Daddy's Girl

Oh, man. Last night was the first time since we've been back from Canada that neither one of the kids has gotten me up at three in the morning with some crisis or another. The seven nights previous, BOTH of them were up AT LEAST once with bloody noses, removed diapers, bad dreams, urgent bathroom needs, and of course Eli's usual light sleeping habits and inability to soothe himself back to sleep. I'm not sure if it was pure coincidence or some kind of conspiracy to punish us for leaving them, but WOW. Punishment is what it feels like. Even today, after seven hours straight of sleep, I feel like a zombie. I've had two cups of coffee and am still yawning and nodding off here. I'm sure I'll post a genuinely interesting and thought provoking post just any day now...

We did have a nice morning at a nearby nursery, however, and Addy was being such a little Daddy's girl it compelled me to pull out some pictures of her and Jim together.



Reading together.


The same wacky sense of humor.


Scaring each other silly.

Also, on an Addy-related note: she has taken to correcting people if they introduce her as "Addy" and saying, "No, I ADELAY." When I eventually asked her whether she preferred her full name, she confirmed that yes, she wanted to be called Adelay. Isn't she kind of young for that? And does that mean we can't call her Addy anymore? Because that's going to be kind of a hard habit to break.

The Continental Breakfast of Blog Posts

I know it's bad form to publish a post of nothing but cutesy kid pictures when your blog is public; however, I figured maybe we could all use some lightness from my end of the internetz after all the "infertility specialist" this and "maybe taking even MORE drugs!" that. Boring, stressful, draining. But perhaps these photos will help you understand why I want yet more children badly enough to wade through it all. (Also, badly enough to wade through the ACTUAL HUMAN FECES thrown on the floor at three AM yesterday morning, when Eli finally discovered the removable magic of his diaper tabs.)


A proud showcasing of the Disney Princess dolls.


One of the few moments when they weren't trying to drown each other.


Why are his best smiles always covered in chocolate? Oh wait- answered my own question.



Sweet nothings? Or are they... forming an alliance against us?

To Make A Long Story... Er, Still Pretty Long

Jim and I drove to (undisclosed large city about an hour and a half away) yesterday to go to yet another specialist, this time the reproductive endocrinologist. We were a little nervous about what he might recommend, because we had pretty much decided that if he strongly felt that I needed the Lovenox injections, we were going to put babies on hold indefinitely, if not forever. Lovenox is very expensive, for one thing, and Jim's company recently made some fairly significant cutbacks. As Swistle has said, there is no perfect time to be pregnant, but there are certainly times that are not ideal, and an expensive pregnancy when money is tighter than ever certainly did not seem to be good planning.

However, there may be a baby or two in the cards for us yet, because the doctor seemed to think that the Lovenox recommendation was really jumping the gun for my particular situation, and that in this case the rewards would not outweigh the risks. He said that since my miscarriages were not consecutive, and both occurred very early on, they seemed to be indicative more of just bad luck than of a specific problem causing me to abort, like luteal phase defect or the blood clotting defect.

We really liked his demeanor- he seemed much less eager to jump to conclusions and say, "Oh, you had low progesterone? THAT is why you miscarried!" or "Wait, you also have this somewhat unusual blood clotting factor? THAT's making you miscarry!" Which is what the OB and the hematologist seemed to want to do. I think some doctors believe that the more definite and sure of themselves they sound, the more reassured the patient will feel. Honestly though, I feel more inclined to trust a doctor who doesn't act so confident about everything and who is willing to shrug and say, "Yes, we believe that x may be linked to y, but there's no definite proof that it's affected you at all yet, or that it ever will."

He pointed out that in certain people groups, this supposed blood disorder is actually found in up to a third of the population, but only one to five percent of them will actually present with any related symptoms. Given that information, plus the fact that I have had two healthy babies, I have never had a blood clot myself, nor has anyone in my family, it seems wisest to go with the least aggressive treatment method- i.e., go ahead and take the baby aspirin and extra folic acid, but nothing else at this point.

We ARE doing a few more blood tests, which I guess will indicate whether I am one of those few who are actually at risk for developing symptoms based on the blood disorder. If those come back positive he said he would recommend Lovenox after all, but that he really doubts they will based on my healthy history (the fact that I've actually been on bedrest on three different occasions, all while pregnant, which would put me at pretty significant risk for clots if I was in fact predisposed to them, yet I never have had one.)

What else? Oh yes, I'm supposed to take an antibiotic the first week of my cycle to possibly help with the preterm labor thing. I didn't really grasp everything he was saying about that- my mind was stuck on, "Oh thank GOD I don't have to give myself injections!"- but I think the gist of it was that there has been a link seen in women who have this latent infection and women who tend to go into labor too early. The infection never presents symptomatically in the mothers themselves, just seems to trigger contractions and dilation. So they've been treating women prone to preterm labor with this antibiotic for ten days before they ovulate to see if it might prevent early delivery. He admitted there isn't much data on its effectiveness yet, but said it's kind of like progesterone treatment, in that it can't hurt anything and it might help, so why not?

That's kind of our theory regarding Clomid, too, and the doctor concurred: no, I don't necessarily need the help ovulating, but I did carry my last healthy baby while using it, it does seem to boost hormone production, and it doesn't seem to affect me TOO negatively, so... why not? I'm on the lowest possible dosage, so the risk of multiples is still fairly low, and one we're willing to take.

To sum up, the new game plan is as follows: Still take Clomid, probably; take some antibiotic before I ovulate; take Prometrium as soon as I ovulate and then double the dose if I were pregnant; continue to take baby aspirin and folic supplement. BUT. No Lovenox. Whew.

Also, if you made it through this whole post without taking a break or clicking away in exhaustion, pat yourself on the back for being a very patient and noble person.

Return

Glendale Beach

Well hi! Forgot to mention I was going to be gone for three days, huh? Our anniversary was Friday, and while we did not go to Jamaica as planned, we did manage to get ourselves to Canada for a long weekend at the family cottage.



There was another pose with Jim lecherously peering down my shirt, but I thought this one was just slightly cuter.


Jim, enjoying an afternoon beverage. Twelve fifteen is afternoon, right?

The temperature stayed pretty low most of the time, so it wasn't really a bathing suit wearing/swimming in the lake sort of trip (though I did attempt partial sunbathing one afternoon as seen above,) but there were movies and games, drinking, and football on the beach. I actually thought it was just as much fun as if the weather had been warm. The beach is the beach; to me it's always interesting and beautiful, no matter the weather. Also interesting: the fact that after a few sessions of football tossing and running plays, I am sore in muscles I didn't even know existed. This after being (semi) religious on the Nautilus machines for over six months. Clearly there are some muscle groups still not being fully exercised.



The boys playing poker. I played too, so now I can add "knows how to play Texas Hold 'Em" to my resume.


Brett protecting his head from those harsh Canadian rays.

Jim's uncle and brother had gone up a few days ahead of us to open the cottage for the season (i.e. turn on water, clean just about every surface, wash every dish and of course vacuum up a zillion mouse droppings and then spray rodent poison all over) and Brett stayed and went home with us, stopping off at Aunt Nancy's on the way. It was really good to see her. She had to have double hip replacement several weeks ago, so I'd been wanting to stop by and see if she was doing all right. Which, of course, she is. The women of Jim's family are nothing if not resilient.

In all, a fun and relaxing anniversary weekend, if not exactly the repeat honeymoon we had hoped for. But you know, uncertain financial times, tightening of employer purse strings, blah blah blah... Not the best time for a tropical vacation. Jamaica's not going anywhere, I suppose, so we'll get back eventually. Until then, there's always Canada. Which is really not too shabby.

Reproductively Challenged

You all remember the hematologist I saw last week, the one who endeared himself to me by suggesting that I ought to abort any further children who might inherit my clotting disorder? Well, after some thought we asked for a follow up appointment with another hematologist from that practice, wondering if perhaps the first guy just overreacts as a general rule, and maybe we should get a second opinion about the whole Lovenox thing before we dive back into baby making.

The other hematologist had been out of town, but his nurse called back yesterday and said that according to him, I should first be seen by an obstetrical hematologist, someone who works specifically with blood disorders in the framework of pregnancy, and not just blood disorders as a general diagnosis. They referred me to a practice at a university hospital about an hour from here, and I have an appointment to see them the week after next.

The woman on the phone at the Reproductive Specialists office (ah, that name and all it implies!) said the appointment will take at least an hour, that the doctor would be going over all my obstetric history: miscarriages, preterm labor, low progesterone, my possible luteal phase defect and/or delayed ovulation process, all of it, and that there would be an exam and all that, as well. Which... Blech. Another stranger to whom we must recite all the clinical details of some of the most stressful, painful parts of our lives.

But on the other hand, I think I will find it quite refreshing to have someone actually taking into account ALL parts of my medical history and giving us advise accordingly, rather than someone taking into account the one AREA of my medical history which concerns them and giving advise accordingly. You know?

I'd be interested to hear from any of you out there who have had occasion to meet with a reproductive endocrinologist or even an obstetrical hematologist. Did the experience leave you with information and a game plan, or just a lot of percentages and odds and a further feeling of confusion?

Not Scared

I keep a pretty clean house. I want to begin by saying this, so that the following story does not lead you to imagine piles of unwashed clothing in dusty heaps all over my kids' bedrooms, or cobwebs strung in every corner like some kind of haunted house. This is not the case. There might be the stray toy or water cup rolling around, there might be a shirt here and there that didn't quite make it to the laundry hamper, but I sweep and vacuum and dust and all that, I DO, and so it makes the following all the more wrong:

Today, when I went to get Eli up from his nap, a SPIDER crawled out of a fold in his blanket. The blanket that was covering his tiny, innocent, sleeping body. Not a small spider, either. Not a huge, Arachnophobia spider, but one large enough that before it darted away, right out from under the shoe I was wildly flailing at it, I got a good look at its color and little pincers and beady, frightened little eyes. I'm sure they were less frightened than MY eyes, though.

After that initial gasp of horror and attempt at murder, I breathed deeply, removed my son quickly from his crib, and then as calmly as possible hurried the kids out of the room so that I could do what I must without terrifying them for life. Then, it was time to hunt that effer down. No spider preys on my sleeping baby and lives to tell the tale.

BUT. I could not find it again. I shook out the blankets, pulled off the top sheet and the mattress protector, looked under the mattress itself, pulled the crib completely out from both walls, and moved the storage tubs that were under the crib. Nothing. It took quite a long time to find this nothing, too, as I was completely terrified of coming upon the spider and having it dart up my own arm and, say, into my sleeve. So I was moving kind of slowly and gingerly.

I'd take a deep breath, give myself a little pep talk along the lines of, "Sarah, you wuss, you've given BIRTH. I think you can handle hunting down a medium sized spider without hyperventilating. Pull yourself together." And then I would, for a minute: I'd muster just enough strength to yank back a sheet or shove out an edge of the crib, and then visions of the spider skittering suddenly out of its hiding place and up my body would reappear, and I'd yelp a little and jump back in terror. (See why I didn't want the kids to witness this?) It was kind of a two steps forward, one step back process.

So, no spider. But I did find some sizable gaps between the floorboards and the baseboards behind Eli's crib, so I'm guessing that's where our eight legged friend is lurking. I did my best to dissuade him from returning: stripped the sheets, Lysol-ed down the mattress, cleaned the dust off the tops of the storage tubs, cleaned the baseboards and the floor itself, removed all the stray little toys that had been dropped behind the bed... I even began folding up baby wipes and shoving them in the cracks between the floor and the trim before I realized that my little choo choo was beginning to veer from the tracks a little. I also considered caulking, but realized that would be a disaster if we ever wanted to replace the trim in there.

All in all, I think I managed to conceal MOST of the crazy from my kids, but I'm sure Addy wasn't completely oblivious to my panic at the idea of a spider in a bed. She keeps saying, "You got that spider, Mommy? You got him? He in time out?" And I say, "Yes, honey, of course I did. He was a naughty spider who came in the house where he doesn't belong, so he's in time out."

What. I'm hardly going to tell her that monster is still roaming free. No need for both of us to be wide eyed and awake tonight, flinching at every rustle of the sheet against our skin.

Typhoid Mary

So I've been a little quiet- sorry about that. Jim's birthday party was Saturday, and was a lot of fun, germs aside. But the day after, my hoarse, raspy voice turned into a full blown cold/hacking cough, the kind with sinus pressure so intense it makes your eyes water and burn all day. A cold of the variety where all you want in the world is just to sneeze but you can't so you walk around pinching the bridge of your nose and moaning and speaking in the exact voice of Joey's chain-smoking, eighty year old talent agent from Friends and you're basically putting on a hilarious parody of the show called, "Don't You Want Me, Baby?"

(Extreme points go to my sister for telling me my low, raspy voice was a "sexy voice" and to my mom and MIL for telling me I looked "so thin!" This makes me almost want to stay sick. Almost.)

(Uh, also, my apologies to everyone at church in my near vicinity on Sunday. I know, I should have skipped. Am really really sorry about that almost comically loud coughing fit during the singing, which necessitated my fleeing the sanctuary and doubling over in the lobby, half-retching, for a good five minutes afterwards while my eyes watered uncontrollably. And a big thank you is due the elderly greeter who graciously, wordlessly offered me a cough drop. What you have done unto the least of these, you have done unto Christ, my friend.)

Segue? What Segue?

Yesterday at the Y, the lady who swipes the membership cards was helping all the kids make Mother's Day decorations with their names and their favorite things about their moms. When asked, Addy replied, with wide eyes and a tiny voice, that her favorite thing about me was "When we snuggle snuggle." There it was: my first genuine Mother's Day sentiment from one of my kids. Later that evening, in what I hope was not any sort of Mother's Day sentiment but simply a natural moment of urgency, Eli pooped in the bath. The yin and yang of parenthood.

We're having Jim's birthday party tomorrow and right on schedule, I appear to be coming down with swine flu. Or, you know, maybe just have a sore throat and fatigue due to stress, poor appetite and not getting great rest the last few days. But I don't like to let an opportunity for panic slip by, so I dutifully called the doctor to see if I ought to cancel the party and be tested for deadly strains of flu. He said no. The tone of the "no" was such that if I had asked in person, I imagine it would have been accompanied by a comforting pat on the head. Ah well.

While Nyquil is very useful when you have a cough that would otherwise keep you up all night, I must note that it sure is a b*tch to get woken from a drug induced sleep by a frantic three year old who crawls into bed with you, then thrashes from side to side for the next half hour while reassuring you in whispers that she IS holding still and getting sleepy, and no she WOULDN'T be happier in her own bed. I also hate that feeling when you're officially awake for the day but the medicine hasn't quite leeched itself from your bones yet, and for a few hours longer you still feel that undertow of sleep threatening to drag you under.

Fonzie got his summer haircut yesterday and for some reason they didn't trim his tail at all. He now looks like an enormous poodle with a jaunty bandanna tied around his neck. A sheepish and remorseful poodle, who ran away from me this morning and returned covered in filth as per usual. I hosed him down and dried him off outside, a process considerably less difficult without all that hair, but still not the way I generally prefer to start my day. He has been sulking in the closet ever since.

I need to find out who I can bribe/force into making Rice Krispie treats and cutting up a fruit salad for me for the party tomorrow, as I imagine our guests would prefer that I not come within five feet of the communal bowls. Although, I think we still have some masks left from when the guys were doing drywall... Maybe that would work. That and a healthy dose of Purell.

I cannot type to save my life today. Example: I just spelled "life" as "lief." Even my fingers are tired.

uneasy

It was so beautiful for a few days, so warm and sunny and practically summer-like. The grass was freshly cut and the yard dried up and Fonzie's paws stopped being filthy every time he went outside. The windows were open to let in the breeze; everything seemed fresh and new and redeemable.

Now it has rained for three days in a row, and both my arms are sore from blood draws and the carpet is covered in crumbs and dog hair that I haven't had the will to vacuum up. I feel tired throughout the day, but come night I am wide awake and a bit anxious. I'm also having trouble eating, which is the strangest thing ever for me. My stomach feels a little knotted and jittery all the time, and once my initial hunger pangs have been quelled, even one more bite more makes my stomach turn. I guess maybe that's a good thing. I had to fast this morning for my last blood draw, and once it was over and I could eat, the danish that I had picked up as a treat felt like glue in my mouth. I gagged a little, then gave the rest to the kids.

~

My best friend is moving away. Maybe not for a while, probably not given the real estate market, but eventually. Sometimes I feel fine about this, and happy for them that they will be fulfilling their dreams of living in the country and having gardens and land and animals and a shorter work commute. And sometimes I feel self-pitying and childish about this, and I want to cry. I will miss her- all of them- so much.

~

There are moments when I feel like the whole Clomid/Prometrium/Lovenox/progesterone injections during pregnancy thing is no big deal in the scheme of things, that no doctor has outright told us we're being crazy to want more kids so it must NOT be crazy, and that I should suck it up and get back on the baby train. There are also moments when the thought of another pregnancy makes me want to bury my head in a pillow and sob.


I guess I need the sun to come out again.

Pissy. And Alternately Weepy.

You know what's fun? Waiting almost two hours for a doctor's appointment. You know what's even MORE fun? Waiting almost two hours for a confusing, frustrating and unprofessional doctor's appointment!

Blurgh. I feel tired and annoyed even thinking about it, so I won't bother giving you a blow by blow account, but here are the highlights:

-barely understanding anything the guy could say thanks to his accent.

-having the appointment interrupted by a phone call from another doctor, requiring him to leave the room for another five minutes.

-getting the most bizarre physical exam of my life, which involved me lying down, fully clothed and THEN covered with a little hospital gown, while he poked me all over so tentatively I could barely feel it, inquired if the poking caused me pain (um, inasmuch as being TICKLED causes pain,) felt my ankles, wrists, and lymph nodes, then checked my reflexes inside my elbows.

-having him call me "Ma'am" eleventy million times, which irritates the heck out of me. I'm twenty freaking four. It's not time for me to be a ma'am yet.

-being told that I should definitely receive Lovenox injections (by my own hand) twice a day throughout the next pregnancy to give the baby the best chance for avoiding blood clots. That's Lovenox shots along WITH weekly progesterone injections. I'm going to be black and blue for nine months straight.

-having the doctor announce that he would advise amniocentesis for the next pregnancy to check if the baby has the same defective genes I do, so that I can "decide if I want to terminate and try again" if the baby should happen to have a clotting disorder.

When I replied that I was unlikely to consider doing that, he got kind of huffy and said, "Well, you wouldn't want your child to have a life of suffering." Ummm... No, no. Certainly, I wouldn't want to condemn my child to a life of suffering SUCH AS I CURRENTLY LIVE. Gosh, this taking folic acid and baby aspirin every day is DESTROYING MY QUALITY OF LIFE! I mean, it would suck, if the baby were a girl, for her to have to face the same kind of reproductive dilemmas and problems that I experience, but I wouldn't consider it a reason for therapeutic abortion! WTF.

Sunshine and Butterflies and Rainbows!

Oh hi out there! As is often the case when I'm feeling busy and happy, I've had relatively little to say, since the bulk of my post content tends to be kvetching. But so far this weekend, the weather has been gorgeous, I finally went spring shoe shopping with the kids (MUCH less psychologically devastating than jeans shopping,) and my BIL is home at last from his globe wandering.

So there's been lots of family time and yummy food and playing outdoors and even a TIDGE of alcoholic beverage consumption and I really have nothing to whine about except the lunatic at the Y on Saturday whose noisy grunting and straining, even when he WASN'T actively lifting weights, made me concerned that he needed to seek out the nearest restroom instead of the nearest Nautilus station- which of course happened to be beside me. AND there was no one nearby to make subtle, horrified eye contact with, so obviously this intensified my suffering.

Overall, though, the last few days get a nine out of ten. Maybe nine and a half. Good work, weekend.

The, Eh, Screw It List

Have you guys heard of the Anti-Bucket List? I have to credit Shelly for cluing me in. It's, erm, it's actually called the DON'T READ THIS PARENTS OR PARENTS IN LAW Fuck It List. Basically, ten things you couldn't care less about doing before you die. Without further ado, I present mine:

1. Building or extensively renovating a house. I get the obsession in theory, I do. I understand the thrill of dreaming something into reality. I just know myself (know myself REAL well after the den remodel) and I know that enduring months of choices and indecision and setbacks and unexpected obstacles and nitpicky details and the horror of realizing you didn't put enough outlets in the bathroom would turn me into a drooling, basket-weaving mental patient.

2. Owning my own business. Again with the avoidance of situations in which I would be the one in charge or ultimately responsible for any failures, see above.

3. Being artistic. In terms of painting, not in terms of, say, arranging flowers in a vase. The gift of representational drawing, sketching or painting passed me over entirely, and even impressionist or modern art feels weird and foreign. I can and do appreciate the artwork of others, but please don't put me in front of an easel and ask me to explore my inner artist. She just isn't there.

4. Seeing the Grand Canyon. Sounds majestic sure, but also big and cavernous and deep and chock-full of opportunities for certainly fatal falls. Does that about cover it? Moving on. (I should ammend that maybe if I didn't have little kids and weren't constantly thinking of things like possible falls, maybe I'd have more interest in doing this.)

5. Sampling recreational drugs. Frankly, I get enough of a thrill from the legal kind. I think I'd probably have a heart attack if I got a hold of honest to God street drugs.

6. Owning expensive bags or shoes. I just don't care. Not judging those who do, I just don't. Ditto clothes in general, actually. Most designer clothes and shoes strike me as being particularly uncomfortable and/or outright ugly anyways.

7. Being involved in politics. Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I kind of see governments as inevitably corrupt institutions, almost by definition. I admire those who strive to clean it up, play fair, and actually do good, but to me it seems like a losing battle that would eventually wear down and defeat the morale of all but the most zealous people. And I... am not a zealot. I'm a lover, not a fighter, baby.

8. Being wealthy. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to be well off, I'd like to be able to travel whenever I felt like it, and I'd like to hire people to do the crap that I don't enjoy doing (yardwork yardwork yardwork.) I'd like to have a larger and more architecturally interesting house. But beyond that- don't really want it. I don't want a mansion. I don't want servants. I don't want expensive jewelry, and as for clothes, we covered that. I don't want to constantly be worrying about people envying me or about my friends being insincere and simply wanting to enjoy my spacious swimming pool and vacation home in Greece. I don't want to be afraid of burglary. I don't want my kids getting over-indulged to the point that they're ruined for ordinary life.
I guess this particular item on the list is kind of pointless though, given that compared to about ninety percent of the world's population, I AM wealthy.

9. Being a good singer. I actually gave this an honest try, but it's just not my forte, so I have let the dream go. Not in the cards, my friends. I was in choir for three years of high school, and even took private voice lessons, and I still have about a ten note range and an absolute inability to find, let alone sing, harmony. It's bad to the point that I often intentionally TRY to sing harmony while Jim and I are doing the nigh-night song with the kids, just to randomly startle him with my joltingly incorrect notes.

10. Liking baseball. Or golf. They are absolutely the dullest ways I can think of to spend an afternoon. I'd literally rather watch people take a walk around a golf course than watch them chase down a tiny white ball for three hours while dressed like Eton rejects.

Baby Talk

Last week was my due date. April fourteenth. It's strange that so much time has passed since then. It's strange to think there might have been a BABY here, a little week old newborn with bowed legs and wispy hair. That in this parallel universe of fate, I would currently be exhausted, having been up all night nursing. Well, nursing, of course, but also, still staring in sudden bouts of wonder at the baby who used to be INSIDE of me and is now here in my arms. Oh the miraculous impossibility of that, especially at two in the morning!

To be honest, the reality that tiny babies grow into kids still shocks me at least weekly. I'll be holding one of them (or, more accurately this morning, being accidentally punched in the face by one of them while another steals my breakfast) and I will be struck with the fact that these giant, rowdy toddlers used to be two pound fetuses squirming around beneath my ribs.

I think in the end I am not heartbroken that there is no baby just yet. I am really enjoying these nights when my sleep is unbroken (still not every night, but I'll take what I can get.) I am making a conscious effort to enjoy being in full possession of my own body: drinking as much coffee as I want, wearing clothes that fit properly, exercising as hard as I want (ehm, haven't taken advantage of that one TOO often,) putting Kahlua in my coffee, taking Advil when I have a headache instead of the useless but pregnancy-approved Tylenol.

I am also pretty happy that Eli isn't having to deal with having a baby around right now. More selfishly, I am happy that I am not having to deal with Eli dealing with having a baby around! What we're hoping for now is an end of February-ish due date, so he'll be at least two and a half before he becomes the middle child. I can't even imagine the extent of his fury when the time comes for his demotion from Official Lap Baby status. He's a cuddler, that one. He'll still lay cradled in your arms like an infant when he's sleepy, sucking his thumb drowsily. In fact, perhaps he'll always be a lap baby. Kind of like Fonzie thinks he's a lap dog even though he's pushing eighty pounds.


*TMI Public Service Announcement: For those of you quick with the math, you may have realized that an end of February due date means that we are taking another month "off." For one thing, I have been screwing around with my hormones- first Clomid, then Prometrium, then the pill- for two months now. I'm not coping with it too fantastically. So a month of nothing in my system seems like a wise idea. Also, our anniversary is coming up, May fifteenth, and we're hoping to go back to Jamaica for a few days to relive our honeymoon. (That is assuming our passports come in a timely fashion- we applied for them on April fifteenth, and the current waiting time is four weeks. Whee! It's travel roulette!) So, you know, I'd rather not be in the first weeks of pregnancy on a trip that's supposed to be all about excessive sun exposure and adult beverages with little umbrellas in them. Sorry to those of you anxious for pregnant whining from me- as opposed to my usual, generic whining- but you'll have to wait another month. On the upside: possible pictures of me in a bikini!

Bwah hahahaha! No. But maybe a modest skirted number. If you ask nicely.

Shopping: Perhaps They Should Add It To The Menu At Guantanamo

I need a hipectomy. According to the fashion industry, anyways. I swear to you on a stack of Levi's, I tried on FIFTEEN pairs of jeans yesterday, in search of just ONE style that would not gap at my waist, pool on the floor around my ankles, be made entirely of spandex, require me to tug them up every ten seconds, make my thighs look like bratwursts, or expose my backside every time I kneel down to pick up a kid. I came up empty handed.

All I ended up choosing in the three hours I perused the mall was an adorable sundress for Addy at TCP (five dollars!) and a pack of cini-minis at Cinnabon. (Note: cini-mini consumption has nothing to do with bratwurst-y shape of thighs.)

In other news, Eli made his first attempt at a sentence today. Namely, "Wan wash Boo's Coo's." English translation: "I want to watch Blue's Clue's."

In Case You Were Considering It...

...Don't put "cleaning behind/under the refrigerator" on your spring cleaning to-do list. You'll think that it'll make you feel virtuous to do such a thorough cleaning, but in fact, upon wrestling the large appliance back and coming face to face with the grime that is lurking not feet from your food preparation area, you will feel sickened and hopeless. You will want only to shove the fridge back from whence it came, stand against it, gasping, and pray that what you just saw will be erased from your mind.

Then you will eat raspberry oatmeal bars for breakfast. Possibly just with coffee, possibly with a Jack Daniels chaser. Depends on how gross it actually was back there.

Cheery

It's ten thirty, and I am already having the kind of day in which it feels like everyone and everything are working together in some master plan to grind on my last nerve. I am trying to eat breakfast and Addy is standing at my side, hopping up and down while hanging on my sleeve. "Mom, I wanna play princess. Mom, I wanna play princess. Mom, you get my princess stuff? You get my princess?" "As soon as I'm done eating, honey," I tell her. But it takes me about twenty minutes to eat, because I have to stop after every bite to speak with Adelay regarding THE PRINCESS STUFF OMG I NEED THE PRINCESS STUFF RIGHT NOW!

Then it's the dog, stepping on my feet with his giant wet paws when he comes in from the soggy backyard. Then it's the hematologist I've been referred to, saying he isn't accepting any new blood disorder patients. Then it's the sight of all the CRAP in this house that needs purging and organizing and I just don't feel like it, even though this is the appropriate time of year and all. Addy's stuff in particular has gotten out of control; I think the chap sticks and hair barrettes and tiny doll shoes get together and have wild orgies in the night, then reproduce all manner of girly hybrids of themselves each morning.

Also, it's just a lot of Addy personality clashing with Mommy personality this morning. Sometimes we really rub each other the wrong way, and I hate it, but once the cycle has begun it is VERY hard to halt. I am feeling restless and tired and kind of cranky, due in no small part to the second day of dreary rain in a row and the fact that Eli was up screaming twice last night. But Addy is feeling perky and wide awake and also slightly manic this morning, so it's a bad mix.

She wants oatmeal! No, she wants waffles! She wants to watch Strawberry Shortcake. She wants to play princess! Wait, no, she wants to play with the new play-dough. But hey, what are you doing?! Stop making things with the play-dough! I just want to look at the beautiful new molds fresh from their containers! Aaah, you're ruining my life! I can't play with these any more ever! Now let's play Memory. What, you want to do something by yourself for a minute? Play Memory! Play Memory! Play Memory! PLEASE Mommy, PLEASE Mommy, PLEASE! No, not in a minute, now! Please, I LOVE you! I LOVE you, Mommy, PLEASE!!!

Now we're playing Memory. But wait, she wants to make this game last as long as humanly possible by taking about five minutes for every turn, staring ponderously at the cards as though the weight of the world rests on her decision. The more antsy I'm getting, the more she drags it out, tapping her chin and murmuring, "Hmm hmm hmm. Which one do I want?" Meanwhile, Fonzie stands directly over my shoulder as he slowly, endlessly licks his lips, producing the kind of noise that makes me want to put an ice pick through his head or mine.

Now Addy has to pee. But the giant Cinderella dress and unrelated fairy wings make it impossible to do so. EPIC MELTDOWN OMG WILL DIE HERE IN THE BATHROOM IN A TRAGIC PUDDLE IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT THIS SECOND!! I help her take the dress off and then its MY DRESS! GIVE ME BACK MY PRINCESS DRESS! HALP ME SOMEONE MY DRESS HAS BEEN STOLEN!

Thank God there's still Easter candy in the house, is all I'm saying.

Luck of the Draw

The results are in! I'm going to die of either a heart attack or a blood clot! Choose your own adventure!

No, no, I jest. But apparently I very well could have suddenly developed either of those things if my doctor hadn't sent me get that blood work done. And I'm still at risk for them, but with the appropriate doses of baby aspirin and folic acid every day for the rest of my life, it should be a very manageable problem. In a way, you could view the fact that I've already had two miscarriages at twenty four years old as a very lucky thing. Recurrent miscarrying caused me to be sent for blood work, tests which, according to my doctor, wouldn't generally be ordered until someone has already had a blood clot or a heart problem. It's just been in the last few years that they've found the connection between these blood disorders and a heightened risk of miscarriage, stillbirth, and fetal growth retardation, and so have been recommending them for anyone who has had two or more failed pregnancies.

So that's the good news. I may have just been saved from having a random heart attack at forty years old, or dying of a blood clot or something horrible. And with any luck, I have been saved from further miscarrying. (The doctor did say that she still thinks I have progesterone level problems and that the blood disorders aren't related to that. So I still need to do Clomid and Prometrium along with the aspirin and the folic supplements.)

The bad news is, obviously, the increased risk of medical problems and the need for drugs and supplements. I'm supposed to go for a consultation with a hematologist, in fact, to "manage my risk of cardiovascular disease." I will now be considered high risk if I get pregnant again (well, more than I already was, since I'm also at risk for preterm labor.) I'll have to have a lot more office visits, blood draws and ultrasounds than in my previous pregnancies, to make sure blood clots aren't developing in the baby, the placenta or the umbilical cord. Also, she said I may have to be on Lovenox during pregnancy, which is a blood thinner that you INJECT INTO YOUR BELLY.

But. For some reason I still feel pretty relieved. Yes, miscarriage will always be a possibility for us, more so than most people. Yes, I will probably spend my entire next pregnancy trying to push down fears about stillbirth and blood clots and dangers to my baby. Yet I feel very lucky that we are learning more all the time about what can contribute to miscarriage. It feels better, to me anyways, than just a shoulder shrugging "you must have gotten unlucky" type explanation. And sure, just plain bad luck could still come into play. That is true for anyone.

But it's reassuring to know that though I have x wrong with me, we can do y and z to correct it or minimize its effects. We can do ultrasounds throughout pregnancy to check for any beginning blood clots in the placenta, cord, or the baby itself and hopefully control them before they pose much danger. I can take blood thinners to prevent blood clots in my own body. I can take supplements to up my abnormally low progesterone levels and help my pregnancies stick. I can take action, instead of just sitting around waiting and wondering if my body is going to sabotage itself again. I can do more than just hope.

Also, no matter what, there are these two.

And with all the various odds that are stacked against us, isn't that lucky?

Fun Fact Friday

Warning: We may be playing it fast and loose with the term "fun" tonight.

-I'm pretty sure I'm genuinely addicted to sugar. This bothers me less than it should.

-My least favorite part of my body is without question my thighs. And when I work out? They only get bigger. When I hurt my knee two summers ago and was limping around for about a month, the muscle on the injured leg atrophied quite a bit. I was so delighted to see a thin leg on MY body that I barely cared about the whole BEING CRIPPLED part. (Does anyone remember that scene in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason in which she is bemoaning how a rival girl has "legs up to here"? And her friend comforts her with, "You have fine legs, Bridget! Climber's legs."? Anyone? Anyways, that's about the kindest description of my legs. These thighs are made for hikin'.)

-On a related note, the few months that I took ballet lessons were among the most humiliating of my life.

-I'm not a very good photographer.

-I have tried to write a novel approximately six times. I have never gotten past fifty pages. Fiction and I do not agree. Basically I think I am lacking in the imagination department. I can see the funny or the interesting or the romantic in the world around me, but I have a hard time just conjuring it up from thin air.

-I really, really like asparagus. Also mushrooms. My husband believes that I exaggerate my fondness for mushrooms just to annoy him because he hates them. He is wrong.

-Yesterday I ordered mushroom soup at Panera and got french onion instead. NOT ACCEPTABLE.

-I used to loathe red wine, but lately I prefer cabernets to just about everything else. I'm evolving again!

-I couldn't swallow pills until I was sixteen.

-The dryer just turned off and my baby's still protesting his bedtime, so I guess the fun is over.

Back To Our Normally Scheduled Program Of Fertility Issues

I was on my way to the gym this morning (mission: make my kids' boundless energy/inability to play nicely together someone else's problem!) when my phone rang. It was my ob's office, which of course made my heart skip a beat as I wasn't EXPECTING a call from them. It was about some blood work the doctor had asked me to have done when I was there two weeks ago. You remember, when I was having my giant cyst discovered! She had been scanning through my file and made a little tsk-tsk noise, then handed me some papers to take to the pathology lab. No big deal, she said, just a screening they generally do after subsequent miscarriages to make sure there isn't some blood disorder which causes blood clots in the placenta and could be an explanation for repeated miscarriages. She said I should have had it done months ago but it must have slipped through the cracks. She also said she really doubted that was my problem, though, given all my other hormonal issues, but thought I should go ahead and have it done to "dot our i's and cross our t's."

I got it done last week (seven vials of blood!) and then forgot about it, as they told me it took several weeks to get the results, generally. But they called today and said, surprise! You actually have TWO clotting factor disorders. One makes you more prone to getting blood clots yourself, and the other is the one that makes you high risk for miscarrying. But that was really all the nurse on the phone could tell me. She set up an appointment for me to talk to my doctor first thing Monday morning, and that was it.

I don't even know what to think. I mean, I carried half of my pregnancies to term, so obviously this clotting thing isn't inevitably fatal. Nor have I ever had a blood clot myself, despite having been on bedrest twice, which supposedly puts you at risk for clots even if you don't have a problem with them ordinarily. And... And I thought it was a HORMONAL problem that caused my miscarriages. I mean, hasn't that pretty much been determined? So what does this mean- I now have two problems stacking the odds against a successful pregnancy?

I don't even know what to think. I guess I shouldn't think much of anything until I talk to the doctor on Monday. But feelings are another story, and I'm feeling pretty discouraged.

Wedding Bells

I am in a very good mood today. Because my sister got ENGAGED last night! It was very fast and a huge surprise to everyone, but having once shocked friends and family with my own sudden engagement, I have no room for skepticism and every reason to think it will all turn out just perfectly!

Congratulations, little sister! (But plan the wedding for sooner than NEXT FALL. I need a Mexican vacation THIS year!)

There Is No Title

Nothing much to say here except WHY GOD WHY must it ALWAYS SNOW IN APRIL? Is it some kind of JOKE? *Bangs head against table repeatedly*

As I am stuck inside, I downloaded all my recent pictures and thought these were cute and would substitute acceptably for written content today.

Know what else is cute? How every time the kids and I listen to the Mamma Mia soundtrack (yes I own it SHUT UP) and "Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)" comes on, Adelay gets all excited and yells, "It's your song, Mommy! Sing your song!" Wha...? Do I look that hard up? TO MY THREE YEAR OLD?!

Anyways. Let's shake off that paragraph. Look at the BABIES!





Addy in a rare, snuggly mood. Try to ignore the purple blankie worn in lieu of clothes. It's hard to keep that girl dressed. (Insert hilarious comment here about how she comes by it honestly, apple doesn't fall far from the tree, wonder where she gets that from, etc.)



Fonzie, the world's most patient dog.



Last week, playing together on the deck when the weather was still behaving itself. Aren't they so BIG? They're like a couple of kids, not even babies at all.

In A Less Sentimental Vein

To Do:

-Turn back on son, allowing him to stand up on the storage ottoman, fall backwards onto his head with a terrifying THWACK! and then turn pale from screaming so hard.

-Call husband, hospital and best friend whose own son has a penchant for hitting his head. Be comforted by the nurse on the phone that, "Brain injuries often take several days to show up. It's great that he seems fine now, but you know, Natasha Richardson seemed fine for a few days, too..."

-Give up plans to go to the gym in favor of hovering over injured child watching for signs of head trauma such as slurred speech, staggering, and unusual behavior (you know, as opposed to your average year and a half old behavior, which is entirely reliable and never involves slurring or staggering.)

-While paying careful attention to son, neglect older daughter. Find her fifteen minutes later playing gleefully on bed, surrounded by piles of lingerie dug from your bedside table drawer.

-Stand outside on deck for ten minutes in the wind and cold while dog pretends to need a bowel movement when in fact he is merely looking for an escape. Finally drag him in after two failed attempts to dart through the neighbor's yard, only to realize that your daughter was having her own bathroom break alone while you were outside, and now has to be taken back to the bathroom for a more thorough clean up job.

-Emerge from the bathroom to see that son has thrown his lunch all over the floor, including about fifty eight peas. Try and fail to coax dog that he should be a normal frickin dog and clean up the food mess for you.

-Painstakingly pick up the peas on your hands and knees while children stand around watching you intently.

-Stand up to find that dog has eaten daughter's sandwich and tater tots right off her plate while you were on the floor with the peas.

-Give up on your day entirely and allow Steve and Blue to entertain your children while you whine online.

You Ruined Everything

Michelle was discussing today an article she recently read wherein a woman questions the common assumption that children add to one's happiness, and suggest that in fact they have the potential to ruin your life. (I would say that if you're looking to a helpless infant to make you happy, fix your relationship, or complete you as a person, you should really rethink the decision to become a parent in the first place. But I digress...) I followed several article links from the original blog post linked above, and found my way to this song, which a commenter cited as an example of what parenting actually is. I liked it quite a bit, and given the slight depression I've been feeling over our particular (and comparably minor) fertility frustrations, it was a good reminder of why it is all worth it.

I was fine,
I pulled my self together
Just in time,
To throw my self away
Once my perfect world was gone I knew,
You ruined everything in the nicest way

You should know,
How great things were before you
Even so,
They're better still today
Now I can't think who I was before
You ruined everything in the nicest way

Bumps in the road remind us
The worst of the best behind us
Only good things will find us, me and you
Days will be clear and sunny
We're gonna need more money
Baby you know it's funny
All those stories coming,
True

Despite my better efforts,
It's all for you
the worst kind of cliché

I'll be with you till the day you leave
You ruined everything in the nicest way

-Jonathon Coulton

Probably Just Skip This One...

Wow, I sure have been a regular Pollyanna the last week or so. Sorry about that. But just as one last, final whine and then I'll shut up I PROMISE, I want to present the most convincing proof I can think of that taking the pill, at least for some of us, really and truly alters one's actual personality:

I skipped dusting this week. I also haven't vacuumed for almost a week. Yesterday, I had to run two loads of dishes back to back because there was about three meals' worth just piled up around the kitchen.

Just let that sink into your brains. I don't feel like cleaning. At. All. It seems pointless and tedious and soul killing. Also, exercising, which usually gives me energy, is making me feel exhausted and spent for the remainder of the day. I get home, make lunch, shower, and then more or less collapse into a state of coma broken up only by helping kids go potty or change their doll's clothing for the hundredth time.

So if any of you are weighing the pros and cons of the pill, or already take it and are looking for something on which to pin the blame for any of your bad habits, look no further! Ya heard it here first: the pill is the devil.

*Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that the last few days I keep finding dirty dishes mysteriously shelved with the clean ones. Clearly, at some point in the last forty eight hours I put away a whole load of unwashed dishes without noticing. Stellar.

Old Reliable

Reasons why I went off the pill after about five months the last time I was on it (2004) and went with other, slightly less effective methods of b.c.:

-I felt ravenous all the time. Even if I'd eaten like an HOUR ago.

-I gained weight. See above.

-Even though I was hungry, nothing sounded or tasted very good because I felt nauseous all the time.

-I was irritable and overly sensitive.

-I didn't have much energy, even if I got plenty of sleep and drank plenty o' coffee.

-I was more prone to headaches.


Five years later, and NOTHING HAS CHANGED about the pill! It's good to know some things can be depended upon.

Not To Be

We changed our minds around noon yesterday and decided to go ahead with the drugs this next cycle. I quickly arranged for childcare, made an appointment for two thirty for an ultrasound, and began to feel buoyed and even excited again. But alas, it was not to be.

There is apparently a quite large cyst on my left ovary, a follicle cyst that, instead of shrinking down as it was supposed to, decided to swell up to the size of a NECTARINE instead. I HAVE been experiencing quite a bit of discomfort on that side still, but I just figured, hey, one is bound to have some residual soreness after a cycle of drugs which hyper stimulate your reproductive system, right?

So, instead of getting to try for a baby this month, I get to take the Pill instead to try to shrink up that cyst! Then after THAT cycle I get another ultrasound to make sure the cyst has disappeared, and if it hasn't, we have to look at "other options," whatever that means and I DEARLY hope it doesn't mean surgery.

Also, the combination of stopping the progesterone therapy and beginning the Pill must have had a really whacky effect on my hormones (OBV) because within in hour of swallowing that tiny, ovulation-supressing death capsule, I was convinced that I had been stricken with another inner ear infection. I could not walk without wobbling, I was so dizzy, and every movement was inducing horrible nausea. I was also feeling really faint, and my vision kept getting blurry whenever I'd try to stand. I laid on the couch, held very still, and prayed for either relief or a mercifully swift death.

Thankfully, it went away after a few more hours and a few servings of protein, and this morning I feel normal again. I can only assume it was a reaction to the hormonal adjustment. Although apparently dizziness, lightheadedness, nausea and abdominal pain are all symptoms of large cysts. So far I had only been having the last of those, so I find it odd that all of the others would have suddenly struck an hour after being diagnosed. It had to be the Pill. (Or my own self-loathing reaction to the news of yet another FAIL on the fertility front.)

I'm never going to be able to find this post, but does anyone remember that old BabyCenter column by Catherine Newman in which she talked about how she wished Hallmark made cards for disappointing gynecological situations? I believe one of the suggestions she offered was, "Sorry 'bout your ovarian cyst/ Boy, you must be really pissed."

Indeed.

:(

Well. Not this month, I'm afraid. I feel pretty let down, because, despite knowing in my head that one success does not guarantee another, I was still expecting that since it only took one cycle of Clomid for Eli, it would only take one cycle this time, too. Dumb. Well, and also I was having quite a bit of a particular symptom of early pregnancy- let's just call it east-bray enderness-tay- but apparently that was all due to the progesterone supplements I'd been taking. That fun side effect is still lingering, along with some pretty wicked cramps, so you can only imagine the charming mood I'm in. And AND I burnt another batch of cookies.

We're still trying to decide if we should take a break this month or give it another shot. We have to decide today, because if we're going ahead I need to get an ultrasound asap and then start taking the drugs tomorrow. I'm feeling pretty wrung out, though, mentally and even physically, so I'm thinking we'll wait. All those extra hormones do take a toll. Plus, if we got pregnant this month, I'd be due December 28th. If I followed my usual pattern and went on bedrest the last month, that would be awfully inconvenient for everybody involved. On the other hand- waiting. Not my forte.

Yes, This Is All I'm Going To Talk About Until I Get Some Answers

Freaking evaporation line. Tricks me every time. Is it a gray or colorless, faintly indented line? Or is it in fact eeeeever so slightly PINK and therefore valid?

And of course, given the ridiculous, dumpster diving, am I or aren't I debacle of trying to determine whether or not I was pregnant with Eli, I can never leave a test alone after the ten minute window because I know now that SOMETIMES, at least with my particular hormone-challenged body, a genuine positive decides to take its sweet time emerging. Like, HOURS of sweet time.

Musta really been hard in the olden days, when the only pregnancy confirmation was the realization that you were barfing up your griddle cakes from the back of the covered wagon every morning and that fancy, go-to-town girdle just wasn't lacing up anymore. Or in some cases, I'm sure, when an actual HEAD was emerging from your body. That would be pretty definite.

Haircuts and Princesses and GERD, Oh My!

I resisted taking a pregnancy test this morning, you guys. I am trying really hard to just chill out about it until Wednesday, when I am technically due. Luckily there have been lots of things to keep me busy the last few days:


Cutting Eli's hair WAY too short thanks to grabbing the wrong razor guard by mistake. He's still cute though, am I right?



Taking Addy to the Disney Symphony program. She was a little overwhelmed, in case the wide eyed expression doesn't spell that out for you, but she was completely mesmerized the whole time. I'm pretty sure she loved it, despite her firm pronouncement that the Mary Poppins song was "too loud in my ears!"





Addy and her cousin, before the show began. (I also cut Addy's hair Saturday night. I like it long, but she hates having her hair washed and brushed so much that it seems better for everyone to keep it relatively short. You could also read that: I am a lazy mom and don't like to fight with her about keeping her hair tidy every morning.)


We tried to get Addy to pose with Cinderella and Snow White before the show, but she was predictably hesitant about it. We settled for getting a shot NEAR the princesses.



Adelay on her new bicycle this morning. She was more excited about the little bag on the front than anything else!

So yeah, that was my weekend. We also played outside a lot. And to distract myself today, I have plans to make oatmeal walnut chocolate chip cookies. Maybe coffee cake too. I mean, sure, the cookies will inevitably be burnt, but I like eating the dough the best anyways. There's ANOTHER culinary vice you have to give up while pregnant...

Oh and p.s., one of my friends from our church stopped over this morning with her five week old baby, and MAN, that kid is not happy! He has GERD, and the poor baby is just so visibly uncomfortable all the time. It just breaks your heart (and brings up your stress levels!) I feel so bad for him AND his poor parents! Does anyone have advise for them about tricks that worked for you, if your baby had tummy/esophageal problems? Or maybe just a sympathetic comment and assurance that he will get better?

It Was A No Fork Required Kind Of Day

I am trying really hard here to keep my mind off the various maybe pregnant, maybe still hormonally screwed up, maybe pregnant and about to have another miscarriage scenarios. I have been keeping up on laundry like a fifties' housewife. I cleaned out the refrigerator. I made an art project with Addy (well, I MADE it and she decorated it with stickers.) I went to my niece's birthday party. I worked out for an hour, and then, when the endorphins from the exercise weren't quite doing the trick, I drove through a diner and bought two pieces of pie. One of which I ate with my bare hands while driving home, as Addy fretted vocally in the backseat about my lack of utensil and the fact that I was making A Mess! It helped a little. The second piece helped even more.

Today I am watching my nephews for a few hours this afternoon, and I think we'll all go to the park. Tomorrow Addy and her cousins are going to a Disney Music Program that the local symphony is putting on, complete with giant Disney princesses and the possibility of photo ops, so that should be fun, too. That will see me through to Monday.

I also took a pregnancy test this morning. Which was negative, and not surprising, given that it's the absolute earliest day I could have gotten a positive anyways and I've never been blessed with OVERABUNDANT hormones the likes of which produce positive pregnancy tests days before I'm even late. But it was still a big sigh, and it's still that ominous stick tucked in my bathroom drawer that I have to keep obsessively monitoring as though it is a newborn swaddled in its bassinet.

Which, you know, it kind of is.

Jury's Still Out

The nurse did finally call this morning around 10. My progesterone level was 9.88. Which is... Not thrilling. But also, given that my level was a flat 9 the last time I took Clomid and I did in fact end up being pregnant, I'm not feeling completely hopeless either. The nurse on the phone was not encouraging at all, though, which was pretty depressing. She gave me the news all sympathetically, then continued, "This is a VERY low level, so the doctor wants you to take Clomid again next cycle, but then take Prometrium (a synthetic progesterone) as well as soon as you ovulate until you either get your period or get a positive pregnancy test. And then hopefully we'll at least get your hormone levels where they should be." Basically she was acting as though this cycle was a wash, and the plan was to just start fresh next month.

I explained to her that without Clomid, my usual day 21 progesterone level is only 5, which elicited an (overdramatic) GASP from her. Then I explained that my last progesterone level, drawn when pregnant, was still only a 9, so I wasn't ready to completely give up on this cycle. I mean, 9.8 is higher than 9, so it's not OUT OF THE QUESTION that I could be pregnant. So the nurse went to ask the doctor if I should maybe go ahead with the Prometrium supplements THIS cycle just in case I am pregnant and, as usual, need the extra hormone boost. The doctor said it "couldn't hurt," so I am now supposed to take this pill at night while I wait for either period or positive test. The bottle of pills was fifty dollars, just fyi. Not covered. There is no more satisfying way to spend money than on health care, huh? Unless maybe it's YARD DRAINAGE or CAR REPAIRS. Those are equally thrilling.

I felt pretty let down after the whole discussion. I mean, I'm relieved that the level wasn't horribly low. I'm relieved that it wasn't insanely HIGH, also, because then I would pretty much have to assume twins at least. Which I just feel nervous about, still. But I was SO hoping that this time my body would have gotten itself into gear, conceived a little zygote, and them produced the proper amount of hormones to indicate pregnancy and to support said zygote without additional pharmaceutical help. (Also, I'm annoyed that the pharmaceutical help has listed as a side effect "severe dizziness." I have a strong aversion to even the hint of dizziness after the Great Illness of August '07.)

I mean, maybe I'm just not pregnant, too, in which case my body DID succesfully produce the proper amount of hormones. But the nurse acted like my numbers were low even for a non-pregnant cycle. That's different than what was said online, but I guess I'll go with the doctor's opinion on this one and not the Internetz.

Grrr. I'm just tired of monitoring and worrying about the state of my reproductive system. It's beginning to feel like a second JOB.

Edit: I don't want to sound overly whiny here. I know many people have health problems that require constant monitoring their entire lives, and they just deal. Like diabetes, for example. So this isn't a big deal comparatively speaking. And of course there's the obvious retort to all my complaining: "How much can you really say about your miscarriages and your fertility problems when you do HAVE two beautiful kids already?"

I think it's just that expectations are a killer. When you're kinda young still, you just expect things to go smoothly for you, health wise. Particularly in the area of babies. That is one of the supposed perks of having your kids young. So this is just more of me pouting about it being any kind of trouble at all to get or stay pregnant. Take it for what it's worth, and understand that I KNOW how lucky I already am.

Second edit: I did more research on prometrium and apparently it's not a synthetic, it's just the brand name by which the pill form of natural progesterone is know. So that makes me feel better.

Aaargh

I am about to jump out of my skin. The doctor's office called to tell me my results were in, but I missed the call so they left a message. I called back, literally WRINGING MY HANDS in anticipaion, only to be told that they had been given VERBAL confirmation of my results but that the fax with the SPECIFIC results wasn't in yet and they'd be sure to call me when it did come.
Well. Their office closes at four thirty. It is four twenty-three. No call. I am going to die. This is worse than waiting for a boy to call you back.

Two Week Wait, Desperate-Style

I am a little Wound. Up. this morning. I am not a morning person at all, but I woke up as perky as could be, and stared at the ceiling, counting and recounting days and trying to figure out if today was like, RIDICULOUSLY early to be testing or if it was just KINDA early to be testing. I finally reached the conclusion that today would be a total money-down-the-drain test, especially since I have never once gotten an early positive result even when I definitely was pregnant, so I got up and went about the morning routine without breaking out the hpt. But OH it was hard.

Then I called the doctor's office to see if my progesterone levels from my blood draw yesterday were in yet, even though the lady at the lab said probably not until tomorrow morning. And she was right. But I'm still glad I called, 'cause the nurse on the phone said they usually don't call the patient at all unless the results are abnormal. I replied, a little frantically, "Well, I want to know EXACT NUMBERS!" She said she'd make a note in my chart that I WANT TO BE CALLED WITH THE EXACT NUMBER PLEASE RIGHT AWAY KTHANX!

THEN I got online and checked out normal progesterone levels for a day 21 draw, both in a regular cycle (at least 8) and in a pregnant cycle (at least 16). So I am all set to obsessively evaluate my exact result and jump to a conclusion! Though even that will have an element of iffyness, since with Eli my day 21 draw was a 9, which is WAY LOW and made me think there was no way I was pregnant, and yet by day 30 it was up to 19, which was acceptable for a healthy pregnancy.

And, uh, THEN I went to peeonastick.com and carefully checked out all the pictures of positive results people have gotten as early as 10 days past ovulation. Pondered whether or not I chose the right hpt. Pondered whether I maybe SHOULD test tomorrow after all (tomorrow being 9 to 10 days past.) You never know.

Drank my second cup of coffee and decided I needed some protein, so I heated up a little pan and cracked in an egg. The egg? Had two yolks. I swear to you, I felt my heart SKIP A BEAT. Because, you know, IT'S A SIGN!

Boy, I sure just take things easy and go with the flow and don't over think things AT ALL, huh?

Fresh Air

St. Patty's Day brought unseasonably warm temps and a gorgeous sunny day. We spent about an hour and a half running around the local playground with Aunt Laura and some friends, despite Eli's grouchy mood from receiving his final HiB vaccine earlier that day. He perked up considerably after experiencing the thrill of the swings once again, however, and was soon running around, climbing up and over things and going down the slides (with a little help.) It's so crazy to think that last summer he couldn't even WALK and my main concern was keeping him from eating little pebbles and getting stepped on by the big kids.





We ran around outside the night before that, too, playing soccer for about an hour and forcing poor, cooped up Fonzie to perform many repetitions of the "jump in the air and grab the stick from our hand" trick. It was so, so, SO great to be outdoors again, and for it to still be light out after dinner! I feel like I survived this winter without going TOO nuts, but man am I happy that it's over! KNOCK ON WOOD.

Ranting, With Bonus Belly Pictures

Last night we were at a wedding with lots of people we know from around town but don't really see that much outside of weddings/high school reunions, etc. They all asked the standard questions, "So how many kids do you guys want? Are you having any more?" And other than a single solitary woman, everyone acted various levels of shocked/HORRIFIED when told that we are trying again and that we want at least four kids.

Now, I know the AVERAGE is two, but that means that at least half of the majority of the crowd that is NOT quite average has MORE than two, right? So it makes me feel kind of irritable to be treated like some kind of SOCIAL ANOMALY. Especially when people act all worried about how we're going to AFFORD all these kids and how we're going to have ROOM for them and such. I think that's our business, folks! Also: not everyone believes that they owe each of their kids a private bedroom, a brand new car at sixteen and a fully funded college education! I don't think I'd do some of that stuff even if we could afford it.

People tend to act especially shocked when told that you're taking any kind of fertility drugs when you've already got kids. Like just because you have two- and ONE OF EACH, in fact!- that you're being kind of greedy or crazy to try so actively for more.

All that to explain why I was looking through some of my old pregnancy pictures, trying to cheer myself up again about possibly being pregnant. Then I thought, what the hey, let's let everyone take a peak at pregnant Sarah. Misery loves company.


I'm about six months pregnant with Addy here. And rocking some REALLY sexy pajamas.



On bedrest for Adelay, so about eight months along. Bedrest with her was MUCH easier than with Eli. Probably because I wasn't quite as huge, and also didn't have a toddler running around being cared for by other people while I watched from the sidelines and felt guilty!



About five months along with Eli here. My face hasn't gone totally puffy yet. Although I do look frighteningly pale... I think this was right after my knee surgery, so I'd probably been spending a lot of time indoors.


Getting bigger. Seven or eight months here, probably. Belly button hasn't popped yet.



...AND there's the belly button. This was about a week after I'd been allowed up from bedrest with Eli, and I was still recovering from that wicked inner ear infection thing that had me throwing up every time I moved. So if I look really giddy for a nine months' pregnant woman, I'm probably just so excited to be WALKING and wearing NORMAL CLOTHES and not PUKING UP MY GUTS!

Let's Just Forget THAT Happened...

Wow. Yesterday was just a beating, you guys. I woke up to pain radiating through my left side (that would be from the overachieving ovary) which stayed with me all day. I could barely move without wincing. And of course, now that I might be in the beginning stages of GESTATING, I felt weird taking the prescription painkillers which were given to me for my usual post-ovulatory pain. PSA: Tylenol Extra Strength doesn't do crap.

Later, I needed to grocery shop, which is always a treat with two kids anyways. Of course on this particular excursion Addy decided to have the sort of screaming fit which inspires complete strangers to whisper amongst themselves about "kids these days." The scenario was as follows: Addy is playing with her chap stick while sitting in the basket of the cart. Eli keeps turning around, enviously staring, grunting and pointing at the chap stick and occasionally trying to wrench it away from her. She momentarily allows him to hold it, then suddenly snatches it back and screams at him "It's mine! You share!"

Repeat this a few times and I'm losing my patience, so I instruct her to just hand the chap stick to me, and tell her I will return it to her in the car where her poor little brother can't be driven insane with it. Addy complies without incident, but about five minutes later she must suddenly relive the injustice and trauma or something, because she bursts into hysterical sobs, begging incoherently for her chap stick and screaming at me that "Is mine! You share, Mommy! You share my chap stick!"

Snot and tears are all over her face, and at this point I can't push the cart any farther for fear she's going to tip it over with her manic flailing. Everyone in a ten yard vicinity is staring at me. I pick her up out of the cart for her own safety, sustaining a few wild kicks and jabs in the process, and put her down, where she promptly crumples to the floor. "I! Want! My! Chap Stick!" she weeps into the filthy tile.

Now, everything in my psyche is screaming, "Give her the ever loving chap stick, you moron! You have placed yourself in a lose-lose scenario here, and the best thing you can do is cut your losses and spare yourself further humiliation." But the smidgen of parental wisdom that was left rattling in my brain intoned, "You had a perfectly good reason to confiscate the chap stick, and regardless, you cannot give in to this kind of behavior. If you cave, all she will learn is that you're more worried about being embarrassed in public than about sticking to the rules."

So I gathered up my resolve and continued pushing the cart. She followed behind me, sobbing and stumbling like a sloppy drunk, ranting at me alternately to "Gimme my CHAP! STICK!" and "Put me back! Put me back in the CART!" I would stop every minute or so, bend down so I could meet her eyes, and tell her as calmly as I could manage that I would put her back in the cart as soon as she could settle down, but that the chap stick was staying in my pocket until we got to the car.

It literally took about ten minutes (or it could have been a YEAR, for how slowly time dragged on) before she finally calmed down and put up her arms to be lifted back in the cart. Once settled in, she sniffed and asked in a shaky, piteous voice, "See the fishes please?"

So off I trudged, my face as red as it's ever been, to show her and Eli the fish tanks. Looking at her, gazing at the goldfish and softly exclaiming over the colors, you would never have guessed that two minutes earlier she had been behaving like the most appalling brat I'd ever seen.

Later into the shopping trip, Eli grabbed his milk cup from me and arced it backwards all over his sister, the groceries, and the floor of the shopping center. But really, that was just icing on the Exploding Cake of Doom that was this day. So was the woman behind me in the check-out line who lectured me about allowing Eli to suck his thumb because "it's such a hard habit to break. You should have started him on pacifiers instead." So was three of the grocery bags breaking while I was bringing them inside.

Ah well. Today is a fresh start. My side doesn't hurt so bad anymore, and I have a wedding to go to tonight! Without children! Should probably decide what I'm going to WEAR now... Is it sad that the few wedding-appropriate dresses I own are all MATERNITY dresses?

Two

I had my mid cycle ultrasound today. I did ovulate on my own already, probably yesterday, so I didn't need the hcg shot. That was good. I uh, I ovulated TWO eggs, in fact. Or at least there were two very large follicles visible.

So um... Trying not to assume TWINS here. Doctor assured me that two follicles doesn't necessarily mean both eggs got picked up by the fallopian tubes. Or that even if they did, both didn't necessarily get fertilized. But still. She said my odds are probably one in ten of having twins. Normal odds are one in seventy. So that's... considerably HIGHER. Ahem.

The bright side is, I'd be getting two kids for the price of one in terms of pregnancy. And pregnancy is not that fun for me, so, score!

Beginning To Feel It

Um, wow. So forget what I said about the Clomid not really affecting me that much! Today is day 14 of my cycle, so, you know, I'm either ovulating today or I'm very CLOSE to ovulating. And today? The hormones are killing me. Slowly and painfully. I'm irritable and snappish. I'm ravenously hungry. I've had a throbbing tension headache on and off all day, and it's beginning to feel like someone is tightening screws at my temples. I'm also extremely dizzy and lightheaded all of the sudden, which is a fairly common side effect, but I thought it either occurred or it didn't- I didn't expect to be perfectly fine and then wake up one day with a case of vertigo. I just feel fuzzy and disoriented, kind of like when you're beginning to feel the effects of alcohol. But not in a fun way. I was looking up at a shelf in our closet and almost blacked out.

Also, the drug has apparently erased all the grammar I ever knew, because I had to look up when to use "affect" and when to use "effect" in the above paragraph. I'm still not sure I've got it right.

Grr. I'd better be pregnant this cycle. I do not want to do this much longer!

Numbered

First: I am so proud of myself. Because I finally took down the outdoor Christmas lights. On this, March 11th. Clearly, I am ALL OVER my to-do list.

Second: How can I be so astonishingly lazy about things like this yet be driven crazy if the ENTIRE house doesn't get dusted once a week? It's like there's some kind of... priority glitch in my brain. Perhaps there's a pill for this?

Third: I made cherry cobbler today. It was pretty darn good. I'm really rocking the fruit cobblers lately. But I still burnt my last batch of cookies. And the one before that, and the one before that. Cookies. They are my Everest.

Fourth: I am trying to enjoy a drink or two every night until Thursday (last day when I could possibly be ovulating.) Then it is all over for me, my friends, assuming the Clomid works. This sucks particularly since we have a wedding to go to on Saturday. But I never feel comfortable drinking if there's even the possibility I might be pregnant. So, I am currently downing a vodka and orange juice. Which explains my laziness about segue-ing my paragraphs!

Fifth: Tonight I got together with a couple of my friends and the conversation, as is inevitable, turned to pregnancy and birth. We were all telling (or more accurately, RE-telling) our respective birth stories, and it came out that of the three of us, I was the only one who in the end found that birthing was not QUITE as bad as I had expected. Everyone else thought, much worse.
And it's not that I thought labor or delivery was FUN or EASY or NOT excruciatingly PAINFUL. But I was amazed in the end that wussy old me got through it without losing it completely, without even wanting drugs (at least, not the second time. I believe the first time I suggested an epidural at nine and a half centimeters, and was greeted with a hearty laugh.) I also realized, upon re-hearing their stories, that my labors, up until transition/pushing phase at least, sounded much less painful and exhausting. I think I may have really lucked out in this department so far. So here's hoping that trend continues!
What do you think? If you have given birth, was it better, worse, or about what you expected?