The Uterine Grail

So...

2010-02-28T12:54:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure if anyone still reads this, but I wanted a quiet place to sort this out, and this is my anonymous spot.

Tomorrow I find myself in a bizarre situation. I have an appointment for birth control. I'm getting an IUD. Reversible, but long-term. Given my age, realistically, it's permanent. This is it. For most people, that's just a normal part of responsible womanhood. For me it's a milestone I never thought I'd see - a time when I feel like my family is complete. By choice. It's a bittersweet milestone. Voluntarily taking away my fertility feels both sad and weird, mixed with a strange feeling of empowerment: I am fertile enough to need to prevent future pregnancies! Holy shit.

How the hell did I get here? When I posted last, I was rejoicing about PB trying to eat, B & I were still pondering adding another little Grail 'some day in the future', and G was .. well, he was G. He, at least, hasn't changed much since then. Still a challenge, still my wonderful little boy. Everything else has evolved in ways I never expected.

PB did learn how to eat. In fact, she is so good at it that I can count on one hand the number of foods she won't eat. She's not a baby any more, by any stretch of the imagination. She's now 2.5, though most people think she's closer to 4, and she thinks she's closer to 14. She is a beautiful little dictator, having B wrapped firmly around her chubby little finger, and spending most of her days bossing around her brothers. Yes, brothers, plural.

Surprise! That's pretty much how I felt when I found out about Little D. Absolute fucking shock might be a little closer to the truth, really.

D is almost 6 months now, and is the reason why I have an appointment tomorrow. He is incredibly easy: he eats, sleeps and plays well. Doesn't cry without a reason. Tho he is a bit shy and reserved, he's got a smile that can light up my world.. in short, we really hit the genetic lottery this time*.

We just don't want to do it again, especially now that we know that my flavor of PCOS is like reproductive roulette. Well, ok, B does not want to do it again. I'd be up for another round, but I know that I shouldn't. Pregnancy has not been my friend. G introduced me to postpartum pre-eclampsia, something I never even knew existed prior to that. PB introduced me to PIH that sticks around and becomes regular old hypertension .. and D taught me that blood pressure can be just as dangerous for baby as it is for me. He was born at 35.5 weeks, weighing in at a whopping 4 lbs 12 oz, and not quite 18" long. We weren't sure what to expect because we knew he wasn't doing well... and then he came into the world screaming and pink and very nearly perfect.. but he was tiny. In fact, that was the one thing B said to me, when I asked how he looked as they whisked him away - "He's tiny" said B. I know that - but what else? "No, baby, I don't think you understand, he's really fucking tiny". Kinda shellshocked. In the nursery, he was the tiny baby. In the NICU, he was the big boy. It's all relative. When he was born, I thought he was small. By the time he came home a week later, I understood what small really meant. I don't want to push my luck and find out just how much worse things could have been.

So I have that appointment tomorrow. I'm sad, but excited. I think I need to focus less on this being the end of my baby-making days, and focus more on how freaking excited I am that *I* am the one in control of this decision. This time.

*yes, that sounds bad. No favoritism here, because I do love all my babes ~ but it is no secret that G was an incredibly challenge as an infant, and PB was tough just by virtue of circumstance.

Major milestones

2008-06-20T09:34:00.002-04:00

This week, PB licked a pretzel... while not a major milestone for most babes, this is a milestone of epic proportions for MY babe. She put a piece of food in her mouth voluntarily (!!!) .. a feat which has not yet been repeated, but for which I am extremely proud. You'd think my child had won the Nobel Prize, that's how freaking proud I am of her.

Her feeding therapist is also proud.

Her feeding therapist. Who knew these job descriptions existed?

My insurance pays a lot of money for a very nice lady to come to my house twice a week and play with my baby. Seriously. And it squicks me out.

Sure, it's goal-oriented playing, but it's a process that involves trying to get PB to bite, lick or chew things, and which generally involves PB putting toys (or her own fingers) into Miss Shannon's mouth.. an exercise that pushes my squick factor to the limits. My child is sharing toys, and all the germiness that comes with saliva, with a stranger who also shares toys (and most probably saliva and germs) with other children, who are also strangers to me. I feel like I'm in the midst of a germ-a-palooza.

Still, for that minute where my child giggled at her own boldness as she stuck that pretzel into her mouth, it was all worth it.

Sometimes those milestones that others take for granted are the ones we celebrate the most here in the Grail household.

That ain't how we do it here, son....

2008-05-30T10:55:00.002-04:00

I know I've mentioned here that G is a mama's boy. That is his defining characteristic (even more so than his quirky behavior, or nonconformity). Lately he's been having a lot of anxiety about moving out. Poor kid, he's only four and he's freaking about living on his own.

Like most things that provoke anxiety in G, this one was totally my fault, and totally unintentional. See, I made the mistake of telling him that he was going to move into his own house.... some day. It came about kind of innocently: I was tucking him in bed one night and he voiced the opinion that he couldn't wait to be daddy's age so he could sleep in my bed like daddy does, which is infinitely preferable to his own bed. Envisioning the next 60 or so years of having to lay with him to get him to sleep, and feeling a little queasy at the prospect, I blurted "by the time you're daddy's age, you'll be sleeping in your own house". He freaked out at the thought of living somewhere - anywhere - that didn't involve me. I assured him that he was not going to be forced out before he was ready*... but we have still revisited that topic several times. After all, G will be five in just a few short months. In his mind, five is a gloriously grown age; the oldest (and tallest!) boy in his class at school is already five. To G, five brings the promise of being older, more independent (and taller! bless his little heart, that's soooo important)... and with age comes the anxiety of leaving the nest.

Yesterday a new wrinkle occurred to him - although I have assured him that he is welcome to keep his room (and his toys) under my roof for as long as he desires.... I have made no such assurances about PB.

He has many plans for PB, and none of them involve her moving out.

G is fascinated by the concept of pregnancy. He loves the idea that babies grow in bellies, and he was highly indignant when he learned that his belly lacked the proper plumbing for it... it took a little while for him to connect the concept of "only girls can be moms" with "PB is a girl", but once he did, he promptly decided that when she is mom's age, PB will have a baby in her belly.**

Yesterday he voiced his master plan for keeping our family whole and intact for decades: When my babies are grown, G will live with us, and since I am not available for marriage, he will settle for his second choice, PB, thereby ensuring that neither he (who has been assured a safe place in the house for as long as he wishes) nor PB will ever be forced out. Since they will be married (and since he is unable to birth his own children), PB will have a baby in her belly and will graciously allow him to be the daddy. Here, I feel compelled to add that he really has no concept of the biology of conception; in his mind, the baby just appears in utero as if by magic, the father has no involvement in that appearing, and is deemed the father by virtue of his marriage to the mother.

Oh my. Not exactly my plan for successful offspring.

Setting aside the squick-ness of his plan (I mean really - sibling marriage? and coparenting? eek!), and reminding myself that he is, after all, only four and young enough that he still believes that "P*wer R@nger" is an attainable career goal, I can momentarily be proud that however much they pester each other, however many times G refuses (loudly!) to share his toys, his games or his mom, deep down, PB is still important to him. After all, despite the fact that he believes girls are gross, there is one girl that he thinks is ok enough to be his friend, even if she is his sister.

... he dealt with it pretty well when I dished up the double-dose of disappointment by informing him that PB could neither be his wife, nor the mother of his children; his familial plans were apparently a desperate attempt to keep his baby sis from being kicked out of the house. having been assured that was not our plan for PB, he was no longer interested in pursuing the idea of marriage... or children, thankfully!

~ ~ ~

*unless, like, he reaches 30 and still isn't ready, but he doesn't grasp the nuances of situational ethics, so I let that one slide.... for now. If he reaches his 20s and still thinks there's no place like mom's, we'll revisit the topic.

** and if that's her desire, please, please, let it be an easy journey.

Just taking a minute...

2008-05-20T17:39:00.002-04:00

to say I'm still alive. I'd like to say it's been busy here and that's why I haven't been writing, but the truth is that while it has been busy, I'm more stuck in that place where I don't know what to say. I guess I'll just start updating and hope I reach some level of bloggy inspiration.

Overall things are going well here. As I'm typing this, P'Bean is standing, holding on to the chair next to me and chucking pretzels at the dogs. She's got enough hair for a little palm-tree pigtail on top of her head with a girly little bow and she's round enough that she's certifiably pinchable. She's come a long way since my last update. I look at her and I'm still amazed when I think "I did that". It's particularly apt in this case - P'Bean is exclusively breastfed. I'm attempting to embrace that and be proud of it, but the fact remains that it's not by choice. Not by my choice at least... so if it sounds like I'm bragging that my lactation was sufficient, I'm only trying to impress myself. It turns out that all the spitting up PB did as a babe was because of her reflux.. the reflux that no one knew she had til after she started on solids. We started those right about 6 months, and baby food gagged her. We thought that was kinda cute in an "oh, look, she takes after her Gran who chokes on everything" kind of way... but when a full month of attempting solids yielded nothing more than a progression of the gagging (we moved on to spitting! and vomiting!), I started thinking maybe she wasn't ready.. so I dusted off my referral to the ever-trusty Dr Google and started doing searches like "how to tell if the world's most perfect baby is ready for solids". Dr G informed me that one could ascertain this by watching how baby mouths objects. So I started watching. After a full day I came to the realization that (a) I am really slack in my babyproofing and (b) PB doesn't put anything into her mouth. I casually mentioned it at a visit to the pedi, who confirmed Dr Google's diagnosis of "something ain't right", and fired off a few more referrals. The pediatric GI suspected reflux, cut a script for some rockin' baby antacid, and sent her to the OT for a 'feeding test'.. and now here we are, almost two months later: the only thing that PB will voluntarily eat (besides her ever-favorite nah-nahs*) is her baby antacid. She loooooooves that. By the time the reflux was caught, it had already created bigger problems. They've called it an aversion, said that she's orally defensive and despite repeated attempts at desensitizing her to textures, and weeks of tactile/facial stimulation, PB is no closer to eating 'real' food now than she was at birth. C'est la vie, right? I'm about to pack it in and admit that karma is forcing me to seem like the poster child for lactation. First G had dental issues that interfered with his nutrition, and we extended my extended breastfeeding (have I ever mentioned that he didn't wean til he was nearly 3? yeah. I was 'that' mom), and now Beans, who is working on a family record for exclusive breastfeeding. I need to just admit defeat and join L@ Leche.

Seriously I didn't start out this update intending to spend so much time discussing lactation. These things just happen. My bloggy inspiration apparently came in the form of breasts.

At any rate, other than Bean's feeding quirks, she's still very nearly perfect... and in all honestly, I'm not freaking out that she can't eat. It'll get worked out, and until then, it's not like anyone's too worried. My delicate little Princess is built like a tank. She has a double chin, triple thighs and is in the 95th and 97th percentiles for height and weight, respectively. The major complications of her feeding issues (so far as the pedi and Google have informed me) come in the form of malnutrition and decreased growth. Those aren't even a blip on the PB radar.

G is doing pretty well too. He's in the final weeks of pre-k and we've already turned in his paperwork for k'garten. I have to admit this: whenever I think of that, the phrase running through my head is holy fucknuts, how did that happen?? I'm ~~a lot~~ a little worried about k'garten because G is still having some trouble with his innate need for non-conformity; at our most recent meeting, his teacher confessed to me that she, too, is worried about how he will do next year. I'm adding that to the list of "I'll worry about it later because I've got enough going on right now". His k'garten physical included some mildly worrying news, but nothing too serious, I don't think. (though it's hard to hear "skeletal defect" and not think something is seriously wrong, I'm mostly reassured that it isn't too serious), which brings me to my next topic, B and his family planning decision.

Between G's physical and Bean's consult with the GI and OT (which all came in the span of a week and a half), B is none too keen to even discuss the idea of any future additions to the Grail household. He has informed me that he does not want any future fertility treatment. Ever. Not that I was going to run out and grab some clomid or anything, but I was a bit put out anyway. I can't fault his reasoning, so I'm just letting it go for now... For now, I understand that he's worried about his babies and he needs to work that out in his mind before he is comfortable with the idea that their issues are not genetic. We will have to have an extended discussion on the topic later, because really, does met count as treatment for IF or treatment for IR? I really need to go back on my met for the IR, but I'm not going to be 'that woman' who starts IF treatment without the knowledge of her spouse**.. and if he's truly that worried about the possibility of problems with a future babe, even metformin without birth control would feel like a betrayal of the sacred Grail matrimonial trust. We haven't had that indepth discussion yet, but I'm sure it'll be blog fodder for the future, and by then I'll have figured out where my head is in that discussion. We'd already decided any future IF treatment would be met and the good ole 'if it happens, it happens', but hearing B say it in such a definitive way made me realize that I definitely do want one more and some part of my mind had already formed a Plan B if Plan A didn't work. B is much closer to the "our family is complete" mindset than I am. I'm sure that one will work out, too.. and it's not like I haven't got enough going on as it is that I'm even worrying about future Grail-lets just yet.

... because, despite the fact that future children are an as-yet-unresolved discussion in our house, we do have a furry new addition. Just in case P'Bean's clingy stranger-anxiety phase and G's constant need for mama-attention isn't enough. We have a puppy now. I had this great little rent-a-pup scheme going on that totally backfired. I was doing a little puppy-sitting for a guy on B's ship, which worked out well: B's friend didn't have to worry about what to do with his dog when the ship sailed, the kids got a little fuzzball to play with on occasion, and I got a reminder that no matter how cute a fuzzball is, I didn't want one fulltime... and then the fuzzball's owner came to the realization that puppies are a big commitment. They take a lot of work, and a lot of time, and if you take a baby who is of a breed that is rather big and rather attention-needy and leave him home for hours on end, destruction ensues... as he grows, so does the destruction... and the next thing I knew, we had a puppy.

.. and now, that puppy is chewing on PB's cute little hair bow, and PB is squawking her displeasure (did I mention the bow is still on PB's head?). I think that's my reminder that my blog-time is up. I have pics (of puppy, of kids, or both) if anyone's interested... I'm slogging my way through a couple months of bloglines and hope to be caught up soon.. and with a bit of luck (and maybe even some non-breast inspired inspiration), I'll actually start blogging here again.

*I'm not entirely sure where she got the idea that my ta-tas are nah-nahs, but that's what she calls 'em. I refuse to put that one in the baby book as Bean's first word, but there it is.

** yeah, I do know one of those.

Pardon my rambling..

2008-01-16T09:41:00.000-05:00

So... I was talking to my neighbor yesterday. Before I go into this, probably I should mention that she's a decent person and I do like her. Sometimes she just doesn't fully engage her brain before her mouth opens. Or maybe she's just prone to voicing things that other people only think, and wouldn't actually say out loud. Either way, she's not a bad person. Hell, I have those flaws sometimes too. Ok, a lot of times.

Anyhow, Neighbor was holding P'Bean and mentioned that she's been thinking a lot about whether they should have another baby. P'Bean is (naturally) a perfect babe and inspires these thoughts in people. people other than me I mean. her very perfection fills me with terror - what if I've achieved the pinnacle of reproduction and anything more would be pushing my luck?

As it turns out, my neighbor is also worried that asking for a third perfect child would be too much, seeing as how she's already got two perfect kids. I kinda misunderstood that one. I thought she was worried because she's got two really well-behaved children and hell, that doesn't really happen three times, now does it?

No, as it turns out my neighbor is worried about genetic perfection. Because, you know, she's just turned 30 and her risk for Down syndrome increases after 35. I swear, this woman keeps forgetting that I'm older than she is. Apparently she also forgets that her longest period of 'trying' for a baby was 3 months. Because she's worried about a theoretical risk five years in the future.

I know that this is one of those things that women worry about. (although maybe not as vocally or as horrified as Neighbor.) With all the talk about 'advanced maternal age' and 'risks' and all. Like there's some switch that gets flipped at midnight on the eve of a woman's 35th birthday whereupon her ovaries turn into that proverbial pumpkin and the uterine fairy godmother runs off with Prince Charming leaving this poor advanced-aged woman's reproductive organs adrift and directionless, I guess... but this just doesn't seem like a Big Fear to me.

It's a 'potential' and not an 'actual'.

I'm working extra-hard this year to only worry about the things that are actualities, and not stress over potentials. Most of us have enough actual problems that we don't need to worry about the maybes.

I know an awful lot of people that have been struggling to wrap their minds around their children's individual challenges lately. Things that seem small to an outsider (or at least not Big, if not exactly small either).

It's something that I've been struggling with lately. G has a few quirks that can be difficult. Maybe they're not as obvious to the general public as Down syndrome, but they are as obvious to me as if they were branded on his forehead. I just want his life to be easy. I want him to fit in and to be one of the kids.

Most recently, I've been struggling to wrap my mind around G's speech problem. Seems like a small fear, doesn't it? I mean, he's bright and healthy, his physical development has been perfect.. but he just can't seem to make his mouth work the way his brain does. We've made great strides in his communication and he can generally get his point across to the people who matter.. but I learned a long time ago that 'speech' and 'communication' do not mean the same thing. Or, as his speech therapist summed it up: he compensates well.

True that, he does. If he can't be understood he will go into a torrent of descriptive phrases and charade, expertly combining words and pantomime until his audience can figure out what he's trying to say.

Problem is, this only works if the audience is as determined as he is. Other kids, they aren't generally so persistent. If they can't understand him, they go one of two ways: either they give up on talking and just play without too many words, or they give up on him.

That is not what I want for my son.

What may seem like a small fear to others has become a big deal in my everyday life. It hits like a physical blow when I hear people comment on G. Most commonly I hear things like "what's wrong with him?" .. although there was that one memorable little boy at the park who wanted to know if he was speaking Chinese. Kinda makes me want to scream.. see, G's speech problem is almost exclusively with articulation. His vocabulary is above-average, his receptive language is just fine.. in English that means he understands every damn thing people say about him.

During one of his evaluations, the psychologist mentioned that before G starts kindergarten, she wants me to bring him in for an IQ test so that I will have actual numbers to bring to school because the schools have been known to make assumptions about intelligence based on ability to speak. That hurt, too. I expect that from random kids at the park. I don't like it, but they're not exactly trained professionals so hey, it's not like they know better.. but his school? Sigh...

They have warned me that his school will expect less of him.. that he will have problems reading because of his speech.. that this will be a long uphill battle that will take probably years of intensive therapy to conquer... and will likely involve therapy for his self-esteem as well, as this will all take a toll on him..

What the hell? It's a flippin' speech problem!

When all this started I figured he'd get a little speech therapy once or twice a week and in a few months things would be just ducky. He got speech once a week for the first six months. Twice a week for the next year and a half. They've just increased him to four times a week (two group sessions, two individual) with plans to increase that to five times a week (two group, three individual).

My saving grace is that they expect he will overcome this obstacle. Some day he will talk and be understood. I don't expect he will ever completely blend in to the crowd (because his personality doesn't encourage that sort of thing... but I love that he will have that option if he wants it. I realize that is a gift.

.. and while I'm doing all this realizing, I realize that if anyone had told me years ago that I'd consider a speech problem a Big Deal, a Life-Altering struggle, I'd have rolled my eyes and called 'em an ass-hat, as I am wont to do.

So really, I guess every fear is a valid fear... but my couple-weeks-late resolution still stands: valid or not, I will not worry about things that have not happened.

That said... I know that as Big as G's speech problem seems, it would not have stopped me from wanting him. Perhaps we have achieved reproductive perfection in PB. Perhaps any future child would have a newer, scarier Big problem.. perhaps he-or-she would have a known Big problem. Or a known small problem. Or not. I'm not going to let that make my decision for me.. when B comes home (in just a few short weeks!) we're planning on starting the pre-trying trying*.

*I'll explain that phrase in my next posting. this one has been exhausting to type out, and I'm not really in a mindset where I can switch gears to another new topic immediately.. this got a little more involved than I'd intended for announcing that we'd decided to bite the bullet and consider attempting another baby in this lifetime. this decade even. no matter how scary it seems.

2007-12-10T19:05:00.000-05:00

Holy ass-hat.

I saw my GP the other day so that she could tweak my meds 'cause my blood pressure is still too high. First, instead of just increasing my dosage, she switched my blood pressure meds because she didn't think the one I was taking was safe for a breastfeeding mom. No problem, it's not like it was really working for me anyway, right?

Then, she started in on my zoloft. I believe her exact words were "you do realize that your baby is getting that, too, right?" .. in this tone of voice like I was being selfish for needlessly exposing my baby to medication.

Pardon my language, but what the fuck?

I had just finished telling her that my OB prescribed the zoloft for postpartum depression... so she knew that (a) this was something the OB prescribed (and presumably they should know about lactation) and (b) I have postpartum depression.

She didn't ask me about the severity of my PPD (not very), or if I had discussed the risk vs. benefit with the OB (I had), just snapped off that little remark.

It scares me to think that some day this ass-hat might make the same judgmental comment to a mom who is suffering from severe PPD, who hasn't done the research to confirm that her medication is safe.. who decides to stop taking necessary meds based on one nasty GP who seems to think that PPD isn't worth treating. Or maybe it was the breastfeeding that she thought should go, rather than the treatment. Either way, her information was inaccurate.

I've complained about her, and I hope that someone in her chain of command can educate her. She is, after all, a military GP.. statistically speaking, military wives are more likely to suffer from PPD. She should already know how this works.

Ass-hat.

4 months today.

2007-11-30T21:57:00.000-05:00

No, that's not P'Bean's age it's how long B's been gone.

I am so ready for him to come home.

I'm having such a hard time with the holidays this year. Mel had a great post the other day about the emotional minefield of Christmas during IF. Or rather, the emotional minefield of IF during Christmas... so true. It's a tough time of year whenever your family isn't complete... or is complete (enough) but isn't together.

Tonight, G was marveling at the neighborhood lights. He thought the lights meant that it was Christmas.

No, not yet. People put their lights out early because they're excited that Christmas will be here in a few weeks.

.. and then he asked why we didn't have any lights outside our house.

Because, sweet boy, that's your dad's thing*.

And maybe because your mom is not all that excited.

It's a huge reminder of everything that B's missing.

For the first few months, I just didn't think about what B was missing. I couldn't think about it.

.. and he couldn't think about anything else.

He has missed PB's first smile, laugh, and her first tears. G's first day of pre-k, that sweet and indefinable moment where he pulled out his independence and stood on his own as just one of the big kids, and the everyday moments of two little ones learning how siblings interact.

G started pre-k the day before T'giving. I emailed B lots of pictures, and happily reported that no one had cried.

He emailed me back with just two words "except me".

Ouch.

That's what I think of every time someone tells me that it must be hard having him gone... yeah, it's hard - but it's nothing compared to what he's going through.

_ _ _

ok, I wrote all that last week, with the intention of actually finishing it. I had sorta even planned on working in the point I actually sat down to write - which was that B & I had that always-fun 'state of the union' discussion re: family planning... and I've been trying to write about it ever since. Twice I've sat down to work through it in my mind and my keyboard.. and twice I managed to write an entire post without once mentioning the actual subject I'd intended to discuss.

Obviously it's not an easy thing for me to think through (else I'd have written the #$^&! post and published it and been done already) .. so .. maybe next time?

* Usually we have enough lights strung around the front yard to qualify us for the Hall of Shame.

'D' is for drummer

2007-11-27T22:23:00.000-05:00

Every flippin' time I think I'm going to blog more, life happens... and then all the great anecdotes and topics I think of just fall outta my head before I've even had a chance to type 'em.

So G started pre-k last week (better late than never, right?) word of advice - if you attempt to enroll your child in pre-k, and said child marches to his own drummer, and the pre-k even breathes the words "wait list", just find a new school.

It is exceedingly difficult to teach a nonconformist to conform... and once you're three months into the school year and all the other kids already know the rules and ropes, the honeymoon period is over and conformity is expected.

It's been a fun week... G's starting to get the hang of some things, but he does still like to do it his own way. His homework* yesterday was to write the letter "d" .. he was ok with that, but he didn't want to write it on the line.. and when he asked why he had to write it on the line and the best answer I could come up with was "because that's what they said to do", I figured screw 'em, he's four. And if he wants to write his d's sideways and under the line, so be it. This week, we're working on why a nap mat isn't a wrestling mat - surely where he writes his 'd' is small stuff in comparison. Besides, I like that he has his own opinions and questions the status quo. Tonight, while picking the d's out in the book we were reading, he pointed to a 'p'. I dutifully pointed out that it was a 'p' and not a 'd'.. and G flipped the book over to show me that it was, indeed, a 'd', I just had to look at it a little differently.

.. and after all, isn't that one of the reasons I wanted to be a parent? To learn to see the world in a different way, through my child's eyes?

Rock on, my free-thinking little man..

*yes, homework! in pre-k! wtf??

Merry Flippin' Holidays

2007-11-16T02:27:00.000-05:00

For weeks, B has been bugging me to send him my measurements because he's trying to order my C'mas present and needs this information. Why yes, I am pretty sure that said present is going to be tiny, see-through, and more for him than me, but that's practically a tradition in the Grail household. Some day I'll tell you the story of how he wanted to get me a bikini wax for C'mas. A Brazilian wax.

.. and he cannot imagine why I haven't been jumping up and down with eager excitement, breathlessly emailing him those numbers.

So tonight, I decide to bite the bullet, and ~~shut his arse up~~ cheerfully send him my information.

Do you know they make tape measures that only go up to 36"??

Yeah. And I own one of them.

It's going to take some serious retail therapy to get over this. Or maybe cupcakes... which, I admit, may be part of the problem.

I can't believe that when I finally gathered up the courage to confront my ~~jiggly~~ curvaceous body, I couldn't stretch the tape measure around it.

I am simply too much woman for that ~~f'ing thing~~ tiny little tape measure, I suppose.

Oh hell, it's not that I expected to be under 36" anywhere. It's just the idea.

I've outgrown a tape measure (!!)

2007-11-10T19:09:00.001-05:00

So...

I found this nifty link in a friend's myspace blog the other day:

Look-alike Meter

Upload kid-pics and parent-pics and it will tell you which parent the kid resembles more*.

So, it was fun to play with, but it got me thinking... the physical stuff is pretty easy: G inherited my grandfather's eye color and B's everything else, P'Bean got the sweet little double chin I had as a babe,** her father's blue eyes and long toes... it's fun looking at parts and picking out who got what from whom...

.. but that always leads me to wonder which child inherited what bad genes from us, too.

Some of it I know already, some of it I just worry about. G inherited my quirky mindset, my tendency to worry too much and his Dad's ADHD. I worry that he's inherited the double whopper of B's dyslexia, but that's one that will have to wait unless/until he's old enough to sit still and learn his letters. They tell me that his speech delays will cause him problems with reading anyway, so it could be a moot point.. my bright child will likely struggle in school.

Because of the things he's inherited from us.

P'Bean is still largely unknown. She's just too little for me to know yet. I worry that she'll struggle with PCOS, or high blood pressure, or some other problem that will creep up when she's an adult. Something I gave her.

.. if I hadn't spent so much time worrying about my genetics, and wondering if our IF was a cosmic hint not to have children, I probably wouldn't even be having these thoughts.

.. and ya know, whatever their struggles, difficuties or genetic quirks, I wouldn't change either of them. I adore them just the way they are.

~edited to remove photo~

*I make absolutely no claims on its accuracy, as it said my stepson looks more like me than his dad.

**truth: I had a triple chin. P'Bean only has a double chin, but it's chunky enough that I have to floss her neck at bath-time.

Survival of the what-est?

2007-09-23T14:43:00.000-04:00

First, I am still alive and around. I'm still reading blogs but I'm finding it a bit difficult to comment for some reason. I've been dealing with a bit of postpartum... something. It's not depression, but it's something - I would definitely say my emotions are not on an even keel.. I do have the appropriate pharmaceuticals to hopefully pull things together sooner rather than later, but until they take affect, I'll probably stay quiet.

That said.... here's what I was thinking about today. It's a bit stream of consciousness. so forgive me if it jumps around - that IS really how my mind works.

I read a lot of blogs. The majority of them are IF blogs, but there are a sprinkling of other genres in my bloglines. Today I read an interesting commentary on the latest Duggary addition, written by a woman who is a diehard childfree. You think the IF community has fun stuff to say about the Dugg*rs? You should check out what the CF community has to say.

At any rate, the blog got me to thinking about overpopulation. First I thought "at the rate that IF is spreading, I don't think we need to worry about overpopulation.. we need to worry about extinction" (hey, I'm allowed to get all melodramatic and extremist in my own mind). .. from there, unbidden, the following thought skittered across my consciousness "nah... we won't go extinct - plenty of uberfertile crack ho's and morons out there, they'll make up for the infertiles".

.. and then I realized - holy shit... IF doesn't affect the ignorant and just plain stupid*. Every single IF woman I know is intelligent and articulate. I spent a few moments debating with myself whether or not that was because the majority of the IF community that I 'know' is in the blogosphere. Initially I thought perhaps that was because bloggers tend to be articulate and intelligent, but I threw out that theory when I remembered reading a few (non-IF) blogs that have been written by the truly dense. So I concluded that bloggers in general aren't more intelligent than the average population... just that IF bloggers seem to be.** Interestingly, the same holds true for those who are childfree.

So here we have two growing subsects of the population who are experiencing subfertility, either by choice or by sheer bad luck... while the lower rungs on the food chain are experiencing what seems to be a population explosion.

Does this bode well for the future of mankind?

Clearly, Darwin had it backwards.

*Seriously... do you know any morons who are infertile?

**lest I sound all egotistical, no, I'm not including myself in that generalization. Lord knows I can be a giant doofus in real life.

Thursday, where I put on my rose-colored glasses and get sappy..

2007-08-30T08:00:00.000-04:00

So... B's been gone a month now. Yesterday we got to do a supercool video conference* with him. While waiting for our allotted 10 minutes, we got shuffled into a holding room with the other spouses and children. Several people asked me if it was the first time B would be able to see Princess Bean.

Well, no, PB was a week old when he left, so he was there when she was born...

One woman commented that she definitely wouldn't want to birth while her husband was deployed and said something along the lines of "I'd never let him do that" .. by 'that' I'm assuming she meant knock her up at a bad time.. hahaha.**

Ohhh yeah.. I love that stuff. Good ole Family Planning.

Remember that discussion?

I know I shouldn't get offended when people say things like that. Nobody knows better than I do that PB's birth could have been timed better... but I also know that the alternative could be not having Bean. If we'd decided that last October would produce an unbearable due date (and you know that discussion was on the table), then I wouldn't have Bean. I might have someone else, but it wouldn't be Bean. I might not have anyone at all. I am starting to believe that early fall has some sort of mythical fertility-enhancing properties for B.. so skipping the 'undesirable due date' cycles might just have meant missing our chance last year.

So when this discussion comes up, I want to stand up and scream that we're not stupid, or careless, we knew that getting pregnant in late October would mean that our baby would be born right before he left, but we just couldn't take a chance on skipping that cycle and missing our opportunity. And hey, thanks for reminding me how sucktastic it is that B only knows his daughter through pictures and emails. Or that PB knows her father's voice on the phone, but not the feel of his arms holding her, or the smell of his chest as she snuggles up there for a nap. Fan-freaking-tastic reminder.

Just before we were called back to talk to the B, another wife arrived carrying a baby approximately Bean's size. So... are you infertile also or just careless/stupid? I was so tempted.

.. and then there's the "ohh.. you have your boy and girl, how perfect". Yep, we think they're perfect also. We'd think they were perfect no matter what. It's no secret that I wanted Bean to be a girl... but it's also no secret that I'd have been thrilled if Bean were a boy.

There is often some asshat who assumes that G really wanted a brother (he did not, he was hoping for a sister from the beginning) and tells G that sisters can be fun, too. It's pretty common for this to prompt G to explain that he has a sister AND a brother. Recently one particularly ass-hat-ish person informed me that I needed another so we'd have two boys and two girls. W..T..F..?

That was seriously way more insulting than all the other 'next one' comments put together.

Just the thought of having another child some day is an emotional minefield. One that I'm certainly not prepared to discuss with a tactless stranger in the grocery line.. assuming, of course that I even knew how I felt about it. The farthest we've gotten at that discussion so far is the debate over whether we need birth control until we figure out what we're doing some day.

It is such a relief to be content. Years of charting, months of time being broken into two-week increments, so very many emotional highs and lows.. I like where I am now. Very much.

I guess that's my whole point. All the comments that point out to me that (they think) I should regret the timing of my Bean's birth, or the comments that imply that I'd be less happy with a boy-Bean, or even the people who think I should be looking ahead and thinking about 'the next' .. they make me realize more than ever that I'm at peace with circumstances, content where I am, and yes, downright happy about it. I know what it took to get to this place in my life and it is so wonderful to be able to really enjoy just being here.

*there's nothing that'll make a hormonal chick cry like watching an I-miss-my-daddy four year old get to see his dad and play a little paper scissors rock when they're thousands of miles apart.

**ohhh, she was such a new wife. veteran wives know that not all deployments are planned and that no matter when you 'plan' to give birth, underways happen, too.. so if you want to make sure that your military hubby is home for a birth, better wait til shore duty.. and even then, you gotta hope that an IA deployment doesn't pull him away for parts unknown. In short, there IS no planning for when he's home, just planning and hoping he'll be home then.

Older than my years...

2007-08-18T18:45:00.000-04:00

As promised.. how I started to feel downright old...

I was at the grocery store the other day.. as I was wrangling the kids through the aisles, we happened to wander down the beer aisle*... and passed a man who was perusing the beer.. It made me remember the days when a friday evening trip to the grocery was to pick up beer and cigarettes... ahh.. nostalgia!

Not this particular Friday night, no sirree. I had a cart full of junk food. G & I had had a Very Bad Day and I wanted to celebrate the end of that Very Bad Day with a chocolate chip cookies, popcorn and various forms of junk food. Only since we didn't have any chooclate chip cookies (or chocolate chips to make 'em!), or popcorn OR junk food, we had to run to the store. So as I wheeled my whiny charges past the beer man, I contemplated the differences between a beer-soaked Friday night, and a Friday night where G & I will get hopped up on grape soda and potato chips.

And then I loaded the kids, and the sugar, into the minivan and headed home, singing along to the 'retro' 80s night on the radio.

Part of me misses the beer nights.

Most of me enjoys my grape soda and cookies.

But it does make me feel old.

This feeling like a grown-up, it's pretty new. I know that technically, parenthood makes you grow up.** And I did kinda grow up after having G. I did, after all, give up tequila shots and dancing on tables after his birth, so that's something, right?

But I still didn't really feel like a grown-up.

Somehow, that part happened some time after Princess Bean was born. I have no idea why, what changed that made me suddenly feel older than my years. I'll have to think on that part, and get back to you. For now, I'm going to go crank the oldies station and headbang along to a little retro 80's music, ok?

*what kind of grocery store puts the popcorn in the beer aisle? we spent 20 minutes wandering around before we found popcorn. I guess that's what I get for going to an unfamiliar grocery store. And being old.

**well.. it should, at least

am i that old yet??

2007-08-14T10:51:00.000-04:00

"maybe some people can't get pregnant for a reason"

That's really high up on my list of ass-hat comments... but I confess, over the last few weeks, I've thought it more than once.. I was thinking it about myself (I'm not that big of an ass-hat that I'd justify it for anyone else), but still..

I've spent a lot of time thinking about my health, and feeling pretty old. The way-too-young resident at the emergency room a few weeks ago made the comment "wow, you've got a pretty interesting medical history" .. I hadn't really thought about it before then. I had just finished listing my chronic conditions, and allergies... there's a few of each of those, and it seems like with each year I age, I'm getting a little more added on to my list.

It didn't help that when I was talking to my mom, she commented that I'm on a lot of the same meds that my dad is on, or has been on. He's an overweight diabetic in his 50s, I'm a reasonably healthy not-too-overweight in my early 30s... and we're taking the same medications. He keeps a list of all his medications because there's too many to remember. If I were actually taking everything they prescribed for me* I'd need a list too. Damn.

On the bright side, my blood pressure has returned to normal. If you define normal as prehypertensive, that is. I can get my systolic number into normal range, but my diastolic is stubborn. I should be thrilled about that. The downside to that is that it's high-normal on medication. My doc, he wasn't kidding about wanting me on blood pressure meds long-term. At my visit the other day, he renewed my prescription for the next three months, and suggested I see a cardiologist. Ya know, when the doc starts throwing out terms like "cardiologist", I start getting depressed.

And then yesterday I watched one too many TV shows where otherwise healthy (and young!) people suddenly dropped dead from rare but serious complications of blood pressure. Listen to Dr. G lecture about how high blood pressure is a silent killer, often with no symptoms, and you too can question your mortality.

So it made me wonder for a short minute if perhaps the reason I had difficulty getting pregnant was because my body wasn't sure if could handle gestating the Bean... and then I looked at her, my sweet princess, and realized.. I wouldn't change it for the world. My docs aren't concerned for my health, they're looking at all this as manageable, no serious consequences. Probably, I should just appreciate what I've got, and stop worrying that every ache or twinge anywhere near my chest is a heart attack waiting to happen.

Hey, I wouldn't be me if I didn't worry endlessly, and for no reason...

Coming soon: More musings on my elderly status, complete with my thoughts on how it feels to be that woman who listens to the oldies station while tooling around town running grown-up errands in a minivan.

*I'm not advocating skipping necessary prescriptions. I just got sick of taking a dozen pills, and I was questioning just how many chemicals I wanted Princess Bean ingesting with her breastmilk. So I ditched the ones I no longer needed.

.. give it a vacation!

2007-08-03T21:42:00.001-04:00

I read a lot about how American people work too hard/too much and don't take enough time off.. but no one ever seems to acknowledge the plight of the poor overworked uterus.

Hey, I'm totally not one of those slave-driving ute-bosses. Mine gets time off for bad behavior (courtesy of the anovulatory pcos cycles), and even with that, it negotiated an agreement where it only has to put in pregnancy-induced overtime every few years and then gets a year off afterwards (we call that the "lactational amenorrhea treaty").

You'd think it would treat me better, under the circumstances.

The Duggars use and abuse the ute, forcing it into gestation every other year or so, with barely a break in between.. and yet, it's still there practically jumping up and down waiting to be wrestled into service again.

Some day I'll figure out how they're doing it.

Coming up for air...

2007-08-01T21:20:00.000-04:00

I'm not usually one to publicly post pics of the family, but... since so many of you held my hand, sent emails and supported me through the more neurotic parts of my pregnancy, I wanted to show you my Bean.. the baby formerly known as RiceCake:

I didn't give many details when I announced her birth, so here's the short version - she was born after about 16 hours of labor (not constant - it stalled out a few times); the induction never happened, I went into labor a few hours before it was to start. I did get my v*bac, although I also got a lot more medical intervention than I thought I wanted. In the end, I really didn't care. Bean was 7 lbs, 2.8 ounces and 20" long (a full inch and nearly a pound more than G was, she still looked incredibly small to me). All those times that I worried during pregnancy because she wasn't moving much... that's just her personality. She's mellow and easy, and sleeps incredibly well - by a week old, she was sleeping a 6-8 hour stretch at night. I'm am in love, and in awe, and so very glad that she's here. I won't say the anxiety has completely disappeared, but it has changed.

In the week and a half since she was born, I've been pretty scarce. While I'd like to say that I was busy basking in the glow of new-motherhood, and being so overwhelmed with love for the babe that I was just unable to type, that would only be half of it. The other half:

~ We spent the first week busy with family stuff, trying to cram in as much baby-daddy time as we could before B left. He sailed on Monday, and it was so much harder than even I had imagined. Watching him kiss Bean goodbye was just heartbreaking, knowing that by the time he sees her again, she will have grown so much that she will be an entirely different child. It's not the first time I've ever seen B cry, but it was one of the more painful times.

~ after that, G celebrated his 4th birthday. This is the first time since his very first birthday where he had both his dad and his brother here. Come to think of it, it's the first time since then that he's had either of them here for his birthday, let alone both. He was as thrilled with that as he was with the transf*rmers that he got.

~ next... Bean's umbilical cord fell off early. Apparently it wasn't entirely healed, because yesterday it started to bleed. Since her pedi can't see her til next week, they suggested I visit the acute care clinic to have it examined, and Bean was introduced to the wonders of a walk-in medical clinic. It was my first solo trip with two kids. It was so much fun (ha!) that I am dreading tomorrow's scheduled trip to the grocery store. I never realized just how high-maintenance G really was til I had someone else to compare him to. Of the two, the newborn is far easier than the four-year-old. Never thought that would be the case.

~ and finally... When Bean was six days old, I started having some trouble with my blood pressure. That's still not fixed, but I'm learning to live with the perpetual headache, the random visual disturbances (it's like clomid all over again!) and the annoying feeling of something being 'not right'. This is nearly the exact same thing that happened after G's birth, although it went away much faster that time. At any rate, my trip to the ER today produced some real results - somehow, they found me an appointment with a real OB on Friday. Since the doc I saw last week wasn't an OB, she prescribed me the smallest possible dose of medication that might help me - it's not helping, but since I'm breastfeeding, I can't seem to get a prescription for anything stronger out of a non-OB. Hoping for better luck on Friday.

The good news is that they ruled out postpartum pre-eclampsia, and/or HELLP syndrome, so it's just my blood pressure. The bad news is that they think I'll need to be on blood pressure meds long-term this time. At this point, I just want to feel better... and hey, if I'm really searching for a sliver lining to this, I do have to admit that it's really taken my mind off of B leaving... and anything (that isn't life-threatening) that can make week 1 of a deployment easier is a welcome development.

Still, we're hoping that the upcoming week will be a little less eventful.

2007-07-26T08:53:00.000-04:00

RiceCake arrived safely on Saturday evening.

She's beautiful.

2007-07-20T16:54:00.000-04:00

I have a little update... I had my appointment this morning. I have had absolutely no cervical change in the last 5 days. RiceCake is comfortable and doesn't seem to be going anywhere. I'm ok with this.

Actually, feeling a lot better than I was last night (for some odd reason, I have a 12-24 hour adjustment period before new ideas or decisions feel ok to me).

Thanks for the comments. It definitely IS a victory that I've carried this baby to term. A year ago, I'd have given a limb to be in this position. I'd have volunteered for the section (and offered up the limb at the same time - save my insurance a little $$ in anesthesia costs) just for the privilege of being full-term.. looking at it that way, this really isn't the end of the world. It's small stuff. I can handle small stuff.

marie-baguette... the timing of this birth is tricky. I have at most 5 more days. My doctor doesn't allow anything past 41 weeks. I'm not comfortable waiting that long. Ordinarily, I'd be all about waiting til babe's ready, and letting things take their natural course, but I do have other things that need consideration at this point. We have very few days left before B leaves. I will be on my own with a newborn and a super-active 4-year-old. Knowing that I already have a high chance of a repeat cesarean, I just don't think the potential benefit of cooking RiceCake for an extra few days balances out the risk of not having time to recover before that. I wish things were different.. but they're not. I have to do what I can with the options I've got... and unfortunately, given the time restrictions placed on me by my doctors, and the fact that this babe appears to be in no hurry to be born, it's not so much a question of if we will evict him or her, but when.

.. and dd... I heart you. Reading your comment made me realize that this isn't about perfection, or what I want, it's about finding that peace with what is... and about understanding that each scary piece of the puzzle is just that - one piece.. and I need to take each one individually and deal with it on its own. That's something I struggle with in so many areas - all the little stuff overwhelms me until I can't see that I'm taking many tiny things and making them into one giant thing that is bigger, and scarier than it ever should be.

p.s.. you coulda just given me a swift kick in the arse, you know - I'm pretty sure I deserve it after last night's whine-fest... but you didn't. I'm going to remember that next time you're thinking you're not a kind person...

Importantly, I am at peace with the decisions we made today.

.. and speaking of those decisions... we're going in for an induction tomorrow. I know that inducing reduces my chances for a vag birth, but I'm ok with that. I've dealt with the little emotions, and while I'm still apprehensive about the possibilities, I'm determined to take it one day at a time. If I need to, I can handle one hour, or even one minute at a time... and I'm going to worry about things if they come up, rather than pre-handling all my angst at once. I don't expect I'll be totally successful at that (since, you know, worrying just in case is sort of a hobby of mine), but I'll just keep trying til I get it right... if I can be half as stubborn as the babe I'm baking, it shouldn't be so hard.

40w, 2d

2007-07-20T01:13:00.000-04:00

In just about 12 hours, I have an appointment.

It looks like I'll be asking to schedule a c-section at that appointment.

I can't even really express how upset I am about this. It seems like such a stupid thing to be upset about.. carrying a baby to term (and beyond) is hardly a bad thing, right?

... but it feels like my body has failed me.

Again.

I couldn't get this babe in there without help, and now I can't get him/her out on my own.

I've said all along that my biggest fear was having a cesarean just before B deploys. If I wait any longer, that will be exactly what happens.

Nobody ever promised me life would be fair.

Nobody ever promised me that reproduction, birth or parenthood would be easy.

So why does it bother me to find out that it's not?

... and in the middle of the night, when my house is quiet and it's just me sitting here with my thoughts, I can admit this - I'm scared to death of dealing with all this on my own. I've had a lot of time to prepare, but I'm just not ready for B to leave. Admitting that we need to make this decision now means admitting that he really is going.

I can do this.

36w, 5d

2007-06-25T13:40:00.000-04:00

.. and I'm so over being pregnant.

Not for the usual reasons, tho.

So far, things have been very uneventful, fortunately.

I never did get morning sickness, or boobs too sore to breathe on, and even the third-trimester aches and pains have been pretty bearable...

.. but the closer I get to my due date, the more I wish I had some v@lium. Or something.

So I panicked again this morning.

Rice really wasn't moving.

Which shouldn't surprise me - this babe is not a morning person lately, and rarely moves between breakfast and lunch.

.. but I still totally freaked.

I was thisclose to going in to get checked out (no sh!t, I even had G dressed and we were on our way to the neighbor's to see if he could hang there for a couple of hours) when Rice got hiccups and I felt a little better. But only a little.

I'm still on edge. I'm ok when the babe is active and moving, but every time there's a lull in that pattern, I start to worry again.

.. which is why I can't wait until s/he is born. I just can't handle much more pregnancy.

I really, truly wanted to be able to relax and enjoy this time, but that's so much harder than I expected.

I wanted to be able to be 'normal' and prepare and plan and go nuts over tiny little clothes and things.. but every time I buy something or make something for this babe, I get paranoid all over again. Yesterday I went shopping for a few last-minute things. Today I woke up convinced I might not need any of them. It sucks, and it's exhausting trying to talk myself out of being scared.

I had to step away from Dr Google, and now the 'net is not my friend. It's filled with scary stories and possibilities and improbable things for me to worry about.

I just want to be done. I want to be able to hold my babe in my arms, and see that she's ok, and know that if I'm worried, reassurance is just a few breaths away, rather than the interminable amount of time it takes me to try and interpret a heart rate on a doppler... because just hearing it isn't enough any more - I need to hear if there are the right amount of accels, if they coincide with movement, and if things sound the same as they have yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.

.. and I have weeks of this stretching ahead of me. Only a few weeks, but even those weeks seem long. I have stopped taking things day by day and have started looking at them hour by hour. When it it particularly rough, it is minute by minute. Each new minute can bring with it new worries...

I can get through this, I will get through this... but I do not think it will be easy.

What I need to do is step back.. stop overanalyzing, and just do what I can to be busy enough that my mind is not worrying.

.. and to do that, I need to step back from my blog. I know it seems like I already have, because I have certainly not been posting as much the last few months.. but the truth is, it's not the posting as much as the publishing that's been difficult for me. I have put my thoughts down often, and stopped just shy of clicking that publish button.

I blog to work out the problems and issues in my mind so that they won't take over my life. Now that I've reached the point where the time I spend blogging serves just to reinforce my fears, it's time for a break.

See you in a few weeks...

someone found some patience

2007-06-20T15:18:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to update on the doctor situation - I called my clinic (again) this morning to try and make an appointment for next week. I was told (again) that they had nothing open and I should call back tomorrow after 1:00 and see if anything came up.

I hung up with the clinic and called the hospital's patient advocate, who promised to look into it and get back with me.

Got a call back this afternoon from the clinic's head scheduler, who had miraculously created an appointment tomorrow at 9AM.

It's earlier than I wanted - I'm supposed to go next week, not this week... but I'll take what I can get.

The even bigger miracle was that when I called the hospital day care, they had a slot open for tomorrow morning... I can actually get my beta strep test without G's prying eyes checking out my cervix.

Now that, my friends, makes for a good day.

Sweet Katie...

2007-06-19T21:46:00.000-04:00

The last few days I've felt jittery and unsure about this pregnancy. Not quite paranoid, but sincerely worried.

I couldn't figure out why... until I realized the date.

Today would have been the 14th birthday of my first niece.

Tomorrow marks the 14th anniversary of her death.

I'm glad I remembered... although it makes me sad to think about her, I would be more sad to think that I forgot about her.

I have no more f'ing patience.

2007-06-19T11:22:00.000-04:00

"We appreciate your patience.. your call is important to us..."

Uh-huh. That's why I've been on hold for the last 12 minutes?

I would never have thought that making a doctors' appointment would be so nerve-wracking. I've been calling since last week, and the earliest appointment they had last I checked (well, last I actually had a person on the line to speak with) was July 10.

I'm usually pretty flexible with this kind of stuff, but I'm getting a little fed up here. I can't exactly wait til July 10th. I'm kind of hoping to actually give birth before then. Or right around then.

Still on hold.. 15 minutes and counting...

Lots of people complain about military medicine. Mostly, I don't have a problem with it. I like it, even. I haven't ever been denied coverage for anything (forced to jump through a few hoops maybe, but that happens with a lot of insurance companies), I've never had a doctor who was dangerously incompetent, and only a few minor issues with attitudes... but this is really tweaking my last nerve.

18 minutes... finally got someone on the line.. and there are no appointments until July 11.

Is it too late to switch to a different doctor?

.. and oh yeah...

2007-06-14T13:57:00.000-04:00

I had my official MD appointment earlier this week. My blood pressure had dropped to the lowest it's been in months, my swelling was virtually non-existant and things looked great. Looks like I might get that V*BAC after all.

One is just fine with me

2007-06-14T13:03:00.000-04:00

I'm sure by now most of you have heard/read about the recent sets of sextuplets in the news.

Why is it that the only time IF rates nationwide headlines, it's in that "freak of nature" sense? You know, where everyone reads it and thinks "that's so unnatural" .. because let's face it, gestating six IS unnatural.

I find this frustrating, to say the least.

When we went through our IUI's, the word 'sextuplets' came up a lot... my friends, my family, they're ALL familiar with the whole fertility-drugs-produce-multiples... they didn't seem to understand that most women have ONE baby. 'Cause, you know, when I got knocked up with RiceCake, it didn't make the news. There was no headline screaming about how femar@ helped us make ONE baby. When Rice is born, there will be no frenzied media interviews, no website set up for donations, no controversy about whether or not B & I 'played God' or took a big risk with our lives, or our child's life.

I lost count of the number of times I reassured my loved ones that we weren't trying for half a dozen, that we were, in fact, actively working to prevent that sort of thing. That it would be irresponsible medical care if my doctor didn't keep tabs on my follicles and if I didn't follow his advice about when to try and when not to try... because that's what I think when I hear about 5 or 6 or 7 babies born at once - someone screwed up. That's not an outcome that should ever happen.

There is no publicity for my kinda IF treatment, or my kinda results, even though, in my RE's words, this was "an absolute perfect outcome - a single intrauterine pregnancy".*

I am not who the public thinks of when they think of fertility drugs, or IUI.

They think of the women who have birthed four or five or six babies at once.

Because that is the face the media has put to infertility.

That is not the norm.

I'm awful sick of the assumption that everyone who undergoes fertility treatment is playing reproductive roulette. On one of those trainwreck documentaries that I can't seem to turn off, the father of yet another oversized brood stated "any time someone uses infertility treatment, they have to expect multiples" .. or something along those lines... Dude... no... maybe they have to be willing to accept the possibility, but they don't have to expect it. (yeah, that guy was another "here's your clomid, call me in a month" parent)

.. and I don't see it changing any time soon.

*that was his assessment at my first ultrasound. He was immensely pleased. So was I.

VBAC: tentatively on

2007-06-08T23:10:00.000-04:00

I'm calling it 'tentatively' because I did NOT get to speak with an actual doctor today* so I have no 'official' confirmation, but the nurse did look over my old records and she didn't see anything to contraindicate an attempt at a V*BAC.

.. on the other hand, I'm swelling up like one of those bloated dinosaurs that G likes so much, and my blood pressue is 'a little high', which means there is still a chance that things will go balls-up like they did with G, and Rice will be born early, which likely means a c-section for me.

So.. in the ultimate passive-aggressive approach to birth, I'm letting the fates decide. If I need an induction, we'll skip the formalities and break out the scalpel. If not, I'll go with the V*BAC.

Oh yeah, nothing like letting my ambivalence take center stage in my medical care!!

... after the appointment, B & I headed over to my parents' house to check on The Boy... finding him happily scouring the back yard for "roller-bugs", we headed out to the movies. We checked out the latest in the ever-growing line of Pirates movies (yeah, you know the one I mean), which wasn't half as bad as I was expecting... save for the ending, which I hated. I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it and wants to, but it's pretty safe to say it's not a good thing to watch when you're an over-emotional hormonal chickie with a hubby who's deploying in less than two months. Apparently pirates are close enough to sailors when it comes to my knee-jerk tear reaction at seeing them sail away.

.. last but definitely not least, a small thing I noticed while at my OB appointment:

They're undergoing massive renovations there, and in the midst of the construction I saw a tiny sign that advised all patients that the RE clinic was moving. In just a short while, they will no longer be located in the OB clinic. Although I'm sure that logically, sharing office space with obstetrics made sense to some ass-hat, I always thought it was highly insensitive that the RE waiting room was filled with pregnancy and babies. It's about time someone corrected that... Maybe a steady parade of women will gather some odd looks down in the urology clinic, but it's a damn sight better than taking the walk of shame past all those #$%! bellies after a failed cycle. Better to be seen in urology, and outed as an Infertile than spend 15 minutes sitting in the OB waiting room blinking back tears... it's a small step, but so important, I think.

*which should not be surprising as I have yet to speak to anyone with the initials "MD" after their name - since I was released from the RE clinic, I've been seeing nurses. Just nurses. Some would call this military medicine at its finest, but hey - no skin off my back. It's oddly reassuring that things have been so uneventful thus far that I haven't rated an appointment with the big paychecks yet. I'm wondering if I can stretch this a little further and have this be the first pregnancy I've ever heard of where the first doctoral appearance is at delivery. I bet I can.

Decisions, decisions... (birth-related)

2007-06-06T07:07:00.001-04:00

I have two days left to finalize my thoughts about how I want Rice to be born. The big discussion appointment is Friday.

You'd think this would be a no-brainer.. when the doc asks, I should just say "healthy" and leave it at that, huh?

Only, they want ME to decide if I want a planned c-section or if I want to attempt the famed V*BAC. Before Friday. At the end of this appiointment, I will either have committed to attempting the V*B, or I will have scheduled a repeat cesarean.

Most people I know have really strong feelings one way or another, and knew from the moment of conception (if not before) exactly what typs of birth they wanted.

Me, I'm still walkin' to the beat of that different drummer. OK, fine, if you want to get technical, I'm wafflin' to the beat of that different drummer.

Before Rice was conceived, I was all kinds of gung-ho about the idea of a vag birth. I didn't ever-ever-ever want to be cut open again. The very idea of a repeat section was enough to make me wrinkle my nose.

Pretty easy to be an idealist when it's all theoretical, eh?

Now, I'm not so sure.

I'll be honest. I'm afraid of the V*B. I'm not afraid of the pain (seriously - I went through a hellish section recovery with no drugs after the first 36 hours. I think I can handle the pain. even without the epidural*.. there are plenty of other drugs out there).

I'm afraid of failure. Again.

I'll spare you the details, but G was birthed by my doc in an emergency cesarean, after a failed induction.

Oh yes, I failed at birthing. After, you know, I'd spent a couple years failing at conceiving. I gave my girly bits a mental high-five for coming through for me yet again.

I don't really want to go through that again... and in my wonky logic, choosing a repeat section means I'm in control - it's not a failure of my body, it's a decision of my mind. And I trust my mind ever-so-much more than my body.

See, that makes sense, right? Somehow in my mind, it's better to choose the worse option than to attempt the better one and have the decision forced on me if my bits are uncooperative again.. and choosing a section would make it oodles easier to plan. Given our timing, and B's deployment, and the need to make arrangements for the kids, it makes sense to me. I could guarantee that I'd have a minimum of two weeks' recovery before B leaves, and both G & my stepson would be prepared in advance, knowing exactly which day they'd be spending with the g'parents... not to mention the g'parents would know exactly when to take off work.

.. and yet... I remember the recovery from G's birth**.

I want to remember Rice's first few weeks, not have them obscured in a fog of pain and tears. I want to be able to pick up my child without wincing. I want to be able to walk across the room to gaze at my sleeping babe without having to decide if it's really worth the effort. I won't have the luxury of having B here to pick up the slack if my recovery takes weeks again, and I will have to be able to keep up with G.

Therein lies the problem. If I decide to try labor and a vag birth, I have the chance of escaping the section, but I risk feeling like I've failed again. If I choose the cesarean, then I guarantee the more difficult physical recovery, but it comes with an easier mental recovery.

Tough decision.

.. and through it all, the little voice in my head reminds me that my body might not fail again. That I'll regret not taking the chance. That I am not the same person I was four years ago, and HOW Rice is birthed will not be as important to me as it was then. That I can accept whatever method is used because the end result is more important.

That little voice has the ring of truth to it... and I suppose that's all I need to know to make this decision.

*long story short, that whole uterine rupture thing has me freaked.I mean, if i have an epidural and can't feel a thing, it's theoretically possible that I'd be able to rupture and not notice, right? I'm pretty sure I don't want that. I know it's super-rare, but I am so not one to tempt fate with my girly bits... so if I go the vag route, I'd want to do it epi-free.

**standard disclaimer: my section recovery was not typical.. instead of the usual up and walking around within hours or days, I was hobbling like my g'ma for weeks. I wasn't allowed to leave the house for over two weeks, except for doctors' appointments (which were three-times-a-week for the first month), and I wasn't allowed to drive a car for six weeks... it was months before I could lift anything heavier than my little G without pain, and those are months I don't have NOW...

Some things are sacred...

2007-06-02T20:48:00.000-04:00

My husband is asleep on the couch right now. I haven't seen him in almost three weeks. Probably, I should be sitting with him, thrilled just to have him in the house again.

Instead, I'm considering smacking him upside the head. He's a pretty easy target, being all sick and pathetic.

Why? You ask.... he touched my thermostat.

And no, I don't mean that in some euphemistic, inappropriate way. I mean he turned my air conditioning OFF.

Bastard.

He started complaining it was cold in the house a few minutes after he got home.

Which sorta tweaked my irritation radar - he's not the first to comment that it's arctic. F'ing lightweights - it's set on 72... no ice crystals forming anywhere.

But he's sick. And I was feeling a bit of pity for that.

So I got him a blanket, and opened a window next to the couch so he wouldn't freeze to death... and then I went to make dinner.

Somehow, while he was watching a movie with G, and while I was cooking, he found the time to turn my a/c OFF without properly notifying me. Or improperly notifying me for that matter.

Surely, that is grounds for a pounding. Isn't it?

almost 33 weeks, the update

2007-05-29T09:57:00.000-04:00

I've got a million posts I've started, saved and discarded.

Somehow, nothing I write is coming together in the right way... I get hopelessly lost in a tangent, or it's too baby-related, or something... but I want to update.

I'm getting more and more uncomfortable by the day. I'm addicted to tums. My back is imploding. I think I have some stretch marks starting... and I'm thrilled to death with all of it.

My mom suggested I start cocoa buttering my belly to prevent the impending stretch marks from worsening and all I could think was no way - I've earned these fuckers and I want 'em.

Clearly, I am not right.

And I don't care.

I could live without the bitchiness, or the inability to be outside for more than 10 minutes without overheating, but all the other 'normal' pregnancy things are exciting to me.

Foot in my ribs? Holy shite, there's a foot IN ME!!

Painful foot in my ribs? Holy shite, that babe's growing! Actually growing!

Sore back? Check it out - my belly's grown and it's making my spine curve in funny ways!! Because Holy Shite, I've made it to the third trimester!!

Yeah, you get the idea.

And I'm not right. But I still don't care... because dammit, I've made it this far.

32 weeks & a few days..

2007-05-21T22:32:00.000-04:00

Also known as "holy shit, how did this happen already??!"

Warning - Totally baby-related posting.

I did a few baby things this weekend.

Item #1 - I hit the yard sales, looking for tiny clothes to supplement the few things I had. Or at least the few things I thought I had.

Item #2 - I got out the smallish box labeled "baby clothes: preemie, newborn 0-3 months" that I had carefully packed away after G finally put on a few pounds.

Totally shoulda done that in reverse order.

In my memory, that smallish box contained mostly blue stuff, with an occasional gender-neutral item thrown in here or there... and maybe one newborn gown. Since, you know, I didn't like gowns til after G was born, and only bought boy-appropriate clothing 'cause we knew what his plumbing looked like before I even started shopping.

So.. when I was yard sale-ing, I bought a bunch of newborn gowns (gender neutral) and small, neutral outfits... and yeah, a few more frilly pink things I totally couldn't resist.

... and then I unpacked the box, which was far larger than expected, and discovered that when G was small, he wore a LOT of neutral outfits. And many more gowns than I realized. Not to mention, outfits that small, you can pack a buttload of 'em into one not-so-smallish box. Holy shit, that newborn sleep-deprived amnesia is a very real thing. Apparently, I had no idea what my child wore his first few months.. or how much of it I actually had.

Poor Rice... will be wearing many, many gowns. Even if he-or-she decides to dirty a gown an hour, we'll still be set for at least a day. And as for gender-neutral, I swear, I didn't realize that G wore so much green, orange, yellow & white. Even the little blue-and-white sleeper with the cute little bunny feet is way more feminine than I remembered. And I remembered it being pretty feminine - we used to call it G's Ralphie suit.

I found two outfits that are clearly 'boy'.

I have bought one onesie that's pretty boyish.

And at least half a dozen dresses now.

I am definitely hoping that Rice doesn't have outdoor plumbing, so to speak. That fabulous denim jumper with the little ladybugs and ruffled butt-cover will look a bit funny on a boy. Even if it IS blue, and fits my criteria for 'gender-neutral'. I mean, really, since it's both a dress (girly) AND blue (boyish), the two balance each other out and create a seriously neutral outfit, right?

OK, who else is thinking that maybe I shoulda found out the gender at that last ultrasound??

Yeah.

.. and let me repeat - holy shit.. less than 8 weeks to go.

Chicken n' dumplings...

2007-05-18T13:52:00.000-04:00

That's what's for dinner tonight. The chicken is already simmering. It's making me hungry and it won't even be ready for a couple more hours.

I decided yesterday that we'd have chicken & dumplings tonight. It's one of my comfort foods, one that I love no matter how often I've had it, and one that I'll decide to make at the slightest provocation. The mere mention of chicken is usually enough for me to drag out the big pot and start boiling some water.

I was on the phone with a friend and she was talking about chicken, how she doesn't like it... and I got a sudden craving for dumplings.

So I'm thinking about her as I'm cooking... and thinking about her makes me think about fertility. Because she talks about it a lot.

I guess you'd call her a habitual miscarry-er. Sorry, I just can't use the phrase 'habitual aborter' however medically correct it may be. She's had a couple of ectopics, and a few miscarriages. She has no idea why. She's never had any testing done... and now that she's engaged to a man who does not want (more*) children, she is facing the prospect of a life without ever having those answers, or having a child.

Which, I guess, is her prerogative. Even if I don't understand it, it's not my decision.

But it does bother me. Especially since I can see how much it bothers her.

She's the best example of the passive approach to infertility that I know. I'm talking about the women (or men, tho I've not met any of those) who are profoundly affected by an inability to conceive or carry, but who are unwilling to walk the path of testing and treatment. Not unable, but unwilling.

Since I'm pretty wide-open about our fertility, I hear a lot of stories from the women I know. Some of them want information on where to go, what options are open or just how to deal with the frustration and emotion. I'm all about that.

.. and yet, I get a ton of The Others, too.

The ones who want a shoulder to cry on when they're not pregnant, or someone to understand their pain... despite the fact that they're unwilling to actually do anything to change their situation, or despite the fact that they've voluntarily placed themselves in a situation that is not going to change. Ever.

I can cry for months with the woman who's taking a break from treatment because of a deployment, a cyst or just plain exhaustion. I will gladly hold the hand of a friend or stranger who is frustrated that testing moves so slowly, or produces no answers. I can be there forever for a person whose infertility is unexplained and untreatable... but I have a hard time relating to the woman who is disappointed month after month, but has no plans to even try to move ahead and do something. Even if that something isn't a treatment I would have chosen.. even if that something is just a firm belief in a higher power who will assist when it's time... or an alternative approach that differs from my choices. Or a resolve to move on to a new phase in life, one that doesn't involve reproduction. At least that something I can understand.

Sitting back and doing nothing, with no plans to ever do anything.. that's the something I don't understand. I can't understand, no matter how much I try. It's not even a something, it's a nothing.

How do you deal with the friend whose approach is a nothing? How do you bite your tongue and be supportive when what you really want to do is start belting out suggestions? I haven't found that happy medium yet. For now, I'm taking a passive approach of my own, steering the conversation towards easier topics.

And making my chicken n' dumplings...

*he has four already, from previous relationships.

Iron is the debil!

2007-05-03T10:19:00.000-04:00

They've put me on iron supplements to combat a touch of anemia.

I was actually excited about that. Iron is a normal pregnant supplement for a normal pregnancy... and besides, anything that can explain and counteract the crushing exhaustion I've been feeling, that's just a bonus.

So, I've been waiting for the whole constipation thing to kick in. I mean, that's a normal side effect and I've been waiting.

My constipation, it never showed up. I did, however notice increasing bathroom trips in the last few days, kinda like when I was on met*formin at first. When my intestines started waking me up with their wailing, I started to worry.

I mean, constipation, that's normal... but this? That's about as opposite from constipation as you can get. Literally. Maybe I'm some medical freak. Maybe I have some serious disease that makes iron react differently. Maybe the iron isn't being absorbed and I'm actually making myself worse.

So... I checked with my Dr Google and discovered that my particular supplement has a built-in stool softener. Just in case.

What. The. Hell?

We're going to talk about this at next week's appointment, but until then I'm actively seeking ways to make myself constipated.

Because it's all about being normal... and self-induced constipation, that's definitely normal in some parallel universe.

Parenting advice? Please?

2007-04-30T09:55:00.000-04:00

Ordinarily, this is the type of thing I'd take to my not-even-close-to-anonymous personal blog, but since the child in question has a mother who reads that blog, that's probably not the best idea... so here I am, asking for parenting advice on an IF blog...

G has this friend, 'Junior'.

Junior is a pain. I know that sounds harsh to say about a three-year-old, but he is. He's kind of a bully, and G usually gets the brunt of that, while Junior's mom is oblivious til G gets fed up and retaliates, sending Junior running to his mom.. and all of a sudden then she notices the boys are fighting.

Naturally, they're 'just being boys', oh how cute.

Cute, my arse.

I have severely limited the amount of time the boys play together. G is not allowed to play with Junior any more unless I'm around to head off problems. I refuse to encourage him to fight (although B's suggestion is that if G just thwaps the hell out of Junior a time or two, maybe he'll quit getting picked on), and I refuse to parent someone else's child - i.e., I'm not going to step in until it's MY child being aggressive, save for removing G from the situation... so my best solution so far has been to closely monitor their time together and end the play date when G starts getting upset or aggressive.

Problem is, G has come away from this with a sense that being kept from his friend is punishment. This morning, he asked to play with Junior, and I told him that today wasn't a good day... naturally, I got the pathetic-boy look, a couple tears and a promise that he'd be good.

How on earth do I communicate that HE is not the main problem? I'm not a totally oblivious parent, I know that G is not entirely innocent, but he's reactive, not instigative.* He also doesn't fight with any other child he interacts with, which leads me to believe that I have a fairly normal kid on the aggression scale.

I have searched for other little boys his age in the area, thinking that if we could replace the problem friend, life would be easier.

I have not found any.

I know that when pre-k starts next year, G will have more child interaction, but for now, he gets his speech class (which consists of G and one younger child who is nearly nonverbal, and apparently completely uninteresting to my son), and his heavily supervised play dates with Junior.

.. that's the only reason I have not completely ceased contact with Junior.

For the life of me, I can't understand why G would WANT this friendship, but he does.

.. and for the life of him, he can't understand why I am turning down potential play dates, when in actuality, it's because I can't stand the thought of dealing with Junior... particularly when I know that whatever happens, G will end up being the one disciplined, and Junior will get a pat on the head and a 'boys will be boys' speech.

Suggestions?

*G has been known to taunt Junior... like, Junior will get mad and throw a toy at G. If he does not connect, G will triumphantly crow "HA! You missed!" .. and then come running to me when Junior decides that it's easier and more painful to punch G. So yeah, he's not innocent.

2007-04-26T22:12:00.000-04:00

I am trying to hold myself to a maximum of one major freakout per trimester.

I actually thought I'd make it out of the second trimester without that major freakout.

Yeah, sometimes I laugh at myself.

I noticed yesterday that Rice was moving a lot less than usual.

I figured it was just an off day... until it happened again today.

For future reference, do not Google ANYTHING about fetal movement - the 'net is full of horror stories.

So I ended up going into L&D for monitoring this afternoon. I figured I'd go in, get checked out and be sent on my way with a pat on the head and some veiled references to paranoia.

.. until Rice's first NST made the nurse ask the resident if she was happy with the results. Her actual words were somewhere along the lines of "I'm not happy with this".

Oh yes, those are the kinds of things I want to hear.

NST #2 was given after I choked down some juice and cookies to try and wake up the babe. Apparently that worked because the test looked good after I ate. The ultrasound showed adequate amounts of amniotic fluid (no, I didn't ask for specifics, I'm neurotic enough without numbers to Google) and an awake babe who was bouncing around just fine. Coupling that with the strong heartbeat throughout the NST, they determined things still look good and sent me home with a strong suggestion that I get my gest diabetes test done ASAP, (since Rice seemed to be really affected by what I ate) and that I spend a little more time making sure I'm eating often enough, and drinking enough water... and the advice that kick counts, tho recommended after 28 weeks, are not very accurate for another month... since that particular warning was accompanied with that familiar she's paranoid tone of voice, I was sufficiently reassured and able to drive myself home.

Tho I didn't get new ultrasound pictures, I am pretty sure I saw some genitals. Probably I should have not looked once they determined that the best pocket of fluid to measure was located directly between her legs, and while the doctor quickly adjusted the view when I gasped "is that a girl?!" swearing that he had not, indeed, noticed genitalia, I'll be a bit surprised if Rice emerges with a need for blue booties. My half-a-second glimpse isn't enough for me to go buy pink paint (particularly since Rice will share a room with G, who may not want a pink bedroom), and there's still an element of surprise as I ask myself "did I really see that?", so it's all good. And, you know, I'm not an expert and maybe I missed something. That's enough for me to keep wondering, which is how I want it.

I also got a quick lesson in how to read the NST printout when the nurse walked in on me scrutinizing the little graph while debating if it was reassuring or scary. At least I know what they're looking for now, and kind of how to tell if it's there.

.. I have plans to go do my GTT tomorrow, and until further notice will again be limiting my sugar and sticking more closely to my diet, just in case. As much as I like my sugar and my junk food, sitting in that little room with all the little monitors and wires, I realized just how much I do not want to meet Rice yet... and more importantly, I do not want to meet a Rice that is unhealthy because I like ice cream a bit too much. I'm still feeling a bit exhausted emotionally, and I'm sure that I'll be paying extra-close attention to baby-movement for the next few days *ha - who am I kidding - months*, but overall things are still ok tonight.

disappointed googlers...

2007-04-23T10:02:00.000-04:00

I do so aim to please, but - alas! - fall short of the mark at times.

I just checked my stats for the first time in ages and found these little gems from people who I am quite sure discovered that my blog was not, indeed, the font of knowledge regarding their specific queries:

third trimester ultrasound shows short femur and humorous - why yes, when you're freaking out, it helps to find something humorous. Pretty sure that wasn't what you were looking for, tho.

bouncing boob - can you imagine searching for something vaguely porn-ish and stumbling on The Grail? yeah... bet you were disappointed, too.

quiver full minded site: blogspot.com - oh my. I'm not what you're looking for, either, am I? Sure, my mind is full.. usually with fluff and nonsense, but it's generally full. My quiver? Not so full. My mindset? Not so quiverful either. I am quite sure there are a zillion quiverful blogs out there, and yet... mine merited this search.

shopping and organizing - heh. ok, this one made me laugh so hard I snorted. If you look in the dictionary, my picture is about as far from 'shopping and organizing' as it gets. I suck royally at both.

Does procrastination make me a bad mom already?

2007-04-19T14:22:00.000-04:00

I really don't have much to say these days and I feel bad about that.

Nothing's new, or changed, or anything like that... which leaves me with two choices: either wait til I have something actual to say, or bang out a superbly boring post about nothing.

Neither is an appealing choice, but I'm going with the latter.

I'm trying desperately to focus on the future here instead of worrying about the present - only three months to go til I can worry about a babe in my arms instead of a babe in my belly. Somehow, I think it will be easier to worry about the babe in my arms since I can, you know, actually look at him/her and be reassured rather than debate if it's been long enough since my last kick that I need to break out the doppler.

I'm still having a hard time with the reality that this may, indeed, lead to a babe in my arms. Relatively soon.

And I'm having lots of trouble doing the usual preparing-for-baby rituals.

We haven't picked out a name.

I have barely bought anything, nor do I feel like I should be shopping.

I have yet to send for my records from my old OB so that my current one can actually discuss birth options with me.

I have not even thought about signing up for birthing classes.

.. and so I worry - am I subconsciously trying to tell myself something by NOT preparing for Rice's arrival?

Am I in denial because admitting that I am, indeed, getting closer also means that B's deployment date is looming as well?

Or am I just scared to death that overplanning would be jinxing myself?

I did arrange for G to stay with my parents whenever little RiceCake debuts... but that was a 10-second conversation, hardly a massive amount of planning... something along the lines of "Hey, ma, it's ok if G stays with you when Rice is born, right?" yes, I do call the baby Rice in my real life

.. and as for overplanning, I think I can explain away all the rest of my not-planning.

The name thing.. we've got a name. We may even use it. We didn't find anything else that was appealing, so it's a frontrunner by default. Having scoured two separate baby books and finding very few names we actually liked, we sort of figured that it's this one or nothing. Re-reading the books in case I missed something... well, that sounds pretty boring, doesn't it?

So I haven't bought much.. I don't need much. I bought the few big items I wanted to replace, but the fact is, I saved everything that was G's as a babe.. so the only shopping I'll need to do is if Rice does indeed turn out to be a girl... then I'll need clothes that aren't blue... since all I need at this point are gender-specific items... there's no desire to shop.

As for the records and birth options... I'm ambivalent about birth choices. I have so many conflicting emotions about V*BAC vs planned section, it's no surprise that I'm passively procrastinating by not requesting my records. I suspect this subject will be a blog-post of its own in the future, so I'll leave out all the reasoning here.

.. which brings me to the birthing classes. I dutifully signed up for those during my pregnancy with G.. and it was a total waste of money. We made it to ONE class. By the time the second class rolled around, I was three floors above it, on the maternity ward, holding my newborn. Throw in the fact that B is not going to be consistently around to take a class with me, and even if he were, he hardly paid attention to the one class we attended (his only input on the subject of helping me relax in labor was "baby, just get an epidural, you'll feel better") .. and you'll see why I'm not chomping at the bit and buying new publicly-presentable pillow cases for the much-anticipated class. I have thought about attending solo, but I don't think I'd learn anything useful. I (briefly) considered asking a friend or relative to come with me, but that sort of implies I want them as a labor coach... which I do not*. I am not a person who believes that a birth should involve a standing-room-only crowd.. or any kind of crowd. I know it works for some, but for me, I just want to be left alone. B knows this, which is why my labor with G involved him watching a baseball game, and taking a nap. I can think of several people I'd allow in to view a cesarean, but very, very few that I'd invite to a vaginal birth. Judging by hospital policy (liberal visitation during labor/vag birth and only one person allowed in for a section), I've got that ass-backwards from the popular opinion, but I'm often ass-backwards from popular opinion, and birth is no time to start conforming, right?

So.. really, my birth ambivalence isn't really ambivalent. It's practical, given the situation.

All the little preparing-for-baby things that most people do, aren't really necessary here. At least not yet.

I am very anxious to get everything set up for Rice's arrival.. but it's just too early. I have three months to go... so assembling a crib, and setting up the car seat, organizing the baby clothes or even packing a hospital bag.. all of that seems premature. I will get it all done, just not now.

.. and yes, admitting that July is getting closer IS admitting that B will be leaving. I'd be in denial if I didn't admit that Rice's birth and B's deployment are all tied in together in my mind. I'm sure that contributes in its own way.

*I've given this a lot of thought while debating what to do if B is out to sea during the Blessed Event.. the one person who I would like with me is my sister.. which may seem strange given our current relationship. Probably I should blog this out because it's complex.. will do that in the future... at any rate, it's not a feasible option to have her with me, or I'd ask.

Status of the R...

2007-04-12T09:40:00.000-04:00

The Cold - still here. It went away for a few days during the arctic Easter weekend, but is back today now that it's practically Spring again.

I'm chalking this one up to allergies and throwing up the white flag. I can't win this war without medication, and I'm still not comfortable with that, so... I anticipate many days of stuffy noses and sniffles. On the bright side, if I generally look sick all the time, people will avoid me and I won't have to deal with the horror of having a stranger pet my stomach.

.. not that I think that would happen - I guess I give off those 'leave me alone' vibes because I have never - ever - had someone touch my belly without asking. I'm talking friends and family asking. Strangers just avoid me. I'm just really friendly-looking apparently.

Rice is still kicking. I've noticed a pattern.. A day or so of serious baby mambo complete with rolls, kicks and jumps ALL day.. and then a day of an occasional kick here and there interspersed with a whole lotta nothing. At least I've gotten wise to the pattern now and am not freaking out every other day.

Well, mostly not freaking out. Wouldn't be me if this were all calm, huh?

I think I invent things to worry about.

I had a horrible dream last night.. I dreamed I got my period. Really heavy for an hour or so and then nothing. In my dream, my friend casually mentioned that maybe I was pregnant since it stopped.. to which I replied "I'm six months pregnant, that's why I'm freaking out!!"

(Oddly, in the dream, the first thought I had when my period started was "I guess it didn't happen this month" .. so even though my subconscious was well aware that I'm six months into this gestational thing, I still had that knee-jerk IF reaction. I don't think that ever goes away..)

To get back to my point, this was the first pregnancy-related nightmare I've had in a while. I had to remind myself that this whole freaking out nightmare worry thing is because I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon. (well, ok, nurse practitioner, I still haven't rated a viewing by an actual doctor)

I detest OB appointments. When I was pregnant with G, I had the worst doom-and-gloom OB practice. They were constantly finding fault with things I did, had the most dire predictions and generally reduced me to tears at least twice a month. They were condescending, and dismissive and just not the kind of office I needed*.

I don't know why I still dread appointments. I really like my NP now. She nicely balances out my worries.. there's something about the way she can tease me about my paranoia that makes me feel like I'm worried about nothing, without making me feel like a total idiot. She'll order random tests just to make me feel better. I dig that. It's exactly what I need... now if I could just get her to understand that it's NOT too early for braxton-hicks, she'd be perfect.

.. but I am still apprehensive about appointments.

Even so, I honestly feel like today will be fine, that things will look good.

*with one exception - the doctor who delivered G, who was absolutely fabulous.. to this day I still think of her as one of the most caring doctors I've ever seen.

I am sick.

2007-04-01T21:29:00.000-04:00

I think it's allergies.. even though I've never had allergies before, this seems to fit the symptoms.

Either that or it's a raging cold that coincidentally gets worse with any exposure to the outside world, and all the pollen contained therein.

..So I'm sniffling and sneezing, coughing and peeing myself (yes, I know that one's not cold-related, but it's still one more irritation I'm blaming on this sickness) .. and I'm fucking miserable.

BUT.. I don't have anything to take.

This afternoon, I set out to find what medications are safe to take during pregnancy.

Had a little trouble with that.

Found a few things that were 'probably safe' but nothing that screamed out 'definitely safe'.

Oh hell... now what?

Well, now I just refuse to take anything.

I think it's an IF side effect. Even the stuff that my friends have been assured is 'safe in pregnancy' is not safe enough for me. It feels like a risk, and any perceived risk is not one I'm willing to take.

I suppose I could call my OB tomorrow and beg for relief.. I could dig up the pregnancy handbook they gave me and look for the list of acceptable meds..

.. but then I'd worry.

Everything makes me worry.

90% of it is baseless worry, but I still can't shake it.

'S ok - a cold can only last so long, right?

I mean, yeah, allergies can last for a while, but wouldn't I get used to them after the first month or three?

2007-03-28T15:28:00.000-04:00

DD had a post this week that really got me thinking.. Check it out if you haven't already:

T.K.O. ...more or less...: no. 370 - Adjective Trap (Corrected Link)

OK.. now that you've all read the article, and we're all on the same page... let me tell you what I thought of it.

For the most part, I agree that "a child is a child" and the goals of parenting don't fundamentally change because of how a child got there... I just think that it's over simplistic to deny that HOW a family was built is going to change HOW that child is raised.

BUT... (you knew that was coming, didn't you?)

I'm sure I've mentioned that I'm a stepmom. When I met B, he had a son, T. And an ex-wife. See, T has TWO parents who love him very much. With Dad's remarriage & Mom's remarriage, T now has an extended parental group that involves four adults... but only two of them are his parents.

I have no problem being called stepmom in this situation. Dropping that label would be disrespectful to the mother that T already has.

I have no problem calling T my stepson.

We do raise the boys differently because they don't share the same parents. I can't treat T & G exactly the same all the time because the boys have different parents, and that means different ideas on parenting. I am easily the least permissive parent out of the entire group.. I'm not going to be more lenient with G, and I'm not going to ask B, the ex or stepdad to become more strict just so that the boys will have identical upbringings.

That makes things work a little differently in my family.

A one-size-fits-all approach to parenting wouldn't work here... and I question if it really works anywhere.

Yes, a family IS a family, but they're not all alike.

In the original article, the author took the stance that parents rely too much on adjectives to determine their child-rearing... that parents of today look to the specific differences when seeking information on how to raise their children. Instead of looking for advice on how to raise a child, they're looking for advice on how to raise a ____ child.

I don't think that's a bad thing.

I grew up with only two parents, only one household, and no concept of how to tackle the differences I've encountered in the five years I've been married to B. I can ask my mom for advice on how to potty-train G, because she's been there and done that... but I'm going to call B's stepmom for advice on how to grit my teeth and allow T freedoms I'm not comfortable with, or how to explain to G why he's not allowed to do the same things his brother was allowed at his age. StepMIL has been there, done that.

I can't give advice to my friend on how to tailor her parenting style to accommodate her son's autism.

I'm also not qualified to advise someone on how to best incorporate an unfamiliar culture into the raising of an internationally adopted child... or to explain to a child what a donor is, and how that affects her.

Is it really wrong to acknowledge differences and to use them to help determine what is 'the right method' to raise our children?

We may all have the same goals - raising healthy, happy, productive adults - but because there are differences in the makeup of our families, we are all taking different approaches.. burying our heads in the sand and insisting that all families are alike and need to be treated exactly the same isn't going to help anyone. The children within the family will still know what makes them different or unique, and they will know if a ready-made parenting philosophy isn't really what they need.

Whether or not I like a label doesn't change reality.

my little footnote disclaimer: As I re-read this to proofread, I realize it sounds like I'm saying that the family's differences need to be paramount, and that all things revolve around them.. which is not my intent. I'm talking about what goes on within a family, not necessarily how that family should present itself to the public.

i have a better update..

2007-03-23T11:32:00.000-04:00

Thank you for all the sympathy for my last post. It's very nice to know I'm not the only one who thinks it's unfair, lol... I tried replying to the comments, but gmail kicked back all my mail.

The current 'official' statement is that the change in deployment date is 'just a rumor' and not happening... one thing I've learned is that in situations like this rumors are usually true, no matter how vehemently they're denied. In fact, the more vehement the denial, the more likely it is to be true. Given the official denial announced to the entire ship by people much higher than my husband, I'm going forward with the thinking that while it's possible B will be here for Rice's birth, it's unlikely unless Rice comes early. (and that's still a very definite possibility)

I spent some time thinking about how I'd cope with this... and I'm ok.

The idea of birthing alone doesn't bother me. I'm not completely alone here. I do have people who could and would support me if I asked... so if I'm birthing solo, it's as much by choice as it is by circumstance... not a problem.

The real problem is having B so out of the loop for information.

When his ship is out, phone communication is all but nonexistant. Email is generally reliable, but sometimes it takes a while.

I can't stand the thought that he'd be the last one to know about his child.

I'm working out a solution to that, while still hoping he'll be here to see for himself. It's still a possibility.

If not, we'll deal with that.

... and the hits just keep on coming...

2007-03-21T17:35:00.000-04:00

Remember way back when I was trying to schedule inseminations around B's schedule, and worrying about conceiving a baby who would be due during a deployment? The inseminations always seemed to work out, but the due-during-deployment issue has always been in the forefront of my mind... particularly since I'm due a week or two before he's scheduled to leave..

.. well, at least I was due a week or two prior to the deployment.

No, my due date hasn't changed.

But his deployment date has.

And now I'm due a few weeks after he's scheduled to leave.

My terraversary

2007-03-15T09:36:00.000-04:00

(thanks mel for The Glossary that gave me today's title)

One year ago today, I miscarried.

The day started out badly - I'd already found out the day prior that this was coming, so I woke up with the knowledge that things were bad-bad-bad inside the ole uterus, and I was both heartbroken and vaguely disgusted. I've heard it's a normal reaction, but all I could think was 'there's something dead in me get-it-out-get-it-out-get-it-out!'

That was about all the info that the emergency room had given me. Dead baby. Go home and call your OB to schedule a followup.

No one said a thing about what to expect.. so I carried on with life as usual, waiting.

If by 'life as usual' I mean frantic activity designed to take my mind off of everything, that is.

I was craving life, all things living. I needed to replace the ugly feelings with something hopeful, and beautiful.

We bought plants. Over the course of about two weeks while I grieved heavily, I planted roughly 6 dozen flowers and about a dozen packets of seed. I needed to see that I was able to grow something, even if I hadn't been able to grow that baby.

It is heartwarming to me to see that the flowers I planted last year are still here this year.

I don't think it's coincidental that yesterday all my narcissus broke out in full bloom.

My little back flowerbed will always remind me of the baby I lost, since that was the area where I spent most of the days, crying and planting, mulching and weeding.. reminding myself that there was still beauty in the world, that life continued and that there were indeed still things that could make me smile... and it is the narcissus planted there that has bloomed.

I transplanted them in the fall, moving from the front flowerbed to my little memorial garden. I wanted something that would bloom and grow at the very time I would most need to see beauty... but privately, in my own back yard, where it's ok to cry when I pull weeds.

When the narcissus has given its show, and returned to dormancy for the year, it will be time for my forsythia to bloom. Echoing the sunny yellow of the narcissus, the forsythia will give me a little more color, and will hold me over until my daylilies begin their bloom.

Somewhere in there, my fairy rose will open its tiny, delicate flowers. That was the last planting of the year - one lone, pitiful rosebush that I put in on the very cusp of winter. I don't know when, or if, it will bloom this year, but it's growing and green this year, faring much better than I expected.

I will have color and beauty in my life and my back yard for nearly half the year, exactly as I'd planned it. Exactly as I so wanted and needed to see last year.

There are two flowers that I started from seed on the very day that I miscarried - my sweet william and my alyssum. Neither has done very well this year, but they are both tenaciously hanging on, reminders that sometimes, hanging on is the best you can do until you are strong enough to thrive and bloom. They have been hanging on since they sprouted, neither growing much nor losing their green over the winter. They are in limbo, waiting for their time. I know how that feels, and I am patient with them, hoping, but not expecting.

I know that there is beauty out there, I have grown it, and I have seen it. Even when it's not coming fast enough for me, it is out there.

I worried that no one but me would remember my terraversary, that my child's few short weeks would fade into obscurity, known to no one but my heart.. but Spring remembered. A late Spring, a late bloom for my narcissus and on the beginning of a painful terraversary, I saw beauty.

It is my terraversary.. and I have already received flowers. Baby has not been forgotten.

Two steps forward, one step back.. or vice versa

2007-03-14T11:58:00.000-04:00

I was absolutely thrilled to see an article about a fertility program specifically targeting gay men... until I read the article here.

It seems like a great program, bringing all facets of conception (legal, medical & psychological) together in one place.. and then they go and muck it up with this:

"...three-quarters of gay couples pay extra to choose the sex of their
baby."

In fact, if you check out the website for this particular clinic, they have an entire section dedicated to the success of their gender-selection program.

I absolutely can't say how much I detest the idea of PGD for gender selection based on personal preference.

There's a time and a place for it. I am not at all opposed to using PGD when there's a medical reason for it.. like, say, if a parent is a known carrier of a fatal genetic disease that only affects one gender.

I'm even ok with other forms of gender-selection - if you wanna try out Shettles, you can have sex standing on your head on the third Wednesday of your cycle* for the rest of your life, if that's what you want and it won't even make me blink.

If you want to pay your clinic to spin your sperm to get the best XY swimmers in the world, have at it.

But don't create otherwise healthy embryos and then destroy them just because of gender.

It's absolutely ok to have a preference for one gender or another.. but I just don't think it's ok to have such an all-consuming preference that the alternative is not even worth giving birth to.

I said a million times in the beginning that I wanted RiceCake to be a girl (and even if I hadn't said it, the tiny row of pink hanging in the closet speaks for itself) ... but I never went into my doctor's appointment, or into my bedroom with the thinking that I would ONLY accept a girl. Hell, I wanted G to be a girl; I've already confessed my disappointment when we saw the little penis on the ultrasound, but I never once thought that it would be better to not have him at all. From the moment of his birth, I have never looked at him and thought "if only... " I don't feel like I got a consolation prize, or a second-rate child because I wanted a daughter... and I can't imagine what it's like to be so single-minded that a (potential) child I helped create isn't worthy because of something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things as gender.

I hate to say that anyone is unworthy of parenthood.. but sometimes I wish it were easy for me to throw out that statement.

*or whatever it is they recommend..

2007-03-06T10:18:00.000-05:00

I'm not usually much of a conspiracy theorist. Really, I'm not. (Except for the whole Cosmic Gods of Reproduction thing - I do believe the little fairies who control that particular aspect of life have one hell of a nasty sense of humor) ... but I'm starting to wonder.

I mentioned not too long ago that my own family has seen a sharp decline in successful reproduction in the last generation, and I think I'm starting to notice it in others too.

My uberfertile neighbor came by the other night and started interrogating me about RiceCake. How'd the ultrasound go? Fine. Baby kicking today? Yes. Used the doppler today? Yes.

Started to freak me out a little. It's not unusual for my neighbor to interrogate me 'cause we're actually pretty good friends... but for her to come over somewhere around 8PM for the sole purpose of interrogating me, that's a bit unusual.

In the end, she reluctantly confessed that she was paranoid about me because her friend Tammy had gone in for a routine 18-20 week ultrasound and found our that her baby had died.

Heartbreaking.

My uberfertile neighbor went through the same thing right around the time that I met her, and the pain of rememberance was clearly visible in her eyes as we were talking the other night.

I like to call her uberfertile because getting pregnant was never her problem - she jokes that her husband can look at her and she's pregnant, and the two of them regularly worry that his vasectomy will fail... but the truth of the matter is that she's had her fair share (and then some) of reproductive problems.

I understand why she worries right along with me, and all her other friends, every step of the way.

She's the same friend who held my hand when I miscarried because she'd been there too. More than once.

She introduced me to a third friend of hers who had been through two miscarriages around when I lost mine... so that I'd have a bigger support network to help me sort through my feelings.

She's the same friend that is now holding Tammy's hand while she sorts through her pain.

She's a good friend, and she should never have to see so many women she cares about hurt so much... although she is so empathetic and always knows the right thing to say (and when to just listen), that if anyone has to be that friend, I'm glad it's someone like her.

.. but I still believe that no one should have to bear witness to so much pain.

I worry that miscarriage and stillbirth are becoming more common.

I hope that it's just that my generation is more honest and open, that we've ripped a curtain off of a private pain so that we can better support our sisters when they are in need.

But I worry that we've done that out of necessity because we see so many others who are suffering in ways we know all too well, that we are seeing it more because it is happening more.

I hope that is not true.

.. and if you can today, spare a good thought for my cousin, who is still dealing with her recent loss, or for Tammy who is right in the middle of the worst pain she's ever felt.

Ultrasound and misc other stuff

2007-03-02T07:49:00.000-05:00

Whoa.. this post is all over the place. Remind me not to blog before my morning coffee again... decaf or not, it really makes a difference.

The ultrasound went pretty well. I got to see all kinds of cool things, and there was only one measurement that I found a little worrisome (femur length), but even that probably only means Rice will have short legs.. since that's a classic trait found in my entire family, it's not something I'm going to get too worked up about (if I can help it). Especially since the tech said it wasn't such a difference that it was significant.

The one thing I didn't see was the gender. By choice. A choice which many of my friends and family find odd.

Some of them are downright annoying about it. I don't mind being teased a little. It's the ones who are serious that bother me.

If I hear "you really didn't find out?" or "couldn't they just write it down so I could know?" one more time, I'm going to start kicking people.

Here's the thing - this is MY baby and if I don't know, no one's going to know.. except B, and I think he already found out, but since it's his baby too, he's got the right to make that decision.. so long as he doesn't even breathe a whisper of a hint to me.. and he's doing pretty well with that*.

This is a big deal to me.

Because I have honestly reached the point where I don't care what gender Rice is. I always thought when other people said that, it was a little white lie... but the truth is, I don't care. Maybe that will change if I have to pack away the little dresses I've bought, but I don't think it will.

Part of this gender ambivalence is that I really enjoy being G's mom. Before he was born, I wasn't sure I wanted to be a boy-mom. Now that I've had time to really wallow in my son's boyness, I love it.

.. and part of this gender ambivalence is fear.

What if I have a daughter, and she inherits my PCOS?

I read a fascinating discussion on a message board about parents who conceive a child knowing that they had a significant chance of passing on a genetic disease. For the most part, the types of genetic abnormalities being discussed were far more serious than PCOS... but it still made me revisit that same fear.

I know I'm overthinking this - although there's a genetic link to PCOS, there's no clear evidence to say who will get it, and who will not. There's nothing that leads me to believe that the next 25 or 30 years won't bring about enough medical advancements that PCOS will be just a little blip in a medical chart, an anecdote that helps round out the whole picture.

I saw an interview with a doctor who specializes in treating patients with AIDS. He compared AIDS to diabetes, in that it's become a long-term treatable disease. Twenty years ago, it was a death sentence. A fast death sentence. I know that PCOS doesn't have the same funding or public awareness, but if we can take something as serious as AIDS and turn it into a treatable condition, with a decent long-term prognosis, then there's hope for my children.. hope that they'll never have to deal with this particular flavor of heartache.

.. and on that note, check this out:
PCOS Treatment and Awareness Petition

*currently his story is that the tech refused to tell him because I didn't want to know... even though she was aware that I was grudgingly ok with him finding out, and that I left the room specifically for that reason.. and despite the little gleam in his eye when he said that, I'm choosing to believe him. Otherwise I'd be nagging him to let me in on the secret and really, I don't want to know.

Look away from the train wreck..

2007-02-27T21:42:00.000-05:00

Michelle Duggar is Pregnant with Baby Number Seventeen! - Associated Content

It seems the Duggars are putting their family size into the hands of God.
They searched the scriptures and found that God says, :"Lo, children are an
heritage of the Lord: & the fruit of the womb is his reward. As arrows are
in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that
hath his quiver full of them" (Psalms 127:3-5)

I don't buy into the whole quiverful thing. Not saying it's wrong. Just saying I better be one hell of a shot 'cause my quiver's not gonna have enough arrows that I can miss a lot... and I'm not that coordinated reproductively or otherwise.

But that's not what I'm here to write about.

I want to write about birth control. So the whole Duggar quote seems only appropriate.. after all, what goes together better than Duggars and birth control?

I like the idea of leaving my birth control up to God.. and not just 'cause I'm too lazy to remember to take a pill every day*. True, the whole "let go and let God" mentality doesn't entirely square with the concept of assisted reproduction, but hey - even the Big Guy gets busy sometimes. I prefer to think of it as "God helps those who helps themselves".

Totally veering off track here. Again.

Back to birth control.

I'm at a loss about this, and I'll need to have a definite answer in less than a year. Since I suck at big decisions, I'm thinking ahead now.

I always figured the nature of our fertility kind of relieved us from ever needing to worry about birth control.. but now I'm not so sure.

I intend to breastfeed RiceCake. (hear me out, it's pertinent)

I will not even attempt to get pregnant without metformin, nor will I risk a met-free 'oops'. Can you really call it an oops if it's unprotected and relying-on-PCOS to keep me infertile sex?

I am not comfortable taking metformin while breastfeeding a small baby.

Therefore, I need some birth control.

I'm considering 'natural family planning'. In general, it wouldn't be effective for us, what with my wonky and irregular cycles, and our total lack of self-control, but we tried using NFP to time our intercourse to GET pregnant for a couple of years, and it worked pretty well at keeping me unpregnant, so maybe there's hope.

OK, maybe not- I am very serious about not taking the chance of pregnancy with uncontrolled PCOS.

So I need something. The easiest, and most obvious don't-muck-around-with-chemicals birth control is out. Latex allergy and all that. By 'all that' I mean spermicide allergy, too.

I'm scared to death of the potential for damage from an IUD, and depo is just evil-evil-evil.

So I'm just not sure. I know that initially we'll be using deployment as birth control, and after that I can probably squeeze a out few more months of lactational amenorrhea, but I'll be needing something. Maybe even before that. Have I mentioned I'm paranoid about PCOS and pregnancy? Yeah, maybe once or twice.

This whole birth control thing, it's just such a new concept to me... I went off the Pill nearly 10 years ago. It didn't take long to figure out that I probably wouldn't need it again to keep my quiver only half-full. Or a quarter-full.

I always said the perk of IF was that I didn't need to deal with birth control.. but now I'm thinking my particular flavor of IF means I don't even get that one, tiny perk. At least til Rice is of an age where I'm comfortable with the thought of taking met while breastfeeding, I just can't chance it.

It's a weird position to be in.

.. and I'm studiously avoiding posting what's really on my mind - ultrasound tomorrow.

* honestly in my younger days I had so many days where I forgot my Pill, I should have considered the whole infertility thing..

Not fair.

2007-02-20T09:59:00.000-05:00

My mom called me last night. I had a bad feeling when the phone rang, and I was right.

My cousin, who was 11 weeks pregnant, has lost her baby. I hate that phrase, it sounds like she's just misplaced it, but I guess it's easier to say than saying her baby died. She's going in for her D&C today.

I'm so sad for her. This was her first pregnancy, and they were all so excited.

I was really hoping that someone in our family would have an easy time of building their family, and I was just sure it would be her. I guess that wasn't meant to be.

There are four girls in this generation of my family. All four of us have lost a baby now. Out of nine pregnancies, there are four children. Five if things go well with RiceCake.

I know that miscarriage is common, and not necessarily indicative of a problem.. but consider that of the four babies lost, only two were miscarriages. The other two were second-trimester or later: one struggled for a week before her tiny body gave out after a premature birth prompted by pre-eclampsia, the other lived a short fifteen minutes after an early delivery due to an abruption.

We don't have good luck with bringing babies into this world, and that's scary. It is a constant reminder to me that there is no 'safe' time. When everyone else I know relaxed after the first trimester was past, I just kept praying to make it through the next two safely.

There's just something about my generation in my family.

Our mothers managed six babies in six pregnancies. We are struggling to hold on to a 50% success rate.

.. and trying to deal with the heartbreak of the 50% that didn't make it.

I know I'm taking this much harder than I would have if I hadn't been in that position a year ago... but dammit, I don't want anyone I love to have to go through this. It's just not fair.

2007-02-12T18:49:00.001-05:00

A year ago today, I found out I was pregnant.

Weird that that should be on my mind so much today. I passed what would have been my due date for that baby with less of a blip on my radar than this... and I was still waiting to get pregnant then.

I'm not sad, exactly, it's just heavy on my mind.

... and the fact that today I felt one of RiceCake's strongest kicks, the very first one I've ever felt from the outside, seems like a good sign. It was the reassurance I needed to feel, and brought things full circle, from the child I lost, to the one I'm now carrying. A reminder to look ahead more than I'm looking back.

So I'm stil here.

2007-02-10T08:55:00.000-05:00

I've decided I'm staying.. even if my presence in the blogosphere does nothing but give me an outlet for irrational fears, that's reason enough for me to be here...

Couple things happened this week - for one, I passed my (early) gest diabetes test. Beautifully. I celebrated by ~~symbolically~~ kicking the "Gestational Diabetes And You!!" pamphlet the oh-so-helpful nutritionist had given me, and by baking some brownies. Real honest-to-goodness white flour and sugar brownies. Hot damn, they were good.

I'm not totally abandoning my low-carbness, but it feels oh-so-good to not feel guilty if I want a sandwich on pasty white bread instead of whole-grain wheat... 'cause let's face it, even if the whole grain is better with tuna salad, it bites in grilled cheese.

So that's a yay.

And then yesterday, I had another day where RiceCake stopped moving in the evening. She's usually pretty typical with her movements - an hour or so of the fetal jitterbug and then a few hours of nothing. Really predictable hours too. I get the first dance lesson shortly after getting up, a second somewhere around lunchtime, and finally, the late-evening waltz.

Even though I know that it's early enough that lack of movement probably means that I'm just not feeling the movement going on, it still freaked me out. Natch.

So I pull out the doppler and notice that the little thumpthumpthump sounds more like thump-thump-thump. Subtle, but slower. Now, I don't have a doppler that will actually calculate the beats per minute* so I'm trying to add in my head, and I come up with a number that's in the normal range. Ahh... reassurance? Uhh... no. It's normal, but significantly slower than what I've come to expect.

Fine, I won't panic, I'll just go to sleep and check it in the morning.

Still slower.

Dr Google advises me that slowing heart rate is not good... in labor. And that resting heart rate is lower than running heart rate. Oh, and in case I didn't know it, fetal heart rate slows significantly after the 6-week mark. (I think it was 6 weeks, don't quote me on that, and if you got here by a search for "slowed fetal heart rate 6 weeks" definitely don't use me as a knowledgable source)

Google had nothing about second-trimester heart rate. Nothing.

So I eat breakfast and check again, and lo and behold, we're back to thumpthumpthump.

Holy jeez - did I just freak out about a fetal nap??

I think there's a reason G is such a light sleeper. I'm a fetus-poker. In other words, when G was 3/4 baked or so, any time he didn't move often enough, I'd poke him. Poor kid came into the world squalling and sleep-deprived, and he's made me pay for it ever since.

I promised myself I wouldn't do that to Rice. But I think we can all see where this is headed.

*small piece of advice: If you're getting a doppler, spring for the extra $$ to get one that will calculate bpm. If you are fortunate enough to have a friend that says 'hey, I have a doppler, do you want to borrow it while you're pregnant?', do what I did, and be grateful to have anything.. but if you're actually paying for one, that extra reassurance may just be worth it.

~ ~ ~

Totally unrelated, but this morning, blogger cornered me and strongarmed me into switching to the new style. A change I have been resisting for a long, long time. I am hoping this will not be a major change. I do not like change.

Damn you blogger.

2007-02-03T15:48:00.000-05:00

I think I've hit that point where most post-IF bloggers reach a wall.

You know the question... should I still be here?

I'm struggling because I feel like I'm an IF fraud. It's hard to cling to the roots of IF-blogging when I'm not cycling, and I'm not going through the highs and lows related to that. In fact, I'm hesitant to even comment on other blogs because, well, sure I've been there, but I'm not there now. If I'm feeling optimistic in my comments, I don't want to seem like I'm looking at reproduction through the rose-colored glasses of my own success... or worse yet, inadvertently saying something hurtful in a comment, not by virtue of what I said, but because of the position I'm sitting in when I say it.

So... where to go now?

I don't want to be a pregnancy blog because, well, round ligament pain and pregnancy paranoia isn't the most interesting thing to blog about.. and however excited I get about comments, the main fact is, I blog for myself. Besides, the last 16 weeks have been blessedly uneventful (except for the dire scenarios that have existed only in my head). Hard to come up with a topic to discuss when the most exciting thing I can think of is whether or not my pants still fit.

I still feel different from most pregnant women. But I feel different from how I felt just a few short months ago, also. Not in a smug Ha! I've made it out the other side* kind of way, but just different.

Truth be told, I've always felt different. There was a time before G when I felt certifiably Infertile. Until he was conceived. Naturally. After that, all bets were off - after all, I had a child with no help from anyone outside my marriage.

That begs the question - can you be truly infertile if all you need is a few years? I mean, technically, yes. If you go by the clinical definition. But inside, I felt like I'd be successful again, even if it took another few years. When I proved that one right, I felt like we'd figured out what the deal was - we didn't need drugs, we just needed two years, give or take. We saw an RE after the miscarriage not because we thought it was our only option for conception (regardless of what my OB said), but because we thought it would help speed up the process. I was tired, too tired to wait another two years.

So what category do I fall in, knowing that in all likelihood, it's just a matter of time before all the bits fall into place?

I had an interesting exchange with a friend earlier in the week about the difference between someone who was 'struggling' with IF, and someone who merely 'needs help' to conceive. In my not-so-humble opinion, you "need help" if you are unable to conceive on your own, but know that using [insert random fertility drug or treatment here] will reliably allow you to conceive and carry a baby in a relatively short time. "Struggling" is the term I'd use for someone who doesn't have that certainty. Who can try a dozen different drugs & techniques and only maybe find some success.

I don't know where I fall on that scale. I'm somewhere in between. I'm not so arrogant that I believe that letrozole was my wonderdrug, the 'cure' I'd been searching for, just because it worked the first try. I went through several failed IUI's that should have worked, if all I needed was a little assist in the ovulation department, or a little help for the swimmers.

Fact is, we don't have any major fertility problems. We have immature & funky swimmers who tend to fall on the lazy side.. and a slightly stubborn case of PCOS... neither of which would be as big of a problem without the other... but they're not insurmountable obstacles.

It took six months with an RE. Six months. Seems pitifully short, doesn't it? At the time, it seemed like a very long six months, but honestly, it's the shortest amount of time I've ever spent 'trying'. Hell, six months is in the average fertile range.

Only I'm pretty sure I wouldn't throw myself into the average fertile category.

I just don't feel like I belong in the hardcore category either.

So I'm floating out here in limbo. It's making it hard for me to continue with my blogging because I don't know who I am, reproductively speaking. I don't know that I have a contribution to the community, and I don't know if I'm past the point where it helps me to work through things by blogging.

*snort. as if. I'm not even halfway to the other side.

2007-01-31T08:25:00.000-05:00

I just can't leave this kinda stuff alone:

This gives new meaning to frozen sperm.

Whoa. I totally get where these people are coming from - after all, I'm the one who was considering freezing some swimmers so we could continue with our efforts even while DH was deployed (and yes, I'd have kept and used those bad boys even if the worst happened). I understand wanting to have your loved one's offspring no matter what. I'm all about saving and storing sperm or eggs in the event that they will be needed later.

.. but this seems a bit like a non-consensual donation to me. I mean, this man was deceased, he didn't ask them to remove his sperm and save it for later use. His parents went to court to get permission to use this sperm because he didn't ask for it.

I'm squicked out that the loved one in question here didn't plan this himself, or leave explicit instructions. Sure, they've proved that he wanted children... but if this guy's desire was to raise a child (as they've stated) that's not the same as just passing on his DNA.

I could be totally wrong here, and maybe leaving his genetic mark on the world was more important than being a father ... but I don't know too many people who want children who think that just procreating is the ultimate goal. It's all about being a parent. Not just about making a baby.

That, combined with the fact that his child will be carried by a surrogate, someone who was a total stranger to him in life, makes me question if this is right, if these grandparents are really following their son's wishes... or just carrying on with their own dream at his postmortem expense.

What do you think?

I need some cheese...

2007-01-29T10:01:00.000-05:00

.. to go with my whine.

Did you know that it's possible to hit a second wave of paranoia during pregnancy?

I got past the initial hysteria of weeks 5-9 (which sucked bad), had a good month or so and some time in the last week, paranoia has returned. In my heart I don't believe that things will turn out badly, but I can't seem to wrap my head around that concept.

I'm blown away by this. I really, truly expected that once I made it past the first awful weeks, I'd be ok. I was trying to explain it to a friend, and her opinion was that once you've lost a baby, you're never really secure in pregnancy. She's smarter than I am - I was pretty sure I'd be ok after the initial panic.

No one told me that this paranoia would return.

I hate this, I truly do.

I always wanted a big family, but now I'm thinking that if things go well, this may be It. I just don't know if I can put myself through pregnancy again. Mentally, it's too damn hard.

And then I feel like a big fat whiny baby because I worked hard to get here, and there are so many people who would love to be in my position, fragile mental state and all, and it seems so incredibly rude to complain about it.

So let me set the record straight: I'm not complaining about being pregnant. I'm complaining about how I feel about it.

Fear sucks. Especially when it seems like it's groundless fear. I can't get a sore belly and assume it's just normal growing pain. I have to start worrying about uterine infections and placental abruptions. Backache? Hmm... I hope that's not the start of preterm labor. Baby not moving much today? Well, it certainly can't be because it's too early to feel much, must be a problem. If I feel absolutely normal and ok, and I'm having a good day, well that gives me reason to worry, too.

Yeah, that's my life.

I'm trying so hard to just relax and enjoy this, and I'm pissed that I just can't seem to do that.

I'm almost 16 weeks now, and I still have a hard time admitting I'm pregnant. I can't even think about baby names without flinching.

I'm going nuts making baby blankets - because it's the one thing I can do. (I've got several friends who are pregnant, so even if things go to hell here, someone will be able to use them, right?) I'm starting my fourth quilt today. I've window-shopped a million strollers, but can't bring myself to seriously consider any of them, let alone actually buy one. I have a ton of cute fabric upstairs just waiting to be made into diapers or slings or dresses. Some day. The one thing I'm seriously looking at with the intent to buy is a new carseat... for G.

I just can't seem to do anything else.

The more I do, and think, the more 'real' baby becomes, the more attached I become.. and that feels dangerous. That's the real problem. The reason I start getting scared when we talk about names, or when I think about where we'd put a crib. I worry when I want to buy a stroller because what if I don't need it? What if it's just sitting there as a reminder of what should have been? This is a problem for me.

I remember being scared with G, but not like this. It's a whole new thing, and one that literally keeps me up at night. I'm working through it, telling myself it's normal, but it's still hard. I'm simultaneously working to keep myself sane and detached (just in case!) and berating myself for not wholeheartedly throwing myself into pregnancy and reveling in it. I keep thinking that the next big milestone will be the one that gives me some peace, but so far... I haven't reached that part yet. I've thought all along that once baby is moving reliably and often, that will be what bring me peace, secure in the knowledge that everything's still ok... but I know, deep in my heart, that will just bring its own set of worries. Each milestone is a big deal to me, one more hurdle I've passed, one more day we've come through, but I see endless weeks of milestones and hurdles ahead of me before I reach my goal... and even then, the worries don't stop.

I understand why I'm protecting my heart by not planning, by not thinking.. and I understand why I'm fighting that.

Tuesday, when I bitch some more about what I'm eating... or not.

2007-01-23T12:33:00.000-05:00

I'm still struggling with getting the right nutritional plan down.. it's been further complicated by the nurse-practitioner who told me at my last visit that she's never heard of imposing a gestational-diabetes diet on someone who was only insulin resistant.

Gee, make it a little easier for me to want to cheat on my diet, why don't'cha?

Throw in that a close family friend (who is diabetic) was told that her fiber-grams can cancel out some of her carb-grams to give her an adjusted "actual carbs ingested" number, which would allow me to be a bit more lenient on what I'm doing over here... and I'm back at square one, just as freaking confused as I was to begin with.

Naturally, confusion makes me angry.. control freak that I am. Confusion is the enemy.

I'm really angry that PCOS is so poorly understood that there's no protocol for treating PCOS during pregnancy.. it's almost like they figure if they can get you over the getting-pregnant hurdle, you're all set and no need to worry any more. Such bullshit.

I'm especially pissed off that no one - out of the doctors and nutritionists, dieticians and nurse-practitioners that I've seen thus far - will even consider the idea that metformin is not contraindicated in pregnancy. I am comfortable with the idea of met for the duration, but hell - what do I know, I'm just living with this.

And, uh, yeah, I did have to give up my met this week. Which is why I'm a little more sensitive to the whole topic. I've saved a few, just in case I feel the need to go overboard and eat, you know, a fruit salad or something.

I've got my first gestational diabetes test coming up this week or next, depending on when I can get someone to hang with the G. He's not a take-with-me kinda kid, and it's a walk-in lab, so I've got some leeway in waiting til someone can spend time with him. Plus it's not a fasting test, so I'm not as worried about planning ahead. The early GD test was the one compromise the NP came up with when I broached the topic of changing my diet ~~unless~~ until* I actually develop gest diabetes. So we're testing early to give me peace of mind and see if things are going ok so far with my diet. I'm all about easing my restrictions if I can - I feel like I'm walking a tightrope with my health and nutrition here. When I was following my diet 100%, I wasn't meeting my nutritional needs and started spilling ketones in my urine... but throwing it all out and going back to unrestricted eating scares me.

Still, if I'm not showing a problem now, I would be comfortable changing to a low-sugar but less restrictive diet.

I'm not entirely comfortable making all the decisions about this, though. I want someone - who is trained and knowledgeable about PCOS - who can give me a little guidance. I feel like I'm flailing around in the dark. Kinda like playing pin-the-tail-on-the-diet, but with this damn blindfold on, I can't tell if there's a better way than what I'm doing... and there's a lot at stake here.

*not that my doctors give a rip, but studies are showing that women with insulin resistance have something like an 80% chance of developing GD unless metformin is continued throughout the pregnancy.

.. just a thought.

2007-01-17T09:50:00.000-05:00

G has school this morning, it's colder than frozen snot outside (lovely phrase, no?) so I'm procrastinating getting us ready.. and I figured I'd start my next post even though I just finished one. Ahh... neglecting my child's needs in favor of blogging.

I touched a little on asshat behavior in my last post.. things like the superfertile who swears she would never-ever use IVF because "it's just wrong" even though she can't really know what decision she'd make if she were in a situation where IVF was the only option for her to have a child. I'll preface today's topic (custom-created embryos) by saying that if I were in that position hell yes, I'd go for it. I'm not sure if that makes me more or less ass-hat-ish for what I'm about to say, but there it is.

I've seen a buttload of articles about The Abraham Center of Life and their semi-controversial 'embryo bank'. Now buying/selling donated embryos is nothing new. Sperm and egg donation, also not new. Creating embryos from donated sperm AND donated eggs, made-to-order, that's a new twist on existing technology. to me at least, maybe it's been going on for ages and I'm just out of the loop? but that's totally not my point...

My point is that the option of picking and choosing your child's genetics seems like a slippery slope. It's dangerously close to seeming like picking 'the perfect' child... which makes me hesitant to say this is a good thing.

And here's why I feel like an ass-hat: I could see me doing it. After all, when I met B and decided that I wanted to see a Mini-B with those same blue eyes and dimples, wasn't I sort of picking my future child's genetics? Sure, I was also weighing in his great sense of humor and his personality, but hey, those were also things I wouldn't mind seeing in a child.

So how is it so different for a person in a position to need donor eggs and sperm to choose what characteristics their child may have? Is it the ultimate in eugenics to specify that you want your eggs donated from a healthy, intelligent blue-eyed blond with athletic tendencies .. ? What if YOU are a healthy, intelligent blue-eyed blond with athletic tendencies and you're just interested in trying to have a child who might have something in common with you? I don't think it's unusual to seek a donor who looks like you, or who has qualities that are prized by you. It's not unusual to seek a spouse or partner who has attributes you like, or would like to see passed on to your children, so why is it different with a donor? Perhaps it's because when picking a donor, you are only looking at how that person ~~will~~ might translate into a child.

That's what people think of when they think of donor selection, if one believes most of the articles out there - people think that by picking a donor who is intelligent and still tall, dark & handsome, you're actually picking a child who will grow up to be a rocket scientist when he's not modelling underwear on the side... I don't really think that's true. Maybe bloggers are different, but I've never read a donor blog that thought like that. I have read some heartwrenching blogs about the decision of which donor to choose, and for all of them, all they're really looking for is a donor who looks similar to them, or to their partner. Or who has similar interests or personality. Just someone with whom they have some connection. Not the perfect genetic component to complete Perfect Embryo.

But I can't help but wonder if someone out there, somewhere WILL use the opportunity to (try to) create a custom embryo as a chance to make the perfect child. I'm sure it's possible. Just like PGD can be used for sex selection (as we've all read so many times) .. But, also like PGD, I think that will be the exception, rather than the rule. Still, I can't shake the feeling that the potential for misuse is there. Particularly when the talk is of selling embryos. Selling implies the ability to pick and choose, which to me, also implies the right to be unhappy if what you've bought isn't exactly perfect. Not a good way to look at a potential child.

So much of infertility treatment is technology which can be misused, or which treads close to shady moral ground... maybe that's the real problem for me. It feels like there are no safeguards in place to keep abuse and misuse from occuring. Relying on the moral and ethical compass of the RE works 99.9% of the time, but that last 0.1% is what worries me. I want to see something that will limit the unethical minority, while not making IF treatments more difficult to obtain than they already are. Preferably before the technology gets too much further ahead of the ethics of fertility.

Hello second trimester... goodbye paranoia!

2007-01-17T09:11:00.000-05:00

Shit, wouldn't that be nice?

Paranoia is the name of this pregnancy. Just when I think I've settled in and started feeling super-optimistic, something happens that knocks me down a bit. I'm still reading that pregnancy message board, and one of the women there lost her baby this week. She was just about 14 weeks, well past the time when most people think they're safe. She knew she wasn't safe (she'd said that many times), but she had started to feel a little more confident. Kinda like me.

I'm proud of myself, though - usually when I'm feeling insecure, I run for the doppler. This morning, I've not used it. Yet. That's a big deal. As much as I'm trying not to overuse my doppler, it's addictive.

_________________

I'm working on a couple of posts about things I've seen in the news lately - uterus transplants and custom embryos.. fascinating stories that are getting a lot of press lately. I'm thrilled to death with the concept of a uterus transplant. It wouldn't help me any, but women with uterine abnormalities have very limited options right now, so I think this is a big step in the right direction. And any pioneering work in treating infertility is a good thing.

I'm a little more torn on the embryo concept. And having a hard time finding an unbiased link to put here since apparently this is one of those topics that people feel strongly about. Go figure. In case you haven't seen an article, here's the link ---> NPR : Adoption Agency Offers Up Embryos to Couples, and I'll work on putting my thoughts together on the subject soon. It's time-consuming because, in general, flirting with a semi-negative opinion on things which do not apply to you (and probably never will) is asshat behavior. However often I write about things which have abso-freaking-lutely nothing to do with my life, it's still asshat behavior and must be treated delicately... because, you know, it's very easy to disparage something when you're safe in the knowledge that (for you at least) it's all theoretical. Much harder to hold the same opinion when you're staring at a decision affecting your own reality.

Historical Fertility

2007-01-12T09:29:00.000-05:00

Oh hey it's national delurking week, so, like, come out and play, ok?

I realized yesterday that I play this little game I like to call "Fertile.... or not?". Usually with celebrities. Julia Roberts had twins... assisted? Un? Is she.... fertile... or not?

Yeah, it's fun... but any time a celebrity magically gets pregnant with multiples or has a baby in their late 40's or in their 50's, I automatically throw 'em into the "Not" category. I think it's supposed to make me feel better. Because it's a rare, rare thing to have a public figure admit to infertility (shameful as it is, right?), everyone's fair game. Especially the ones who swear their children were 'natural' even though they birthed triplets at 60. With a surrogate.

So yesterday I was reading an article about Laur@ Ing@lls WiIder... when I realized that she only had two children (one living). In the late 1800's. When large families were common, and birth control was not.

Things that make me go hmmm... Does it count as an obsession to retroactively apply Fertile or Not to historical figures?

Am I the only one who wonders about this stuff?

My first post of the new year (slacker)

2007-01-07T09:22:00.000-05:00

Each new year that dawns brings with it seemingly endless possibilities. No matter how bad the previous year was, there's always a sense of "well that's over with now and things can move on". For me at least.

I had to buy some maternity clothes just before the end of the year. It was a very difficult step for me, but one that I took out of necessity. In the last few days, I have found myself looking at tiny clothes, and even - gasp! - buying some. That step was surprisingly easy. I'm not sure if it's the difference between the old year and the new, or if it's just my relief at reaching the end of the first trimester, but I've seen a big change in my own attitude. I'm still nervous enough to hope that my optimism isn't misplaced, but I'm looking forward now with some definite hope that things will be ok.

It's a nice way to start my year.

Family is so great. From a distance.

2006-12-30T09:12:00.000-05:00

Somewhere, deep inside, I'm screaming.

We have family visiting. Specifically, my MIL.

I like her but she's making me nuts. And not in that shiny-happy giggling nuts way. The screaming inside way.

Oh yeah....

It all started yesterday with the food battles. See, my stepson has been diagnosed as ADHD and he's a bit overmedicated so he's not maintaining his weight well*.. and that makes Grandma concerned. So much so that detective Grandma was scrutinizing his prescription bottles for any potential irregularities, and muttering about lawsuits and pediatricians. Anyhow, Grandma's also on a quest to cram as much food as she can into the boy. So yesterday when T asked if he could have some of my cinnamon bread, Grandma gave me the evil eye when I said no. And then she offered to take him to the store to buy some bread of his own. Like I don't have a pantry full of kid-friendly stuff already.

Insert huge belabored sigh here. Maybe even an eyeroll or two.

I'm not a wicked stepmom, really.

But my cinnamon bread is no-extra-sugar whole-grain bread. It's a bit expensive, hard to find and one of the few 'treats' I allow myself. The stepson won't eat any bread that's not lily-white and cardboard-y. So he's not getting my special bread. Yeah, I know, it's petty... but for the love of God, leave my stuff alone. I tried telling him he wouldn't like it, he protested that he looooooves cinnamon bread, and I still said no. Grandma's evil eye got even more evil.

Currently, she's opening the toy I just told my three-year-old he couldn't have right now because it's got a bajillion small pieces and I don't want to deal with them first thing in the morning.

And that annoying twitch at the corner of my eye is returning.

Speaking of the three-year-old, I'm pretty sure that she thinks he's undersupervised and underdisciplined.

Because, you know, after three years of having him up my butt 24/7, I'm attempting to teach him some sort of independent playing. In other words, if he's having one of his rare moments of hanging out and happily playing alone, I'm not going to stop him. Unless he's guaranteed to give himself bodily harm, I'm not stepping in.

Which means that if he's jumping off his toy box without jumping onto broken glass, I'm letting him. If he desires privacy in the bathroom, I'm not going to break down the door because it's locked. Nor am I going to panic, lest he drown himself in the bathroom sink. MIL stands outside the door "the door is locked. Rachel, he's locked himself in there. can't he get hurt? can you open it?"

Holy fuck - the kid's locked himself in to get some peace and quiet, leave him be.**

This morning, the evil eye stayed away right up until breakfast.. when the ten-year-old expressed hunger and I said "well, you know where the cereal is".

Is it unreasonable to expect a ten-year-old to fix his own cereal?

Apparently so.

Did I mention I'm making them feed themselves today because I spent ALL day cooking our 'holiday meal' yesterday?

And then - God forbid - the three-year-old wanted the same cereal that his brother had. I started to turn him down, and the eye got super evil... so the boy got a bowl of coco@ puffs that I knew he wouldn't eat. Because, you know, he doesn't eat those. Especially not when he's already eaten breakfast.

Half an hour later, as the puffs were flying around the breakfast table (uneaten on account of they're 'yucky'), I refrained from asking Gma if she was going to pick up the straying food that G had so desperately needed.

Eh, well, the eye twitch is attractive. It goes nicely with my irritation-induced hives.

*that's a whole 'nother issue and since i try not to publicly disparage his mother's decisions, I'll leave it be for now. suffice to say i'm not thrilled but I have learned that neither a stepparent nor a father has any say in anything unless it's in agreement with the mother's decision. least that's what the pediatrician tells us.

**little-known fact about G - he's got some sensory issues and gets overstimulated easily. when he's in full melt-down mode, he often puts himself in the bathroom or in his room, so he can de-stim himself and calm down. knocking on the door and asking him questions prolongs that process, and is not helpful to anyone involved... i don't think this is so hard to understand, but apparently it is. just leave the poor kid alone and he'll come out when he's ready.

2006-12-29T08:40:00.000-05:00

I'm a rotten person. Have i mentioned that before? I'm also adjusting to a new keyboard, so ignore any and all typos - I'm fixing 'em as fast as I can but the little fuckers keep sneaking in anyway.

But back to the rotten person thing.

Friend of mine got knocked up this week. Well, ok, about two weeks ago, but she found out this week.

For the first time in a long time, I was really, truly happy for someone else's pregnancy. Only happy.

Because, you see, she needed IUI.

And that makes all the difference.

I get so freaking excited about someone I know who struggles and turns up pregnant, but can't seem to muster up that same excitement for someone who just blindly, optimistically does the deed and gets a positive a few weeks later.

Only that makes no sense - I've gotten knocked up three times in my life. All three of those involved s-e-x. Sure, two of them involved drugs (metformin & met/letrozole, respectively), and this last one involved several IUI's, but I'm not sure it counts as needing IUI to get pregnant when you manage it on the month your IUI was cancelled, ya know?

Either way, I have a bias. If you get pregnant easily, I may be happy for you... but I will ~~probably~~ have some other feelings banging around in my head. If you struggle, I will be ecstatic. Pure, plain happiness. It's been this way for a while - I thought it would be different now, but it's not.

You can take the girl out of infertility, but you can't take the infertility out of the girl.

So to speak.

More on that soon, but we've got a houseful and I don't have time to do it justice right now.

In other news, I'm still reading blogs. I'm having a hard time finding time to comment on what I'm reading, but I'm out there and so many in blogland are on my mind. The good news is scarce lately, it seems, and I'm hoping that with the new year coming, 2006 will vanish for so many.. I know the scars of the year will still remain, but my wish for 2007 is that the wounds will sting less, and the news will be better.

holding my breath...

2006-12-19T13:30:00.000-05:00

G was never a cooperative fetus. When we wanted to monitor him, he'd scoot out of the way of the ultrasound, or the monitors, or anything else in his way. I had to give up underwire bras because he'd kick the wires if they touched my belly (and as amusing as it is to randomly have a boob bouncing up and down, it was also distracting, particularly in public or at work). The only thing he cooperated in was the gender ultrasound, and I have since learned that was not cooperation as much as it was his penchant for nudity, and for showing off his proudest parts... a penchant which persists to this day, much to my embarassment. And the mailman's. And the neighbors'. I hear that G is very much like B as a child, and I know that he's very much like my stepson, so I figured this lack of cooperation was just what I could expect from our kids.

I was totally unprepared for RiceCake to be accommodating today.

See, as much as I've tried not to worry, ever since the ER-ultrasound that measured Rice three days behind, I've been concerned.

For the past two weeks, I've been repeating a growth mantra to the belly. For the last week, we've been bargaining. I knew that the one thing that would make me feel better was to be either on target or slightly ahead... so I've been telling RC that if I could please, please, please just see a 10w1d baby I'd be happy. I'm 'officially' 9w6d, and I figured that two extra days isn't an unreasonable request.

Believe it or not: Rice's measurements were exactly 10w1d. I would have cried but I was too busy grinning like a fool.

I was concerned before the ultrasound because I've got a bit of a fever, and I had some seriously tender spots on my abdomen. Since I'm uber-optimistic, I was immediately convinced I had some sort of uterine infection (why think something benign when you can worry about a serious condition?).

Nope... turns out that I'm a bit sick (hence the fever) and the abdominal tenderness was cured with a trip to the bathroom. Who knew constipation hurt? Who knew you could even get constipated on metformin? And who else would worry that much about it?

So yeah, again, all my worst fears were not confirmed. And I am ever so grateful for that.

I know we're not out of the woods. I know there's a long way to go yet... but damn, it's nice to breathe again.

Feeling better...

2006-12-14T14:18:00.000-05:00

well, worse actually, but it's making me feel better. (no need to figure that out, I know I'm f'd in the head)

I took a nap (fastest way to pass the time) and woke up terribly nauseous. Seems I can only have one symptom at a time, and today it's nausea. Probably I should have been expecting that, but I wasn't.

It's a minute-by-minute thing. Honestly, when I told that ER doc a week ago that I thought I needed a little something to help me get through this mentally, he should not have blown me off.

I may get out of this with a baby, but I'm starting to seriously doubt I'll get out of it with my sanity intact.

.. and now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to sniff some hot dogs and see if I can improve my mood a bit more by vomiting.*

*ok, probably not, but it's an option.

I've decided...

2006-12-14T11:06:00.000-05:00

All fertility-challenged pregnant patients should have weekly ultrasounds. No matter what.

I can make it about a week without panicking but that's it.

So yeah, today's not a good day. No special reason (unless you count the fluctuating boob-soreness which today is registering about an 0.5 on a scale of 1-10), I'm just freaking out because I can. Oh yeah, and I've got a bit of a headache lurking in the corners of my brain, which wouldn't be problematic for anyone but me because the return of the ever-present headaches occurred shortly before my miscarriage. And (err.) my constipation's gone. So either I'm getting sick, which is possible, or I should freak out. Or not, it could just be paranoia.

And I don't have another appointment until next freaking TUESDAY. Yeah, I know, it's only five more days, but they're five LONG days.

I can make it, I'm sure I can*. Two good ultrasounds behind me, both with a strong heartbeat. That should reassure me.. and truthfully, it's the one reason I'm not in a full-on panic right now. Well, that and the fact that last time my boobs stopped hurting, it didn't mean anything.

I still wish I could be normal and say "hey, I feel better today. how cool!" instead of "omg, I feel better today - what's wrong??!"

I wish I were far enough along that a doppler would give me reassurance, but I'm afraid to use one because I'm afraid I wouldn't find anything and then I'd be MORE freaked out.

Five. More. Days.

*mostly because I have no choice - I refuse to freak out (again). It's only five more days.

I'm so boring...

2006-12-13T09:33:00.001-05:00

I'm still staying pretty busy here, which is nice, but which doesn't leave me much time to blog, or comment on other blogs (although I am still reading!) ..

We're closing in on my next ultrasound (less than a week to go!), and naturally, that's sparking some panic over here. I wish I could go into this with just happy, shiny thoughts, positive that all will be well, that the ultrasound will be one more opportunity to see RiceCake and his beautiful beating heart, but I am scared.

Looks like I'll be going this one alone... save for G, who may have to go with me.* So it better be good news, 'cause not only will I not have anyone there to give me support, I'll have to hold it together for the little man. I'm still holding out hope that B will be able to make it at the last minute, but I'm definitely not counting on it.

I've been skipping the Google consults, which has made a HUGE difference in my equilibrium. Without Dr Google to freak me out, I'm ignorant of statistics, or bad-news stories, or rare one-in-a-million complications that I am sure will materialize in my life. It's kinda nice.

I've been optimistically reading a message board for moms due in July, and, as expected, they're very different from me. There's one or two who feel the need to get all doom and gloom and point out reality to the otherwise-blissfully-ignorant moms-to-be, but for the most part, they're all picking out names and comparing baby gear and discussing labor options.

I am nowhere near that point. I still can't even tell people we're expecting.

I realized how much I've changed this year when I found the list of questions I had for my doctor at what should have been my first OB appointment this spring. I threw it out. None of it really matters to me now - if I make it past the upcoming ultrasound, I'll have plenty of time to debate the merits of a planned section or a VBAC. I'm not even bringing it up now. The fact that I not only thought it out, but wrote it down last time seems incredibly arrogant.

.. and yet, normal. I miss that normal.

I keep saying "after my next ultrasound", but now I'm thinking more like "out of the first trimester", or maybe even "out of the womb" before I'll feel 'safe'.

*but it's just a regular OB and not the RE, so dammit, I refuse to feel guilty.

So....

2006-12-09T10:16:00.000-05:00

Not much worth taking the time to type out here. Still paranoid, still slowly working through that.

In other news, my nephew was born this past week.

I apparently still have issues with that, since I was peeved about that announcement call. It interrupted a rare moment alone with my husband. I'd like to say it was the interruption rather than the news that irked me, but no... I just didn't want to hear one more damn thing about my sister's pregnancy.

Sounds cold, eh? Well, it is.. but it's honest, and that's all I'm concerned about here.

For whatever reason, my mother thinks I'm interested. I got the full report on the maybe-it's-labor from last week... all freaking evening, I got real-time reports until I finally told her that I really wasn't interested in the play-by-play. I'm sure that part of this is irritation with my sister - she never did call me. Her entire pregnancy, not one phone call. I guess it really is just that icky discussing pregnancy with the fertility-challenged. Sadly, that's not the only reason I'm irritated.

Since I'm being honest, I'll tell you this - the main reason I'm irritated is because I can't handle pregnancy talk this week. I don't want to hear about it, see it, or so much as think it. This is THE week where I want no pregnancy talk, or reminders, or anything. I want to stay busy, and muddle through the next couple of weeks til my ultrasound.

... but since I'm not still trying to get pregnant, my mother thinks I'm totally over all those infertile feelings and the sadness about my miscarriage. Because, you know, I've moved on.

Which is the hardest damn thing to explain to someone. It doesn't go away. No matter what. It gets easier, I've been down this road before (well, the mom-after-IF part, not the mom-after-miscarriage road), and it gets easier... but it doesn't go away. I can't forget the reality that not all pregnancies turn into babies. I can't forget that I'm still in a tenuous position. Everyone else, of course, has moved past that. They're excited and happy and looking ahead. They're talking about names, and shopping and preparing.

Me, I'm talking about just getting through the next few weeks.

And Mom, I'm happy for S. Really, I am.. but all the talk of weekly ultrasounds, and how big baby's gotten, and the endless discussions on her bloodwork just remind me that I've got a long way to go. Let me be selfish for a little while because it's protecting me. Let me not talk about pregnancy, or doctors or labor. Just for now.

I'm trying desperately to move on, but I'm in the midst of a week that's pulling me back, dragging me kicking and screaming to a time I just want to forget. Today, I am 8 weeks and 3 days. I only made it to 8 weeks and 4 days last pregnancy. I feel like I'm passing a major milestone here - and while I'm heartened by the fact that I do feel like I will pass it, I still feel like it's a roadblock that will take effort to climb.

Looking ahead, I'm happy that I'm almost past this week.

I am ashamed...

2006-12-03T21:33:00.000-05:00

...to admit this, but it will better illustrate my paranoia.

And oh yeah, before you read, everything's ok. I know mid-way through this, it's not going to sound so good, but I'll spare you the mental rollercoaster and just say this: RiceCake, he's still in there. His flicker is still flickering at a good pace.

So... My boobs stopped hurting this morning. Yesterday, they were barely-sore, by noon today I had to squeeze them (hard) to get even a mild discomfort.

I so totally panicked. Called the parents, asked if G could hang out because I wanted to get checked out. Which, of course, panicked the 'rents. Just goes to show that no matter how old your kids are, they can still make your heart stop. Kind of like RiceCake did to me today.

I spent five hours sitting in the waiting room with all sorts of non-emergencies (including one loud cell-phone talker who informed her caller - and the entire waiting room - that she was there because her daughter was throwing up, and her son had the runs. I shudder to think how many germs I may have picked up, but hey - if I get some stomach flu, I'll call it morning sickness and be reassured)

When they finally called me back, I tearfully recounted my two weeks of various aches and uterine pains, culminating in the weekend-of-no-boob-pain, and they agree I need an exam and an ultrasound.

Sweet Jesus, this is what I'm talking about!

Only, this is the very-same hospital where I learned about fetal demise and miscarriage this past spring, so I'm a bit on edge. Maybe even more than just a bit.

The exam went ok - my ute is tender, but hell I knew that before they started poking.. and hey, those ovarian cysts, they still hurt when smushed. Imagine that.

Then comes the moment of truth - the ultrasound.

The doctor powers up the machine, and shows me my uterus.... which is totally f'ing empty. Yeah, this is the part where I lost it. Oh. My. God. Not again. I think I said that three or four times. The doc keeps telling me that it's not a great machine, don't start worrying yet blah, blah, blah... and all I can see is NOTHING on the screen. So she keeps digging away with the dildocam and finally asks me if maybe, just maybe, my uterus is tilted back.

Uhhh... yeah. Is that relevant?

So she jams the cam a bit deeper and suddenly... there is RiceCake in all his smudgy gray glory. I see a tiny, bright-white flicker in the middle, just for a second before he disappears again (because dammit, I sat up to get a better look and she lost him. Again. But at least this time she knew where to find him).

He's measuring behind by 3 days, which worried me til I realized that the measurement was done by a resident who couldn't actually find my f'ing uterus and probably is not so accurate (and, she assured me, due to the limitations of their u/s machine, they don't even start to worry unless he's measuring a week or more behind). Oh, and my gestational sac as measuring two-and-a-half weeks ahead. So.. yeah, something funky going on with the measuring. She was able to get RiceCake's heartrate, which clocked in at a respectable 186 bpm... a bit high, but again, I'm calling that 'user error'. I was able to see that he was flickering faster than last week, and that's good enough for me.

They diagnosed me as "pregnant",* gave me the list of scary things to watch out for that would require a return trip (as if I wouldn't come back for less than that... come on) and told me to eat more - apparently the one abnormality they discovered involved ketones in my urine... Things could be so, so very much worse.

*holyhell, i used the actual word.

Alrighty then...

2006-12-02T21:38:00.000-05:00

I just want to nominate this one as my all-time (so far) strangest google hit:

does alcohol prevent radioaction

What... the.. hell..?

2006-12-02T12:30:00.000-05:00

You know, I was fully expecting to be afraid... but today's pushing my limits for paranoia.

My breasts are barely sore today and it's freaking me out. I'm really nauseous, but I'm pretty sure that's because I'm just that afraid.

This is so not fair - I worked really hard to get to this point and I can't just relax and enjoy it. I have to freak out at the smallest sign that maybe something's gone wrong.

.. and I'm back to that paranoid can't-breathe feeling.

When does that go away?

I have class. Truly.

2006-12-01T16:36:00.000-05:00

And I thought B'Spears was bad.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about.

Prenatal class yesterday. Rather large waste of my time, although I did learn two new things:

(1) I will not be getting an ultrasound nearly early enough to pacify my psychosis.
(2) I will be getting one at my next appointment, Dec 19

The hospital where my clinic is located has an interesting way of doing things. All new OB patients are enrolled in this class prior to their first appointment, whether they are newly pregnant or just transferring in. As a result of that, there was a girl who was enrolled for this class who is due......... next week.

She got out of attending the class.

I did not.

I sat through the entire thing although I started to squirm (a lot) when they got about halfway through the "what to expect at your appointment" lecture. Because, dammit, sitting there listening to what might/will happen at my thirty-six week appointment felt awfully like tempting the fates.

I filled out reams of paperwork including the required psychological pre-screen which included such true/false questions as "I find myself worrying ALL the time" and "I am often unrealistically afraid".

Oh yeah, I so totally failed that test. The nurse-instructor made sure to emphasize to me that there is a social worker affiliated with the clinic who will be available to speak with me at any point.

Puh-lease, there's ultrasound techs also, but I don't see them lining up to soothe my paranoia... and dammit, they're the ones who I want to see.

She mentioned the nutritionist also, and it took all my willpower not to blurt out "jackass". Real mature, me. Hey, I'd have done that cough-jackass-cough thing. Oh wait, that's probably less mature, huh?

I didn't get my appointment date til the very end of (the two-freaking-hour) class, and by then I had to pee so badly that it didn't occur to me until after I left that December 19 is not a great time for my next ultrasound. As I was sprinting towards a bathroom I realized (as any truly psychotic fertility-challenged would) oh shit - that could make for one rotten Christmas if things go badly.

I still haven't gotten the hang of this optimism thing.

Maybe after the next ultrasound ... ?

but i'm still hungry....

2006-11-29T14:13:00.000-05:00

This morning, my sweet little G awoke. Generally, he wakes up crabby. I can't imagine where he gets that. Today he woke up happy. He said to me "Wydah deem". He's so articulate, no? After a bit of prompting, I was able to get the following: Wydah dweem. Now, I know that "Wydah" is the way he pronounces his name*. And "dweem" was not so hard to figure out considering that he just woke up, and logically sleep and 'dream' go together.

He didn't look particularly upset, so I figured it wasn't a nightmare, and that made me curious - what on earth does a three-year-old have to dream about? After a few more questions, I was able to determine 'dweem pizza'.

And I thought I was the only one who dreamed about eating.

Good mom that I am, I know that a food-dream means I'll be craving said food until I can have it. Figuring that G is a lot like me, I decided we'd have pizza for lunch. Only, I wasn't sure what kind of pizza is carb-friendly. Generally, we'd go all out on the pizza binge on those days when AF was here and I didn't worry about carbs.

So I checked the carb count on his favorite pizza. 84 grams of carbs in one slice. Holy fucknuts, that's a lot of carbs. Nearly half my daily carb allowance. Almost twice the amount of carbs I get for my biggest meal (which ain't lunch, folks).

So that was out.

But.

I still think he needs pizza... and honestly, at this point, I'm pretty damn sure that I need pizza too. So I go online and survey the local pizza joints - all the major ones have nutritional info online now (thank God for the internet, or I'd never know what to eat).

What did I find? I can have one freaking slice of a medium-sized thin crust pizza (22g carbs) without going over my lunchtime carbo-limit.

What the hell is that? Who eats just ONE piece of pizza? Not me... and I don't even really like thin crust pizza.

But we got it anyway.

.. and no, I sure didn't eat just the one piece. Probably I should feel more guilty, but I did cut myself off at two pieces of pizza. (which was hard as hell, I'm starving All. The. Time.)

So - finally - here's my point: It is insanely difficult to find a fast-food meal (that is not a salad) that has less than 30g of carbs... and actually, many of the salads have more than 30g of carbs, too. We rarely eat out now because of this. If we do, it's for dinner, where I get a more-lenient 45g of carbs.

And you know... every place has a 'healthy' menu or 'lighter' choices; rarely are these low in carbs. Often they're lower-calorie, and lower-fat with a sky-high carb count. Worse yet, many of them are not even healthy carbs.

So now I'm pissed off at convenience foods in general. Because that's much easier than concentrating on my hunger.

And for the bright side of things: I don't think I'll have to worry about gaining the 60+ pounds I stuffed on while baking the G.

*what? you didn't really think that my child's name was "Grape" did you?

Remedial Reproduction

2006-11-28T18:12:00.000-05:00

I've added some new links over there, check them out if you're of a mind... many of my links are SIF or parenting/pregnancy after IF, so be aware that pregnancy and children may be mentioned on them. 'Course, if you're reading my blog, chances are you're probably ok with that.

In other news, I called to make my appointment with the actual OB department. It's just a nurse appointment - loads of paperwork and no fun stuff. I hate this appointment. It was the only appointment I had with my last pregnancy. I filled out reams of paperwork when what I really wanted was to jump up and down screaming "something's not right - can I please have an ultrasound instead of this shit??"

Yeah.

I also remember receiving several pounds of brochures/magazines/coupons and samples. I was uncomfortable accepting them before, and after the miscarriage I cried when I threw out that pile of junk. Nothing like a reminder of bad times when I'm starting to feel a bit better, eh?

Only, it gets worse.

Instead of just paperwork, now they have a prenatal class I have to attend. Where they'll, you know, give me a script for prenatal vitamins (yeah, the same ones I've been taking for over a year), and information on nutrition and other fun stuff. Information that won't apply to me since 'normal' nutrition guidelines don't apply to my carb-controlled diet. This reminds me a bit of the fiasco this past summer where my appointment with the nutritionist (to discuss said carb restrictions) turned into a weight-loss class that I had to attend in order to make an appointment with the actual nutritionist.* Well, I have to attend the prenatal class before they'll make an appointment with an OB.

I'm apprehensive. I'm picturing a class full of women who are six weeks along, and already have names and nursery themes picked out. And me. Who still can't use the p-word. Who'd be deep in denial and skipping this class, but for my desire to see an actual doctor to beg for another ultrasound.

Thinking of this class I feel a bit like a calculus student forced to re-learn addition. I'd bet some serious money (ok, $10) that I will not only walk out of there with no new knowledge, but 90% of the information they do give me will not apply to me.

Still.... should make for an interesting blog post - appointment's on Thursday, I'll keep you posted.

*i am 5'3" and generally weigh between 125-130; can you imagine the dirty looks i received? from each and every person in the class... not that I'm faulting them - I'd have been glaring at me also.

I can almost say it.

2006-11-27T12:49:00.000-05:00

The p-word, that is.

My ultrasound was this morning. It was very, very hard to make myself go. I was half-tempted to tell B to turn the car around and just go home. I know, I know, I've been waiting for this appointment for weeks... but I was so afraid it would be bad news, and I just didn't want bad news today.

I'll cut to the important stuff: it wasn't bad news.

There's a little grain of rice in there, with a teeny-tiny beating heart. Doc NH measured twice. The first measurement came out at 6w4d. The second was 6w5d. I am currently 6w5d. I'm a bit freaked that the first measurement was a day behind, but it's a difference of .02cm, so I'm trying not to call it significant.

I'm not ashamed to say that I gasped when I saw the tiny little flickering. I saw little RiceCake before I saw the flicker, and I was immediately transported back to the last ultrasound where I saw a blob with no flicker.. and then, improbably, when DocNH probed a bit more, I saw it - flickering away. Against my nature, I did not ask for the heart rate. I know it's over 100, because that's what DocNH was looking for, and he was pleased that he found it. I don't know how much over 100, and I'm trying to convince myself that I don't care. I don't want to overanalyze and make myself crazy (as I am prone to do), so I'm trying to just go with things. Doc NH is happy, so I am happy. He said it's not a guarantee, but my risk of miscarriage has dropped significantly. I'll take that. It's perhaps not as low as I'd like, but the numbers he quoted me are somewhere around 6%, which is a hell of a lot better than what I was looking at last week. It seems strange that I'm starting to believe this might happen.

Even stranger... Doc NH is discharging me from the IF clinic and turning me over to OB. I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that, but I'm happy that things are considered that normal. He wants me to stop my metformin the first of the new year. I know I'm uncomfortable with that, but crafty bitch that I am, I'm waiting to hear the OB's recommendations. Last I heard, they were advocating met til 20 weeks. I'm more comfortable with that. Actually, I'd be all over taking it right up through next summer... but apparently I'm the only one who's comfortable with that.

I've got referrals to the OB and the ~~jackass~~ nutritionist, and I'm trying very hard to be more excited than scared. It's a long, slow, climb, and I've got at least a few more weeks until I can really relax. Still, I am ever-so-grateful to have made it this far, and to have gotten exactly the news I had hoped for this morning. Is it too much to hope this continues?

Does this make sense?

2006-11-23T19:20:00.000-05:00

Probably it won't, but I've got a ton of things swirling around in my head.

Firstly, I have much to be thankful for today. I think that goes without saying... but I'm still not confident enough to articulate everything. Suffice to say, I am very thankful.

Secondly, today could have been so much worse. Typically, B spends TurkeyDay with his family, and I spend it with mine*. This year, my parents are out of town visiting the gestating sister, and B is working. G and I got to visit with him earlier, and have turkey on his ship. Although it wasn't a familiar holiday tradition, and we were surrounded by strangers, I was profoundly grateful to see him for even the two hours we had. Next year, he will be far away for the holidays, and I am acutely aware that this year's holiday was a gift.

Thirdly, because I am procrastinating on the cleaning and packing,** I was reading blogs while G napped off his holiday meal. Bloglines wasn't showing anything new for me, so I started following blogroll links and somehow found myself immersed in a few blogs on the opposite side of donor conception - blogs written by children conceived through donors or surrogacy. These were not happy blogs.

I'm going to tread lightly here because I don't want to invalidate someone else's personal feelings about their life and experiences, but it shocked me that I did not see a single blog where the author did not have an overwhelmingly negative view of donation. I understand that for the most part, topic-driven blogs (particularly when the topic is reproductive in nature) are not written because a person is happy and well-adjusted with their circumstances in life... so I suppose that part of the negativity is because these blogs, by their very nature, are a means to work through complex feelings or release pain... and that would somewhat skew the demographics.

Still... You'd think at least someone would pop up and say "hey, it's really not that bad" ... but no.

That aside, each and every blog put a new spin on things I'd never really considered before. Is it a disservice to bring a child into the world through 'artificial means'? Does it really cause lifelong wounds? Is it selfish of all concerned (donors included)?

One blog in particular interested me. It was written by a woman who was the product of egg donation and birthed by a surrogate. Her negative views of donation extended to any and all artificial reproduction, not just donation but ART in general. In fact, one poignant entry about her happiness at knowing her own child was conceived through natural means, created by her marital love and not in an artificial environment both touched me and piqued my ire.

I know what you're thinking - what an interesting duo of emotions to feel simultaneously. Well, I'm a complex kinda gal.

I can see, from her particular point of view, why she would have a negative viewpoint of any conception/family growth that involves a child being raised without personal knowledge of their genetic heritage... and in that sense, I can understand why she has great pride in knowing that her child will have a greater connection and better answers to the age-old question where did I come from?... But I cannot for the life of me understand why any artificial conception would be considered morally wrong, no matter what personal baggage is carried by the one expressing said opinion.

I saw more than one blog today that questioned how it would make a child feel to know that they were not created by an act of love, but rather by a medical procedure. Who implied (or flat-out stated) that people who couldn't easily or 'naturally' have children just plain shouldn't be parents.

Now, I don't know about you, but I never asked my parents for details of my conception. Provided it didn't change the basic truths I knew (that my mother was my mother, and my father was my father), I don't think it would affect me to discover that I'd been conceived in a doctor's office any more than it affected me when, as a child, I realized that my very existence meant that my parents had, indeed, been intimate... a sobering and disgusting realization for a kid.

I remember teasing my brother by saying that he was adopted (he wasn't) ... and I wonder if some day G will taunt little Speck*** with the knowledge that he was conceived au natural, while she was the product of a veritable chemical soup of meds... ? Will he lord over his younger sibling that his conception was the result of spontaneous down-and-dirty while hers was forced intercourse at o'dark thirty in the morning with two barely-willing parents who were going through the motions of need rather than desire?

Well, ok, probably not that last one because, really, that's too much information for any child to have about their parents' sex life.

Maybe it will be like my old friend who found references to himself written into his mother's high school yearbook... and discovered that he was conceived before she married his father, before they even graduated from high school .. ? For him, it was an interesting bit of trivia, a discussion point, and a subject of light teasing towards his parents... but not a life-altering bit of information.

I know that it's more than likely that my child/children will know about my fertility problems. If nothing else, PCOS is genetic, and it's just another piece of medical information for them and their children.

... hopefully, that's all it will be. Medical information. Not a reason to question if they were 'meant to be.'

*seems backwards, eh? B's family tradition is that the men in the family go hunting (sexist perhaps, but remember - there are no girls, so it's basically the whole family that goes).. since we don't live anywhere near his family, I'm fully supportive of his TurkeyWeekend hunt. It is the one time of year where they are within a reasonable driving distance of our town, and I think it's important for him to see them. Just not important enough for me to suffer through it usually.

**because I got suckered into going with B to visit the inlaws this weekend.

***if, knock wood, things work out

Get me to a nunnery!

2006-11-21T10:07:00.000-05:00

I think I'd like to make a career out of celibacy.

Hormones + s-e-x = me spotting. OK, not this particular hormonal soup that I'm in the midst of now,* but in general. When I was pregnant with G, I spotted after doing the deed. This past spring before my miscarriage, I spotted every time B so much as looked at me. OK, that may not count 'cause I spotted for the hell of it right up til I actually miscarried... but some of it was nookie-related. Currently, I've only spotted once, the day AF was due, but it, too, was related to s-e-x.

No big surprise that I'm sort of afraid to take my pants off around my husband.

It's a new thing for me. Generally, we're celibate because we have to be, not because we want to be.

In other news, my paranoia still has me braless more often than not. Because, you know, decent support helps with the soreness and the last thing I want is to be less sore. I suppose that could be considered tortuous, first trying to cut off my husband and then running around braless... only.. my girls, unsupported, are not a pretty sight. They were giant even before G, but his nursing addiction took its toll. They are no longer giant, they're just long. Lovely thought, eh? At any rate, it all just adds to my ~~crazy~~ pleasant aura.

I'm still obsessively poking, squeezing and grabbing my breasts, although I'm now doing it around the vicinity of my knees. Combine that with the constant reassuring discussions I'm having (with myself!), the never-ending panty SpotWatch, and the obsessive need to sniff less-than-pleasant aromas to see if maybe they make me queasy...** Yeah, I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be allowed in public.

G & I have been spending most of our time at home. We're going camping with the inlaws this weekend, but that should be ok. If nothing else, it's a great distraction to keep me busy between now and Monday. And hey, we'll be sharing a trailer with B's teenage brother, so I don't even have to worry about that whole s-e-x thing.

*note that I am still unwilling to use the p-word in relation to myself right now... please bear with my euphemisms..

**thus far, it's taken some seriously noxious odors to provoke nausea. still, i'm doing my best to cause it.

Hey, I think I'm losing weight.

2006-11-19T16:54:00.000-05:00

In my low-carb hell.

I had a friend tell me this week that she wanted my diet. I had commented that I was starving, but couldn't eat 'cause I didn't actually want any of the food I was allowed to eat.

Which is when she said she'd eaten everything in sight and she wanted my diet.

Yeah. I had to work really hard not to claw at her eyes because I most definitely do NOT want my diet.

I will do whatever it takes to bring a healthy baby into this world, but I reserve the right to cry in frustration when all I want is just one, small coffee cake... or cheese danish... or a piping hot caramel brownie with fudge sauce and maybe some melty vanilla ice cream oozing off the top of it.

Picture a minimum of nine months with no guilt-free dessert. No overindulgence of fresh-baked bread or pretzels. No Oreos. Or decent brownies. A fall without caramel apples. A Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie. Christmas without chocolate pie.

Is it worth it? Oh hell yes.

Is it easy? Not one little bit.

I refrained from telling my friend that she, too, could have my diet.. she could try it on for kicks, stick with it as long as she wanted and then throw it aside when it felt too binding and restrictive. Me, I'm stuck with it. And as much as I'm happy to be where I am right now, the combination of hormones and unfulfilled cravings does make me cry a little.

Oh yeah...

2006-11-16T17:18:00.000-05:00

I totally forgot what I was supposed to be blogging about earlier.

Oops.

Anyhow, I told my mom last night. It was on accident, and it just slipped out.

We were looking at tiny baby clothes (not for me - remember that nephew that will be born next month? yeah, for him) and I was examining the little dresses.. which, of course, made my mom comment that there weren't any little girls in the family and for some reason that irritated me What - I need to have a little girl in mind to be looking at tiny dresses? and it just sort of came out.

Yeah, I'm totally good at this keeping my mouth shut thing.

So a little later in the evening, my mom was on the phone with my aunt and I forget how it came up, but I told her it was ok to tell - it's not a huge secret, I just don't want to go through the process of un-telling people if things go south... and my mother says to my aunt "rachel thinks she might be p-word"* So I corrected her and said "no, I know I am" .. and then followed it up with what should be the Official Infertile Disclaimer I'm just not sure for how long.

I was so pissed at myself for that. I want to be a normal p-word chick. I want to be able to look at baby clothes or things without worrying if maybe I'm wasting my time and/or money by looking too soon. I want to be able to tell people about this without following it up with a "but that doesn't mean anything yet". Most of all, I want to be able to actually say the word.

Maybe after the ultrasound.

If things continue, some time between now and next July, I will so totally tell everyone.

*ok, she used the actual word, but I can't say it, or type it or even think it, honest to God.. maybe after the ultrasound.

If you need me, I'll be hiding in the closet.

2006-11-16T14:57:00.000-05:00

I am convinced that whatever deity or power is out there really does have a hell of a sense of humor.. and similar to the old horror stories of my childhood, many times wishes can be granted only at a price...

The other day, mid-major-freakout, I wished I wasn't worrying quite so much about what was going on in my uterus.

Well... I got that wish.

Now, I'm paranoid about tornadoes. Paranoid, as in crying and hyperventilating during bad weather. Man, I hate to admit that, but it's true.

We've been under a tornado watch since before I woke up this morning. It's mid-afternoon and there are still three hours to go. Three hours til I can relax and disconnect myself from the streaming radar on both websites I am obsessively checking. (because you can never create enough panic from just one site).

This isn't exactly a rational fear - I can't remember the last time we actually had a tornado in my city... but each and every time there's a storm, I'm convinced it's coming. My nerves have been shot and on edge all day.... and it has just now started raining. Really, I'm the only person I know who can have a near-panic attack about the weather under a blue sky.*

I probably should have asked for less worry overall. Not just less reproductive worry.

Still, I haven't worried about my uterus all day.

So that part is good.

*I swear to you, this has happened in the past.

Two more weeks

2006-11-14T10:07:00.000-05:00

Farking blogger just ate another post. Argh.

I'm still marking time waiting for my ultrasound. I've had several people ask about betas or blood tests. DocNH is happy waiting for the ultrasound, and in many ways, I am too.

See, I had some problems in the earliest G-days* and wound up with a series of betas to check on things. I got a call from my nurse on a Friday afternoon that the betas were rising but not doubling. On Friday afternoon. When they wouldn't be open again until Monday.

It turned out to be a very minor thing, and obviously, not scary news... but it made for one hell of an uncertain and scary weekend.

Blood tests are lovely, but they don't reassure me as much as they should. I'm worried that if I did beg for some beta-reassurance, I'd wind up with something that could be good or bad, and then I'd have proof that worrying was maybe a good idea. As it stands, I have nothing besides my own paranoia to suggest I should worry, and that's making it a little easier to breathe.

Breathing is something I've been having some problems with this week. I'll admit, that hpt knocked the breath out of me, and I still haven't gotten it back. When I'm focused on thinking too much about the what ifs, I start to feel like my throat is closing up on me. It's not as all-consuming as it was a few days ago, but it's not gone. I'm still distracting myself with G, and with books**, and just hanging out waiting. Ultrasound's not that far off.

Only two more weeks - and I'm used to living my life in two-week increments.

*still having a hard time typing the 'p' word in relation to myself.

**really, that's what I should be blogging about, I read this perfectly dreadful story about infertility that was chock-full of cliches and bad assvice.. tho surprisingly accurate in some ways about procedures and feelings...

Ok, so I'm still here.

2006-11-11T16:44:00.000-05:00

Thanks to the beauty of on-again/off-again sore breasts, things are really getting done around my house.

See, B & I react a bit differently when we worry - I look for something to occupy my mind so that I won't have time to think. He looks for mindless busywork so he won't have to think. (Meanwhile G takes shameless advantage of this parental distraction and spends the entire afternoon jumping in puddles in the back yard.)

So far today I've read three books; B has removed all the leaves from the back yard and cleaned the fish tank... no small feat - it's a 75-gallon tank with three extremely dirty fish in it, and B has removed and scrubbed all the gravel in it, replaced all four filters and changed out a good percentage of the water. The poor fish are going into convulsions as I type, they are so unnerved by the changes in their home.

I agree - the changes in my home are unnerving to me as well.

That pesky breast tenderness has been steadily diminishing since the moment I saw a + on that test. Very unsettling. For a little while today, the girls were perfectly fine, no soreness at all. Naturally, I freaked (and thus started the compulsive fish-cleaning).

I know that dwindling symptoms don't have to mean bad things... and so far, the soreness has always come back, albeit not as strongly as it had been before (but who knows if that's just in my head?) .. but it leads to certain amounts of paranoia, and a general desire to step away from Dr Google*.

But... since the girls are a bit sore now, and I'm not feeling as pessimistic, I thought I'd check in and ask a super-important question:

How does one survive pregnancy after miscarriage??

I recognize that my one miscarriage is hardly reason enough for the sheer amounts of panic I'm going through... but I sure as hell don't know how to change it. And I have two weeks yet til my ultrasound appointment. I'm worried about my sanity in these two weeks... and the two weeks after that.. and the two weeks after that.. and so on, and so on. Well, look at me being all optimistic - I'm assuming the ultrasound will have good enough news that I can continue to panic after it.

*who left me breathless this afternoon when a search accidentally uncovered the theoretical rate of miscarriage for women with pcos. the bastard.

I'd like to be sick now, please.

2006-11-09T07:36:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I remembered reading that if I had sore breasts, I should wear a more supportive bra. I grabbed my most supportive bra (practically chest armor) and within a few hours, I wasn't sore at all.

So I freaked out (naturally) and will be burning my bras henceforth. All those women in history who burned bras - they weren't protesting. They were just freaking out.

In a moment of weakness, I asked for some small amount of morning sickness, or something.

Well, someone got that memo, but it appears that something got lost in translation. Around 2.00 this morning, G woke up with some serious intestinal distress. After I got his pants changed, and got him bathed, I attemped to put him back to sleep. In my bed, of course.

He laid his head down, closed his eyes and promptly threw up. In my hair.

So yeah, someone here was vomiting... but it wasn't me.

. . .

I'm still in disbelief, still paralyzed with fear. I have never in my life wished so hard that I'd feel miserable. I keep reminding myself that it's still early, there's plenty of time for this stuff to develop, but that's small comfort when I want reassurance now. I'm analyzing everything. Why are my breasts less sore today? Is that the normal cycle of symptoms or is it ominous? Was that a cramp? My hpt looked pretty light - is that a problem?

This is a very long road, and I have just enough knowledge to be ~~terrified~~ scared.

I think I'm scared to death...

2006-11-08T05:00:00.000-05:00

"I am so uppercase Fucked"

The other night, B & I watched this perfectly dreadful horror movie. So dreadful that it was funny - I love movies like that. At any rate, that's a quote from the movie. Now, in the movie, the character who wailed that line was upset because the zombie-alien-bad-guy-thingie had vomited on him, causing his flesh to begin to rot.

Obviously, that's a different situation from mine... but that line still came to mind this morning.

Yeah. Because of that.

Against all odds, on the month our IUI was cancelled and we were left to have s-e-x on our own, praying that I would ovulate before he left... we succeeded.

Now how the fuck does that happen?

edit: I wrote this post this morning, and held off publishing it til I could talk to B, figuring he should know first and all... well, he knows now. I can't say he's thrilled - he's so worried he's making it difficult for me to even try to be excited. I'm really sad that our first reaction is worry, but I guess that's part of this game, right? Anyway, I have an appointment in a few weeks for an ultrasound. My RE waits til 7 weeks, figuring at that point, we'll see a heartbeat....... if there is one. I'll probably be scarce until then. The last thing I want is to make myself worry more by thinking about it too much.

Out, out, damn spot!

2006-11-07T07:37:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, my mother says to me "I hate to ask this ... " (and here, I know what's coming) "... but did it take?"

I don't know, it's still early.

"Hasn't it been two weeks?"

No, not yet. (two weeks is today, not yesterday)

"Oh", she says, "I figured since those tests are so much more sensitive these days..."

Not for me, ma, not for me. I do not test early.*

Still, when I woke up this morning, I debated testing. Talked myself out of it (why waste a test when my temp is down a little, and I'll know one way or another tomorrow?) but apparently just thinking about testing was enough to bring on some activity.

One lonely little spot.

I had to use my Eyes of the Infertile** to see it, but it was there.

And it scared me.. see, I rarely get spotting before AF, and this, this wasn't the pink smear of defeat that heralds the beginning of a visit, it was the one little speck of red that I saw when I was knocked up with the G.

So that totally scared the shit out of me.

And now I'm hoping I'm not pregnant.

Because I'm pretty sure they'll be sending the little men in the white coats with their straitjackets for me if I have to endure another pregnancy that involves bleeding.

I've done it twice - first with G, where a small subchorionic hematoma not only caused The Speck and the subsequent bleeding, it made my betas not double (one of the scariest possible things to happen in a post-IF pregnancy, no?). The second time, I spotted every few days up til I miscarried. So... for me, blood + pregnancy = bad.

I've heard the jillion stories of implantation bleeding, women who had regular "periods" through an otherwise healthy pregnancy, and all the other not-bad situations.

I don't care.

Let the fertiles smile and relax through the months of spotting, I don't want that. I think I've earned the right to relax if I ever manage to get pregnant. That's so totally not happening if there's anything that even resembles blood near my nether regions.

.. and is it weird that I'm stressing over the thought of this ... ? Considering that I haven't tested, and given the circumstances of this cycle, the odds are very much against success anyway?

Eh, why wait to worry when you can pre-stress ahead of time, right?

*ok, so sometimes I cave and test early.. but I've had an hpt in the house for the entire 2ww and I haven't been tempted to use it til today... 14dpo. I think that says something.

**you know the ones - they can spot a faint line on a cheap test in bad light. they can also spot an infinitesimal spot of red on TP. It's a blessing and a curse, I tell ya.

things i forgot earlier....

2006-11-06T18:14:00.000-05:00

Two things - I got an email this afternoon from a friend of mine who's a chart-stalker "Did you notice your temp went up today?"

Heh. Why yes, I did. Just thought it was funny that she asked.. of course, she doesn't know about this blog so she probably doesn't know the extent of my chart obsession. Temp rise or no, I'm still not hopeful. Witness the can of Dew next to my keyboard. Obvious proof that I'm convinced this cycle's over.

The second thing - another friend, who had the initial discussion of "I might be having fertility problems" with her doctor (OB, gyn, family doc, I don't know which) .. the doc suggested metformin, if she's interested. Brings me to my question:

Ever heard of metformin for a woman who has no pcos, and is already ovulating?

13dpo... marking time.

2006-11-06T12:30:00.000-05:00

I've started dreaming about my BBT again.

Just in case I'd forgotten I'm 13dpo. The BBT dreams generally start right around now.

Because I'm a freak, I think. Who else dreams about thermometers?

I've been having weird feelings about babymaking lately. I think I'm burning out on the whole thing. I'm tired of trying. I've reached the point where I'm expecting negative results, and not holding out hope. 13dpo and the best I've managed in the hope department is "hey, with this kinda timing, we could inseminate before TurkeyDay and totally not screw up the holiday - yeah!"

I guess the thing is... why bother if it's just not going to work?

Rationally, I know, it could work... but I know the statistics. I know that the best chances for success in IUI are in the first few tries, and we've passed that point.

I don't understand how I could get pregnant twice without a doctor in the room, or a single hormone-altering drug... and when we inseminate with drugs... nothing.

I'm not ready to give up, but I think I'm entering that phase where I start shaking my fists at the heavens and crying "what the fuck?".*

*because even God has to deal with my potty-mouth.

10ish dpo ... ?

2006-11-03T20:22:00.000-05:00

At least, I'm pretty sure I'm 10dpo.

My temps for yesterday and today look exactly like they did at 9 & 10dpo last cycle. So... I'm taking that as an early sign that there was no implantation goin' on in the ole ute this month.

I feel like I should be sad, or even disappointed, but I'm not. You know how you feel when you go to sleep on Monday night and wake up and it's suddenly Tuesday? That's how I feel about the thought that this cycle failed. It's just the natural progression of things, happens all the time. Total non-event.

Probably a good thing nothing happened this month. See, last week, we traded in B's beloved explorer and got........ a mom-mobile. Yeah. I drive a mini*van now. And I have one kid. Just the one lonely child, with five seats to choose from... well, when he gets bigger, he'll have five seats, for now he's stuck in the one that holds his car seat.

Anyway, B, when signing away his life to buy this mom-mobile, turned to me and said "you better tell your doctor I expect at least triplets now" (because part of the reason we decided to get this rather than a smaller car when the explorer started its death throes was "just in case" we needed more room in the next year or so).

Since this cycle had merely one follicle, and I'm expected to produce several children next go-round, it's for the best that we had to cancel the IUI.*

Of course, if I am still driving one lonely child around in the back of this behemoth in another year, I'll be really pissed I've given up ALL my cool-points for something as tenuous as 'just in case'.

*yes, I know we still had s-e-x... but really, I don't expect that to be a viable option for getting pregnant.

p.s. - if you haven't already, head over and read dd's news. Then tell her "I told you so!" from me.

.. and while you're clicking links, follow the link from dd to Kellie and show her some love, too, as her journey takes a sharp turn in a direction she never wanted to go.

I heart my DVR

2006-10-31T13:11:00.000-05:00

thanks to the miracle that is DVR, I could rewind this to get the conversation correct..... lol

One of G's fave cartoons is that pack of meddling kids (and their dumb dog). You know, the ones who solve mysteries (always in half an hour or less), unmask the bad guys and ride off into the sunset for their next adventure.

I was watching this with him today, and the end of the show really torked a nerve. See, in this one, Shaggy & his canine pal fell in love. Real love, apparently. With aliens. Real aliens. At the end of the show, the aliens had to return to their planet. Shag & the dog didn't take it too well. The rest of the gang was worried, so they sent their spokesperson to make sure the lovesick duo would survive.

The picture of sensitivity, Fred asks "You guys ok?"

Shaggy says "like, we're just completely destroyed, that's all"

Fred's uber-sensitive reply: Aw, I know, but you'll get over it.

Shaggy agrees, but says it will take a long, long time.

Five seconds and a box of Scooby Snacks, and they're happy again.

So what does this have to do with infertility?

On the surface, not much... but I think it's very representative of how the general public views the "proper" way to grieve. Take a minute to be sad, and then move on. If it's really bad, take a few minutes. Just move on. Soon. And eat, it'll make you feel better.

Only sometimes, that's hard. Especially with infertility. When you're done grieving a bad cycle, moving on often means jumping right back into that same situation that just broke your heart. Sometimes that takes longer to do. Sometimes it hurts more than others.

I think people subconsciously assign levels of grief, and the amount of time it "should" take to get over a hurt is based on that level. In some ways, it makes sense. I mourned my miscarriage far longer than I have most negative cycles. Most. Sometimes I have a cycle that hits harder than others.. sometimes a negative is more than just the sum of one cycle, it's all the little hurts and frustrations and broken dreams that have come before. Those hit hard. Those are the cycles that throw the food chain of grief out of whack. Sure, I should be over it in a few days, eating my Oreos and moving on. Usually I am. But not always.

.. and therein lies the problem.

There's no one-size-fits-all period of grief for a negative cycle. No one who has not walked in these shoes, month after month will fully understand why sometimes it's just too much. Or why sometimes, it's just moving-on-no-looking-back. It's hard to explain why some months, I'm ready to start over right away... and others, the weight of past failures haunts me and demands that I stop and catch my breath before I can move on. I don't even understand that... so I don't expect the world to suddenly find the right tier on the ladder of grief for all aspects of infertility. It's not that simple. What it is, is an individual process that changes from person to person, and even month to month.

.. and sometimes, it takes more than a box of cookies to get over it.

Is there a Plan C?

2006-10-30T11:27:00.000-05:00

Really nothing to report here.

I'm still feeling "meh" about this cycle. It almost feels like we've taken the cycle off, even though we didn't.

It's nice to have no pressure, but I have to say, this 2WW is dragging on.. not for the usual reasons (insane optimism) but because I'm ready to start next cycle.

Today is 6dpo. Give or take. And I'm still in that if it worked, it worked, if it didn't we start over, no sense stressing phase.

I've never maintained this level of ambivalence all the way through 6dpo.

This lingering ambivalence could be because a pregnancy this cycle would be supremely bad timing. Not only would it mean a(nother) July baby, it would mean a birth very-very-very close to when B deploys again. I tell you, if we were 'normal' fertiles, we'd hold of on trying for the next 4 or 5 months. Who tries to get pregnant 8 or 9 months before a six-month deployment?

Seriously, I used to wonder who was dumb enough to plan a pregnancy where the birth would fall in that particular bad-timing window.

Well, now I know.

The alternative is waiting out the next several cycles and just hoping there's enough time in the last few months before he leaves - a tricky situation because pre-deployment months are typically busy ones for the ship. Odds are at least one of those would be a cancelled cycle because B wasn't home.

So... neither is a great choice.

I'm ok with B not being home for a pregnancy, or even the birth itself. Love the guy, but we've been through this before, and .. pregnancy, not so interesting to him. Birth, well - he doesn't do so well when I'm in pain. For a few spots during my labor with G, I was nostalgic for a time when fathers had to wait in the lobby.

But I am upset that he'd miss out on so much of everything else.

We talked about it, and apparently I'm more bothered than he is. His thinking is that babies are basically just lumps for the newborn phase... and if nextbaby is like G, that lump will be permanently nursing for the first six months anyhow, so he's really not missing much.

Which totally doesn't mean I shouldn't be pissed off that I feel like being fertility-challenged has (once again) robbed me of the decision when to have a baby.

Eh, life isn't fair.

OK, in truth, I'm trying to work up to being pissed off, but I've already been pissed off about it so much in the past that I've lost the energy to be upset. If I birth the day after B leaves, and that day happens to fall on G's birthday, well... eh, it happens. Wouldn't be my first choice, but I've just about given up the delusion that I even have a choice in this. B is light-years ahead of me in the acceptance phase (witness his logic about why it's not that bad to miss the first six months), but I'm getting there.

Unnatural conceptions.

2006-10-27T08:26:00.000-04:00

I caved. I took my temperature - a respectable 99.1.

Hey, I think I might have ovulated. Also, in case the sore boobies weren't hint enough, it appears there's still a fair amount of hcg in my system.

In other news:

I read this article today, and out of the entire (fascinating) thing, I got one phrase stuck in my head: "conceived naturally".

OK, so in this case, it makes sense to include that, otherwise people would assume it was one of those IVF mixups we've all heard horror stories about.

Still, I see it mentioned a lot where it's not an important part of the story.

Apparently it's important to people.

I'll admit that when I see a set of multiples, and even some singletons, I wonder.. not because I think it's my business, but because dammit, I want to know what works.

Which doesn't explain why it's important to the average person. Are they considering IF treatment and have questions? Or is it just morbid curiosity "so... is there something broken with your innards?"

... and then there's the phrase itself: natural conception.

In the technical sense, it's correct.. but doesn't it sort of imply there's something unnatural about any other conception?

Which is the part where I take offense.

An IUI is practically natural. Sperm, meet egg. You like? Great, why don't you two hang out?

Not so different from the old-fashioned way.

IVF, not unnatural. So you're taking them out of their comfort zones and setting them up on a date somewhere else. You know, when B & I had our first date, I had to meet him in an area that was practically unknown to me. Not so very different. Sperm, meet egg. How do you like our meeting dish? Why don't you two hang out?

ICSI? Sperm, you will hang out with Egg, no if's and's or but's. Just do it.

Hey, so that's maybe the reproductive equivalent of arranged marriages. But still not unnatural. Something most of us wouldn't want in our lives*, but ok for people who embrace that culture. Or OK for people who need/choose that treatment.

To use the word "natural" implies "better". Don't believe me - head over to the grocery store and check out their "natural" (i.e. healthier) food. How about the breastfeeding slogans that include "natural" and "best" in the same sentence?

I much prefer the terms "assisted" and "unassisted" because, to me, those ring true. If you needed a little help, a little assistance (or a lot), that's an undeniable fact. It doesn't have overtones questioning the morality or normality of your conception. It just states a fact.

So why do you always see the term "natural conception" in the media? It's probably the same reason you hear about embryos being "implanted" during IVF, or a "miscarriage" in the third trimester. Most people don't understand reproduction (assisted or not), beyond whatever propaganda they've heard or read.

I'm not going to be able to change the world's perceptions (if I could, I'd banish "implanted embryos" first, because for the love of God, implantation isn't the same thing as a transfer! If it were, IVF would have a much higher success rate!) .. but I also won't use the words "natural conception" if I can help it.

*I definitely don't want to imply there's anything distasteful about ICSI in particular, so this phrase could apply to any assisted reproduction... no one really wants to have to use any IF treatment.

Tattoos and fertility, the nonscientific study.

2006-10-26T06:28:00.000-04:00

I have come to a conclusion.

Half of me is fertile.

The right half, to be specific.

See, every month where I've had multiple follicles, the right side was by far the overachiever. When I overstim'd, DocP counted the left side and then gave up on the right.

I have never not had a follicle on the right; I've had more than one cycle with nothing on the left.

And now... witness the joy that hcg brings. I have one extremely sore right boobie. And one almost-sore left one. What .. the.. hell?

Thinking back, when I was nursing the G, I had some serious supply issues .. on the left side.

So I'm pretty sure that all my girl-parts only work on the right.

It's the tattoo.

At least, that explains the ovarian issue. See, I have a tattoo on my right side, almost exactly over my ovary*. I guess that (similar to the fertility-enhancing properties of smoking crack), tattoo ink does wonders for a person. It was a compromise position - I wanted it under my belly button, but the man who was doing the tattoo pointed out that in the (unlikely) event of pregnancy, that may not be a wise choice.** Now, having realized the fertile properties of ink, I'm thinking I should have said 'screw that, aim for the uterus!'.

I wonder if I could convince B to have his testicles inked?

*I'd share a picture, but I can't figure out how to do that.

**he failed to point out that, should said pregnancy end in a cesarean, the placement I chose would still not be wise. my lizard had two toes amputated during G's birth.

Swimming in the unknown and hatin' it

2006-10-25T09:12:00.000-04:00

I'm trying something new this month - I'm not charting my temps.

It started because I was lazy, continued because I couldn't find my thermometer.. I got an extension on not temping when I just plain forgot, and then we were out of town and I didn't want to deal with it.

I have not taken one single temperature this cycle.

It's making me nuts.

I don't know if I ovulated yesterday. I'm feeling ovulation pain, but that's not a guarantee. Judging on the quality of the twinges, I ovulated some time last night while I was sleeping. Or maybe I'll ovulate later today. This isn't ovulating now pain, it's either almost-there or already-done pain.

You can see my dilemma, I'm sure.

Control freaks hate not knowing.

Fun times, my friends, fun times.

DocNH, when you told me taking my BBT would make me nuts, did you consider the alternative?

Midcycle

2006-10-24T08:40:00.000-04:00

So I went to my midcycle appointment yesterday. It was supposed to be today, but they called to reschedule. Now, I'm not taking that as a sign, but it's a pretty damn good thing they did. If we'd waited til today, B would be gone and we'd have had no chance for anything.. but I'm getting ahead of myself...

I got weighed and I've gained something like 8 pounds (not surprising considering the vast amount of sweets I inhaled over the weekend).

Then I got lectured by the nurse because I haven't had a pap in a year and a half... I forgot - oops*. It used to be pretty easy to remember. Once a year I had some stranger poking around in my goods. The very rarity of that made it memorable. Now that this has become a monthly thing, I forget. And, really, with all the people who've been digging for gold in my hoo-ha, you'd think one of them would have broken out a swab at some point, but no...

So then DocP came in for my wanding. Brief (and expected) discussion on why I switched from clomid to femara, and we went to work. My endometrium was so pretty it elicited a "wow, look at that, just beautiful!" from the doc. See, I'm beautiful on the inside and outside As if I didn't know.

12.9

Freaking amazing for me, and nearly twice what it was a couple months back.

One "gorgeous" follicle. Oh stop, DocP, you're going to give me an ego.

DocP was so impressed he told me that if this month doesn't work, call him and he'll renew my femara script. I refrained from doing the "I told you so" dance. Mostly because it's hard to dance in stirrups.

And the obligatory bad news - my gorgeous follicle was definitely not going to make it to Friday... which is when the B will be available for IUI. Fortunately, he didn't leave til this morning, so DocP gave me a massive dose of hcg,** and instructions to go home and get busy as close to when B left as possible.

Yeah. The man had to be at work by 6AM this morning. Do you know how early one has to get up to fit in some nookie and still have time to get ready?

Damn, I'm tired.

*obligatory disclaimer: cervical cancer can be silent, and deadly... I do not recommend waiting if you're due for a pap. If you can't remember how long it's been since your last one. Find out. Like today. And schedule one if you need it.

**well, maybe not massive... but I usually only get a half-dose of it, so a full 10,000 is a lot to me... we're kinda hoping the higher hcg will/would cause an earlier ovulation.

Due Date Weekend

2006-10-23T07:39:00.000-04:00

Just a word of advice - if you have to pass your due date without a pregnancy, spend the day in Atlantic City. Very few kids, next to no babies and hardly any pregnant women. If you can plan that weekend for the same time as the bakers' convention (read that as free samples of yummy stuff), all the better. Oh and buy new shoes. At least two pairs of them.

I had a really good weekend.

2006-10-19T23:28:00.000-04:00

I feel like I should be writing about how this weekend brings the day I should have been due.

.. but as much as I've stressed or cried about that fact over the last seven months, it seems like a non-event. Right now.

Do most people mark their shoulda-been days .. ?

Once we passed the last negative cycle before The Date That Should Mean Something, I pretty much worked out all my pissed-off-ness. That was the tough day, I think. Knowing I'd failed in my goal of being pregnant before I would have been birthing, that sucked royal ass. Getting through the actual date seems kinda anticlimactic... I'm a little worried I'll be blindsided by feelings because I think I've already worked it out.

Can I get through this without a massive breakdown? Man, I hope so, we've got a dinner out with the inlaws planned that night. Tho that does lend itself to some potentially hilarious scenarios, I'd still rather get through without sniffling into my dessert.

Wish me luck.

Femara MaCHINE!

2006-10-16T09:19:00.000-04:00

Let me start this by saying that I come from a long line of women who have exaggerated reactions to meds. I thought perhaps that had skipped my generation (since, you know, I can take cold medicine without falling into a comatose sleep state, unlike some of the women who share genes with me) .. as of late, my reactions to clomid, and estrogen and all the other hormone-altering stuff sort of nixed that thought.

But femara... this is some good stuff. With few side effects yet. (note to the cosmic Gods of Irony: I put that 'yet' in there so you wouldn't feel the need to punish me, ok?)

3 days into it, zero mood swings. (thus far). I have not felt my head spin around, I have not had the urge to spew obscenities in a foreign language (preferring instead to spew obscenities in my own native language.. but that's not unusual, and as such cannot be attributed to the femara).

I am a bit irritated that my nails are getting too long and typing is getting difficult. Perhaps that's a small hormonal irritation, but that one tends to piss me off even on a normal day... so again, maybe it's just me. And maybe I should actually cut my nails for a change.

I'm not going to go so far as to say no side effects because.. well.. there are a couple. The bottle has this label on it that says "may cause drowsiness". I always figured those were on there as a manufacturer's CYA.

Last night I zonked out right after taking my dose. I was watching a goofy cartoon with the boy and the next thing I know, I was out. Way out. That kinda sucked. See, last night was supposed to be our celebratory "period's gone!" night. I'd even shaved my legs for this one. Total waste of shaving cream. Throw in one conversation with B that I do not remember having (and which pissed him off, natch) and I'm pretty sure I can write this one up as "Not a CYA Warning".

... and then there's the stomach issues. I feel like I'm taking metformin for the very first time. Again. Since I've been taking met for over a year now, I'm pretty immune to being irritated by this particular side effect. Tho it is a bit embarassing when the G starts referring to me as "Mommy Poop Machine!".* Complete with the "I'm Proud of You" song and dance. Picture a three-year-old, dancing out his glee while singing a gloriously off-key song whose only words are "Mommy Poop Ma-CHINE!!!" Over and over.

I don't actually see that listed as a side effect. Yes, I read them. All of them. I do like to know what I'm in for. On the other hand, the GI side effects that are listed are nausea and vomiting, so thanks, I'll take my Poop-Machine status instead.

Could this post get any grosser? Seriously?

Yeah, but I'll skip that part.

To sum it up - I can handle spending half my day in the bathroom. I can deal with my newfound narcolepsy. That's small potatoes compared to the emotional side effects of clomid, or the endless nausea of estrogen. I heart my femara. So far.

*yes, really. We're not above potty humor in the Grail house. G is still newly-potty-trained enough that occasionally he must call BOTH parents into the bathroom to view what he has produced. Occasionally, I have been known to proclaim that he is a Poop-Making-Machine... what the hell, it makes him proud.

Definition of an oxymoron: patient infertile

2006-10-14T20:20:00.001-04:00

You know how some people think that every bad thing happens for a reason, and it's just another lesson to be learned on this journey through life?

I've always said that if that is really true, my lesson would be patience.. because I'm certainly not a patient person by nature. I can't stand waiting. For anything. I can't even go to the DMV to renew my driver's license without bringing a book or risk going postal because of the waiting. I was the kid in the back seat asking "are we there yet?" every 10 minutes. OK, that one I still do.

So anyway, I was talking to a friend tonight and she commented that I'm one of the most patient people she knows, what with all the unsuccessful trying we've been doing. This is my uberfertile friend - the longest she's ever had to wait for a positive hpt was something like three days*... so I guess from her point of view, being able to wait it out month after month might just seem like patience...

Could anything be further from the truth?

It's not patience, it's that I don't have a choice. I'm not waiting in beatific serenity for that magic moment to arrive, just smelling the roses and killing time thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts. I'm wishing away my life, two weeks at a time. I'm running a marathon on a treadmill - it's one hell of a long race, but I can't see the finish line, I don't know when I'll get there and I just want to run faster so I can be done... but I can't go any faster. All I can do is run at my own pace, hope the end is in sight soon, and pray that it'll be worth the race.

There is no patience in infertility.

*we were talking about this one day and she confessed that only one of her kids was even sort-of planned - while most of them were 'oops' babies, this particular one, they'd had the "should we have another?" discussion, decided that they'd like to try and found out about her pregnancy a few days later.

The femara pick-up

2006-10-13T23:01:00.000-04:00

.. because I just wouldn't be me if this went off without a hitch.

So I went to pick up my femara script today. It was a two-step process because I needed a refill on my metformin, and the femara was a new prescription... and at my pharmacy, you just don't do those together. No, no, no.

So I got there, took a number (for the new script) and headed over to the refills line. Got my met without a hitch, and tried to ignore the construction noise while I waited for my number to be called (I was B527, they were on B514.. that was a lot of construction noise). Half an hour later, I was up. I went to the little window. The pharmacist scanned my ID, high-tech military facility and all, and told me to have a seat while he got my pills.

I'm mentally high-fiving myself - this is way too easy.

Why yes... yes, that was too easy.

About 5 minutes later, the pharmacist calls me back up there. See, this is the part where he is supposed to hand over my drugs... only, he's not holding a bottle, just a printout of what I'm supposed to get.

Uh-oh.

"Have you ever taken this before?" he asks, looking at me with the utmost sympathy. (If the light bulb had gone on in my head at that moment, I'd have understood the sympathy)

Nope, sure haven't.

"It's just, I've never seen this dosing schedule before, I think I should call your doctor" he says, and now he's looking at the paper, which clearly says two pills, once a day, days 3-7.

No, that's right, I talked to my doctor, that's what he wanted... and it hits me: The pharmacist is concerned because he thinks it's unusual for me to only be taking my breast cancer drug for five days. (hence the sympathy)

Oh, says I, it's not for cancer purposes, it's for fertility.

The sympathy falters and now he's giving me that look that makes me wonder if there's spinach in my teeth or something.

On top of that, the construction noise has suddenly ceased... and my mental reflexes being what they are, I'm still speaking at construction-level. Oh yeah, I'm getting interesting now.

"I didn't see any indication for that in the paperwork"

Well, no you wouldn't, it's off label use.

.. and now he's looking at me like I've got a whole field of spinach in my teeth. The kind with e coli, no less. And the guy at the window next to me (with the two little ones, maybe a year apart in age) is looking at me like I'm the most interesting thing he's seen in weeks. Yes, well, I do so like attention.

So I offer him (the pharmacist, not my window-mate) my doc's name and number, rattling them off like they're memorized (because they are), and take my seat while he calls to confirm that the weird lady who doesn't have breast cancer really does need femara. Window-mate is still looking at me... I was half-tempted to tell him I wasn't contagious, and even if I were, he doesn't have ovaries and can't catch what I've got.

DocNH came through for me, verified my script and I left... but not before the pharmacist got in one last "I've never seen it used for that".

Well, what can I say? I like to be original.

Subconscious Infertility

2006-10-13T09:28:00.000-04:00

I had started a post in response to a comment I got the other day, but then I had this horrific dream last night and that post got tabled. I might still finish it later, but for now, let's discuss this dream. It won't get out of my head.

So, here it is - I dreamed that B & I were deploying unexpectedly. Rather strange that I was deploying since I'm not the one in the Grail household who does that sort of thing, but my dreams are rarely logical.. and I realized (in my dream) that because this past IUI had failed we had missed our Very Last Chance. This was the part where I fell into a blubbering, depressive mess. I was thinking something wasn't right, it wasn't supposed to work out this way and it just wasn't fair! Fortunately, I woke up shortly after that.

.. and when I finally fell back asleep, my second dream last night involved a slot machine and a really large amount of money.

Maybe this means that even though it's seeming more hopeless with each failed cycle, that jackpot is out there waiting for me. Even if life isn't fair.

CD1 update

2006-10-11T17:01:00.000-04:00

Well, that ovarian cyst delay isn't happening, but it's ok, I'll take this. It's a bit awkward timing-wise, but that's a post for another day.

So, I called my RE's office today to discuss the fact that I never want to see another clomid or estrogen pill in my life. DocNH wasn't in, but I had a lovely chat with the receptionist. During this chat, she reviewed my medical records, and approved my request for letrozole. OK, so it wasn't quite that easy, but it did indeed happen.

First, I explained that I'd talked to DocNH about inj's vs letrozole, and was supposed to give him my decision so he could write that lovely script at my next appointment. We discussed how that appointment was with DocP who is not nearly so fond of letrozole as NH... and so she put me on hold to review my records and see if NH had put anything in there about this letrozole conversation we'd had.

God bless the man, the conversation was in my records. Whew.* So the receptionist ok'd my new script, and will have NH call it in tomorrow. I guess she's not willing to ask DocP for the script either... or maybe she did ask him and he said no... either way, I'm getting my new pills.

I am a clomid addict no more!! assuming of course that the script does get sent in to the pharmacy correctly...

*I've had bad experiences with doctors who don't update my records and the partners who see me for followups on appointments that seemingly never existed. Honestly, it's not like I pull medical info out of my ass and just ask random doctors for assistance.. well, ok, I do, but it still irks me when they won't just take my word for it that I do, indeed, need whatever it is I've discussed in that appointment that has disappeared from my chart.

I heart my thermometer

2006-10-11T08:08:00.000-04:00

Dare I hope that my request for an ovarian cyst has been granted? CD0.75 now, still waiting. Since I'm feeling lucky, can I put my request in for a cyst that resolves itself in 48 hours or so? That would clear up any concerns about timing next cycle, thanks. Til then, I'm happy to wait.

I'd start wondering, but ... uh.. yeah, that thought makes me laugh, too.

And this, my friends, is exactly why I still take my BBT every morning, against medical advice. If it weren't for my trusty thermometer, I'd have thought I ovulated on collapsing-follicle day, rather than the next morning... which would lead me to think such wild thoughts as OMG, OMG, I'm late! I'm late! when in fact, I am not. Throw in the fact that I'm battling a minor stomach virus (which would be suspicious, except B had it a few days ago and I'm pretty darn sure he didn't ovulate this cycle, tho he is not subjected to midcycle scans, so it's possible), and I'd be a mess.... were it not for the above-mentioned thermometer, and the temperatures that have plateau'd at a dismally low number.

In fact, I'm so dependent on that thermometer that I had a moment of minor panic last night when I couldn't find it. I searched the entire house for a backup (I buy them in groups of three, because I lose them. Often.), and finally resorted to my only-in-emergency spare*. This is significant because I refused to go downstairs to retrieve my wedding ring because I felt too pukey to move. Too pukey to go get my ring, without which I feel naked, but not too pukey to go down there to look for a thermometer. Nothing will stand in the way of my morning temperature check.**

I'm not complaining about the fact that AF is still MIA... Every minute she's gone means that we're one minute closer to being able to inseminate this cycle... I'm just glad I have my thermometer to let me know her absense is not significant.

*It doesn't beep any more. It got shuffled to emergency use only when it stopped making noise to tell me it was done. Or even that it was started. Nothing worse than sticking a thermometer in your hoo-ha and waiting forever to find out... it isn't on. I refuse to have a recurring relationship with anything that can remain turned off there. Even for my monthly rendezvous with the wand, that wand is most definitely on.

**Except my period because, you know, that's just gross.

Fertility in the media

2006-10-10T15:29:00.000-04:00

The B was telling me about this article .

His summation: "Chicks show more skin when they're ovulating"

Well, no shit... I get half-naked for my doctors twice every month when I'm ovulating... if that's not more skin, I don't know what is.

14.5dpo, rolling out the welcome mat... and waiting...

2006-10-10T10:45:00.000-04:00

So... uhh.. yeah.

AF is still not here. Temp is well below coverline. She's circling. I'm already in my next cycle mentally.

CD1 should be either this afternoon or tomorrow; I'm now 14.5dpo and the 15th is my usual AF-day. If I get really lucky, I'll have an ovarian cyst that delays her visit. I can't believe I'm wishing for an ovarian cyst... but...

Since I'm in that whole looking-forward mode, I started calculating potential O-dates. And checking B's schedule... and thinking fuck, fuck, fuck. Because, of course, he leaves on d14. Only for a few days, but enough to make our timing awkward. Probably I should wait for AF to actually arrive before I start stressing over this, but where's the fun in that? She could show up just late enough to make this planning easier and then I'd miss the chance to stress. Unthinkable.

I checked my handy-dandy FF chart gallery to see if maybe letrozole causes a later ovulation than clomid. It appears so. I also considered calling the Doc and asking for that slow-stim inj cycle he was talking about. Then I figured I should probably wait for CD1 to actually get here. I'm sure the Docs would be impressed with my proactive thinking and initiative, but they do like to have an actual end to one cycle before starting the next...

Emotionally, I'm in a much better place than I was yesterday. It's funny... before G, it took a couple of weeks for me to get over CD1. Sometimes, I'd still be pissed and depressed right up til I O'd (or, if I'm being honest, I'd have entire cycles where I didn't get over it). A few months back, CD3 was my moving-on day. Now... I can grieve a cycle and move on before it's even over. Progress, people, this is progress! Maybe I'll become a poas-addict. I hate the negatives, but damn it's nice to get over it sooner.

So that's my today. My silver lining to yesterday - I couldn't sleep and B couldn't sleep. We stayed up far too late, watching movies and cracking bad jokes. Sleep deprivation caused me to need some seriously strong chock-full-o-caffeine-and-REAL-sugar coffee this morning. I'm buzzed on caffeine and downright loopy.

So far, it's a damn good day for CD0.5.