Another Day, Another Doctor

Tuesday I drove about an hour away to a chiropractor who had been referred to me as someone who also does nutritional advising and homeopathic supplement consultation, etc. Apparently he's helped people with fertility issues for whom drugs weren't fully solving the problem. At least, enough people that I heard of him by word of mouth, a state away.

At this point I'm figuring anything's worth a shot. However, I'm also beginning to feel that the stress of worrying about doctors' visits, timing of drugs, injections, blood draws etc. is possibly counteracting any good it's doing. Stress in the area of fertility is definitely a cyclic thing, in my opinion. The more things don't work, the more stressed you get, and the less likely treatments are to help you because your body is not in a receptive state.

This opinion may sound kind of in opposition to the fact that I am pursuing yet another doctor, but I guess I rationalize it by saying that this doctor is DIFFERENT and that his treatment suggestions are very DIFFERENT than those the OB's and reproductive specialists have proposed. He thinks, based on a LOOONG discussion and medical history review, that the problem may be a dysfunctional adrenal gland. This gland processes progesterone and if it's not working, tends to turn progesterone into cortisol (stress hormone) instead. This could explain why even when my body was being seriously pumped FULL of progesterone, my blood levels were still shockingly low.

Some of the symptoms of this dysfunction are sugar cravings (huge for me- can't go a day without it,) chronic tiredness (iffy here- yes, I get draggy in the afternoon, yes I have a hard time getting up in the morning, yes I drink coffee at both of these times in order to wake up, but who doesn't?,) depression (again, iffy- yes, I haven't been at my highest, mood wise, in the last year or so, but we've been dealing with a lot of stress so I think that's kind of normal,) and very low alcohol and medication tolerance (definitely true. SO TRUE.) Also severe PMS is a big indicator, and I have always, always battled that.

But the main indicator is definitely the recurrent miscarriages, which APPEAR to be happening because of low progesterone levels beginning at conception. So what he wants me to do is a cycle-long saliva test, which measures your levels of estrogen and progesterone throughout your entire cycle so that you can get a really good picture of when your levels are rising and falling, and if they're doing so appropriately. Before we've only tested post-ovulation and then once I'm pregnant. No one's ever attempted to measure my levels all cycle long to see if my progesterone is even going up at all post ovulation.

He said once that's done, we'll have a clearer picture of how to proceed, and whether or not I need more specific adrenal function testing (probably so.) In the mean time, he gave me an adrenal... kick starter? Or something. It's for short term use after athletic events or stressful physical experiences, such as surgery, miscarriage, illness, etc. I'm supposed to take it for a month to try to help my body get back to normal after this, the World's Longest Miscarriage. Then next month I'm going to make sure my cycle is normal (this current one is not exactly acting normal.) And then the cycle after THAT, probably in December, is when we'll do the saliva testing.

I'm happy that he seemed normal and nice and not a quack. Nor was he quick to offer me some magical supplement that would cure all ills. The fact that he seemed a little unsure and doesn't yet have a set idea of how to treat me is reassuring, I guess, because I don't like it when doctors are quick to jump to conclusions and aren't really listening to all the specifics.

On the other hand, it was a little depressing HOW unsure he seemed. He was very surprised, looking through my stack of records, at how poorly my body has responded even to such high doses of progesterone, EVEN in conjunction with Clomid which supposedly jacks up your hormone production. He said there definitely seems to be a big problem in how I process and produce that hormone. I didn't get the impression that there's one specific supplement that I can take to magically fix that. It seems that this treatment route may take a while and be quite a process. But at least I won't be worrying about GETTING pregnant until the process is done (usually with supplements they want you to wait three to six months after beginning them, to make sure they're fully integrated into your system.)

So, hopefully it won't be all that stressful. I have accepted and am (mostly) ok with the fact that it's going to be awhile before I get pregnant again, and I'm trying to look at this as a period of rest for my mind and body. A time to get well, and to take good care of myself and my family. A time to appreciate what I have, to enjoy the holidays, and to enjoy good health.

I'm trying to be ok with the fact that maybe there is no solution, too. Maybe I won't get pregnant again, or maybe I will but I'll miscarry. There are no guarantees. There is only the fact that I do have two kids, that I have managed to maintain two pregnancies to a safe point, and that I have gotten to give birth and nurse and cuddle on two babies. This is not SO unfortunate, as misfortunes go. I do think we would eventually pursue other options for adding to our family, if I really can't have another baby, but we're certainly not there yet. There is still reason to hope.

Don't Hate Me Because I Could Kick Your Butt On An Elliptical

Last month marked the one year anniversary of my gym membership. I have logged approximately ninety work outs, which is... less than stellar. I mean, that's what? Exercising one out of every four days, on average? But don't worry, I have all sorts of excuses: the hernia surgery last October, two weeks after I GOT the gym membership; various illnesses, mine and the kids, since any sickness on their part prohibits me from going during the day and utilizing the childcare; THE HOLIDAYS; a few bad weather/icy road scenarios, I'm sure; and of course the pregnancy/miscarriage during August and September, during which months I think I logged in maybe four or five workouts TOTAL.

I am still quite proud of myself, though. I did it. I no longer think of myself as a non-exerciser, or someone who doesn't have muscle and in fact CAN'T build muscle, or can't be in good cardiovascular shape because of my poor KNEE, wah! (Though if it weren't for exercise bikes and elliptical machines, that might be true. I have pretty much abandoned running, even though it's much more fun than machines, because of knee pain.)

I've lost between five and ten pounds this year, but weight loss wasn't the primary goal here. What is noteworthy is the huge increase in endurance and stamina, and the significantly more toned muscles. My upper body and waist are a little more defined, my arms a little more shapely. Even my legs, while nothing even approaching thin, are at least somewhat firm now. Most importantly to me, my legs FEEL much stronger. My knee, which always used to feel weak and wobbly and cause me to walk gingerly whenever I was on uneven ground or stairs, feels fine now. It may someday give out again, of course, if I do something stupid or turn too sharply, but in general I feel a lot more confident running around, playing with my kids, and generally acting my age instead of like a little old woman.

The biggest benefit of exercise, though, in my experience, has been quality of life and mood improvement. I always feel more productive if I've gotten to the gym, and it's a good way to get out of the house and do something with the kids other than shop (expensive!) or errands (boring!) especially if the weather is not condusive to playing outside. I have more energy the rest of the day, I'm more inclined to eat healthfully before and after I work out, and I just generally feel more positive.

I contribute a lot of my emotional recovery from this last pregnancy loss to the fact that I tried to get back to exercise as quickly as possible, knowing that the last time I miscarried, exercise was what really helped me feel better. And it worked. I'm not exactly walking on air, but I'm not depressed right now, as opposed to the last time when I would say I was definitely battling it. Most days I feel okay, mostly happy, and even hopeful. I have certainly felt FRUSTRATED occasionally with the way things were dragging on, but I never felt like I didn't even want to get out of bed in the morning or that there was no hope of our ever having more babies or anything like that.

So I know this is a barfy fitness post (term credit: Tess) but it's been on my mind the last few days, and it's something I wanted to express to anyone out there who may be battling some melancholy or even just a negative self-image. Exercise is not magic: it's not going to turn that frown upside or anything, and it's not a cure-all for every problem. Also, if you don't change your eating habits much (which I have NOT) it's probably not going to cause the pounds to shed miraculously. But you WILL be healthier and stronger, and you will at least feel better. That I can guarantee.

Inner Child

I'm a big dollhouse fan. It's not even so much the playing with the dolls in the house, per se, but the arranging of the dolls' stuff in the tiny little houses that I find so magical. I used to drive my friends crazy when I was little, because I never really wanted to play with them. I just wanted them to go dress the dolls and drive them around in their mini coupe while I arranged the furniture to my heart's content.

There was one friend in particular who had a dollhouse I truly coveted. This dollhouse. Every time I went to her house I virtually ignored her in favor of her doll mansion's sprawling terrace and charming old fashioned bathroom fixtures.

Fifteen years later, the charm has not worn off. This exquisitely detailed dollhouse showed up at our house two days ago:



My sweet mom has fulfilled my lifelong dream of owning the Playmobil Mansion. Now I can die happy.








Tragically, though, my mom gave me this gift only with the stipulation that I must share it with her granddaughter:




Oh well. She's pretty good about taking turns.

Young Man...

Eli. Eli, Eli, Eli. What to say other than you SURE DID get the memo that you have turned two, huh?

You are lucky that you are cute and cuddly and learning funny little phrases, so that when I have to stomp, er, go to your room for the third time in a row at ten o' clock at night, you can hold up your arms, immediately stop screaming, and lisp sweetly, "COME 'ere!" And then grab my sleeve and attempt to haul my giant adult body into your toddler bed beside you, but in the most winsome and coaxing manner possible, so that I have almost no choice but to at least TRY to force your tiny bed to hold us both.

Turns out it does, until my leg falls asleep. Unlike YOURSELF!

Dude, if I end up with ten extra pounds and a drinking problem this winter, the blame is squarely on your little shoulders. Because once you are finally asleep, all I ever want to do is celebrate, adult-style. (And by adult style I of course mean diving into a box of cookies and a tumbler of red wine while watching the most recent Netflix offering.)

Belated

So here's my firstborn, my NOT baby NOT toddler but honest to goodness kid, doing some kind of gleeful pirate jig in anticipation of her birthday party later that day:




Here's the spread before it all got torn apart by par-taying:




Yet more plastic princess junk to add to her already substantial pile of plastic Disney princess junk. And I can't even blame relatives for this particular gift- my sister Jeni had gotten her the original Cinderella set, but once I saw what a hit the tiny, rubbery dress up dolls were with Addy (and the elevated status they gave my sister) I felt compelled to include another set in her stack of birthday presents. Yes, I am a cheap sell out, bowing at the altar of Disney just for popularity.

(Public service announcement: those dresses are SO HARD to put on, even for adult fingers. Forget about a child being able to do it. In the process of dressing, I even POPPED THE FLIPPING HEAD off the original Cinderella and had to go shamefacedly get a replacement. So if you too lose your mind and buy these, expect to be helping your kid dress and undress the dolls about ten times a day.)


But just look at that gorgeous cake. Only my mother could come up with a way to satisfy a four year old's very specific wish for a cake on the theme of Ballerina Strawberry Shortcake.




Happy birthday, Addy Bear!

What's Wrong With You

I keep waiting to post until I have downloaded all the pictures from Addy's fourth birthday party, but then it turns out the batteries are dead in the camera, and the rechargeable ones aren't holding charge, and I don't have any regular double A batteries anywhere in the house and...

Anyways. I figured I'd better throw something up in the meantime. But unfortunately, all that comes to mind to write about it a little on the, eh, woe is me side. So feel free to skip, but here it is:

I am so. tired. of this miscarriage. At least with the others, I had a d and c, and it was over and done with. The brief hospital stay was a kind of physical and mental closure, and within a few days, the bleeding was completely over. My cycle resumed normally, and I got back to thinking about trying again, or at least about things other than, "When oh when will my stupid hcg levels go down to zero so I can be done with blood draws and waiting, waiting, waiting?"

I took a cheapy pregnancy test on Friday, expecting and hoping for a positive result since that would mean that yes, there was still an elevated hcg level present and therefore yes, it was normal that my cycle hadn't started again. I was getting a little nervous about that, and testing seemed easier than going in again for a blood draw. Of course, it was positive, and while this was the expected result, taking that test was just the dumbest thing I could have done. It was so frustrating to see a positive pregnancy test and feel my emotions zing right to elated, automatically, even though my brain knew that NO, the appropriate reaction would be frustration that this miscarriage isn't complete yet. I had to keep talking and talking to myself, repeating the biological facts of why yes, it was a positive pregnancy test, but no, it did not at all mean that I was pregnant again.

And I'm not, for the record. I went again for a blood draw Monday just to make ABSOLUTELY SURE, and my hcg has dropped to fifteen. Since it has to be at twenty five to show up positive on a pregnancy test, that would mean it's dropping at... what, maybe about four or five points a day? So we're getting close here. Almost over.

Another ouchy thing this weekend happened at the fall festival we took the kids to on Sunday. It was really fun, actually, but then I ran into a friend I hadn't seen for quite a while, and she eyeballed my baggy sweatshirt conspiratorially and asked, "So, is there a little baby in there yet?" When I told that there had been, but that it didn't work out, she exclaimed, "Again? Oh no! But... I thought they had figured out what was wrong with you when they found out about that blood clotting thing?"

I know there's no right reaction when you hear other people's bad news. You're always shocked and sad for them, and you just want to say something to make sense of it, to try to figure it out.

But I just don't like being reminded that there is, indeed, something wrong with me.

*You may (or, more likely, may not) have noticed that at the bottom of my page, where I have tickers to track the kids' ages, I added a ticker for the last miscarriage. I fully realize that this may be slightly morbid, and I know that I won't want it there forever. But for some reason it just felt right to have it for awhile. A way to mark time, but also a way to memorialize, in some small way, the tiny life that was with us so briefly.

On The Bright Side

I think I have some sort of innate, Polly-type gene which causes me to make note of every little thing that is GOOD about an otherwise CRAP situation. While kind of cheesy and embarrassing, it's an excellent coping tool. It's just not a coping tool that I like having foisted upon me, I've noticed: it's one thing to mention to yourself, mentally, that maybe it really wasn't the best time yet to be pregnant and tired and large-bellied, because my gosh, Eli seems to be ramping up those tantrums every day, but it's quite another thing when someone else remarks upon this. Likewise for money, time, energy, housing situation, etc. It's all well and good and comforting for me to reassure myself that, hey! Maybe by the time another baby comes we will have moved or added on, but it makes me bristle a little when someone suggests that goodness! It certainly would have been a tight squeeze to add another child to our house! Even though, y'know, it's actually bigger than the house I grew up in, with two other siblings.


I know this is my own problem, entirely, because I am basically hearing my own thoughts repeated to me. Gah. Defensive much?

So anyways, here is some little stuff that is making me happy in spite of things:

-Cooking in cold weather is always much more fun for me. I even made homemade marinara with all of our garden tomatoes, something I wouldn't have even attempted if pregnant and nauseaus. And I've been meal planning and baking muffins and just generally enjoying food. (And drink.)

-Sleep. How I love my sleep. Despite the constance of Eli's nighttime wakings, which occur least once a week but usually more often, they are definitely decreasing in furor. I can usually settle him down and put him back in his own bed within ten minutes. And he's still napping pretty reliably. So in general I feel well fed AND well rested. It's nice to feel healthy again.

-I have a massage gift certificate I haven't used yet. I'm just savoring the anticipation and waiting for the perfect time.

-It's so much easier to go places with kids this age. Um, loud public tantruming aside, but whatever. I'm immune to embarassment now. You don't really need to drag the stroller and the diaper bag with you everywhere, just as long as they're stashed in the car for emergencies, and there's no constant planning around nursing or twice-a-day naps. Both kids can walk on their own now, as long as I hold Eli's hand, and, when in the right mood, they both really enjoy outings.

-Eli is learning SO many words, and starting to speak in sentences. Hallelujah! While he still throws fits when he doesn't get his way, at least he's not resorting to screaming due to lack of communication skills very often anymore.

-I'm really excited about Adelay turning four. Four seems so grown up, but that's okay with me. I really enjoy kids between the ages of, oh, four and eight. They're so inquisitive and learning so much, but they're still so funny and fun and don't usually have attitudes yet. AND! They wipe their own butts. Or so I'm hoping.

Preschool

This is another question-regarding-Adelay post. Maybe I should eventually delete these so she doesn't think she was my main source of worry as a child?!

Anyways, it's about preschool. To do or not to do, basically. All summer long, people have been ASKING and ASKING us if she's in preschool yet, and assuring us that she's going to be so behind if we don't get on it and get her in a good school! And I'm all, "She's still only three, you know." Which... won't be true as of Saturday, but it was true when I was saying it! Is preschool considered mandatory now for school preparation?

I've always planned to put her in some kind of preschool program next year, when she's five, because our school doesn't offer half day kindergarten and I feel that going from being with Eli and me all day to being at school all day would be kind of a big transition without some stepping stone in between. But does she need to start it now? (For the record, she can't start kindergarten until she's almost six due to her birthday. In this state you have to have turned five by August first to start when you're five.)

I know that a lot of kids start preschool around three or four, but for most of them isn't that because they were in daycare already anyways, and at that age it automatically transitions over to a preschool program? If she's here with me (FOR FREE, I might add) and reading books, going to the park, coloring pictures and practicing letters with Jim and painting and all that stuff, is it really necessary to take her somewhere else and PAY someone else to do that stuff?

I'm kind of gathering that the main concern is socialization and structure, more than perhaps actual education, but in my opinion she's getting plenty of that, as well. She goes to Sunday school once a week, and now sometimes on Wednesday nights too. She goes to the Y childcare program whenever I work out, she's taking dance class this year, we go to the playground pretty frequently, and she sees her cousins quite a bit. She doesn't seem to me to be antisocial or to be having any problems relating to others, sharing, listening to other adults, etc. I watch her through the windows at the childcare and at her dance class, and she seems to be responding well to her peers and taking instruction from her teachers just as well as the other kids.

I guess our decision is pretty much made for this year, and I'm just kind of looking for validation. However, I know sometimes as a parent your kid seems fine to YOU, but you're not seeing things objectively. I certainly don't want her to be behind or at a disadvantage in any way. On the other hand, it's kind of too late for this year anyways, and also, TEH MONEY, geez, especially when there's no reason to pay for childcare since I'm here.

Do you guys think preschool is necessary at this age, or that she'll be behind in some way if we hold off another year?

One Step Back

Okay, here's a post that, while not exactly upbeat or inspirational, is at least not downright depressing. We're moving in the right direction!

I have a question for you about potty training regression. Addy has been fully potty trained since the end of January this year. Granted, this was late in the game (three years and four months old before she was really good to go) but once she was trained, she was golden- she even stays dry at night.

But all of the sudden, the last couple of weeks, she's either having some kind of forgetfulness issue or a laziness issue, because almost every day we're dealing with at least one accident. Not the I-just-soaked-the-couch-cushion kind of accident, but more the I-waited-way-too-long-to-get-myself-to-the-potty-and-now-I'm-peeing-on-the-bathroom-rug-while-wailing-in-panic kind. And last night, to put the cherry on the sundae, she DID wet the bed. The entire bed: comforter, top sheet, fitted sheet, mattress protector and mattress pad. And of course herself. She woke me up at six forty five to inform me that she needed a bath.

What is going ON? I totally get the occasional bed wetting thing; I know lots of kids her age are still wetting the bed every night, so I'm hardly upset about that, though it would certainly be easier if she had been wearing a Pull-Up! But the daytime stuff is really throwing me. I guess I just need to make her go every couple of hours whether she thinks she needs to or not, huh? It's just weird that for quite a while she was pretty much an independent potty-er, and now all the sudden she's needing all this prompting or else she doesn't make it in time. Is that normal? (For the record, she'll be four on Saturday.)

This Day Needs A Do Over

I'm doing a garage sale tomorrow with a bunch of other people, and I am so relieved to have yet another project to think about instead of the other THING that is always in the back of my mind. And I know, I said before that I'm trying to actually FEEL my feelings instead of distracting myself from them, but sometimes I just need a damn break from all that feeling. Painting the living room (I also did a hallway earlier this week to match the living room) and getting the kids' pictures taken? Those were mainly done because I knew I needed to plan for mental breaks in the weeks following the miscarriage.

Sometimes you just get tired of feeling unhappy. I mean, that sounds so stupid and obvious. But there it is. Sometimes I'll be crying and think wearily, "Oh just STOP. What is the point anymore?" But once it's started, it's hard to force it down, something which always infuriates me.

Last night, I enjoyed my usual Thursday night ritual of drinking wine, eating junk food and watching NBC comedy shows, and then we went to bed. Happily. I mean, everything was fine; I wasn't feeling even remotely sad. But then as soon as I fell asleep I dreamed I was pregnant. It was like some kind of gauzy maternity photo shoot: I was blissfully happy, smiling and cradling my belly. Then I woke up and, after a few seconds of continued blissfulness, remembered that there was no baby inside me. It felt like actual, physical pain, that realization. I curled up around my stupid, empty belly and cried uncontrollably. I was barely even awake, and maybe that's what made me less coherent and more emotional, but I felt like I couldn't have stopped sobbing to save my life. I'm pretty sure I cried myself to sleep, and it felt like it took all night.

I look like a train wreck this morning: face puffy and blotchy, eyes bloodshot. I look like a hungover drunk. There aren't enough fun, distracting projects in the world to shake this feeling. My face is too tired to smile. And all through the grocery store this morning, Addy would point and yell in excitement, every time she saw a carseat in someone else's cart, "Look Mom! Look at the cute little baby!"

But tomorrow will be better.

Oh, Sweet Irony!

So today I got called by the OB's office, telling me that the doctor wanted me to come in to discuss the results of my most recent hcg level check. I of course panicked, thinking that a: I was somehow accidentally PREGNANT AGAIN already and had brain damaged my unborn child by taking all that Cytotec or b: (more likely) my levels were still not dropping sufficiently and I had to have a d and c after all, which at this point would just be the suck, quite frankly.

Fortunately it was neither; my levels have tapered off further still, though are still high enough that my body considers me to be, technically, pregnant. The doctor's just concerned at how long it's taking- it's been a month now since the embryo ceased to be viable. Or since my tiny baby died. However you want to look at it. I've now tried Cytotec three different times to hurry the process along, and all it's done the last two times is make me horrendously sick, which was also concerning. Apparently the doctor's never heard of it doing that to anyone. Uh, even though nausea, vomiting and diarrhea are listed on the drug's website as side effects! Whatever. Just my luck, I suppose.

She said that we could do a d and c, but she'd still prefer not to, and I agreed. Just wait it out some more. It's gotta end soon, right? I'm just awfully sick of getting blood drawn, but at least I get to give it another two weeks before the next one. Let my poor right vein rest up a little.

Anyways, the doctor had to duck out of the exam room momentarily to get some paperwork, so I was idly viewing my chart, which had been left up on the computer screen. Aside from all the depressing information with which I am all too familiar, I noticed that I was listed as Status: Incomplete. I actually laughed out loud when I saw that. Incomplete. Yes. That pretty much sums it up.

I still believe that our family is incomplete. Maybe we're in a hiatus, a resting period while these two grow up a little more, but I feel strongly that their are more children in our future. Someway, somehow.

Weekend Stuff

Hmm, that unbelievably tedious post didn't seem to elicit a lot of comments there! I can't believe you all have better things to do than log in to tell me, "Yes, Sarah, that IS a nice shade of light brown/tan you have chosen there!"

Anywhays, I'm basically just typing without direction right now in order to stop my fingers from picking up a SEVENTH square of delicious, delicious cold pizza and cramming it into my mouth, which still thinks it's hungry even though its attached food receptacle is telling it that IT IS FULL. I used to think it was so gross that people ate cold pizza. And then I, um, ate some cold pizza. It is very nice. It's also the only thing stopping Eli from being a little ball of furious misery tonight. Well, that and today's third screening of Cars.

He came down with a sudden cold yesterday just HOURS after being a perfect angel at ye olde cheesy children's photo studio, where I had spontaneously dragged the kids in a fit of optimism that, for once, turned out to be well-founded. They were both lovely, about a katrillion times better behaved than the last time I was struck with the seasonal compulsion to pay a stranger to capture their precious childhood memories. (Memories of, y'know, being stuffed into matching outfits and awkwardly posed back-to-back.)

And speaking of memory-worthy situations ("And the grand prize for Worst Segue Attempt goes to Semidesperate Housewife!") last night Addy was out on the deck playing with one of the balloons left over from my birthday party when, inevitably, it slipped from her fingers and floated away. She burst into such piteous, heartbroken sobs, you would have thought she'd been grievously injured or watched her best friend die or something. "My balloon!" she wailed in genuine grief, huge tears racing down her cheeks. "It's gone! I lost my balloon into the sky!"

I held her and tried to comfort her, but it ended up being her own little self-soothing talk therapy that settled her down. In between hiccuping sobs, she would murmur, kind of to herself, "The balloon is ok? It's with the clouds? It's playing with them?" And I would say yes, that's exactly where it was. "And it is all fine up there, with the clouds?" Yes, the balloon is fine. "Maybe it can see me?" Yes, I suppose it could, I told her. "And I will have another balloon someday, maybe for my birthday?" she inquired, still crying. I assured that indeed she could have another one soon.

"And now tell me, 'Don't worry Adelay, it's ok, your little balloon is all fine," she instructed shakily. I did as told. "And now sing a song that is like, 'Hush little Addy, don't you cry, 'cause soon you will have another balloon...'" she specified. So I made up a song to the tune of "Hush Little Baby." But then it was the weirdest thing. I could barely sing it because I was crying too. And in my head, I was singing to myself, but not really about a balloon at all.

A Dozen Pictures. No, Really- A Dozen

Eli's birthday cake, Cars themed, decorated as usual by my mom. I always defer to the master.


Eli very seriously- almost threateningly- enjoying said cake.


But still not as much as he enjoyed one of his umpteenth tiny cars.


Outside at my parents' house, preparing to attempt a family photo while my older sister was home. Enjoy the random hand visible on the left slice of the picture.


This was as good as it got. And it took fifteen minutes.


Addy posing inside one of the storage ottomans later that day. About ten seconds after this photo she had dissolved into tears, convinced she was stuck inside the tiny box forever.


Blowing out my candles at my surprise party on Wednesday. It was really a lovely night, even though I was still kind of (really) sick from the Cytotec. And everything looked really festive. Bonus: the kids have been entertained by those balloons for the last two days straight.


The remains of the cake by the next day. And, uh, some of the guests didn't even have any cake.


This has nothing to do with anything, but LOOK at the adorable ensemble my Mom got Adelay to wear for her upcoming birthday!


I mean, the purse is a CAKE, people! A CAKE!


And here are some shots of the living room's new coat of paint. I have chosen to highlight the corners, as the walls used to be two different colors: kind of a pinky-brown on the longer walls and cream on the shorter walls. I liked the idea, I really did, but I think in the end I like the one color all the way around better. The room feels a little more open.


(And Rachel, I know you're going to think it's horribly boring. Basically the color of oatmeal with maybe a teaspoon of honey stirred in. But what can I say- oatmeal is comforting.)

On The Mend

I'm going to do a picture post soon (which will include pictures of the SURPRISE BIRTHDAY PARTY my husband and family orchestrated for me!) as soon as I get motivated enough to walk ALL the way to the kitchen to get the camera. In the meantime, I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who is frequently updating their blog, and apologize for not commenting much. I also apologize for not doing much with my blog other than to use it as an emotional dumping ground. But I figure that's what it's there for, sometimes. I just don't want you all thinking I am feeling nothing but moody and reflective these days, and that when not openly sobbing I am sitting in a chair staring wistfully out the window while Sarah Mclachlan plays in the background.

Today, for example, I went to the gym, to a coffeehouse (with the kids!) and then took them to our local Children's Garden, which is basically heaven on earth this time of year. I smiled the whole time. Except maybe for when I had to explain to the daycare ladies at the Y where we had been the last month or so. "I've been sick," I replied briefly, not feeling inclined to explain that first I had been pregnant, i.e. exhausted and nauseous, and then I had been, well, sick, I guess in a manner of speaking. Cytotec is no picnic (especially THREE ROUNDS of it.)

As far as updates on that mess, I still might have to have a d and c, apparently, but we're keeping our fingers crossed. The last round of Cytotec did absolutely nothing that it was supposed to, and just made me violently sick to my stomach for two days. So they had me stop it, and checked my blood levels to see if the hcg was finally going down. If it wasn't, I was going to have the d and c today. Fortunately it was down enough to give me some wiggle room, so we're going to keep an eye on the blood levels next week and just hope that my body will at some point get its act together and do its job. If not, I still might be heading to ye olde outpatient care next Friday to have the doctor do it for me. But here's hoping.

Little Stuff That Feels Big

-My OB's office is painted almost exactly the same color as our living room used to be painted. I loved that color for a long time. Now it makes me feel claustrophobic and barfy. I am so relieved that it is gone, gone, gone. I just wish I could convince the doctors to repaint their office, too, so that I could stop feeling that way every time I walk in.

-Relatedly, I forgot how much I hate painting and how bad I am at it. I ruin clothes every time I paint. I end up with drips here and there no matter how slowly and carefully I roll. Paint bleeds onto trim no matter how painstakingly I tape it. I never want to paint anything ever again. For a year or so. (It was still worth it, though.)

-I am breaking out all over. My shoulders and back, even. My hormones are messed up right now, obviously, so I know my complexion will settle down eventually. But currently, nothing is working to control it and I can't even think about trying to cover it with makeup because then my skin goes even crazier in reaction to the concealer.

-My sister is leaving for school Thursday and I am seriously sad about it. My kids will miss her so much. I will miss her so much. My brother in law is leaving that day, too, just when we were all getting used to him being around again. And I'm sad. (Not that you should arrange your lives and education schedules around my feelings, guys. Obviously. I'll just miss you.)

-Jim got me season five of The Office as an early birthday gift last week, and while I am thrilled to complete my collection and while I am still a loyal fan and all, I have to say that he was totally right last year when he observed that the show was getting weaker every season. With the exception of the "Baby Shower" episode, I don't think I laughed out loud much at all. AND I just ended up getting depressed when I watched the last episode today- the one in which Pam and Jim find out that they're unexpectedly pregnant. I wanted to snap at their glowing little faces, "Don't get all excited just yet, kids. That doesn't mean you're actually having a baby."

There are days when I'm dealing with things better than others.

On the other hand, I feel so in love with my kids right now. You know that feeling you get, walking into their bedrooms when they're still fresh and newborn, and you see them looking up at you and you just... feel like it's Christmas morning? It's happening again for me, every time they smile at me, every time I watch them cuddling together. Every time Eli buries his face in my neck and shoves his thumb in his mouth, and every time Addy squeezes me tight and says, "You're my favorite Mommy." And while I wouldn't exchange the baby I lost for this feeling of wonder at the babies I have, it's still a pretty great consolation prize.

State Of The Union

Guess I've been a little quiet this past week. I've been keeping myself busy with, as usual, family stuff- birthday party/Labor Day party, and then my older sister was in town from Charleston for a few days. It was really good to see her, and for her to reconnect with the kids. I'll try to post some pictures of that soon... And pictures of Eli's birthday party. And pictures of the new paint job in the living room.

'Cause, I also repainted the living room this weekend, including the ceiling, thank you very much. Er, with a lot of help. BUT I chose and purchased paint and did all the prep work and the cleaning up work and the moving of furniture and decor-y stuff and wall art, so. Overall, more time invested, albeit perhaps less actual painting.

I also sorted out all of Eli and Adelay's old clothes, choosing my favorites to keep but paring down the rest for a garage sale next weekend. When your kids have twenty to thirty outfits per season, per size apiece, it gets a little bit IMPOSSIBLE to store them all, even if it was fun to have all those cute clothes to choose from back when they fit. (Note: excess clothing was not a result of my own personal excess, if you know what I'm saying. Just fyi.)

The painting project and the sorting out clothes project were distractions from the unwelcome news on Wednesday that there is still, to quote my OB, "all kinds of junk" remaining in my uterus. This, despite the three days of Cytotec-induced discomfort last week which I thought had surely taken care of all that. The doctor is still very opposed to another D and C since we may try again for a baby at some point, so my options are (and there's going to be a lot of information here, boys, so avert eyes to next paragraph if squeamish): to let nature finish things, which, based on my hormone levels, the number of blood clots still in my uterus and the very light state of my bleeding right now would probably take a month or more; another round of Cytotec, perhaps a little more intensive; or go on the pill for a month, let my body stop bleeding and rest, and then hope that the artificially triggered period would take care of everything remaining from the pregnancy. This would have to be the estrogen-only pill, since I have a clotting issue and am not allowed to be on regular hormonal birth control. I HATE the estrogen-only pill.

So I think I'm going to give the Cytotec another shot, though I'm dreading it. I could have done it this past weekend, but my sister was here, and my mom had offered to help paint, so I put it off. And now my birthday's Wednesday, so I don't want to start it tomorrow either... Maybe next weekend?

Oh wait. During the garage sale? I don't know. Blech. Guess I'll squeeze it in there somewhere. Fun stuff. I just hope it actually finishes the job this time. Then at least we'll have some closure and be able to find a place to go from here. And maybe my body can try to get itself back to normal. Or hopefully better than normal, since my normal seems to be pretty unbalanced, hormonally speaking.

We do have a vague plan for the next months, regarding hormone stuff, and it definitely does not involve any more Clomid or progesterone supplements or mid-cycle ultrasounds or ovulation trigger shots. I just can't take it anymore, and it doesn't seem to be helping anyways. I know it does some of the time, for some people, but at this point we're ready to look into some alternative treatments. And if that doesn't work, well... We'll see. But that's where we are right now.

Sadness 101

I had a check-up today that went pretty well, although my hcg levels are still high enough that the doctor has scheduled an ultrasound for tomorrow, thinking that maybe the miscarriage hasn't completed after all. I hope she's wrong. The last thing I want is another round of Cytotec or a d and c after all. Yuck.

I seem to be going back and forth a lot, physically and emotionally. There have been hours- even days- when I felt relatively fine and normal and have been up doing dishes and picking up toys and giving baths. Business as usual. And there have been times when I was suddenly in a lot of pain again, of one kind or another, and it seems for awhile that nothing will feel normal again. I am trying to accept all this, as I have learned from experience that these cycles are normal and nothing you can really alter or skip past. The only way out is through, as they say.

I think grief is like labor, a little bit: you can tense up and fight it, or try to distract yourself with other things, or panic and scream. You can beg someone to help you or tell them how unfair and unbearable it is. But the only way to effectively help yourself is to relax your body, unclench your fists and breathe into it, even welcome it. There are some things in life you just have to feel.

Which is why I am trying, right now, not to turn away from the pregnant woman in the waiting room or from the stack of tiny newborn clothes I am sorting through for a garage sale. I don't fight the sadness that fills me when I realize I can button my jeans again, or that my chest no longer aches in preparation to feed my baby. It is what it is, and there's no amount of comfort or hope that can erase or really even ease those pains. Of course, there are moments when I have to put sadness aside and function, and it is less a choice than a necessity. What was it Scarlett O'Hara always said? "I'll think about it tomorrow."

But mostly, when possible, I am trying to loosen my shoulders, unclench my fists, and take in whatever emotion happens to be churning. If I start to feel angry about the injustice of this happening three times to us, when I have done all I knew to keep these babies alive and inside me, then I just feel angry for awhile. Often that anger turns inward, at my own body for betraying me, and even this I allow for. If I need to cry- and understand that I am not a person who enjoys crying, and definitely not in front of others- then I try to allow for that instead of swallowing it back. If I hear a sad song and find myself conjuring up images of the baby I had begun to dream of, I don't push them away.

Whether you experience a miscarriage as losing a literal, tiny child, or you prefer to view it as the loss of the hope of a child, it's still goodbye. It's still a wound, a wound that will scab up for a little while and then suddenly be ripped open again by a random image or comment or song lyric. I guess all I can hope is that spirits are like bodies. That often, in the end, the places that have had to heal themselves are the strongest.

For Now

I'll write more later, but I just wanted to thank every one of you for your kind comments. Having a blog is fun when you have happy stuff to say, but it's when things are feeling seriously sucky and unlucky that having this outlet matters the most to me.

We're doing okay around here. Physically things are mostly over with already, with relatively little ordeal, so that was an enormous relief that's probably contributing in large part to our sense of okay-ness. I was really nervous that deciding against the d and c might backfire and lead to a drawn out and miserable experience, or an emergency rush to the ER, but so far my body seems to be doing its thing without complication. It was almost TOO fast- I was expecting a few days to process things before I actually, physically lost the baby- but its mostly a relief to have this part over with.

I definitely have more to say later, but right now we're just trying to spend lots of time together and with Addy and Eli (although, THANK YOU, family who have graciously watched the kids during hours when we needed some alone time.) All I wanted as I sat in the doctor's office, furiously, tearfully awaiting my post-ultrasound consultation, was to hold my two babies and breathe them in. And also to look at their newborn pictures. And breathe them in.







I wanted another one of these so badly. I really did. I really do. But even if that doesn't happen for us again, or it's going to take much longer than we hoped, I am so lucky to have had the chance, twice. No one seems to have figured out how to solve whatever's wrong with me, but somehow, despite my body's craziness, we made those babies up there. And they are still my favorite babies in the whole wide world.

I don't even know what to say. The baby is gone. There was a baby inside me, making this much worse than the other two miscarriages, when all they saw were empty sacs, but according to the ultrasound today its heart stopped about five days ago. The corpus luteum, which had looked healthy at the five week check, was completely gone. Meaning my body had stopped producing any progesterone at all. I guess the only thing keeping the baby in there was the supplements, but it wasn't enough.

Since I'm taking so much progesterone, though, my body didn't show any symptoms of miscarriage. I'm supposed to stop all the supplements and hopefully miscarry on my own soon, but if not then I'm going to take some drug? And that will make me miscarry. We're trying to avoid doing another d and c since I've already had two, and they're pretty hard on your cervix.

I feel like apologizing to everyone, even though I know, I know, don't be ridiculous, not your fault, etc. But how many times am I going to tell people I'm having a baby when I'n not?

And I'm just sad. Obviously. And also incredibly frustrated with myself for daring to hope in spite of all my common sense, in spite of those early, less-than-great numbers that should have warned me to keep all hope firmly at the door until we saw a heartbeat. I thought I was doing that, but the lump that rose in my throat as soon as I saw the lack of heartbeat on the screen showed me that I had, in fact, been believing that all was well. I was crushed.

So. I feel very overwhelmed thinking about where we go from here. I guess I just shouldn't think for awhile, huh? I definitely don't want to think about the having to miscarry soon part. I'm sure it's horrible to have it happen suddenly and unexpectedly, but I think it might be even worse to be sitting here, right now, anticipating it.

Welcome Back To Happy Acres

Well, there will be pictures of the birthday later, for those who care (approximately four of you) but for now there is this: my effing washing machine overflowed this morning, covering the laundry room floor, the kitchen floor, and an edge of the carpeted hallway within about three minutes of my turning it on. Please understand that the laundry room is LARGE. It's almost as big as the kitchen. It was a LOT of floor. So, there is now not a single clean towel in the house, since guess what was in the machine to begin with? A load of towels. Hope no one wants a shower anytime soon. Or, you know, CLEAN CLOTHES.

This happened to Jim while I was gone a few weeks ago, but it was all cleaned up by the time I got home, so I think I failed to appreciate the full aggravation of it. Well, we are even now, my dear. Also, I hope you can fix it again.

Because I really don't want a new washing machine for my birthday.

Our dryer has been nuts lately too- half the time it gets stuck halfway through the cycle, overheats, and will continue running forEVER unless you remember to go stop it. Luckily nothing's been shrunk too horribly yet, but we've wasted plenty of electricity and unnecessarily heated up the house many, many times. Yay for appliances.

Is This The... Very Best Bite For Baby?

I know plenty of women before me have already scoffingly discarded this quote- you know, the one from What To Expect When You're Expecting about that guilt-laden question you're supposed to ask yourself ever time you pick up your fork while gestating- but I can't help hearing it the last few weeks, sarcastically ringing in my ears, every time I pick up a salty burrito or take a bite of dessert. I know that in the first trimester the main thing is that you are getting enough fluid and enough calories, and the exact nutritional content of that intake is kind of secondary to whether or not you can even keep it down. So if I want to eat Cream of Wheat and Popsicles and scrambled eggs and cheese sticks every day, while drinking nothing but Vitamin Water (thanks for the suggestion, Jen!) that's okay, right? Or if I want to just sidle up directly to a salt lick and... Oh, no? Maybe draw the line somewhere?

Well, then just make me feel better and tell me about the crap you ate while pregnant, and all the leafy green vegetables (gag) that you, too, neglected shamefully.

The kids and I are taking off tomorrow for a water park/resort with my sister, our friend Beth, and my parents, so wish me luck. Or at least enough alertness not to sleep the whole weekend away, like I did the LAST time we were there when I was pregnant. Jim has to stay here and coach a very important revenge game Saturday (and also maintain the house's current spotless condition, so that when we arrive home on Sunday scant HOURS before Eli's birthday party, all we'll have to do is hide the laundry and get out the cake!)

Coming up next week: pictures from water park (no more bikini top for me!) pictures from Eli's second birthday, and Wednesday, that all important ultrasound report. Which I cannot stop thinking about no matter how many times I mentally slap myself out of it.

Since I Don't Have Twitter...

...I will use this venue to announce that I am watching The Fountain, and if Australia didn't ruin Hugh Jackman for me, this here masterpiece is gonna do him in forever.

Also I Totally Have Pregnant Face

I got tagged by Michelle and Hilary to roar about myself, inspired by Clueless But Hopeful's original roaring post. But dude, I cannot summon up any roaring power today. I feel weak and tired and like a kind of lousy mom today, so... We'll table that for a while! Instead I will complain.



This pregnancy so far, like Eli's, is leaving me both queasy and ravenously hungry, which is a sucky combination. I end up eating all morning long to squelch the hungry nausea, but then if I eat the wrong thing I get the Nausea nausea, so then I have to eat something that's Right to try to fix it. Right being salty. I am all about the salty right now. I ate buttered toast for breakfast (which was yuck) then had a frozen burrito for a SNACK, and am now eating a big pile of tater tots because I am still hungry/shaky/nauseous.


All of this food foraging and rejecting is taking up a big chunk of morning time, so I feel like I get nothing done until about noon, especially since I've given up my morning drug, er, coffee ('cause now it's also YUCK.) And then I'm ready for a nice nap by about two, so you can imagine all the fun and enriching activities the kids and I are doing.


Also, WATER is making me nauseous, but I'm really thirsty all the time (see: massive salt consumption.) So I guess I need some Gatorade or something?


I'm finding myself very displeased with my belly this time around. With Addy my stomach was pretty flat to start with, so all that poked out was, you know, BABY belly, around twelve weeks. With Eli I had a tiny little pouch leftover from Addy's pregnancy, so there was a bit of chub that started popping out before the actual uterus bump began to appear. THIS time, I have a fairly significant, stretch-marked fat pocket right over my uterus from Eli's pregnancy, when I gained (blergh blergh mumble) pounds. So all that early pregnancy bloat is just making this fat pouch pop RIGHT out, a nice big gut, and nothing at all approaching the cute baby bump I remember from my first pregnancy. There's nothing sweet about lovingly stroking what appears to be an inner tube of fat. Humph.


Jim's soccer team won their first game last night, and I was really excited, but then I just randomly started crying about stupid stuff that I couldn't even explain. We were talking and I kept sniffling but trying to keep The Crying at bay, and then I was all, "Oh crap, I think I have to CRY!" Kind of like when you warn someone you have to puke. Step back, folks, it's going to be a gusher.


All this and I still feel pretty uneasy that I'm "really" pregnant. Sure, my progesterone went up, but... the hcg hadn't doubled, and the progesterone is still technically low, just not quite as worryingly low as before. I'm just not going to feel safe that this is real until I see a heartbeat next Tuesday. So until then, I'll just feel kind of fat and sick and grumpy I guess!

PSA

Some info about a co-sleeping bassinet that's being recalled. (Because we don't have enough to worry about, obviously.)

Happy Dance

Well, yesterday was a great day. Not only did it rain a lot, FINALLY, but the doctor called me to let me know my progesterone has gone up to seventeen and a half from thirteen. Very relieving, as I was totally braced to hear that it was still in the low teens or even going down. She said to keep up with the supplements and, in her words, I should be "good to go" until the ultrasound in two weeks.

I'm definitely not winning any contests for high hormone levels or anything, but at least it doesn't seem like I'm in imminent danger of losing the pregnancy right now, so, whew. We are all feeling very happy for the moment. Um, except my stomach, which feels queasy the last few evenings and demands scrambled eggs with heavy salt made by Jim, best egg-scrambler in the world.

People Are Funny. And Awful.

Ugh. I walked into the path lab this morning in time to overhear about the saddest/white trashiest phone conversation ever. Basically, a (very large, bleached blond) woman in a tiny sundress and no bra was loudly discussing with her girlfriend how she was worried that the friend's boyfriend was hitting her kids. I was signing release forms at the desk when I heard from the seating area, "I'm just really worried about the kids. I think he's smacking them around. I mean, I know you smack their butts, hell I smack their butts, but (child's name) says that (boyfriend's name) is smacking him to the ground. The baby too! Yes, he called me to tell me. No, he didn't say anything about you, just (boyfriend's name.)" Followed by, "I know I've never liked him. But this isn't about me not liking him. I'm worried about your kids, girl! You can't think about how you feel about him, think about how you feel about your kids." Silence. Then, "No, I don't think he's being sneaky. I think he was telling the truth." Followed by a dismayed sigh. "Well you tell (child's name) that he can call me anytime."

What. In. The. World. The receptionist and I just stared at each other in horror. I just hope whoever was on the phone with that woman managed to prioritize her children's safety over her desire to have a man in her bed. At least the woman on the phone (smacking of butts aside, whatever THAT meant, exactly) seemed genuinely concerned about the kids, so hopefully she'll keep monitoring the situation.

ANYHOO, have mentioned that I miss coffee? Yet today? I spent an hour this morning at a nearby playground with my friend and her kids, lying on my back on the dirty ground, because I was so tired that just standing upright, keeping an eye on my babies, was too exhausting. Also, while we were there Jess totally reminded me of a playground story from a few months ago that I forgot to write about.

We were at the same playground together, earlier this summer, and Gabriel (Jess's son) and Addy were working to climb up one of the plastic slides. Another little boy was following behind them, trying to climb up as well, when his mom snatched him off the slide kind of vehemently and grabbed him by the hand. "If you can't play nice we have to go home, " she informed him. "But the other kids were climbing too!" he protested. "That doesn't make it right," she replied severely. As Jess and I cracked up in the background. Now we like to imitate her grim and judgemental tone whenever appropriate.



Her reaction just seemed a little... out of proportion, shall we say, to the severity of the offense. "That doesn't make it right" is what you say when a kid protests that he was only, say, cheating on a final because other kids were doing it. Not really a parental saying that I had previously associated with going the wrong way on a slide. No one was getting hurt, no one was being bullied, no one was currently trying to go down the slide and being forced to wait... I don't know, maybe we were letting our kids flagrantly disobey playground protocol. But as far as I'm concerned, climbing UP slides is way more fun than going down them. Also! Better exercise!

August. It's The January Of Summer.

Every year August kills me. Partly it's just that the blush is off the rose with regards to summer fun and summer wardrobes and most especially summer weather. Nearly always by this point in the year, our area is at some level or another of drought, with things going brown and wilty and no one but the most die-hard lawn enthusiasts really caring anymore about weeding or watering. (As I wasn't ever quite what you'd call an enthusiast even back in the lush and promising month of May, you can imagine the state of our yard now.) This year seems like the deadest and hottest August I can remember. As it always does. At least when it's dry as a bone like this you can skip mowing with very little consequence, except maybe a few weed patches here and there which sprout up determinedly. Skipping watering, though- that has some consequences. Like a highly unproductive vegetable garden, and yet another hanging basket which I've managed to kill. (Verdict: involuntary manslaughter by gross negligence.)

I did fill my lunchtime wrap with several Roma tomatoes Jim harvested yesterday, so I guess the garden wasn't a total wash. My eggplants were a disaster though, and the kohlrabi which sounded so crunchy and delicious back in the spring- and which were the only plants to really thrive- now sound gross and I have no idea what to do with them.

You know what else sounded gross today? The turkey that I heated up to put in my wrap earlier, like a dutiful little pregnant person, carefully avoiding listeriosis or whatever poison unheated lunch meat is supposed to contain. It sounded yummy when I pulled it from the fridge, but once I removed it from the microwave, steaming and pungent, my stomach immediately turned and I had to dump it in the dog's dish and then flee before I threw up.

Generally I'm not feeling all that nauseous yet, just a little weird in the mornings. Food just doesn't sound very GOOD first thing, but I don't feel like running to the bathroom, either. Also, I've had some kind of flu thing for the last week or so (it WAS the flu, like fever and body aches, not just the baby parasite) so it's hard to tell what's a pregnancy symptom and what's just lingering lethargy and yuckiness.

Luckily the kids are being relatively cooperative and low-maintenance lately. They're both really on a coloring streak, so I spend most of my day refreshing paper, crayon and raisin/goldfish/milk supplies, then sitting by to admire the dubiously representational drawings produced. Oh, and affirming Eli's choice of color. He knows most of his colors now, but still requires constant confirmation that yes, that crayon is ownj (orange) ownj ownj!!!

Oh, and I'm totally writing this boring and generally purposeless post to avoid rushing off to the pathology lab for another blood draw. I'm supposed to have my progesterone level tested again some time this week, and part of me desperately wants to find out if the hormone supplements are working or not, but another part of me just wants to go on enjoying the hopefulness of our current wait and see attitude. Wonder how long the ambivalent side of me will win out over the control freak side.

So Far So Good

Houston, we have a sac. Just ONE, too, and my apologies to all you twin wishers. But there IS a gestational sac, measuring appropriately for my dates, and there's even a little speck visible in there- not anything recognizable or with a visible heartbeat yet, but it's not empty, and that's all one could hope for at this point in the game. The doctor said my corpus luteum looked good too, which is relieving since that's what produces progesterone until the placenta takes over around ten weeks.

My actual hcg level wasn't low at all, either (2191 to 3110,) it just wasn't raising as quickly as they like to see. But for now the doctor said not to worry too much, all looks well, and we'll do another ultrasound September 2nd. So. For now we are trying to relax.

Thanks for all your good wishes!

Also Kinda Fitting: "Que Sera, Sera"

You know that song by Chicago, "If You Leave Me Now"? I've had this line from it running through my head all day: "Oooh, oh no, baby, please don't go."

My numbers aren't looking too good, guys. Progesterone is only thirteen, despite being on supplements since ovulation and doubling them once I got a positive test. After they got the result yesterday they doubled THAT, so I'm now on four hundred mils a day. Also, my hcg didn't double in forty eight hours like they look for in a healthy pregnancy. It did go up, but only about half as high as we wanted to see.

So. I have an appointment- and by appointment they had better mean "following a sonogram"- tomorrow afternoon to discuss stuff. Keep your fingers crossed for me, okay? At this point I don't care if there's FOUR kids in there, as long as there's something.

No Good Time Goes Unpunished

First off, my doctor's appointment went just fine. Didn't want you to think I wasn't posting because I was sad. They didn't do a sonogram since, duh, you'd be awfully lucky to see anything that early. But they did go over my history of miscarriage and the fact that there's a possibility of multiples this time (well, a HIGHER THAN AVERAGE possibility, I guess) and scheduled an ultrasound for three weeks from today. This seems like SUCH a long time to wait, but it's probably for the best... With Eli I had such early ultrasounds I think it took three times before we saw his heartbeat, which was kind of the opposite of reassuring.

Now then! On to the weekend recap. Thursday night (not actually the weekend, but still noteworthy) Jim, his brother and I met up with some friends in Columbus for the Silversun Pickups concert. While screamy concerts are not really my thing, especially when there is no alcohol to numb the noise a little, it was still pretty fun, except for the tragedy of walking all over town for a half hour in search of a place to eat quickly before the show, only to discover that our preferences, Chipotle and W.G. Grinders, had both closed at four. As, apparently, had EVERYTHING ELSE. That eight dollar personal pizza that I ended up eating out of a box at the concert never tasted so good, though, let me tell you.

Then, Friday, I went to Louisville with my youngest sister and two of our friends to meet up another two friends and their boyfriends. In a two bedroom apartment. And oh, it was fun. Even sleeping on the couch turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. The drive to and from Kentucky was murderous, as we got stuck in traffic both times, but Louisville itself seems very nice from what I saw of it. Of course, I usually saw it after dark: first Fourth Street, which is CRA-zy (at least from eleven to three in the morning,) and then the next night when we hit the city limits and visited Waverly Manor.

Yes. I made it through an hour and a half tour of a haunted tuberculosis sanatorium without peeing my pants or crying (out loud.) I am such a big girl. Sure, several of my friends and I had fingernail imprints on our arms for days, and sure, other members of the tour may have kept hissing at us to stop turning on our flashlight when we had been told not to, but still. I didn't run screaming from the building, nor did I stagger out the exit, shell shocked and catatonic. I even slept just fine afterwards. I'd call that a rousing success. I overcame my fears with my reasoning powers!

Example of Sarah's super-rational inner monologue throughout the tour: Okay, you don't believe in ghosts. Like, not at ALL. Of course all these idiots keep whispering that they "see something." They, unlike you, CAME here to be scared and see ghosts and so naturally they're going to. You know that those are just shadows from trees, flashlight beams, people's cell phones... Oh, nice, now she's making us turn all lights off, including phones. Well, still. Old creepy building with gashed out windows, still lots of shadows from that. These people are NOT actually seeing stuff. I wish they'd shut the heck up, though. I'm sure all those grisly stories she's telling us are made up. I'm sure there's not actually a murdered nurse prowling around here, or insane tb patients who are angry at the barbaric treatments they received years ago. Impossible. Take deep breaths and just re-AAH! What just touched my foot! Son of a...!) And so on.

So yeah. Good times. However, by the time we were driving back Sunday, I became aware that my throat was hurting more and more, and that all the body aches I felt were a little worse than one would expect from a four hour car ride and sleeping on a sofa. I had a fever by the time I got home, and even though I was so happy to see the kids and Jim, I have never been so desperate to collapse in my bed.

I didn't much rest yesterday, unfortunately, what with Eli's CHICKENPOX, which cropped up while I was gone. He actually doesn't seem that unhappy, but since I had a ton of pretty essential errands to get done yesterday, he was not too pleasant by the time we got back from: getting dog food, picking up a cell phone charger to replace the one I left in my friend's apartment, going to the grocery, and getting my blood drawn. That last one was the most fun for SURE. Ever tried to get two kids to hold still and not break medical equipment while you have seven vials of blood drawn? And then try to keep them from licking the bathroom floor or throwing the door open as you attempt to provide a sterile urine sample for the technician? Well, you should add it to your list. I've never felt so alive as I did in those moments!

Then there was a series of minor frustrations: drop detergent on the driveway and spill sticky goo all over the place, discover swarms of ants crawling in and out of the wall near the dog dish, moments later discover clouds of gnats inexplicably swarming all over the bathroom and the kitchen. Also the fact that both kids have been up in the middle of the night the two nights since I've been home, last night multiple times. And now Addy's running a fever, just as mine is going away. I think the universe is trying to tell me not to leave home again for a good long time.

Edit: Wow am I, er, not smart. I totally didn't know that chickenpox is an airborn virus. I can't believe I dragged Eli all over town yesterday. I mean, he has the mildest case imaginable, just a few spots on his face that anyone else would think was just a rash, so I guess I figured it was just no big deal? Plus he HAD the vaccine, so maybe I just thought that since he was mostly immune he was therefore unable to pass much of the virus on, too? I don't know. I just know that it never occured to me that I couldn't take him out in public. I feel super dumb now. Sorry, everyone in our town! We'll stay in for a while now!

Belly Shots... Already?

This progression seems slightly concerning, given that I am only four weeks pregnant today....


sometime mid June



August 3rd



August 5th



Yikes.

Jeopardy

Q: Very newly pregnant, very excited, very nervous.

A: Who is Sarah aka semidesperate housewife?

Geez, you guys, I wish I could be cool and keep these things a secret until three months in like you're supposed to, but I can barely restrain myself from grabbing random check out clerks and informing them of my condition. So I have to at least tell you all. I got a positive yesterday morning, which was only day 26, WAAAY earlier than I've ever gotten a positive before. And it was, like, actually positive, not just a super-faint line I have to squint at all day. Still, I took a digital test too to confirm. May I just highly recommend those? It is so much more reassuring to see the word "pregnant" right there than to trust one's own interpretation of pink or blue lines or check marks or plus signs or smiley faces or whattheheck ever.

I'm pretty sure my due date is April 15th, which is just one day later than what my due date was when I got pregnant last year. So that's kind of nice, I think. It feels a bit like closure.

I already have a doctor's appointment this Thursday. I have NOOO idea what they plan on doing, since it will be way too soon to see anything on an ultrasound, I'd think. I guess blood draws, of course, but they could have just sent me to the lab for that. I don't know. But I'm not complaining. It always feels more real once you've shown up at the doctor's office.

The Jet Setter Has Returned

So Wisconsin is an interesting place. I know, I kept saying I was going to Minnesota. We did fly IN to Minnesota and spent the first day walking around in downtown Minneapolis (under construction for the last ten years, apparently) and seeing the office where my sister works. But she actually lives in a tiny town in Wisconsin right over the Minnesota border.

This was pretty much the highlight of the Wisconsin tour:



That would be the bison farm gift shop. I was slightly disappointed by the visit overall, as I had been led to believe that bison were gentle, peaceful creature which I might even be able to pet and feed. Instead, there was a sign as soon as we arrived warning that PEOPLE HAVE BEEN GORED BY THE BISON PLS STAY FAR AWAY UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE KTHANX. So. I did not get to experience a giant scratchy bison tongue licking a carrot out of my hand. But it was still fun. There's bison jerky! Bison marrow dog bones! Bison fur coats! Books on bison ranching! Decapitated bison heads the size of giant boulders!

There was also the bowling alley we went to the first night, where the woman who was singlehandedly running the bar, kitchen, and bowling lanes looked at me askance when I requested a veggie pizza. She directed me to the sign detailing pizza options, which read as follows:

Pepperoni
Sausage
Ham
Pepperoni and Sausage
Pepperoni and Ham
Sausage and Ham
Meat Lovers

I think they kind of like meat there. Also, their lanes must be rigged, because I think I bowled something like a sixty eight.

Minneapolis was really fun; we went to several little art galleries and a delicious Irish pub where I ate shepherd's pie and we all watched rugby. (Incidentally, the pub is apparently the number one seller of Jameson whisky in the world.) My mom and I also, of course, insisted on going to the very exotic and unusual Target, since the closest one to us is usually an hour and a half away. Lovely Target was where I found and gleefully purchased THIS:



That's The Baby Name Wizard, in case you can't tell. And let me tell you, taking turns reading and discussing various eccentric name choices is a surprisingly fun group activity while you're waiting for your hearty Irish meals to arrive.



Here's some pictures of my sister's new house and the people/pets/shoes that live with her. They are all of them very cute:











Thanks for all the good food and good times, guys. Not to mention all that free baby crack. Mmmm. Smell the goodness:



Self explanatory sister pose here. But we were both really excited by the lack of camera-induced double chin, so I thought I'd better be sure to post this one.