larger part in this story than one would perhaps think.... I would like to assure any pregnant women reading this that I in fact DID NOT POOP on the table. I think it was in part because I have endo and am always to some degree constipated, and I had had drugs that stopped me up pretty good. But a poop free experience is possible! 

ANYWAYS.

I can also thank my endo and constipation because pooping a particularly tricky poop is something I have experience in. So I started pushing right at 8 AM.

The older nurse who was seemingly less nervous than the younger nurse kept saying "wow! you are a GOOD pusher!"

Honestly, the pushing part? Easy pacheezy. After all the needles, heartbreak, chemical pregnancies, a miscarriage, Pitocin, getting pre-partum OCD and wondering if I would ever have anything that resembled a real family - easy. Easy, easy, easy. 

I couldn't really feel too much of what was happening, but I was familiar with the concept of poop, like I said. So I just went like I was constipated. Wouldn't have known anything was happening except for the shouts of 'good job!' and 'wow we have a pusher on our hands!'. Bub to my right, looking increasingly gaunt.

The Doctor arrived, the nurse told him I was a fantastic pusher, he said 'oh great', and she shuffled to my side.

He told me I was making great progress with every push. They asked me if I wanted a mirror to see the progress I was making... Now, for the entire 37 weeks I was shouting about how I would NEVER do this but the beauty of not having a birth plan is I was playing it by ear. So I said no the first time, and then I asked for it. I won't lie to you - it was really gross. But there was HAIR coming out of my patootie. HAIR. I was actually doing something.

When my nurse discovered the baby's head was in my vaginal canal I had Bub text my Mom to tell her we were getting to the gory part. So around this time she arrived, while my legs were akimbo and there was a mirror at my crotch. She came teary eyed to my head and brushed my hair out of my face and I had never been so happy to see her. We didn't have her for the actual birth so we just said our hellos and that she loved me and I was doing great - and that really was the last push that had it sink in that this was happening. (We didn't have her there for the birth only because we figured it'd be gory - and now that I have Heisenbaby I dunno if I'd be able to see her in that kind of pain.)

So when Mom left the room it was like 'okay, everybody's here... here we go.'

They would have me take a deep breath, let it out, take another deep breath and hold it while I pushed while they counted to ten. I remember staring at the ceiling and thinking I wasn't doing anything, but they kept reassuring me that I was doing great and I was meant to push.

On my second to last push I remember them saying "waaaaait! stoooooop!!!!!" which I didn't think too much of at the time. They paused for a moment, said it'd be one more push and she'd be out.

There was a great big gush - even greater than when my water broke. HUGE. Like you wouldn't think a human being could hold that much water, even knowing how much water we are. (As Bub so romantically put it later - it was like watching the people shoot out of the mountain at the end of Splash Mountain at Disneyland). And out she popped, and it was like a huge relief like you had had a 7 lb splinter someone finally removed in one, long piece.

The Doctor held her up, and she made a little squeak at which point Bub started to cry. I don't remember this part except Bub's reaction because I couldn't. Believe. It was happening. 

At 8:27 AM I was 37 weeks and 3 days pregnant. At 8:28 AM on July 26, 2014 she was born 7 lbs 10 oz. They put her on my chest. She didn't cry, she just looked like she was sleepy (and covered in goo since she was early). I stared at her for a solid minute I couldn't believe she was here. The only person I could coherently address was God.

At first everything was hunky dory, we were in mommy and baby bliss. Then she started panting. The nurse at first said it was normal - then when she kept doing it and doing it a little faster, they took her from me and called in one of the NICU Doctors. 

They started sewing me up (the "waaaait! stoooop!!!" part was my being a little too good at pushing and ripping my inside a little bit) and my Mom came back in the room. I said "the baby is over there!" and pointed at her little nook, and realized I was talking about my baby for the first time as a person.

They wheeled her out, and Daddy and Grandma followed. This was the loneliest time in my entire life.  It was just me, thinner and with some nurses who suddenly felt like strangers.

A million years later when Grandma and Daddy returned, they were both in tears. I asked how she was and my Mom said she was fine, they were doing x-rays, they just think her lungs weren't quite prepared for out-of-the-womb existence quite yet. I pointed at Bub who is an eternal pessimist and said 'I want to hear what he says. How is she?" and he said "I don't know". 

In short, her lungs were just adjusting to being outside. There was a day of fast breathing and looking like this which was terrifying  -

(That's her with her Daddy's finger).

She was the biggest and the loudest in the NICU. They frequently called me in the middle of the night exasperated to tell me my child was making a ruckus. It was terrifying and she was there for 6 days, and it was a heart breaking place to be. About once a week I think of a Mom who daily would hold her tiny, tiny baby and sing these heartbreaking lullabies to them.  Or the YOUNG couple who a day later were in the same boat as us - seeing the painfully young Father in basketball shorts looking completely bewildered like he didn't realize where he was.

Someday I'll write about that week. Someday.

BUT... she came home after a week and has been a completely healthy, crazy ham ever since. 

At least once a day it strikes me how fucking lucky we are and I could just weep.

Birth Story Part 2

Happy Thursday, Ladies of Broken Uteri.

Where were we? AH YES.

So I woke up around 5 AM ish - and I believe I texted Bub again to say 'no seriously something's happening'. I just felt... different. The best way I think I can describe it is it was like my body was more sensitive to gravity... things were heavier, lower, less in my control.

I think he arrived early in the morning, and my nurse started Pitocin.

I'm about to tell you something about Pitocin that will either be a great relief and you'll find it to be true, or at some point in time you're going to be in a room shouting in your head that I'm a liar: for me, at least, Pitocin wasn't that bad. The one 'okay fine I'll try to find a positive' thing about infertility is that, for me at least, all the 'pains' of labor seemed small. Petty. 'Is this the best you got?' and 'yeah.. but there's such a great thing at the end of this'.

It forces contractions. It's not like it feels good, but it's mostly just a strange sensation. It's like if you were laying down, not utilizing any of your muscles at all but someone was bicycling your legs furiously. Your body is doing something that somehow feels totally separate from you - and using the bicycle metaphor it's not so bad as long as you're not furiously trying to bicycle in the other direction. Contractions felt a bit like... If you're sitting in one of those massage chairs when you're getting a pedicure? And there's like that rolly bit that rolls down your back hard... only if that rolly bit were on the inside of your stomach.

It was a lot of me asking the nurse if we could crank it up some more. They start you at a low dose, and slowly increase it - I think it goes up to a max level of 20.

While others would wildly disagree with me - I should say that the BEST labor/birth/delivery advice I can give a person is to NOT HAVE A BIRTH PLAN. It was by far the best pregnancy related decision I made for myself. When I was 6 months pregnant I could not get enough of reading birth stories. Could not. get. enough. And as I was trying to put together a birth plan for myself, there was only one common thing I could gleam from reading so many stories... The women who had strict birth plans - it never went as they planned it, and it seemed to take something from their experience. They were always ecstatic that the baby came out healthy, obviously, but there was always an element of 'I just wish it could've gone the way I wanted it to'. So I decided to just scrap having one altogether and however she wanted to come out, that's how she was going to come out. And I'm so glad that I decided to go into it like that because by most standards I did NOT have the ideal birth - and it was friggin awesome.

ANYHOO.

Somewhere late Friday afternoon, my Pitocin was turned up into the teens. The only thing I really didn't like about this situation was that I was most comfortable on my side, but I couldn't stay on my side for too long because they would lose the baby on the monitor. So I had to stay on my back, watch TV, wonder if this baby was going to be born on the 25th or the 26th, and watch the light change outside of my room window.

They checked my cervix a few times - but honestly, for the most part they couldn't find it. It involved pushing and stretching and crazy positions and that thing was just not having it (honestly - had it not been for the pre-e I think I would've had to have been induced at 42 weeks. Girlfriend was snug as a bug in a rug.)

The drug options were epidural, and stadol (which they just put in your IV and takes the edge off). By 4 or so on Friday I was not quite ready for an epidural (if I was still grossed out by the idea of a bed pan then I figured I was still good to go without) so I decided to give the Stadol a try.

Thank you G-d I got a nurse during this shift who was great with words and explaining things, and she explained it perfectly. First of all, she said when she gave it to me she was going to give the heave ho to Bub and herself so I could enjoy it solo. Second, she said "you're still going to be in pain... you're just not going to care." And that last bit, friends, was the perfect description of this drug.

LADIES. If you want some good drugs, try the Stadol before you do the epidural. Holy guacamole I was high as a kite. It was the sort of high where you have to ask yourself 'did I just say that out loud? What am I talking about? Who am I talking to?' It lasted about an hour and after 17 hours of labor it was the perfect little break. And she was exactly right - I was still in pain, but I couldn't have cared less.

Somewhere around 8, I finally left my little monitoring room and went into the big delivery room. This was sort of a symbolic and crazy transition because this was THE room they kept shoving me in for months whenever I came in for monitoring. The idea that I was done with the monitoring and onto the big show was crazy - and my belly, husband, nurse and endless cords and contraptions travelled 10 very long feet to the big room. I was only 1 cm but since I had been in labor for almost a day, we knew one way or another she was going to have to come out soon.

At this point I had also had an Ambien which also helped me relax. Around 10 something my Doc came and visited me in the big room, and said 'I was kind of hoping you had had an epidural by now if you were going to have one so we could break your water'. He went on the epic hunt for my cervix again, with the crazy pushing and stretching and crazy positions, and before I knew what was happening he broke my water. It was like I was holding a giant, overfilled water balloon at the top of my vajay for months without realizing it, and it popped and went all over the place. It popped, it gushed, it continued to drip - you don't really realize how much water you can hold onto. It was inhuman.

He said 'things may move along very quickly now' and left the room to go about his Doctor business.

I got up to pee (still dripping like I had had the bad seat on a log flume ride) and still felt fairly normal. When I got to the bathroom, I noticed what can only be described as a giant loogey in my underwear (seriously - it's like my vajay had a sinus infection) and went pee. No exaggeration - and you can see it in the above pic it's about 7 feet - between walking from the toilet back to the bed, I went from feeling fairly good for a woman who had been in labor for 24 hours to feeling like I was DYING. DY. ING.

For me, at least, the flirtation with possibly going into labor was very long. The active labor and delivery part went SO quick. It took my body forever to get the hint but when it did it went into overdrive. I had been able to be my fairly jokey self and think about other things other than pain, and I thought 'hmm maybe if I don't have to have a c-section I won't even need an epidural' but literally in the seven feet between toilet and bed that all went out the window. This was the part where you can feel a shift from being the woman in charge, the 'it'll be okay honey we're going to have a baby and it's going to be awesome' to being totally and completely at the mercy of your partner because you can no longer do anything except be in labor. Your entire mind is PAIN. Relinquishing yourself to it and being afraid of it all at once. It's completely counter intuitive - like if you were attacked by a mountain lion and your only way out was to let him do what he wants so he'd eventually leave you alone.

I'm going to describe what this feels like because again, I was obsessed with reading about it and it's a close to impossible thing to describe so I'm gonna have to try to throw my hat in the description ring, here.

Imagine your body, your entire life, is like a closed tulip. And then suddenly, in labor, the tulip opens to the point where it almost feels as though the petals have reversed themselves entirely and are pointing down. You open from the inside out. Suddenly.

It was as if someone had dropped me from the roof of my house and I landed on my tailbone. It felt like everything in my torso shattered, widened, separated, made room. A sensation it was always capable of and even though you know that logically, there's no way to really appreciate how dramatic it is until it's happening (thank gawd otherwise we'd never do it).

Within minutes I felt like a ghost, like there was no way a human being could have this kind of sensation without it meaning death (and I've had kidney stones, surgeries, endometriosis - I have a freakishly high pain tolerance as a result of chronic clumsiness). You can barely make me out of this photo I look like something in a Japanese horror movie:

Bub pulled out our little portable sound system and put Pandora on my 'kill yourself' station (Sigur Ros) which always relaxes me. This bought me about a half of an hour.

The nurses all day had said how impressed they were with my pain tolerance and the Pitocin, same with my Doctor. I called the nurse in and said "I think I'm almost ready for my epidural". Bub sort of half suggested maybe I wait a little bit longer if I could, and the nurse took one look at me and said 'you know, if we call the anesthesiologist now I think it'd be a good idea because she'll take awhile to get here'. It was about 40 minutes between that conversation and her getting there, and it was the longest 40 minutes of my life, during which I kept asking when she'd arrive.

The anesthesia lady looked tired (this was the middle of the night at this point) and out of it, I didn't care. They rolled me over on my side and the nurse and anesthesiologist put the needle in and started to thread the epidural. It didn't feel right to me - I kept saying 'this doesn't feel right' which they didn't take seriously because I had never had an epidural before and of course it wasn't going to feel right. Then there was a giant popping sound (it felt like my spine had unnaturally cracked) and they took it out. Then they did it a second time and it worked - about 10 minutes later sweet relief (my back popped strangely for about a month after this.)

I will not be the girl to tell you to have a natural birth. I get that that is important to some people - but in my opinion, I am SO GLAD that I had it because I was able to enjoy myself from that moment forward. And I think with fertility treatments, and the pain of endo, PCOS, whatever - dude, your kid isn't going to question how much pain you were willing to go through for them. And I was able to be mentally present after it kicked in - because I was NOT able to be mentally present without it. I wouldn't have even been able to focus on the fact that this had anything to do with having a baby that's how much space was taken up in my brain by the word PAIN. So my advice is, if you're going au natural, to at least give yourself some wiggle room if you need it. Labor is different for everyone, but I'm a fucking kickass she-beast and I had drugs. Doesn't make me any less of a kung fu panda.

Once the meds kicked in, Bub looked a lot less panicked, and we drifted in and out of sleep. Him on his Daddy couch and me in my bed. It was awesome - and it was the last few peaceful hours where it would be just the two of us. EVER. And I could think on that.

I kept waking up every hour or so thinking "hmmm...do I have to poop?' You know how when you have just a massive poop coming and you can slowly feel it creeping down your body until it's at death con 5 level and you have to get to a bathroom? (Endo girls I know you feel me). So every hour or so I would wake up, think about Bub and how much I loved him, and then think "wait.. do I have to poop?" and then the next hour I would wake up and it would be worse, and I would start to panic about how exactly I was going to take this massive poop bedridden and long for the days where I couldn't even take a poop with Bub in the same zip code.

Around 7:30 in the morning a new, young nurse came in to check my cervix. As she was prepping she was telling me about how since it was my first child and I was only 1 cm a few hours ago, to not get frustrated if I hadn't progressed that much. I told her about my poop sensation and she brushed it off as probably just the beginnings of labor pains. She told me there had only been a couple of freakish occurrences like this in her career where people had to have Doctors rush in because the baby was almost out, but more than likely I would have just progressed a little and we would be calling the Doctor in a couple of hours.

She put her hand up me, her eyes got wide and she shouted "OKAY..... DON'T MOVE!!!!!!!"

To be continued....

Birth Story Part 1

Greetings, Earthlings.

I start my penance and beg forgiveness for my absence. My 'are you out of your ever loving mind' goals for the day are to get a quarter of the way through this post, and to make shrimp. This will be my Everest. If I have that whole Pinterest Mom 'why, in the last two hours I've taught her French and also baked a cake in the shape of Mt. Rushmore to celebrate President's Day' gene it has sadly gone untapped. As it is she is in her crib, I am two feet away in a glider, and she is looking at me as though I am mid-Matterhorn at Disneyland and have left her in the pediatric waiting room awaiting shots.

I thought I would start by getting her birth story out because that's the biggest to-do that has occurred in my absence, I was obsessed with reading them when I was pregnant/starting IVF, and if I don't get it down soon I may as well dictate it to her so she can use it for a college essay.

So let's rewind 7 1/2 months, shall we?

(Me and Heisenbaby - our last few days in the hospital)

Heisenberg was due August 13th - but pretty much for the entire month of July, I was in this continuous, seductive dance with pre-eclampsia. I'd have an appointment, my blood pressure would be crazy, I'd go for monitoring, they'd do the 24 hour testing of my urine (ever peed in a jug? GOOD TIMES) and I'd get sent home.  My hands and feet were huge, as was my nose of all things (check out Ms. Piggy face) and I felt like ass, but it would just be borderline ass. My ObGyn kept saying things like 'if we make it to the end of the week, I'm going to be thrilled'. I kept my legs crossed.

July 22nd was our 8 year wedding anniversary. I was a grumpy sack of delicate bitchiness but I kept saying 'all I want for our anniversary is to not be in the house, and cuddle in strange white sheets'. So the plan was for my Mom to come up and stay with the doggies, let in contractors (because oh yeah, I decided now was the time to have our bathrooms and our bedroom redone) and Bubba and I would go stay at a hotel down the street. Juuuuust had to go to ObGyn in the morning and then we'd meet after Bub got home from work.

I took what I didn't know was my last belly shot (I was taking pics of our crappy guest bathroom which looked like a 1970s clown nightmare before they demolished it, so I accidentally snagged one of myself in the mirror) and off we went. My BP was 160 over 100 something, STILL, so the Doc said nope, go across the street where you will happily reside until she pops out. Above pictures are me upon arriving at the hospital, thrilled.

So I DID get to spend our 8 year wedding anniversary cuddling in strange white sheets... next time I will be more specific with my anniversary wishes.

Now at this point, I had already spent a few days total in the hospital spread apart, so I was familiar and my hospital game was on point. I was put in the exact same room they always put me in (right next to the surgical doors for added pressure) and I begged my thankfully nice nurses to please for the love of gawd and all that was holy try to keep the bed next to me free because I did not like company. (The 100 other times I was monitored there, I had had some husband who didn't understand the boundary of a curtain, and some women with scarily immobile babies who probably did not enjoy hearing people come in to tell me mine was the most active they've ever seen.)

And she was. Highly active. Girlfriend was awake more than she was asleep and she spent the better part of that last week with her foot wedged in my ribcage to the point where you could see my left side popping out. Nothing gave her more joy than for me to lay on my side while Bub was watching Netflix on his Ipad so she could kick the ever loving crap out of him. Nothing has changed.

ANYHOO.

I was checked in on Tuesday (our anniversary dinner was bags of doritos and pepsi) and from Tuesday to Thursday I just kept my legs crossed and was forbidden to get out of bed except to pee (into a jug, of course) and to take 5 minute showers. My nose started to look more piggy and my BP was all over the place.

I watched a crap ton of Family Feud, deduced that Steve Harvey and Adam Levine have the same show biz mantra of 'SAY YES TO EVERYTHING', watched marathons of "who do you think you are?" on TLC (and wondered when they're going to have an adopted person or someone with some shitty lineage for the love of gawd I can't be the only one) and genuinely wondered how I ever survived most of my life without the ability to pause a program. I also ate everything - chicken, pasta, vegetables - under what was described as 'red pepper sauce' but was really not-that-bad but highly-suspicious-looking congealed orange gunge. #whitegirlproblems

Somewhere around Wednesday I was still convinced I'd be able to go home and hold her in - because I was not dilated. AT ALL. Nobody could even reach my cervix to try to figure it out - but oh was it fun being a part of the hunt! Then my Doc came in and said that no, this time for sure I was there to stay.  I distinctly remember my Mom and Bub being in the room after he gave this speech and my sheer panic that our house was literally being destroyed and rebuilt and we didn't even have the friggin bassinet put together (or a room to put it in). They said it would be fine (and at the time they had to at least half think they were lying) and ran around like tornadoes. The next time I would see daylight outside of the hospital would be 20 lbs lighter and with a broken vajay.

At some point on Wednesday, Bub and I colored in coloring books he and my Mom had picked me up so I had something to do. He colored a polar bear that was going to dive into water and that turned into my bizarre focal point during the beginning stages of labor - I still have it on my nightstand and need to have it framed and stuck in her nursery (I highly suggest this as a focal point because you can use it in their nursery after).

By Thursday, on my millionth hour of Family Feud and Wheel of Fortune (which became my favorite because that meant ambien was coming soon) my hands started to swell. So did my feet. Mind you, they do this sometimes in the summer anyway because they're fickle beasts but it seemed stranger. My Doc happened to come in at 9 PM to do a C-section, and my nurse flagged him down just to come have a look see. He looked genuinely perplexed (he has pointed out to me that I was quite perplexing as my pee continued to remain clean) and said 'well, let's try to induce you because you have nothing to do anyways' and I was 1 day past the 37 week mark. Let's do this shit.

So I texted Bub that they were going to put in some Cervadil, so ummm... get your shit together she's coming. The plan was for them to put it in, and hope that my cervix looked a little friendlier by morning so they could give me some Pitocin and get this show on the road.

So they inserted something that felt like a tampon but had goo on the end of it to 'ripen' my cervix (ripen is absolutely disgusting in this context, I agree). I played a word game (which I'm still obsessed with) on my phone, I tried the Kardashian game (oh for shame), another fashion game and wheel of fortune on my phone until I conked out.

At 5 AM I woke up excited, like a kid going to Disneyland for the first time. And I felt... different.

On that note - Hooray! I got this blog post done in one day... to be continued. :)

Stork's School for the Knocked Up

It. Is. Thursday.

I am nursing an obnoxious, not-going-away headache at home and playing everyone's favorite solitary game of 'hormones, allergies or brain tumor?'  And I'm too afraid to take more than just one Tylenol because of that whole new pesky Tylenol-may-give-ADHD study.

...I ammmmm however exposing my unborn child to the Anna Nicole story as seen through the lens of the Lifetime television for 'no seriously some awful shit happens to' women network. And yes, it is absolutely everything that you are picturing it to be. (Also, every time a pill is mentioned in this movie I am overwhelmed with the desire to be able to take one, which is probably not the message they're shooting for).

Anyhoo.

I feel as though we have some catching up to do... So I'm going to do a bit of info dumping for awhile until we're all caught up.  Just, you know, observations about pregnancy I will likely forget and shit I should have told you months ago.

Requisite disclaimer: I'm happy despite my complaints. I'm also not a scientist or any ist of any kind, I don't think. And blah blah blah every pregnancy is a magical individual snowflake that is as incomparable as leprechauns are to unicorn farts blah blah.

So in no rational, helpful or scientific order - lesson 1 from Storks School for Pregnancy:



Poo vs. Pooh

Naturally, upon finding out that you are pregnant, one of your first obsessions will be spotting your well deserved bump.  You will gleefully start to notice something somewhere between 4 and 10 weeks, depending on your level of insanity because gawdamit you deserve a bump and you can totally see one starting to form! Your clothes even are starting to feel a little bit snug!

Except no. Your bump is shit.

I don't mean shit bump as in inadequate. I mean that literally what you are seeing is a bump made out of shit.

Pooping is a recreational activity that will be going bye-bye fairly early on. You aren't housing a baby so much as a tiny, pea-sized poop-hoarder.  Just like the show Hoarders, really, if your torso was the house,  your baby was the hoarder, and your poop was the giant pile of garbage engulfing everything in smell and stank and awfulness.

You should absolutely take pictures of your tummy-progress because you deserve it.. but yes ma'am, for a long while what we are documenting is your constipation.

I'm a chubster to begin with but I thought for sure by the time I hit, say, 18-20 weeks I would look pregnant. Not so. Between 12 and 22 weeks I just looked like a beer drinker who had hit rock bottom.

And then BOOM - overnight.  BOOOOOOM. One day I wake up - fat fat water rat.  It is so great don't get me wrong, but also disconcerting because clearly you are growing a monster baby. One day I am a chubby girl with a secret, the next I am wedged Pooh-style in a supermarket turnstile and unable to get up off the floor without Bubba channeling his inner crane.

Raise Your Hand if You have ever been Personally Victimized by Regina George.

There's just no way of getting around it - you're going to be pretty mean. Particularly to your significant other. I did not see this coming.

I'm an infertile - I've had hormones up the wazoo for chrissakes and aside from a couple of eventually hilarious meltdowns on said hormones, I was reasonably nice. And any breakdowns were more sad than they were mean.

Enter pregnancy.

I spent the better part of the first three months pathetically mushy and climbing Bubba like a koala bear, and then he'd do something like eat the last bit of fruit I didn't know I wanted and I would want to murder him in the face.

You're being Bugged

Okay I really didn't think about this before I got pregnant - but at some point, she starts to hear. Like a real person. She's like the NSA - she may not have the interest or wherewithal to sort through my information but damnit, she has it.

She started responding to Bub's voice in particular, and suddenly I'm very aware of what a screechy harpy shrew with a megaphone I must sound like from in there... And holy fucking shit balls I'm suddenly aware of how much cursing she must be hearing.

And yes, I know that's a ludicrous concern because it's not like she's really processing what she's hearing... but did you know that babies, once they're born, can recognize and be comforted by lullabies they heard their mother sing while they were still in utero?

Would you like to know what I, no-exaggeration, ask-my-husband, wake up inexplicably singing 3-4 times a week?

WOULD YOU?!  Fine.

(I also give you the super classy Megan Mullally and Nick Offerman version  that I could not figure out how to embed.)

So for those of you keeping score - MY CHILD WILL BE COMFORTED BY RISKAY'S LET ME SMELL YO DICK.


Uterus = Stupid

I live in a weird little Los Angelian world where the fact that a lot of women have drank the fashion koolaid is hella apparent. There are rich women who gleefully brag about spending $300 for jeans (that don't like... clean your house or anything).  Hell, on Melrose there are thriving businesses exclusively dedicated to selling thrift store t-shirt finds for $50+. Due to what I can only assume is a combo of fashion magazines and salon fumes, we are the leaders in idealizing the type of rich where you can afford to be a total fucking moron (goop is a good example of this. I, seriously, want to meet the woman who shops at goop.)

So I should be used to this sort of thing but I still found it shocking - 90% of 'maternity' clothes is an overpriced rip off.  Seriously. They know you're fat and miserable and look increasingly like the actual Mr. Koolaid so they think you'll be desperate enough to drink it.

I'm not falling for it, assholes! I found a couple of dresses I like but I will otherwise gleefully run around naked this summer if I have to! You brought this on yourselves!!!

... I can, however, be talked into an overpriced onesie.

(Source.)

(Source.)

And yes those are absolutely on their way.

WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME?!

Okay pencils down, class.  More soon.

The Pail Sea

Tap tap tap...

Testing.... Testing 1 2....

This thing still work?

CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!?

It is I, Stork.

It has been... Jesus.... two months since my last confession. Let's just get into it, shall we?

I haven't been too active in infertile world because I've been frozen in terror, and I need to thaw. I need to unfreeze because I miss you people, but mostly for my own sanity.

I've often compared being a member of our community to being a passenger on the Titanic. We're all unlucky - every last one of us somehow ended up on the wrong fucking boat, and most of us wound up in the freezing water. There are unmistakable divides in our community - who's been in the water longer, who was in it for too short a period or too long ago to count, who's currently sitting fat and happy in a lifeboat.

The ideal code of conduct between these divides, as I understood them pre-pregnancy: If you're in the water, try your best not to focus on the order people should get saved based on suffering because that's never the order it will happen in. If you're in a lifeboat, for fucks sakes don't complain about the gd conditions of the lifeboat particularly to people who are still in the water.

I was in the water for 4 years.  It was a tit bit nipply. I thought, if ever I get yanked onto a boat, because of the aforementioned ideals, it would be a non-obnoxious transition. I'll admit - a million times I've heard a finally-pregnant infertile express how terrified they were, and I've thought 'OMG just be fucking happy'.  So I had a pretty good idea of how I was going to respond if I was ever lucky enough to be 'saved'. Pregnant = problem solved. Smooth transition to happiness.

I was - and this still annoys me - totally, fucking, spectacularly, wrong.

The moment my butt hit a dry seat - happiness. Happy disbelief.  No denying that. There's a physical reaction to obtaining what you've been going after for years before you even have a chance to mentally process it.

Then, I think because of losing one of the embryos 5 weeks in and having enough time to remember - I dunno, who I was? -  and that person was not someone I associated with good luck or a lack of cruel irony, it just morphed into panicked disbelief.

I thought... this can't be your boat. The last one you were on sank spectacularly, you were in the water forever - one of the gajillions of people floating helplessly in frozen, never moving, on-the-cusp-of-ice water. Do you really think you're going to be one of the lucky people successfully saved on this tiny ass boat after all that? Please, by all means, spend a few minutes thinking your safe - because that will give Gawd/the universe/Mother Nature all the more booming a laugh as they hurl you back into the water and you will pray fondly for the days where your skin was used to the cruelty of that temperature... it's going to be soooo much funnier now that you've warmed up a bit.

Another unforeseen reaction on my part was how I would view my place in our community. A million times before, when one of us has gotten knocked up and then disappeared completely, I thought 'well that's kind of a dick move... I guess we'll see you later? Thanks for playing?'. When my butt hit that dry seat, after I realized what happened I looked back in the water. Freezing cold fucking awful water, full of people who had kept me warm for years - and I couldn't do shit to save them. Still can't.

The water had become my HOME. My community. My place. The unbelievably cold and the unfuckingbelievably strong. To stop paddling seemed preposterous... presumptuous. Better women than me were still paddling. Out of habit, I was/am way more used to the idea of surviving than I was the idea of being a survivor.

For a combination of circumstances I don't really fully understand myself - previous experience, hormones, genetic disposition, who knows - I also went a wee bit coocoo for the first half of my pregnancy. I am, if left to my own devices, a very calm, cool, collected and above all mellow person. I find the goof in everything. About 6 weeks into pregnant I became so afraid of how far I was going to fall when it all went to shit, that my brain started entertaining itself by spending most days picturing every possible disaster. An example? I went hunting for blood so thoroughly I would accidentally make myself bleed. If so much as a fucking ant boarded my lifeboat, I would be completely convinced it would sink the whole damn thing.

I'd have a few days where I'd feel normal, and then a few days where it was just... panic. Maybe I would have been better prepared for that if I had hints of that in my personality to begin with but.. nope. It was like being taken over by someone else.  I technically no longer had to paddle to stay alive, and that threw me into such a panic that I exhausted myself paddling. Exhausted.

Maybe around 20 weeks (I'm 25 now) I started to show a little bit (although I'm pudgy to begin with so one could argue I just look like I'm awkwardly carrying fat). Around the same time, I started to feel her move. I started to feel a slight thaw. Maybe I'm really pregnant - but like, the kind that may result in a baby.

A few weeks ago I was driving to get myself some peanut butter froyo with chocolate chips and strawberries (which is now my jammmmm) and listening to "the Loft" on Sirius. (If anyone knows what the fuck the theme of that radio station is supposed to be - don't tell me because at this point it's become a great big infuriating riddle I need to solve.. but do tell me someone knows?).  Anyway, I was thinking about how I really needed to just... let go. Embrace the unknown.  I didn't get this far being a chicken shit. I am no longer trying to get pregnant or struggling to get pregnant... time to accept that I just may be one of the lucky ones. I'm thinking this to myself, this song comes on I've never heard before, Heisenbaby starts to dance around apeshit, and I start to cry - another totally-out-of-character thing for me, but they were happy/relief tears.

So, I still have rough/weird days where relaxing feels like it will bring on punishment.. However, as pre-pregnancy I was no chicken shit, I'm now trying to embrace the happy ending. I bought a crib. I got her a few outfits. I started a registry.

And I'm forcing myself out of the weird and unbearable inbetween... because again, I miss you and I miss my sanity - and at least previously it would seem one was very tied in with the other.

So... I declare this a PAIL blog.

I'm going to get back to writing in here - which has and will continue to be mostly weird shenanigans and certainly not where you go to get an instructional on how to knit a sweater out of tuna casserole using only heavily used stockings.. but I will be writing my shenanigans as a pregnant woman. Which I will be talking about (but I'll go easy on the fruit comparisons).

I'm going to preface this whole new blog - wherever it goes - with the following disclaimer: I am grateful. So grateful. If I had to put hot needles in my eyes every day for the duration of my pregnancy to result in a healthy baby, I would do it with gratitude.  Not just gratitude, but the same perfect understanding I had a year ago as to why any pregnant person should be grateful.... but in that scenario, on this blog, I will be saying 'dude I wish these needles in my eyes were more fun' in my own overly dramatic way... and when I do, please don't think I've forgotten where I come from or how to have gratitude (I think that ought to cover it for the disclaimer).

If you need to back away from me - don't spend a second feeling guilty about it. Just... before you go, know that if there was any way I could drag you by your hair into the boat I seem to have found myself in, I would.  Because I want us all to be happy, sure, but mostly for selfish reasons - I want the familiar on my damn lifeboat, I want you with me because I'm afraid, and you know I'm not going to be able to socialize with too many of those Carpathia bitches who never sank in the first place.

Tomorrow: back to shenanigans. Shit they don't tell you about pregnancy but STORK WILL.

Dispatches from Coocoo

Greetings, blogosphere!

Just wanted to pop in and say howdoyoudo... Need to get back into the swing of writing, so I first wanted to dip my toe in the water to say hey in a sudden and possibly alarming fashion.

HEY.

Going to be talking about pregnancy in this one, so feel free to skip if you need to.

We good? k.

I shall be 16 weeks along with Heisenberg on Wednesday.

Also? Heisenberg is a SHE-BEAST!

While she may be a lady, she shall still be known as Heisenberg as she is clearly a fucking badass (although a friend on Twitter suggested 'Heisenbroad' which made me die a thousand deaths).

The short story is I haven't been on here because I went a little bit coocoo.

By coocoo, I mean the midpoint between 'oh that Stork and her antics, she's silly' and 'holy Christ on a cracker somebody call someone with a giant butterfly net'... maybe a little closer to butterfly net.

I will admit I previously thought that when infertiles got pregnant and then were all nervous and nutso? That it was melodramatic bullshit.

Not so, friends, not so.

Infertility is a fucking survival game. You do what you have to do to get by.  My MO is to make jokes, numb myself out, soldier on like a good little soldier.

And here's the thing, folks... infertility or not, when you put off feeling things you're not getting rid of them - you're just guaranteeing you have to pay for them later. With interest.

Pretty much every day in my first trimester I was convinced something terrible had happened. Not 'oh that would suck, I wonder if something's wrong' but 'something is WRONG'.

I'd randomly get completely overtaken by anxiety that was seemingly not even related to Heisenberg.  Like, getting out of my house and suddenly crippled in fear that the stove was on when I hadn't used the stove in a few days. Wondering if someone was breaking into my house when I wasn't there.

Why? I suppose because you get used to happiness eluding you that when it finally shows up wanting to be a part of your life, your first thought is to figure out what kind of con this is.

I was constantly, cripplingly, 1,000% terrified of getting attached to the idea of a happy ending.

Best way I can describe it... You know that game where you put your hands straight out, and your opponent puts their hands a few inches below yours, and they have to try to slap your hands before you can pull away?

Okay so the process of trying to have a baby when you're infertile is like getting slapped constantly.  Like a never ending fucking slap fest where your fingers get raw and bloody, and eventually you get used to it.  You're constantly taking punches. If you try = you get slapped.

Getting pregnant at the end of infertility is like putting your hands out never having known anything other than slapping, and your opponent just sits there mind fucking you with their eyes. If this one time you can make it 5 minutes without a slap (even though you've never made it 5 seconds without one) the abuse will stop and you can heal. With each passing second, you're more and more afraid of that slap because it's going to scare you, hurt you, make you feel stupid on a level that you're just never going to be able to recover from.  So while before you were physically getting slapped, now it's psychological warfare which makes you flinch and cringe more than you ever did.  Because this slap?  This slap could be worse than all the rest - your opponent could just be winding up for this one, with every passing second a little more inertia added to it.

A specific example of coocoo level? I was checking so vigorously for blood that wasn't there that I would make myself - in a tiny way - bleed.  Not healthy.

I'm starting to feel better. I'm thinking it's a combination of the Maternity21 testing coming back (which I only had on account of my being adopted) lovely, getting a fetal doppler so I can find her when I want, and knowing that prior to this happening to me, when another infertile reached 16 weeks of pregnancy I thought 'oh okay, she's really pregnant. A baby is going to come of this.'

So for the most part I am more relaxed... a few paces further away from the butterfly net. Just a few paces.

Don't get me wrong, in a moment of relaxation panic can still find me...

(Source.)

but it's a little less alarming than it was a week or two ago.

(Source.)

So I'm dipping my toe back into the world.

Hello, world.

Drunken Vampire

Happy Monday my magic mistresses of uterine mayhem.

It has been more than a week since my last confession.  I throw myself at the mercy of the court.

In a manner referencing the great Mickey Rourke pre-plastic surgery binge, I am 9 1/2 weeks (10 on Wednesday holy shit me.) The only thing I have in common with that movie is my ability and willingness to blindly eat whatever the fridge presents me, though I can assure you it is in no way sexy.

I am pregnant.  This hasn't really sunk in yet.  I'm thinking once I get to.. what.. 14 weeks?  I can breathe and stop considering it a 'waiting game' and let the full on bliss set in.  I realize this is obnoxious and that some people are going to read that and go "you're pregnant, enjoy it you moron".. Totes get it because that's basically what I used to think.. You know what it's like?  It's like being the nerdy outcast in High School and then finally, finally your senior year the captain of the football team you've been coveting for four years asks you to prom.  YES you are feeling blissful and this is what you've been waiting for - but there's that damn realist heart-guard side of yourself that keeps whispering 'he may just want to dump pigs blood on you...'

ANYHOO.

I am going to talk about being pregnant in here.  Love me still, please.  For the most part I just anticipate shenanigans. If you need to take a step back do it and I totally get it - if you don't or can muster up some bravery, please do! I am NOT GOING TO SIT AT THE FERTILE TABLE.  Do you hear me?!  YOU ARE STUCK WITH ME.

::ahem::

Either the experience of pregnancy is truly an individual experience, or no one explained it to me right - other than the obvious shit like "hey, your boobs are going to get veiny and hurt, eventually".

So I'm realizing that my description will probably have no relevance whatsoever to how it's going to feel for you, but I'll give it to you anyway.

Pregnancy thus far - at least the first 9 1/2 weeks - is basically like being a drunk, a vampire, and/or a drunk vampire.

(Source.)

Initially you are mostly drunk - without the fun high, unless we're counting the high of knowing WHY you feel like ass.

Your stomach is iffy.  You would like to vomit a never ending river but at the same time, maybe eat a burrito.

Mysteriously your sense of balance and sage wisdom goes completely out the door, and you are left a blob of muttering animal instincts.

You have two emotions: giggly or weepy.  And that's when you can get it up to show an emotion assuming you are not too closely circling vomit river.

THERE IS NO LONGER A PLACE ON THIS EARTH WHERE YOU COULDN'T FALL ASLEEP.

Then the transformation begins.

A third emotion is added to the mix and that emotion is BLIND RAGE.  You cannot imagine what you ever found appealing about going out during the day and mixing with humans.

Unbelievable 'seriously, is she okay?  should she be driving?' exhaustion still plagues you during the day, and sleeping for any length of time at night becomes an impossible dream.

Food occasionally tastes like pointless ash, and blood becomes something you are on constant, constant look out for.

Those 'twinges' people describe - your uterus expanding actually feels like you have a big fat sunburn on the inside of your skin that someone is scratching.

You awake to newly enhanced spidey senses where you just no longer experience the world in the same way.  Oh - how do I know my husband is almost home?  BECAUSE I CAN SMELL HIM DRIVING DOWN THE STREET.



(I have never been so excited to be uncomfortable.  Bring on the second tri).

And on that note, here is Heisenberg as of this morning - had a VERY small, blink-and-you-miss-it, only-on-toilet-paper spotting on Sunday night (which I'm pretty sure is coming from the outside, not the inside) so he/she got a check up this morning just in case:

Heisenberg head down on right, crazy umbilical cord on left.

Dr Kickass pointed out he/she was MOVING which was a crazy, crazy thing to see... definitely hasn't fully computed that this is on the inside of my body but there you have it.

I go see OB tomorrow.  Crazy crazy crazy.

Feeling Dump

It. Is. Thursday.

Hoping that Santa brought you everything you wanted and that the New Year brought you some closure on the old one.

Sorry that this is going to be brief - still pulling myself out of the holiday haze and more importantly, I am pretty much constantly in a state of panic.

I am, as of today, 8 weeks and 1 day pregnant.  Tomorrow morning, yet another ultrasound.

At 6 week 2 day ultrasound - our Doctor couldn't find a heartbeat on his machine so he sent us upstairs to a higher tech machine.  After an hour of being in that waiting room with multiple visibly pregnant women thinking 'welp that's it', they found it right away (phew). 102.  But I was measuring only 5 weeks 5 days (which would explain why Heisenberg was so hard to find).

At 7 week 2 day ultrasound my Doctor was out of town so a different Doctor saw me.  Heartrate was up to 128 (which is right), and it grew about a weeks worth in a week.  But I was measuring 6 weeks 4-5 days.

Apparently, this could be fine or it could not be fine.  I kind of grilled the fill-in Doctor about what the hell I should be feeling because just going week to week with what is essentially "we don't freaking know anything " is stressful. (I understand there are no guarantees but why the fuck am I even doing ultrasounds if afterwards I can't feel better or worse.)  He elaborated - but by elaborated I mean used more words to say "we don't freaking know, it could be nothing or it could be something". 

PS - I love that my Doctors office is realistic and doesn't blow sunshine up your ass, I do.  However I think all RE's need a memo that NONE of the women who have been trying for a certain amount of time have the problem of not enough doomsday scenarios running around in their head.  As far as help is concerned that's not something I need help with.  Statistically speaking I'm ALWAYS on the shit end of the stick when it comes to reproduction so feeling the need to make sure I'm being realistic or that my hope is well in check is kind of bull shit.

Anyway.

So sometimes this means it's an abnormal pregnancy that will eventually end.  Sometimes it's just something that people who have had FETs encounter - late bloomers.  So it could mean something or it could mean nothing (I mean, a 51/49 scenario even would be nice).

The one thing they said that I find equally comforting and terrifying depending on my mood is that the outcome is long ago decided - there's nothing I can do to change it.

I always imagined that once I did get pregnant, I would just be happy, that's it - number one emotion.  Some nerves thrown in for sure because at this point I know WAY too much to be without them, but mainly I would feel happy.

And let me say here before that statement makes anyone upset - I am happy and I know how lucky I am to have gotten this far.  And if I have to have a panic attack for the next 32 weeks - NO problem.  Happy to do.

But mainly I am fucking terrified.  I am terrified that after all this time, if I let myself get happy or attached or optimistic and it's snatched away from me (not just hope for a dream but being close enough to fucking TASTE it) I will fall so tremendously far that there will just be no recovering.  Not like 'oh that's awful but she'll persevere she's so strong' kind of breakdown but a full tilt boogie, old school, 'call someone with a big butterfly net' crazy.  

So every day, I'm afraid. I know I should be enjoying every second that I am pregnant (someone gave me the very helpful mantra - which I've been using but to no avail - today I am pregnant and I am happy).  I know I should - and don't get me wrong, every day there are moments where I'm like 'fuck yeah this could end in a baby!' But I'm so afraid of getting attached.  So afraid. So afraid that if I start thinking that maybe this one fucking time I'll come out on the good side of statistics and a Doctor may look at me and say something OTHER than 'well we just don't know, maybe you're screwed' that I'll be punished beyond measure for my foolish optimism.

But today I am pregnant, today I am pregnant, today I am pregnant, today I am pregnant.  Please stick around, Heisenberg.  Please, please, please, please God please.

Anyway...

Think a happy thought for me and Heisenberg for tomorrow!  Think pray do a small jig, something please. 

Hopefully everything caught up and grew properly, and I can go back to fun posts (like about how I'm pretty sure Macaulay Culkin and Mary Kate Olsen are the same person). 

Dear Heisenberg

Dear Heisenberg,

Technically, as of this moment, I am 6 weeks and 1 day pregnant with you.  Which I cannot freaking believe. It took us a long time to get you here - a super long time.  (And when you're older I'm going to tell you this just enough for you to know how wanted you are in this world, but not enough for you to feel bad about arriving a little late. You came when you were supposed to come, we just wanted you so bad the wait wasn't easy).

I'm writing to you mostly because I need you to stick around.  Tomorrow is a big appointment where they look for your heart flutter (we just need to see it) and then they can say to us 'okay, things seem like they're going well - you can breathe easier'.  I don't care if you're extroverted like me or introverted like your Dad after you're born, but I'm going to need you to show up to parties - like tomorrows - before you are. Just to say hi.

They say babies choose their parents (I know I did and I went to a lot of trouble to get there).  You went to a lot of trouble to choose us - a lot of trouble and a lot of asskicking - it seems only right to tell you a few things about us.

I'm your big-eyed (you probably will be, too) and insanely goofy Mom. You will absolutely not have the best cookies at the bake sale with me, no crafting we ever do will be pinterest worthy and I'm sorry to say if you get my curly hair I don't really know what to do with it - but I will always try to make you laugh, I will always try to make you happy (while ensuring you are still a good person) and I will always, well, try. I haven't let myself buy you anything yet - but when I can, I have your first real purchase already picked out:

(source.)

It's a onesie with the inexplicable face of Bill Murray on it.  I'm not sure why but I feel that's pretty indicative of the type of Mom you'll be getting.

Your Dad is the tall and furry genius.  He's just as goofy as I am, but way more thoughtful and focused. He's a great big, nerdy and delightful weirdo and I hope you get his non-picky eating habits and pineapple hair. Because of him it's entirely possible you'll be able to tear apart computers and explain them to me, and it's definite that you'll be playing some kind of musical instrument as soon as you're able to sit up (don't panic, in a fun way, not a required way, like so -

What do I know about you so far?

I know that you're a freaking fighter - strength is just something you have a lot of.  I know this because of the many hurdles you've encountered and didn't just jump but sailed over. I need you to keep sailing over them.

Wanting someone like your Dad in my life was wanting someone to love me (and as an added bonus, give love back).  Wanting you was having so much love to give someone (and as an added bonus, maybe one day you'll love me back).  At this point, we have so much love to give you you wouldn't even believe it.  SO much love - it would knock you over.  We promise to mess you up just enough to give you a sense of humor without doing any permanent damage, and that we're going to have so. much. fun. once you get here...

Please, please please, show up tomorrow.  Love you and want you so very very much.

Love,
Mom (and Dad)

Strawberry Funk

It. Is. Thursday.

May yours be full of glitter and unicorn farts and topped with a generous helping of awesome sauce and a sprinkle of fuck yeah.

Just wanted to say really quick - this blog is my crack den of free therapy and you are the coke I get to snort off of a hookers teet. Therefor it should go without saying, that if all goes well I will not be doing the ole "well, fixed that problem so peace out, suckas!". Nor will I hold it against you if you have to take a step back from me a bit or a lot at any time, and if you're on the fence about it - let me just say I don't want to sit at the freaking fertile table at lunch.  Also, I am unsure how much I will be talking about pregnancy on here but I can tell you that for now it may be a lot because I'm nervous, but once that subsides a bit when I do talk about it it will be in the manner I talk about everything else which is 90% totally freaking ludicrous. And that's all she wrote for now.

My betas went swimmingly - at 12 dpo (7dp5dt) it was 44, 14 dpo 135, 16dpo 386.

Today I am - and I can't believe I am saying this - 5 weeks and 1 day pregnant. I am nervous and grateful and nervous and excited and nervous.

...And nervous.

I know what you're thinking - 'just enjoy it you asshat!' because this is what I would have been yelling a few weeks ago. And I'm trying to.. I'm trying to.  I'm trying to live every moment as though its soundtrack was a super duper relaxing 70s funk song.

(No joke - I was up for two hours in the middle of the night with that song stuck in my head, being further and further enraged that there's no explanation as to why it's called strawberry letter 23 WHEN THEY KEEP SINGING 22. No I was not high though that would greatly help my nerves at this point).

I'm trying to be a groovy, groovy bitch and I am about 60% of the time.  The other 40% is spent worrying what will happen if I allow myself to be totally happy.

I go from feeling like a giggly creature high off the ole strawberry funk to totally overwhelming anxiety.  Pretty damn quickly.

(Source)

I just wonder when it lifts - when the worry lifts and it feels real.  When the overall worry will lessen enough for me to mostly feel the happy.

And before you get totally irritated with me - I am SO happy and so fucking grateful there are no words for it.  I just want to feel it fully without being a superstitious ass about it and get it through my thick skull I won't get punished for enjoying the happy.

I have to be better about letting myself feel happy because right now, in this moment, I am pregnant.  I've been waiting for this for so long, and damnit I'm going to enjoy it.

I occasionally shout to my husband (full decibel) THERE'S A PERSON IN HERE.  Mostly because that doesn't fully register with ME.

There's a PERSON IN HERE. I have to try to relax and enjoy that shit because by the beard of Zeus, after 4 years there is, as of this moment, a PERSON IN HERE.

Tomorrow is my first ultrasound - I'll only be 5 weeks 2 days so they'll just be looking for a sac (or sacs).

I promise to become a much more interesting person once this worry subsides a little.

Keep a toe or two crossed for me - I shall update tomorrow.

Until then, you stay funky internet.

The Results Show

Happy Tuesday, tiddlywinks!

It's DECEMBER!!! Mind you, this has been the longest 2 1/2 months of my life quite possibly but at the same time.. been so hyperfocused on IVF turned battle o late blooming embryos turned IVF (aka, full tilt boogie tour of all injectables) that I feel as though I should still be recovering from Halloween.

So I'm gonna talk about the last week, my Beta tomorrow, the end of FET, etc.. So if you're not in a place for it - skip this!  Skip it!  Skip that shit!

Get out of here guilt free or so help me this cat will get you when you LEAST EXPECT IT.

(Source.)

Are they gone?

Are we sure?

Okay just in case - one more pic and then you're in or you're out or I shall punish you like this dog!

Ready?

Almost exactly four years, eleventy rounds of clomid, 1.5 IVFs, many special tests, 90 gajillion shots, one chemical pregnancy, many miracles, so much money and one FET later - as of this moment, I am pregnant.

PREGNANT.  With like, a HUMAN BABY. (Or babies).

PREGNANT. La Bamba and/or Heisenberg dug deep.

None of it has sunk in yet.  None of it.  None.

PREGNANT.  And we're talking about ME here.

Okay backing up.

My transfer was last Monday and I tell you I felt weird pinches that day (I'm guessing Heisenberg as he is THE ONE WHO KNOCKS.)

The night of Thanksgiving, as it's starting to hit me it may not work, I start getting dull cramps and the tiniest little spritz of red flecks (and I mean tiny - a mentally stable person would have probably missed it.)

I start feeling like I'm getting the flu I'm so tired - I of course think I'm just getting the actual flu on top of my negative-to-come and start getting weepy about my bad luck.  It was actually a very relaxing holiday at my Moms and I ate ALL THE THINGS.

Saturday, Bub and I come home having agreed that I will hold out to test until Monday.  Beta scheduled for Wednesday, and if there is no hope I really want to be eased into it instead of being shocked.  So Monday.  Monday makes sense.

Naturally, after we get home I go out to get Jamba juice - and a pregnancy test. Just going to ease myself into seeing that negative - it's only 5dp5dt at this point (10dpo for you non-IVFers, 10 days past ovulation for you fertiles) which is LUDICROUSLY early because my period wouldn't be due for 6 days.

I put my purchased FRER in my purse, take purse into bathroom, pee into cup.  Dip in FRER.  Set aside.  30 seconds later look, and start cackling like a mad woman.  Then I yell "HEYYYYY!!!" and start sprinting out of the bathroom for Bub, and say oh by the way I'm pregnant and PS I bought a pregnancy test.

What you're looking at - top one is Saturday at 5 PM, middle is Sunday at 5 PM, bottom is yesterday at 5 PM.

I paged my Doctors office. Initially the on-call Doctor said to wait until Wednesday (14dpo) as planned, but then she called me on Sunday to say she spoke to my Doc and to come in early on Monday.

So I had my Beta yesterday - took forever to hear back, but my hcg is 44. (Keep in mind that's two days early - but yeah, I thought it'd be a little higher). I am pregnant.  Doc said to keep doing what I'm doing, it seems to be working, come in for retest on Wednesday to make sure number is doubling.

I go back and forth between "holy shit I'm pregnant" and it not hitting me AT ALL.  Like, AT ALL.  Yesterday getting my number made me realize I kind of have PTSD about pregnancy... Just keep having to remind myself this is SO much earlier/darker/higher than last time.  And I already feel... weird.

Please pray for nice, doubling numbers by tomorrow.  I am at the end of the line here, last stop to have a baby- I promise to be a benevolent and understanding knocked up woman.  Let me be that crazy story you tell people when they're losing hope. Light a candle, think a happy thought, send some good juju, this has to be it (or them).  Has to be. Any good vibes you have I will appreciate.

I almost hesitated in posting this today but am pushing through.  Tomorrow is going to be awesome! Awesome awesome.

Everything is going as it should (which who knew could HAPPEN to ME) so far.  I just have to keep reminding myself I'm actually pregnant.

I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant I'm pregnant.