Look away from the train wreck..

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

.. 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.

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.

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!

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

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)

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.

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.

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...

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...

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...

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...

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....

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...

...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.