When you waltz in to pregnancy (or crash - whatever your case might be), it's rare that a woman has pre read the What To Expect When You're Expecting series before the fact. Unless you're that goddamned woman. The one who pre plans everything perfectly that we all hate, because we want to be her and can't. There just aren't that many hours in any day. So naturally you end up with a lot of surprises; ones that sometimes don't come in the pages of a book, or perhaps do show up but are far, far more pronounced than you read.
What's worse is that you'll bring this up with your OB, and they'll just write it down and assure you you're some freakish percent of the norm and assure you nothing is wrong. Like, for real, this is normal and calm yourself; you've got a long road ahead.
Once of these lovely and repulsive things is your belly when it pops out. This is towards the end, of course, so you're already at the end of a long road of ridiculous horse shit and this is just some more icing on the cake. Because fatasses love icing anyway, so eat up you fat bastard.
Most first pregnancies you gain more weight than any other. Mostly because you're fooled into believing that your body is going to bounce back. Because that's what we see on the internet. And Pinterest (fuck you Pinterest). You buy the requisite stretch mark shea butter and eat guacamole and ice cream and that extra bite or two of a second cheat chili dog. No harm, right? Well tubby, if you've never been pregnant before, you're on a honeymoon. You've got no obligations. No children to herd and wrangle. No one who will flip a table if dinner gets consumed at 4pm or at 9pm. No one to answer to (unless your hubby/partner/boyfriend is hypoglycemic) to tell you to stick to any schedule. You just want to rest and do what your body tells you to do. Today, my body says that Berry Chantilly cake is a fucking AMAZING idea, and a 4"x4" slice is only $3.99. I can make the round trip AND eat in the car in 30 minutes over my lunch. Holy fucking shit; get in the car now, we're leaving.
Yes. This is most of us. The women who imagined ourselves to be Giselle Bundchen without the benefits of a personal pregnancy dietician, personal trainer, and chef. The ones who, like the bulk of the world, don't want to be bothered with diet plans when it's 1:30pm and 12 mini carrots with 2T of peanut butter have got to be fucking kidding me, that wouldn't feed an 18 month old.
So through the journey of your gestation, you're going to misjudge slightly the amount of food that you're cramming in your gob, and discover one of those days that your delightfully full and beautiful belly with be itching. Itching like that time in college when your roommate caught crabs and you were utterly SURE that you caught them just from hearing about them. When you peel back your floppy maternity top in a day or two, you're going to spot the faintest hints of angry, hateful squiggly lines that are now adorning your belly on either side, or underside, or crowning your flattening belly-button. And you're going to think "Oh shit, how did this happen?!" Your mind will recoil in horror as you tally up the times you've slathered your bouncing baby belly in weird creams you bought in Sprouts to combat stretching skin. How many times did you use them? Was it too little?
These areas that weren't able to provide that little extra give without completely busting out will be permanently prone to things like random bouts of itching. Irritation when you wear something too tight for too long. Generally being sensitive, depending on how wide the stretch marks are. It will be wonderful.
Around this time, which I'll refer to as the Point of No Return, you will likely experience what is called a "pop" with that enormous smuggled turkey you're hauling around. The one people keep rubbing everywhere you go, as though a fucking genie is going to pop out of. This is where your baby has grown so large that your uterus simply flop out to the outside of your pelvic bone. Mostly because, well, there's no room let IN you, otherwise you're going to have your spleen, gall bladder and large intestines popped like a water balloon that's grasp too tightly. I'm fairly sure that Mother Nature, in all her wisdom, saw that horror show coming and simply elected to allow the design to have you carry this watermelon at your front, like a horrifyingly large reverse marsupial.
Thanks mother nature. My spleen, unpopped, is very appreciative.
This brings me to the point of this 12 year long diatribe: The FUPA, or "fatty upper pubic area". This little overlooked area on your person is going to be holding the weight of this circus like Atlas is holding up the goddamned Earth on his shoulders. This poor, poor bastard is saddled with the crushing mass of your baby, placenta, and whatever else has managed to float out into your new frontal pouch. Having at some point, completely vacated your upper pelvic region, you might have discovered will introduce you to a new and wonderful low in your pregnancy: Panty line rash.
Yes. You read that right. Your goddamned underwear are going to irritate the underside of your watermelon so badly that you're going to think you caught body lice from the local swimming pool. To the point where you are going to find yourself waking up in the middle of the night to scratch it all to hell. And you'll probably justify getting up to pee while you're at it.
So here you'll be; trying to slather more oily anti-stretch-whatever trying to slow this process down. But, my friend, you'll be unable to stop it. Like a lonely goat standing in the way of a passing Amtrak train, you will be unable to halt the journey.
Here's where I think I have diverted from the tribe. This is basically a long, strange way of explaining how the human body makes space for the little people we grow and sprout, which is basically insane. If you look at a slice of a pregnant woman's body, you'd be positively flummoxed at how in the sam hell it all fits together without causing the mother to be fully incapacitated.
This last little cherry on top of my sundae was simply more than I could bear, to be honest. I had to relinquish sleeping peacefully for psychotically realistic dreams, ladled on a hefty amount of anxiety, insomnia, paranoia, bad moods, then got stripped of my ability to do any yoga because of back pain, then walking because of sciatic pain. Then walking at all because I am so mother fucking large I can't get anywhere. And now; there's this little gem. The rag of itches that I so desire to scratch, but for fear of actually opening up my skin with my nails, I have to figure out a way to ignore the urges.
And this, my friends, is how it came to pass that I quit wearing underwear.
Gross, I know. But hear me out: If your ass somehow, magically manages NOT to expand during a pregnancy and you can get away with just wearing the older, less-attractive cotton underwear you've got hanging around, and essentially allowing them to be sacrificed to the odyssey of your pregnancy, you'll be in better shape than some. Depending on how you carry, what weight you gain, and what shape you generally are, you might have to succumb to the glory of the Hanes™ high brief 3 pack. God help you if you do. I mean, seriously: Who the fuck decided that you only get one pair of black, a pair of nude, and a pair of white underwear? Why can't it be a 3 pack of black? Who still wears any white underwear?
These are all questions I need to put into a letter to Hanes customer service.
If you, like me, are carrying so low that your legs have been unable to have a gambol since about 6 months ago, then you're going to have some issues with how your normal underwear sit. Assuming you're like the general population, that is. You wear bikini-height drawers. Or even low top drawers, and still; that belly is going to rub that sharp little band around your pelvic line like your insane aunt Esther who lost her mind and but her pinkie toe off with a nail file before she had to be checked into the memory ward at the local Manor Care.
This is they point in which you additionally realize that the 6 adorable little sun dresses you own are no longer going to be wearable. This is because you're pulling a Kathleen Turner in the courtroom scene from Serial Mom. Remember that lack of contact your legs have had? Yeah. Why don't we NOT wear that short knee-length dress. Co-workers will be thrilled about this.
My alternative here is to yeild to that Hanes 3 pack of parachute pants in the white, nude, and black. Thusly allowing my underwater line to be displayed prominently about 1" below my belly button.
If this alternative is sub-acceptable, then you - like me, will find yourself in the perpetual, but low-level state of paranoia and fear. A fear that was instilled in you as a child by your parents when you attempted to go commando to 2nd grade because you didn't want to wear My Little Pony underwear, by your mom flat-out refused to allow you silk bikini's from JC Penney's. Your revolt was crushed with her inevitable discovery, and the look of disappointment and terror that overtook her face in the spectacle of your independent and bold strides towards future defiance.
The oppression of your discomfort will eventually cause you to break with this idea that your underwear-less choice will be revealed and mocked quietly within your office. That somehow everyone will just know that you've thrown down the imaginary chastity belt of your decorum and opted for comfort in its stead. Trust me; the only one who is going to know anything is amiss, is you. And it's going to sneak up on you in the realization that your very bare ass and bits are touching something not your drawers. It's going to freak you out so bad.
Showing posts with label Babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Babies. Show all posts
Monday, July 18, 2016
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Recurrence
In my first trimester, I was stunned by the onslaught of highly vivid dreams I ended up having. Very detailed and memorable, and very much like I wasn't sleeping. Rather living an entirely separate life when I should have been asleep. The amount of information to take in was rather exhausting, and I'd awake tired, rather than rested.
My second and third trimester have proved much less active in this same regard, overall. But in more recent nights, I've been having the same dream repeatedly. Different participants, but the same concept. My husband cheats on me. When I find out and confront him, he doesn't even care to hide it. He doesn't care at all. I rant and rave, and threaten.... And yet he doesn't care. He's un-phased.
I feel so sad and lonely in these dreams. Like I've been cast aside, and am no longer loved. It's crushing. So far, I've woken up from all three of these dreams to tears in the twilight hours of the morning. Most have lasted a far reach into the regular day. They've left me with a dark feeling around my shoulders that has lingered more than I felt it was welcomed to.
A normal human being would turn to their husband and ask for comfort and physical contact as reassurance. I only bury my head and mention nothing. An introspect into my psyche tells me that, on some level, I feel that these dreams are a reflection of the lack of involvement my husband has with me at this point in our marriage. The eternal struggle of spouses who are raising small children; the dissipation of the connection of love and companionship.
I am unsure if this is because somewhere buried deep, we don't want to work on the relationship we have, or that he's genuinely oblivious to the fact that we haven't worked on our relationship in a very, very long time.
In tumultuous times of our previous married years, we came up with ways to better communicate with each other. Suggestions for ourselves to be better at what we were doing badly. We'd write lists. Notes. Charts. Letters. And, thinking we had the problem licked just by talking about it, we simply never used any of the tools we came up with. At one point we even saw a couples therapist, and spent time doing worksheets at home to discuss with each other and come up with ways to work on the overcoming these problems. Needless to say, I filled out my portions, and he did not. He just never went back to the therapist. Out of shame and defeat, I didn't go back after that either.
Once it was evident that any work I was ever going to try to do in my marriage would not be met halfway, I think I gave up permanently. I've never tried that hard again, I've just let things that are wrong remain wrong and practice unhealthy tactics to deal with them. Like nagging, bullying, name-calling. All the things I never thought I'd use against someone I "loved".
I used to be very sure that I loved my husband, too. But because I know that I am the only one who wanted to put in the work, that I am ultimately alone with a person who would never work as hard as I would to build a stronger relationship, I don't think I'll ever do it again.
I wish these were feelings that didn't bother me as much as they did. I guess in a way it's better that they do, because it means I care enough for them too. How do I differentiate between feeling terrible that my spouse doesn't love me enough to move mountains for me, and just being on the shit end of the stick? Does this mean we are only maintaining the farce that we love each other, and that all true vestiges of it are really gone? Are we just going through the motions?
Is this really what I'm thinking, or have I gone completely batshit insane, and I have no idea it's happened. Like in memento where the guy has no concept that it's just him running around insane in his own head. That's another highly likely scenario for me at this point in life (and pregnancy).
I'm such a mess. I feel so lonely.
My second and third trimester have proved much less active in this same regard, overall. But in more recent nights, I've been having the same dream repeatedly. Different participants, but the same concept. My husband cheats on me. When I find out and confront him, he doesn't even care to hide it. He doesn't care at all. I rant and rave, and threaten.... And yet he doesn't care. He's un-phased.
I feel so sad and lonely in these dreams. Like I've been cast aside, and am no longer loved. It's crushing. So far, I've woken up from all three of these dreams to tears in the twilight hours of the morning. Most have lasted a far reach into the regular day. They've left me with a dark feeling around my shoulders that has lingered more than I felt it was welcomed to.
A normal human being would turn to their husband and ask for comfort and physical contact as reassurance. I only bury my head and mention nothing. An introspect into my psyche tells me that, on some level, I feel that these dreams are a reflection of the lack of involvement my husband has with me at this point in our marriage. The eternal struggle of spouses who are raising small children; the dissipation of the connection of love and companionship.
I am unsure if this is because somewhere buried deep, we don't want to work on the relationship we have, or that he's genuinely oblivious to the fact that we haven't worked on our relationship in a very, very long time.
In tumultuous times of our previous married years, we came up with ways to better communicate with each other. Suggestions for ourselves to be better at what we were doing badly. We'd write lists. Notes. Charts. Letters. And, thinking we had the problem licked just by talking about it, we simply never used any of the tools we came up with. At one point we even saw a couples therapist, and spent time doing worksheets at home to discuss with each other and come up with ways to work on the overcoming these problems. Needless to say, I filled out my portions, and he did not. He just never went back to the therapist. Out of shame and defeat, I didn't go back after that either.
Once it was evident that any work I was ever going to try to do in my marriage would not be met halfway, I think I gave up permanently. I've never tried that hard again, I've just let things that are wrong remain wrong and practice unhealthy tactics to deal with them. Like nagging, bullying, name-calling. All the things I never thought I'd use against someone I "loved".
I used to be very sure that I loved my husband, too. But because I know that I am the only one who wanted to put in the work, that I am ultimately alone with a person who would never work as hard as I would to build a stronger relationship, I don't think I'll ever do it again.
I wish these were feelings that didn't bother me as much as they did. I guess in a way it's better that they do, because it means I care enough for them too. How do I differentiate between feeling terrible that my spouse doesn't love me enough to move mountains for me, and just being on the shit end of the stick? Does this mean we are only maintaining the farce that we love each other, and that all true vestiges of it are really gone? Are we just going through the motions?
Is this really what I'm thinking, or have I gone completely batshit insane, and I have no idea it's happened. Like in memento where the guy has no concept that it's just him running around insane in his own head. That's another highly likely scenario for me at this point in life (and pregnancy).
I'm such a mess. I feel so lonely.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Finding my blessings
So much about my life is revolving around getting pregnant right now, that a great deal of what I should be doing is following to the wayside. Like, my human development class for example. I haven't logged in to work on that all week, and my unit is due Sunday.
However, I should confess, between now and then is actually plenty of time for me to write a blog, a journal, read 3 chapters and take a test. The procrastinator in me has already worked that out, so I have about zero stress over it.
If there's not a pressing need to get this stuff done over a long period of time, frankly I don't want to spend every night with this one class. I've got kid-cuddling to do. Probably 26 other things as well, but when faced with a toasty flannel-encased bed with your adoringly snuggly 6 year old, that other shit can wait.
I've started reading the Little House on The Prairie books to G. He L.O.V.E.S. them, and I will ask him to practice his reading with me while I read some parts. I'm so pleased that he's getting into them, and how much he absorbs from them. We talk about the social issues of that era, and how that compares to our more modern times. At 6 years old, he's already begun to see the world as a far more overly-complicated place than it ought to be, which is tremendous to see him do.
I really need to start shopping for some good wool fleece. I have a friend with a local farm that I haven't been able to come visit (mostly schedule issues), but she's been saving a few nice fleeces from this spring for me, and I'd really love to hunker down this winter with some non-strenuous projects seeing as how we're still trying to conceive.
It should be said that beginning this whole "make a baby" parade shouldn't have been crusaded until after we finished remodeling the master bedroom (by ourselves no less, so it would cost $200, and not $2k) was true stupidity on our parts. I'm fairly sure our child now knows the word "cocksucker" as a result of both the steet rock hanging, and spraying texture.
It should be noted that I am a crappy drywaller. Do not hire me if you don't want your seams showing. Painting, however, is where my talents can really shine. Not shocking. Way to go me for putting my fancy art degree to use, finally. Thanks mom!
Husband calls me every day while I'm at work and asks me how pregnant I feel. I love that he asks.
So here's the grit for today: My progesterone test came back at 4.6. A good level would be more like 5-10 to support implantation of a fertilized egg. So, my OB will have me on clomid this cycle to push my ovaries a little harder to bring that up. While my cycle isn't expected for another few days (I am not out of the game until she shows up), that 4.6 is a hauntingly low number, so I really wouldn't be pregnant.
After that I'll do an ultrasound to see what my eggs are doing, then somewhere in there when I ovulate we'll shoot up some more donor semen and do another 2 weeks of tedious, tearful, terrible, glorious and boring waiting.
I have a peak window left in later November, which will put me in August/September (which we were going to "tr" to avoid because our anniversary is in September), but I'm going to steam roll this whole thing on through until I've got a bun in my basket.
If this get's any closer to conception in December, I"m going to end up with an October baby, and that's going to suck. Hubby's, (step)daughters AND baby's birthdays all in the same month.
Fuck it though. Baby's going to come when baby comes, and we can just suck it the fuck up.
Zing, and Zing!!!
However, I should confess, between now and then is actually plenty of time for me to write a blog, a journal, read 3 chapters and take a test. The procrastinator in me has already worked that out, so I have about zero stress over it.
If there's not a pressing need to get this stuff done over a long period of time, frankly I don't want to spend every night with this one class. I've got kid-cuddling to do. Probably 26 other things as well, but when faced with a toasty flannel-encased bed with your adoringly snuggly 6 year old, that other shit can wait.
I've started reading the Little House on The Prairie books to G. He L.O.V.E.S. them, and I will ask him to practice his reading with me while I read some parts. I'm so pleased that he's getting into them, and how much he absorbs from them. We talk about the social issues of that era, and how that compares to our more modern times. At 6 years old, he's already begun to see the world as a far more overly-complicated place than it ought to be, which is tremendous to see him do.
I really need to start shopping for some good wool fleece. I have a friend with a local farm that I haven't been able to come visit (mostly schedule issues), but she's been saving a few nice fleeces from this spring for me, and I'd really love to hunker down this winter with some non-strenuous projects seeing as how we're still trying to conceive.
It should be said that beginning this whole "make a baby" parade shouldn't have been crusaded until after we finished remodeling the master bedroom (by ourselves no less, so it would cost $200, and not $2k) was true stupidity on our parts. I'm fairly sure our child now knows the word "cocksucker" as a result of both the steet rock hanging, and spraying texture.
It should be noted that I am a crappy drywaller. Do not hire me if you don't want your seams showing. Painting, however, is where my talents can really shine. Not shocking. Way to go me for putting my fancy art degree to use, finally. Thanks mom!
Husband calls me every day while I'm at work and asks me how pregnant I feel. I love that he asks.
So here's the grit for today: My progesterone test came back at 4.6. A good level would be more like 5-10 to support implantation of a fertilized egg. So, my OB will have me on clomid this cycle to push my ovaries a little harder to bring that up. While my cycle isn't expected for another few days (I am not out of the game until she shows up), that 4.6 is a hauntingly low number, so I really wouldn't be pregnant.
After that I'll do an ultrasound to see what my eggs are doing, then somewhere in there when I ovulate we'll shoot up some more donor semen and do another 2 weeks of tedious, tearful, terrible, glorious and boring waiting.
I have a peak window left in later November, which will put me in August/September (which we were going to "tr" to avoid because our anniversary is in September), but I'm going to steam roll this whole thing on through until I've got a bun in my basket.
If this get's any closer to conception in December, I"m going to end up with an October baby, and that's going to suck. Hubby's, (step)daughters AND baby's birthdays all in the same month.
Fuck it though. Baby's going to come when baby comes, and we can just suck it the fuck up.
Zing, and Zing!!!
Thursday, November 5, 2015
T-Minus 4 days
I'm obsessing.
My cycle is due by the 9th or 10th. I could begin spotting as soon as the 8th. I was insanely emotional yesterday, and then totally in the doldrums today. My body feels empty and devoid of the subtle changes of pregnancy. No little cramps, little swelling, chest tenderness.
I keep stupidly holding on to the fact that with G, there were no symptoms until I realized I was at 35 days without a period, then a week later I was hit with intermittent nausea that rarely produced the relief of throwing up. Just swirling, dizzying, awful nausea.
My ObGyn is out of the office until Friday, so I couldn't call and freak out yesterday.
During my last IUI, he said that the follicle was mature, and the egg was already released. It would be a high likelihood of a boy. While I don't necessarily want to know whether I have a higher chance of a boy or not (and I am secretly hoping for a girl, since I know this will be my absolute last shot at children and I'd like to have someone, who, after her terrible teen years, I can bond with over female things. I'm sure my son will be busy dating, and doing things that don't involve hanging out with his mom), it was mildly depressing to know that I would be having another boy, if I'm being honest.
More likely to have a boy, I should say.
I had a blood draw two days ago to test for progesterone, which would confirm that I have, in fact ovulated at all. I was supposed to get one on my first IUI, 7 days prior, but I very honestly slacked off and didn't bother. I have no defense. I'm a dick.
I felt more physical changes in the first round than in this one, but we were still remodeling the basement and I was working out every other day. I remain convinced for no reason that this was a bad thing for me. This time, however, nothing. No womb-gurgling, no exhaustion. Just.... Nada. :(
I had a cramp here and there, but nothing else. Especially on Halloween night. I was totally bloated, but I couldn't tell if that was because I had a hamburger or not (and burgers tend to stop me up).
4 more days to miss my cycle and then if this round wasn't successful, I'll likely ovulate somewhere around the 17th or 20th, depending.
I had acupuncture on the 3rd, and while I didn't take a wholly deep nap, I did get a few light zzz's in. I woke up a few times and found myself talking to my body, in my mind. Telling it we were doing great, we were in this together, and that we could do it. Together. Talking to baby and telling him/her that they were wanted, and I hope they were there already, and I couldn't wait to see them, how much Mommy loved them. It made me tear up something awful behind my closed eyes. I think of people who go through this for years, and seriously question whether or not I could go through this for that long. I imagine that the pain lessens over time, despite that you keep trying. Reality kind of fades into the background so you can get through the anguish, in a way.
Joined an online message board of women who are in similar positions. They're giving me a lot of great information, which I have immensely appreciated. Helps to know you're not the only one.
Hubs called this morning to see if I felt anything. Preggo or not. He was a little sad to hear that I still felt the same. It was nice that he called me. It lifted my spirits a bit. It's kind of the first thing he's really done to reach out and connect with me about since we started TTC.
My cycle is due by the 9th or 10th. I could begin spotting as soon as the 8th. I was insanely emotional yesterday, and then totally in the doldrums today. My body feels empty and devoid of the subtle changes of pregnancy. No little cramps, little swelling, chest tenderness.
I keep stupidly holding on to the fact that with G, there were no symptoms until I realized I was at 35 days without a period, then a week later I was hit with intermittent nausea that rarely produced the relief of throwing up. Just swirling, dizzying, awful nausea.
My ObGyn is out of the office until Friday, so I couldn't call and freak out yesterday.
During my last IUI, he said that the follicle was mature, and the egg was already released. It would be a high likelihood of a boy. While I don't necessarily want to know whether I have a higher chance of a boy or not (and I am secretly hoping for a girl, since I know this will be my absolute last shot at children and I'd like to have someone, who, after her terrible teen years, I can bond with over female things. I'm sure my son will be busy dating, and doing things that don't involve hanging out with his mom), it was mildly depressing to know that I would be having another boy, if I'm being honest.
More likely to have a boy, I should say.
I had a blood draw two days ago to test for progesterone, which would confirm that I have, in fact ovulated at all. I was supposed to get one on my first IUI, 7 days prior, but I very honestly slacked off and didn't bother. I have no defense. I'm a dick.
I felt more physical changes in the first round than in this one, but we were still remodeling the basement and I was working out every other day. I remain convinced for no reason that this was a bad thing for me. This time, however, nothing. No womb-gurgling, no exhaustion. Just.... Nada. :(
I had a cramp here and there, but nothing else. Especially on Halloween night. I was totally bloated, but I couldn't tell if that was because I had a hamburger or not (and burgers tend to stop me up).
4 more days to miss my cycle and then if this round wasn't successful, I'll likely ovulate somewhere around the 17th or 20th, depending.
I had acupuncture on the 3rd, and while I didn't take a wholly deep nap, I did get a few light zzz's in. I woke up a few times and found myself talking to my body, in my mind. Telling it we were doing great, we were in this together, and that we could do it. Together. Talking to baby and telling him/her that they were wanted, and I hope they were there already, and I couldn't wait to see them, how much Mommy loved them. It made me tear up something awful behind my closed eyes. I think of people who go through this for years, and seriously question whether or not I could go through this for that long. I imagine that the pain lessens over time, despite that you keep trying. Reality kind of fades into the background so you can get through the anguish, in a way.
Joined an online message board of women who are in similar positions. They're giving me a lot of great information, which I have immensely appreciated. Helps to know you're not the only one.
Hubs called this morning to see if I felt anything. Preggo or not. He was a little sad to hear that I still felt the same. It was nice that he called me. It lifted my spirits a bit. It's kind of the first thing he's really done to reach out and connect with me about since we started TTC.
Friday, October 30, 2015
Take two
Bust for round 1. When my period started showing up, I found myself crying at almost every still moment. I'd sit in a chair, and tears would be streaming silently down my cheeks in a few seconds. They were welling up from a place I didn't realize they were even hiding. 3 or 4 days of that, mostly at night after I put the bear to sleep. I cried alone, and often up until it was time for me to go to sleep. This drained me considerably.
So when the app that tracks my ovulation gave me a heads up that I was going to ovulate soon, I was back to testing urine midday, in whatever bathroom I happened to be near at the time. I got my first peak notification Monday the 26th, and had my second shot at 7:30am Tuesday the 27th. Weirdly, I ended up with an awful and hateful headache that same day, and spent most of the day in bed, resting, with a heating pad at my shoulders.
Almost oppositely compared to my last IUI shot, I haven't spent nearly the same amount of time obsessing about what minute symptom my body might be experiencing, might or might not be related to conception. Oooh, a gurgling in my lower abdomen! This must be a good sign! None of that. I am, however, trying desperately to compare it with my first pregnancy and remember what was special about it that would have given me clues as to being knocked up. The funny thing is; there were no major prior signs that clued me in. My last period that year was on Cinco De Mayo, and on Monday June 10th, I happened to look at my calendar and realized that it had been 35 days since my uterus had reenacted the final scene in Carrie.
About a week before this, I had astutely noted that none of my typical pre-menstrual symptoms were present, and had peed on a stick. The pee test was an expired test, and there was a faint second line, which I discounted as being faulty and literally thought nothing of it beyond that. Of course, that Monday the 10th of June, I came straight home and took another pregnancy test (with a close friend on the phone, who had been pregnant-by-surprise with all of her three children) who educated me that a faint line is still a line, and I was pregnant.
While my first pregnancy was completely by chance, this one will be completely planned and anticipated. With breath that is bated, even. At $450 per round; breath being bated isn't even really the only thing going on for me, either. There's anxiousness, fear, apprehension, excitement. More fear.
It's ridiculous to think this way; but most nights when I lay down to tuck Bear in, I think to myself "How could I possibly love another child as much as I love this one? Will I just have to dive into this venture knowing that I'll always love Bear more? Is that even possible? HOW is that possible? Is my heart able to contain that much love?"
Truly, I love my firstborn with a passion and fervor that I have never realized I was capable of. Though my conception and pregnancy were entered without planning and there was admittedly a great deal of hesitation on my part (mostly because I was such a complete fuck up at that time in my life, and I was embarrassed that I didn't have more to give a baby at that time), by the time I heard his first little heartbeat, I was no longer finding myself caught in terror and sadness. It became awe and interest. When I first felt Bear's little flutter inside me at 4 months, I was already wrapping layers and layers upon my heart, and his, in love.
As he grew, so did the connection to him and the adoration I felt. I would lay on my side at night and wrap my forearm and hand around the lowest part of my belly - where I was sure he was lying, and I held him while he was still there. I grew used to loving him from there so quickly.
There is so much love that is part of mothering, and childbirth and pregnancy. I, of many of the people I've known, uncannily loved being pregnant. I didn't mind my belly, swelling legs, losing sight of my crotch. Weird hair that appeared, strange new bodily noises or processes. I didn't care, and I laughed it all away. I rarely complained and often remained beaming madly at the undertaking I was on.
So, here I am, another few weeks to wait. To try not to fret, to take it easy and light. A feat of it's own that is much harder for me to accomplish than one would imagine. My often overly-active energy allows me to get the shit done that needs doing. But, imposed relaxation is required and healthy.
But still I wait. Hoping. Still fearing. But mostly, just hoping.
So when the app that tracks my ovulation gave me a heads up that I was going to ovulate soon, I was back to testing urine midday, in whatever bathroom I happened to be near at the time. I got my first peak notification Monday the 26th, and had my second shot at 7:30am Tuesday the 27th. Weirdly, I ended up with an awful and hateful headache that same day, and spent most of the day in bed, resting, with a heating pad at my shoulders.
Almost oppositely compared to my last IUI shot, I haven't spent nearly the same amount of time obsessing about what minute symptom my body might be experiencing, might or might not be related to conception. Oooh, a gurgling in my lower abdomen! This must be a good sign! None of that. I am, however, trying desperately to compare it with my first pregnancy and remember what was special about it that would have given me clues as to being knocked up. The funny thing is; there were no major prior signs that clued me in. My last period that year was on Cinco De Mayo, and on Monday June 10th, I happened to look at my calendar and realized that it had been 35 days since my uterus had reenacted the final scene in Carrie.
About a week before this, I had astutely noted that none of my typical pre-menstrual symptoms were present, and had peed on a stick. The pee test was an expired test, and there was a faint second line, which I discounted as being faulty and literally thought nothing of it beyond that. Of course, that Monday the 10th of June, I came straight home and took another pregnancy test (with a close friend on the phone, who had been pregnant-by-surprise with all of her three children) who educated me that a faint line is still a line, and I was pregnant.
While my first pregnancy was completely by chance, this one will be completely planned and anticipated. With breath that is bated, even. At $450 per round; breath being bated isn't even really the only thing going on for me, either. There's anxiousness, fear, apprehension, excitement. More fear.
It's ridiculous to think this way; but most nights when I lay down to tuck Bear in, I think to myself "How could I possibly love another child as much as I love this one? Will I just have to dive into this venture knowing that I'll always love Bear more? Is that even possible? HOW is that possible? Is my heart able to contain that much love?"
Truly, I love my firstborn with a passion and fervor that I have never realized I was capable of. Though my conception and pregnancy were entered without planning and there was admittedly a great deal of hesitation on my part (mostly because I was such a complete fuck up at that time in my life, and I was embarrassed that I didn't have more to give a baby at that time), by the time I heard his first little heartbeat, I was no longer finding myself caught in terror and sadness. It became awe and interest. When I first felt Bear's little flutter inside me at 4 months, I was already wrapping layers and layers upon my heart, and his, in love.
As he grew, so did the connection to him and the adoration I felt. I would lay on my side at night and wrap my forearm and hand around the lowest part of my belly - where I was sure he was lying, and I held him while he was still there. I grew used to loving him from there so quickly.
There is so much love that is part of mothering, and childbirth and pregnancy. I, of many of the people I've known, uncannily loved being pregnant. I didn't mind my belly, swelling legs, losing sight of my crotch. Weird hair that appeared, strange new bodily noises or processes. I didn't care, and I laughed it all away. I rarely complained and often remained beaming madly at the undertaking I was on.
So, here I am, another few weeks to wait. To try not to fret, to take it easy and light. A feat of it's own that is much harder for me to accomplish than one would imagine. My often overly-active energy allows me to get the shit done that needs doing. But, imposed relaxation is required and healthy.
But still I wait. Hoping. Still fearing. But mostly, just hoping.
Monday, October 5, 2015
First try
I've been using an ovulation/conception app to track my fertility. I've been dismissing its reminders every month telling me I'm fertile because getting pregnant has been such a dismal situation for me up until this point.
I made a joke about this, and my husband came back with the unexpected: an enthusiastic "let's do it". So, I picked up ovulation tests, confirmed my peak fertility, picked up frozen sperm, and had my first IUI on Friday October 2, 2015. I spent the remainder of the day with my stepdaughter for her birthday, as well as our littlest, and my husband. It was a fantastic day for everyone, actually.
So here is the two week wait, or "2WW" as it's called by those "TTC" (trying to conceive). My ObGyn says that this is a 25% chance of conception without fertility drugs and dud an internal sonogram on me before he defrosted and inserted the sperm in me. My Fallopian tubes were all primed and ready to go, he was even concerned that I was "too perfectly" ready, and we should have injected the day before.
I am obsessed with what's going to happen next, naturally. I'm petrified as well, to say the least. I've been yearning to have a baby for so very long now, and suddenly without any planning or discussion, we just jumped straight into baby.
One of the things that makes me really nervous is that I have the sneaking suspicion that my husband just isn't into this. His so very "go with the flow" attitude never lends to any excitement, unless it involves bike riding, lots of money, or going on a vacation. It's a little heartbreaking to be honest.
We also decided not to tell anyone until we knew what was going on, so we're keeping our mouths shut for another 2 weeks, at least.
I made a joke about this, and my husband came back with the unexpected: an enthusiastic "let's do it". So, I picked up ovulation tests, confirmed my peak fertility, picked up frozen sperm, and had my first IUI on Friday October 2, 2015. I spent the remainder of the day with my stepdaughter for her birthday, as well as our littlest, and my husband. It was a fantastic day for everyone, actually.
So here is the two week wait, or "2WW" as it's called by those "TTC" (trying to conceive). My ObGyn says that this is a 25% chance of conception without fertility drugs and dud an internal sonogram on me before he defrosted and inserted the sperm in me. My Fallopian tubes were all primed and ready to go, he was even concerned that I was "too perfectly" ready, and we should have injected the day before.
I am obsessed with what's going to happen next, naturally. I'm petrified as well, to say the least. I've been yearning to have a baby for so very long now, and suddenly without any planning or discussion, we just jumped straight into baby.
One of the things that makes me really nervous is that I have the sneaking suspicion that my husband just isn't into this. His so very "go with the flow" attitude never lends to any excitement, unless it involves bike riding, lots of money, or going on a vacation. It's a little heartbreaking to be honest.
We also decided not to tell anyone until we knew what was going on, so we're keeping our mouths shut for another 2 weeks, at least.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Empowerment, or Deranged Psychosis?
Because only three "events" were involved in the conception of my son, it's
reasonable to figure out when he came into the picture. I entered this
journey with a great deal of fear and doubt; mostly about myself, where I was
at that time in my life (unmarried, under-employed and a total mess), and
through the ensuing years I found ways to bring myself up, and surround myself
with success of my own making. I shed a number of tears first at my own
foolishness, in that bringing a child into the world so vastly unprepared to
tackle parenting. Then later tears of guilt that it would not be
born into a home with two loving hearts, and just the one.
As it turned out, one loving heart was all that was needed. It has never ceased to amaze me at how lucky I was to have my little boy, and how relatively easy everything he brought with him was. Sure, it was a learning process; I had no idea what to do when he was awake, fed, dry, and prepped for bed at 3am, but I figured it all out eventually. I still have moments of panic as a parent on those "what to do's", and the kid is 6 1/2 now.
Time passed, and I met someone, and we liked each other. But he came with baggage, like I did. His was a teenage daughter and a vasectomy. I tread this introduction with in trepidation; infertility put a major thorn in the side of my hopes for another baby, but ultimately he expressed that he'd pay to have it reconnected, or we could move onto other options like donor sperm, adoption or fostering. He was very open and willing for all the possibilities. He recognized how hasty that decision was on his part.
It's been 4 years of marriage now. Lots of ups and downs, lots of delays and backtracking on the plans to move forward with this. We found out that reconnecting a vasectomy is regarded as elective surgery, and not covered with insurance to the tune of around 10k. The efficacy of it plummets with every passing year you've had it. It's as though once the swimmers were shut in, their health declined without hope of improvement. Sucking them out of the testicle with a needle should only be done by a professional, and would only be useful for IVF. This is 18K per round.
Much to his chagrin, this left us with adoption (for around 40k, and that's for foreign kids!), foster children, or donated sperm. As a man, none of those options really felt appealing to him. He had no part in the production. Ultimately, this is where he started to lose his interest. Conversations subsequent to this stage involved him not wanting to read of the info on any donors that had similar features to his, or show interest in coming with me to meet the OB who would perform my IUI.
I met him at 29, and I'm now 34, and still waiting to make moves towards baby#2. By all accounts, if I were to get pregnant right now, and give birth just prior to my 35th birthday, I kid you not: I would be labeled a geriatric mother. That's right. 10 years before when menopause might be coming to call, I've already been shoved aside to the geriatric ward, where OBs automatically sign you up for your C-section the second you get a double-line on your piss-wand.
At first I was able to keep doing things like reading up on pregnancy nutrition, exercises, birth groups and clubs. But as other women kept having delightful pregnancy announcements, luminous pregnancy photos, smiling round and happily exhausted faces filled with anticipation and joy, and then squishy and milk-smelling babies... I felt myself start to crumble. It didn't happen right away at first. It happened when I couldn't watch birth videos anymore without breaking into silent, and constantly-streaming tears. When I started hiding the baby photos in my Facebook feed. When I could no longer even open up the baby & kids section of Craigslist to browse for cheap & useful kids stuff,
When you're fertility incompetent, watching others around you conceive and celebrate, your resilience falls into the toilet, along with your hope and your ability to keep your head about you when a co-worker drops by with their newborn. Your fein an illness and stay in your cube, listening to the cooing across the office.
Challenges with fertility make women insane. They become toxic, like being sprayed by a skunk: the stench dies down after a while, but you feel like your nose has been so permeated with the smell, you're not even sure it totally went away to begin with. You keep sniffing and sniffing because you're sure it's still there.
Four years isn't as long as some people have battled and hoped. But oddly I read all these stories of couples that are supportive and strong, and hopeful still about their chances of their miracle baby coming to fruition, and I get envious. I think "how is it that I fall apart every time my husband tells me he thinks the time is wrong, and none of these people ever talk about how goddamned hard it is to keep waiting, and trying, and failing?!" I must be the only one with a mouth the size of the Rio Grand, because this shit has sucked.
When things have gotten bad.... Like we were shouting threats of the big D at each other, there was always the sadness in me that realized whoever this little baby was going to be, that I wanted to have, was never going to happen. And for a long time recently, it's been something that I've felt more and more.
I can't decide if my husband has postponed and stalled us out so long that I've finally given up hope and let the dream go, or I've just moved on emotionally from the issue. The apathy I experience on the subject is terrifying, to be honest. I can't believe I don't feel that urge anymore! The pull! The want!
I like to think I'm a good mom. I work hard on being patient, and loving, and honest. I like being fun, and my son and I always play little fun games and have conversations about wonderful things. He rides his bicycle with me while I go on runs in the evening, and always cheers me on to push myself harder. Every time I hold him in my arms I feel that I've done at least 1 thing right in my life, and it fills me with a lot of pride and happiness.
And yet I realize that once he's on his own.... he won't have anyone else in this world as family. No sibling near his age to commiserate with once my husband get old, and weirder than we are now. No one to shed tears with when he'd got to face losing one -or both- of us. And certainly no one to blame when one of them breaks something, and I demand to know who was screwing around with it. Ah, what fun it is to have a sibling to harass and torture!
I digress...... Deny as I might want to, but my best and youngest years are behind me. I'm sure AARP already has me on their future mailing lists, and my advertising choices via social media will stop being promotions for 5ks, and start being coupons for hemorrhoid creams. My time is running out, and the conversation I have with my husband always ends with "just a little longer".
Having my child was a fast and furious crash into a new routine, and a lot of changes. I managed to land on my feet and somehow amble into a run sometime after that. He wasn't planned, and I was in far worse shape in my life than I am now.
So unreservedly, albeit quietly, I have chosen my donor. B1047. I have tracked my periods and cycles diligently, and assuming that I get a positive ovulation around mid-July, this will be my plan to move forward.
For a few years I've been patient and laissez fair, allowing myself to ease up when my husband wouldn't engage when I suggested looking at donors or discussing when to map out the due date. Unfortunately that patience has worn so thin that what's left of my trust in the fact that "we'll get there, just a little longer" seems not to exist anymore.
Marriage shows you a lot about your spouse. Most specifically you get to see who this person is, an all their purity. With my husband I know that while he never wanted to be a father in the first place, he half-assedly raised his daughter (as long as things remained convenient). With me, he understood that in order to get me in a relationship, I was a packaged deal and that was something he had to shoulder.
Vasectomies are not hasty; they're deliberate. They're an act of finality. He didn't want the 1st kid he had, let alone anymore. Ex's are a hassle and who needs that shit?
Whatever this rant or rave is, be it pre-menopausal breakdown, or a manifesto of my plans to say "well fuck this, I'm not giving this part of my dreams up" and throwing the gauntlet out the window.
Really the saddest part of this is that if I get pregnant, and he's not on board at all for it...... I don't really care anymore.
As it turned out, one loving heart was all that was needed. It has never ceased to amaze me at how lucky I was to have my little boy, and how relatively easy everything he brought with him was. Sure, it was a learning process; I had no idea what to do when he was awake, fed, dry, and prepped for bed at 3am, but I figured it all out eventually. I still have moments of panic as a parent on those "what to do's", and the kid is 6 1/2 now.
Time passed, and I met someone, and we liked each other. But he came with baggage, like I did. His was a teenage daughter and a vasectomy. I tread this introduction with in trepidation; infertility put a major thorn in the side of my hopes for another baby, but ultimately he expressed that he'd pay to have it reconnected, or we could move onto other options like donor sperm, adoption or fostering. He was very open and willing for all the possibilities. He recognized how hasty that decision was on his part.
It's been 4 years of marriage now. Lots of ups and downs, lots of delays and backtracking on the plans to move forward with this. We found out that reconnecting a vasectomy is regarded as elective surgery, and not covered with insurance to the tune of around 10k. The efficacy of it plummets with every passing year you've had it. It's as though once the swimmers were shut in, their health declined without hope of improvement. Sucking them out of the testicle with a needle should only be done by a professional, and would only be useful for IVF. This is 18K per round.
Much to his chagrin, this left us with adoption (for around 40k, and that's for foreign kids!), foster children, or donated sperm. As a man, none of those options really felt appealing to him. He had no part in the production. Ultimately, this is where he started to lose his interest. Conversations subsequent to this stage involved him not wanting to read of the info on any donors that had similar features to his, or show interest in coming with me to meet the OB who would perform my IUI.
I met him at 29, and I'm now 34, and still waiting to make moves towards baby#2. By all accounts, if I were to get pregnant right now, and give birth just prior to my 35th birthday, I kid you not: I would be labeled a geriatric mother. That's right. 10 years before when menopause might be coming to call, I've already been shoved aside to the geriatric ward, where OBs automatically sign you up for your C-section the second you get a double-line on your piss-wand.
At first I was able to keep doing things like reading up on pregnancy nutrition, exercises, birth groups and clubs. But as other women kept having delightful pregnancy announcements, luminous pregnancy photos, smiling round and happily exhausted faces filled with anticipation and joy, and then squishy and milk-smelling babies... I felt myself start to crumble. It didn't happen right away at first. It happened when I couldn't watch birth videos anymore without breaking into silent, and constantly-streaming tears. When I started hiding the baby photos in my Facebook feed. When I could no longer even open up the baby & kids section of Craigslist to browse for cheap & useful kids stuff,
When you're fertility incompetent, watching others around you conceive and celebrate, your resilience falls into the toilet, along with your hope and your ability to keep your head about you when a co-worker drops by with their newborn. Your fein an illness and stay in your cube, listening to the cooing across the office.
Challenges with fertility make women insane. They become toxic, like being sprayed by a skunk: the stench dies down after a while, but you feel like your nose has been so permeated with the smell, you're not even sure it totally went away to begin with. You keep sniffing and sniffing because you're sure it's still there.
Four years isn't as long as some people have battled and hoped. But oddly I read all these stories of couples that are supportive and strong, and hopeful still about their chances of their miracle baby coming to fruition, and I get envious. I think "how is it that I fall apart every time my husband tells me he thinks the time is wrong, and none of these people ever talk about how goddamned hard it is to keep waiting, and trying, and failing?!" I must be the only one with a mouth the size of the Rio Grand, because this shit has sucked.
When things have gotten bad.... Like we were shouting threats of the big D at each other, there was always the sadness in me that realized whoever this little baby was going to be, that I wanted to have, was never going to happen. And for a long time recently, it's been something that I've felt more and more.
I can't decide if my husband has postponed and stalled us out so long that I've finally given up hope and let the dream go, or I've just moved on emotionally from the issue. The apathy I experience on the subject is terrifying, to be honest. I can't believe I don't feel that urge anymore! The pull! The want!
I like to think I'm a good mom. I work hard on being patient, and loving, and honest. I like being fun, and my son and I always play little fun games and have conversations about wonderful things. He rides his bicycle with me while I go on runs in the evening, and always cheers me on to push myself harder. Every time I hold him in my arms I feel that I've done at least 1 thing right in my life, and it fills me with a lot of pride and happiness.
And yet I realize that once he's on his own.... he won't have anyone else in this world as family. No sibling near his age to commiserate with once my husband get old, and weirder than we are now. No one to shed tears with when he'd got to face losing one -or both- of us. And certainly no one to blame when one of them breaks something, and I demand to know who was screwing around with it. Ah, what fun it is to have a sibling to harass and torture!
I digress...... Deny as I might want to, but my best and youngest years are behind me. I'm sure AARP already has me on their future mailing lists, and my advertising choices via social media will stop being promotions for 5ks, and start being coupons for hemorrhoid creams. My time is running out, and the conversation I have with my husband always ends with "just a little longer".
Having my child was a fast and furious crash into a new routine, and a lot of changes. I managed to land on my feet and somehow amble into a run sometime after that. He wasn't planned, and I was in far worse shape in my life than I am now.
So unreservedly, albeit quietly, I have chosen my donor. B1047. I have tracked my periods and cycles diligently, and assuming that I get a positive ovulation around mid-July, this will be my plan to move forward.
For a few years I've been patient and laissez fair, allowing myself to ease up when my husband wouldn't engage when I suggested looking at donors or discussing when to map out the due date. Unfortunately that patience has worn so thin that what's left of my trust in the fact that "we'll get there, just a little longer" seems not to exist anymore.
Marriage shows you a lot about your spouse. Most specifically you get to see who this person is, an all their purity. With my husband I know that while he never wanted to be a father in the first place, he half-assedly raised his daughter (as long as things remained convenient). With me, he understood that in order to get me in a relationship, I was a packaged deal and that was something he had to shoulder.
Vasectomies are not hasty; they're deliberate. They're an act of finality. He didn't want the 1st kid he had, let alone anymore. Ex's are a hassle and who needs that shit?
Whatever this rant or rave is, be it pre-menopausal breakdown, or a manifesto of my plans to say "well fuck this, I'm not giving this part of my dreams up" and throwing the gauntlet out the window.
Really the saddest part of this is that if I get pregnant, and he's not on board at all for it...... I don't really care anymore.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Envy is a slippery slope, filled with unenlightened commentary
The word "barren" seems really inappropriate when one of you is fertile, but the other not. It feels unbalanced. Perhaps referring to this situation as "unfairly lacking in sufficient sperm product", but this doesn't roll off the tongue in any way other than clumsily. Also, people don't care to hear the word "sperm". They way the look at you is like you'd exposed your private parts to them while smiling.
Ping ponging between feeling desperate to fill the empty wasteland of my weeping womb, and arguing with my spouse about whether or not another child is in our families dynamic is as well balanced at the tides that come in and out of the shores. I spend countless hours remembering what it was like to hold my now-5 year old kindergarten aged son in my arms as a caterwauling infant and chiding myself that I wasn't more appreciative of his newness, his baby smell, the privilege that I might never have again to feel him at my breast. All the mundane things I took for granted as I didn't worship and revere them as they happened.
The mind takes you places you don't realize it will when a desperation sets in. As my ovaries cast out a new ovum with every passing month, I feel a new surge or urgency in myself that comes with each of these passing moons, and in that brief and fleeting window I indulge in the darkest of fantasies on begetting a baby. I languish in these ideas, and I cringe at what the definition of them really and actually turns out to be. The weight of the hard fact bears down in my mind only after the curtain of ecstasy subsides.
I have spun myself many webs of possibility in search of this magnum opus, and learned that despite the passion to pursue them, the oceans of children already born into this world will have no love of a mother to call their own, and to sew the seeds within them that blossom into that unconditional bond. I cannot give a child the warmth and kindness, gentle touches and togetherness. It is a damning hatred that grows in you when you see how the politics of countries punish the innocent and blameless to lives grown with the starvation of love, and to be cared for by strangers.
Confined in a windowed prison of waiting, I am watching each week and month go by, passing beside me, as with each moment I am closer to failing at this endeavor. It is a malignancy that comes with a bitterness that I have no care for. The complacency and acceptance feels like I have resigned myself to yet another shortcoming in my life, the last in a very long list.
To use the phrase "between a rock and a hard place" would be like putting a band aid over a bullet wound.
Ping ponging between feeling desperate to fill the empty wasteland of my weeping womb, and arguing with my spouse about whether or not another child is in our families dynamic is as well balanced at the tides that come in and out of the shores. I spend countless hours remembering what it was like to hold my now-5 year old kindergarten aged son in my arms as a caterwauling infant and chiding myself that I wasn't more appreciative of his newness, his baby smell, the privilege that I might never have again to feel him at my breast. All the mundane things I took for granted as I didn't worship and revere them as they happened.
The mind takes you places you don't realize it will when a desperation sets in. As my ovaries cast out a new ovum with every passing month, I feel a new surge or urgency in myself that comes with each of these passing moons, and in that brief and fleeting window I indulge in the darkest of fantasies on begetting a baby. I languish in these ideas, and I cringe at what the definition of them really and actually turns out to be. The weight of the hard fact bears down in my mind only after the curtain of ecstasy subsides.
I have spun myself many webs of possibility in search of this magnum opus, and learned that despite the passion to pursue them, the oceans of children already born into this world will have no love of a mother to call their own, and to sew the seeds within them that blossom into that unconditional bond. I cannot give a child the warmth and kindness, gentle touches and togetherness. It is a damning hatred that grows in you when you see how the politics of countries punish the innocent and blameless to lives grown with the starvation of love, and to be cared for by strangers.
Confined in a windowed prison of waiting, I am watching each week and month go by, passing beside me, as with each moment I am closer to failing at this endeavor. It is a malignancy that comes with a bitterness that I have no care for. The complacency and acceptance feels like I have resigned myself to yet another shortcoming in my life, the last in a very long list.
To use the phrase "between a rock and a hard place" would be like putting a band aid over a bullet wound.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Anything worth fighting for
The inability to concieve a child naturally takes a toll on a couple. Making love for years and never getting pregnant. Some months when you're busy living life without worrying about a new baby it's not something you think about, and others you feel a dull and constant ache through every fiber in your mind that just causes you to yearn for it.
You see around you people making joyous announcements with large smiles and hands all over beautiful bellies, and people surrounding them with happiness. And you feel empty, and guilty for it. Why shouldn't you feel blessed enough with what you already have. "You already have G, why do you need anything else?" He asks me. For the last two years he's slowly turned the tide on the plans to have another baby and pushed continuously to leave those plans behind and just live our lives without one.
I always had this dramatically romantic idea that the ultimate celebration of love and togetherness was to have (or want to have) a child.
That ache is mine, and mine only. It's not a pain I share with him. It's only mine.
I'll turn 33 this year. Not hardly old enough to be watching the grains of time slipping faster and faster, but old enough where I'm seeing more gray hairs moving in, and I've noticed deeper lines where I smile and squint. Times not going backwards, that's a definite.
There's a reality that I've been tonging around in my mouth and haven't dared spoken to many, but it's that if I stay where I am, I will be fighting alone to have a child with someone who doesn't want one himself.
You see around you people making joyous announcements with large smiles and hands all over beautiful bellies, and people surrounding them with happiness. And you feel empty, and guilty for it. Why shouldn't you feel blessed enough with what you already have. "You already have G, why do you need anything else?" He asks me. For the last two years he's slowly turned the tide on the plans to have another baby and pushed continuously to leave those plans behind and just live our lives without one.
I always had this dramatically romantic idea that the ultimate celebration of love and togetherness was to have (or want to have) a child.
That ache is mine, and mine only. It's not a pain I share with him. It's only mine.
I'll turn 33 this year. Not hardly old enough to be watching the grains of time slipping faster and faster, but old enough where I'm seeing more gray hairs moving in, and I've noticed deeper lines where I smile and squint. Times not going backwards, that's a definite.
There's a reality that I've been tonging around in my mouth and haven't dared spoken to many, but it's that if I stay where I am, I will be fighting alone to have a child with someone who doesn't want one himself.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Options and waiting.
I think the concept in my mind of how a man might feel when faced with the
notion of using another man's sperm to get his wife pregnant might not strike a
fellow too well. Generally that primal urge to fornicate and seed anything and
everything in sight is still a relevant mind set in most of the male populace,
whether discussed or not. The entire psychology aside, this was the beginning
of a totally new conversation between us: Using a chosen donor. Someone we
know.
This, like every option, carry’s a lot of weight to be considered. First and foremost; locating someone who would be affable to being hit up for semen maybe 1 or 2 times a month. Usually on the fly, too, when I have a surge in temperature and my ovulation predictor is giving us a figurative green light. This is also not going down the list of other aspects such as general weirdness. Not necessarily in the way you might think, but imagine running into this person in say, the grocery? The movies? Campus? I imagine it would go down with a very fleeting, penetrative stare in which everyone involved would be thinking "yeah, those swimmers were totally in my wife/your wife/me", followed by a seemingly stammering quick glance away. It it completely insane for me to have that scenario?
So for a week or so, hubby verbally strategized how he was going to ask, and who he was going to ask, and how it was all going to go down. During this, the part of me that wanted to pick apart the whole situation to examine all the flaws, and plan out the attack was really questioning whether this was the best plan. I'd been studying how to get one’s self pregnant using sterile syringes and sterile collection cups and the method to position yourself when performing a home insemination. All this DIY process was mapped out in my mind.
Not long after the notion came about, it was quashed when my husband came to the stark realization that the men he would be asking, are ones he sees on a daily basis, and the utter discomfort of the whole act overall was not what he wanted to endure.
So next came the next idea: Ask hubby's brother. Brother enjoys children and lives with his girlfriend, but doesn't want any children of his own. This possibility was nifty on the front that, at the more basic level, it would be a child from the 2 of our gene pools, and not from a complete stranger.
Hubby asked his brother, and since that point, hasn't brought up the scenario again. I'm postulating that this was around 3 months ago. The ensuing silence on the issue leaves me the conclusion that the answer was a "no".
I can't lie; the idea of a known donor scared the shit out of me. Parading a child around who didn't fully look like your husband, but more like his brother just seemed like a bad episode of Maury where at the end there's a shocking DNA test reveal, followed by a lot of face-slapping. Of all these options, the part of it where get got to look over the donors history and physical background was probably the most assuring.
I'd like to step outside of this tirade to explain why the medical history is so important to me. My only child is almost 5 years old, and was conceived with a man, whom for all practical purposes deposited this infant in me purely by the stroke of divine luck. I say this because my child’s biological father had suffered for years prior to me meeting him from a few non-communicable ailments that inevitably lead him to a pulmonary embolism at the age of 36. Our son was not yet 2 years old, and the two had never even met. At 18 months of age, my son developed mild persistent asthma, and has several moderate severe allergies that keep me in just enough paranoia that I have to be at a heightened level of caution that a normal mother would.
If I was given the opportunity to pick and choose when it came to my boy; without any question I wouldn't change whom he was conceived with, and how it all happened. I love him unconditionally, completely and consuming. And more every day. Period.
That being said; if I can give a child a chance to be born with the ability to remove certain health challenges out of the equation, I would like to do that for them. No person hoping to have children would ever ask for less than a health child. If we give our children nothing else in life, I hope it begins with good health, because while I have not experienced what a mother has to go through physically, emotionally and psychologically with a severely ailing child, I have still felt the panic of all-night episodes where my child and I are up every 30 minutes to few hours performing breathing treatments, and standing in hot showers together to get his airways to open up. Feeling the panic inside while trying to keep an unending ocean of calm around you so your baby won’t feel that same grip of terror.
Like I said; not even close to the horrors that some mothers have endured, and will in the future. But for the two of us, we’ve seen hard nights together.
There is the occastional insane notion, usually somewhere around the day or two before I am ovulating, that some insane and primal part of my brain that is hungry for a baby that takes a hold of my mind and fills me with crazy ideas of how I could bypass all of this bullshit and just go get someone to knock me up. I'd like to tell you that I often laugh off these passing insanities, but the arguements I seem to concoct are so surprisingly convincing, that sometimes a veil of non-reality seems to go over my eyes where the notion isn't so completely terrible anymore.
I quickly learned to A) keep it completely quiet that you're having this thought and B) Wait out your hormones for a day or so and you'll be back to your frustrated fertility-challeneged self. Safe from irreprable relationship damage and 20 years of ongoing drama.
So I close this today with this little tidbit: There's always a short cut. Mistakes aren't always regrets, but it will not mean they won't be frought with pain during the journey you're on.
This, like every option, carry’s a lot of weight to be considered. First and foremost; locating someone who would be affable to being hit up for semen maybe 1 or 2 times a month. Usually on the fly, too, when I have a surge in temperature and my ovulation predictor is giving us a figurative green light. This is also not going down the list of other aspects such as general weirdness. Not necessarily in the way you might think, but imagine running into this person in say, the grocery? The movies? Campus? I imagine it would go down with a very fleeting, penetrative stare in which everyone involved would be thinking "yeah, those swimmers were totally in my wife/your wife/me", followed by a seemingly stammering quick glance away. It it completely insane for me to have that scenario?
So for a week or so, hubby verbally strategized how he was going to ask, and who he was going to ask, and how it was all going to go down. During this, the part of me that wanted to pick apart the whole situation to examine all the flaws, and plan out the attack was really questioning whether this was the best plan. I'd been studying how to get one’s self pregnant using sterile syringes and sterile collection cups and the method to position yourself when performing a home insemination. All this DIY process was mapped out in my mind.
Not long after the notion came about, it was quashed when my husband came to the stark realization that the men he would be asking, are ones he sees on a daily basis, and the utter discomfort of the whole act overall was not what he wanted to endure.
So next came the next idea: Ask hubby's brother. Brother enjoys children and lives with his girlfriend, but doesn't want any children of his own. This possibility was nifty on the front that, at the more basic level, it would be a child from the 2 of our gene pools, and not from a complete stranger.
Hubby asked his brother, and since that point, hasn't brought up the scenario again. I'm postulating that this was around 3 months ago. The ensuing silence on the issue leaves me the conclusion that the answer was a "no".
I can't lie; the idea of a known donor scared the shit out of me. Parading a child around who didn't fully look like your husband, but more like his brother just seemed like a bad episode of Maury where at the end there's a shocking DNA test reveal, followed by a lot of face-slapping. Of all these options, the part of it where get got to look over the donors history and physical background was probably the most assuring.
I'd like to step outside of this tirade to explain why the medical history is so important to me. My only child is almost 5 years old, and was conceived with a man, whom for all practical purposes deposited this infant in me purely by the stroke of divine luck. I say this because my child’s biological father had suffered for years prior to me meeting him from a few non-communicable ailments that inevitably lead him to a pulmonary embolism at the age of 36. Our son was not yet 2 years old, and the two had never even met. At 18 months of age, my son developed mild persistent asthma, and has several moderate severe allergies that keep me in just enough paranoia that I have to be at a heightened level of caution that a normal mother would.
If I was given the opportunity to pick and choose when it came to my boy; without any question I wouldn't change whom he was conceived with, and how it all happened. I love him unconditionally, completely and consuming. And more every day. Period.
That being said; if I can give a child a chance to be born with the ability to remove certain health challenges out of the equation, I would like to do that for them. No person hoping to have children would ever ask for less than a health child. If we give our children nothing else in life, I hope it begins with good health, because while I have not experienced what a mother has to go through physically, emotionally and psychologically with a severely ailing child, I have still felt the panic of all-night episodes where my child and I are up every 30 minutes to few hours performing breathing treatments, and standing in hot showers together to get his airways to open up. Feeling the panic inside while trying to keep an unending ocean of calm around you so your baby won’t feel that same grip of terror.
Like I said; not even close to the horrors that some mothers have endured, and will in the future. But for the two of us, we’ve seen hard nights together.
There is the occastional insane notion, usually somewhere around the day or two before I am ovulating, that some insane and primal part of my brain that is hungry for a baby that takes a hold of my mind and fills me with crazy ideas of how I could bypass all of this bullshit and just go get someone to knock me up. I'd like to tell you that I often laugh off these passing insanities, but the arguements I seem to concoct are so surprisingly convincing, that sometimes a veil of non-reality seems to go over my eyes where the notion isn't so completely terrible anymore.
I quickly learned to A) keep it completely quiet that you're having this thought and B) Wait out your hormones for a day or so and you'll be back to your frustrated fertility-challeneged self. Safe from irreprable relationship damage and 20 years of ongoing drama.
So I close this today with this little tidbit: There's always a short cut. Mistakes aren't always regrets, but it will not mean they won't be frought with pain during the journey you're on.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Reminiscing
I needed to hunt down something archived in the depths of my livejournal, and had to review entried in 2008 through 2009, which is the window before/durring/after I was pregnant with my son. It really brought me back to that time, and how new and amazing the experience of pregnancy was for me. My son was so polite, even in the womb, and so much like he is now. I felt so much love reading those entries.
Though there is all this love surrounding these memories and the words I wrote about the experiences I had in that time of my life, it caused me to reflect on where I am in these moments of my life, and to really feel weight around the experiences I am having right now: The longing I still feel, pulling at me from inside feels like the longer we wait and put off, the less the idea of another child becomes a biological imperative, but a pragmatic decision. Some people may know this feeling; the older your child gets, the more you lose that sense of motherly need for an infant.
This was me in early November of 2008. I wasn't slated to birth until January 2009. Beautiful, full, happy, and huge! Admitedly I spent too much time lazing around and indulging and not enough time watching what I ate, and walking around. But I was happy. So very happy.
I wish for this. I pray for this. I feel waves of desire that fill every inch of me to be able to feel this time in a lifetime one more time. We might never be able to do it a 3rd time (the 2nd is so arduous and time consuming, I can't even imagine what a 3rd baby would be like - pregnant at 40, perhaps).
I still hope.
Though there is all this love surrounding these memories and the words I wrote about the experiences I had in that time of my life, it caused me to reflect on where I am in these moments of my life, and to really feel weight around the experiences I am having right now: The longing I still feel, pulling at me from inside feels like the longer we wait and put off, the less the idea of another child becomes a biological imperative, but a pragmatic decision. Some people may know this feeling; the older your child gets, the more you lose that sense of motherly need for an infant.
This was me in early November of 2008. I wasn't slated to birth until January 2009. Beautiful, full, happy, and huge! Admitedly I spent too much time lazing around and indulging and not enough time watching what I ate, and walking around. But I was happy. So very happy.
I wish for this. I pray for this. I feel waves of desire that fill every inch of me to be able to feel this time in a lifetime one more time. We might never be able to do it a 3rd time (the 2nd is so arduous and time consuming, I can't even imagine what a 3rd baby would be like - pregnant at 40, perhaps).
I still hope.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
A new direction
Here's to hoping.
I knew right from the start that the husband (at the time, he was just "the boyfriend") that we were going to need some proceedure in order to conceive. Having been in an LTR of his own until November 2010 with a person he DIDN'T want to risk having a child with, he'd had a vasectomy in October 2010.
So Fast forward until April 2011. I'm in the middle of a break-up and move-out when I put myself "out there" on a whim. Queue future-husband (insert trumpeting fanfare), and fast forward again after months of emails, phone calls and countless text messages. November 2010 is when we had the conversation concerning his physical imparement, and my desire for more seedlings. Thus, where our journey was borne.
The following sping, April 2011, I had my IUD removed as it was no longer a needed form of BC, and we wanted my body to get into a place where if we wanted to start preparing to have a child together, the fields would be ready and I wouldn't have to deal with appointments and exams (more than you'd have normally, anyway). I confess that, with the removal of my IUD, I was SURE that the universe would gracious and lovingly impart some kind of a miracle child in my body, and we could laugh for the rest of our lives that we'd be giggling over the 1/1,000 statistic about how we'd been able to beat the odds and hassles of the hurdles of non-traditional conception. Har har.
So fast forward some more; July 2013. Husband and I have jobs we can work for many, many years to come. Stability, health insurance, retirement and the ability to cross one more important thing we need to cover off our list before really cruising down the baby track.
The question has always lingered to my husband about where our baby will come from, and as our first option was always to explore a reconnection of his vasectomy. This was something that proved MORE disconserting than you could possibly imagine. Only 24 months after this was performed, a highly qualified local Urologist and his team deemed our case at only a 90% chance of success, depending on how motile and healthy husband's sperm were. This leaves a grizzly 10% chance of failure for us to masticate upon. On top of that, the surgery cost (without any "unexepected surprises") would start around $7,000. Payment plans are not accepted, unless they're done in forward (money first, delivery of goods following payment). No financing, and also no insurance coverage; this is an "elective proceedure".
Getting the vasectomy cost under $1,000.
So knowing that, if we had a surgery to reconnect the tubes and try for a natural child, we'd be looking at a heap of medical costs, an uncomfortably high percentage that it WOULDN'T be successfull (and unlike Wal-Mart, you can't get your money back when it doesn't work correctly!), and no way to pay in comfortable incriments.
A visit to a busy OB in Loveland helped us to know what "extraction" could do for us! Extraction involves a physical removal through the testicle wall via syringe and would allow sperm matter to be extracted and delivered into my uterus through a process of IUI, after a washing process. The OB explained during this meeting that even after a few years of being pent up inside the testes, sperm lost a great deal of their swimming capabilities; in order to make an effective exchange, he wanted to deliver those lazy little tadpoles to one of my pre-retrieved eggs and, upon fertilization, send it back along the canal and into my womb.
This, my friends, is what is refered to as IVF. $12k-$20k per deposit. Holy shitballs!!
All this, and every month my poor lonely uterus dumps another egg and weeps blood, and curses my name.
This is how we came to the lovely land of "Donated Sperm"! Ropey jets of flying tadpoles for anyone who wants to have a baby! Yippie! Of course, this also has it's cornucopia of pros and cons. The read a lot like that contract that the children signed in the original make of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. If you don't remember that movie, you need to go watch it, and then come back and re-read that paragraph; I promise you won't regret it.
So with this, we have a litany of flipping proceedures we're going to need to be put through: blood draws to confirm progesterone production (which signals that my body is in fact shooting out tiny little eggs), 2 to 3 boxes of ovulation predictors, and a calendar to write down every single stage of ovulation and menses.
So, we are armed, organized, terrified, broke, and still crossing our fingers that for some reason, one of those damn testical tubes finds its way to reconnect itself from the urethra to the testicle and shoot some lazy, happy, bumbling little sperm so they can manage to clutz their way into some random egg my uterus left laying around the womb.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Recipe for fertility!
So on the very first steps (and I must emphasize first here) to preparing for pregnancy, I've been reaching out to the intarweb to collect information about preparing for pregnancy. Although Grey was a surprise, and I didn't prepare as I could have (and having additionally turned out just fine the way things happened), given the option I'd like to make some attempt at being my healthiest when we're ready for baby Thomas #2.
SO for my own edification (and so I don't have to keep bookmarking this site), here are a few herbs that have shown frequently as useful in preparation. Those that are in blue are the ones I am actively in touch with and have placed in a tea that I drink daily.
The lemon balm was something that came with our home last year (which I believe is a sign!), however at the time I didn't realize what it was and took the larger plant we had growing and tossed it out when I re-did the beds. Luck for me, this stuff is like Creeping Jennie and it's already shown itself in no less than 8 other places around the yard; so I KNOW it will come back. I've already been able to collect about a dozen leaves to begin a small stock.
At the Spring Creek Park, Alfalfa grows completely wild and unmanaged. As it's open space, I'm finding myself to be wary about collecting any of it, not knowing any of the practices used in the area for insect management or plant disease and treatment. I haven't decided if I will be using this plant from this source.
Dandelion leaf. This shit is growing so far up my bandwagon, I could just farm it for a living. My first payload was collected last night and following a thorough washing, it's already laid out for drying to be added to my tea.
SO for my own edification (and so I don't have to keep bookmarking this site), here are a few herbs that have shown frequently as useful in preparation. Those that are in blue are the ones I am actively in touch with and have placed in a tea that I drink daily.
Pregnancy Preparation
The main focus when choosing herbs for preconception is to nourish the body, detoxify for hormonal balance/optimal health, support uterine tone, build the blood, and support healthy stress response. Preconception herbs are best used at least 3-6 months prior to conception. Many of these herbs should not be used into pregnancy.- Alfalfa aerial parts (Medicago sativa): Very nutritious, high in vitamins and minerals. Contains some phytoestrogens. Aids in protection against xenohormones. Aids in vaginal atrophy and dryness.
- Ashwagandha root (Withania somnifera): Supports overall endocrine system function for proper hormonal balance, immune system and stress response.
- Burdock root (Arctium lappa): Nourishing and cleansing for the liver, aiding in hormonal balance.
- Dandelion leaf (Taraxacum officinale): Nourishing. Used to increase nutrition, supportive of liver health, for hormonal balance.
- Dandelion root (Taraxacum officinale): Aids in liver health, stimulates digestion for improved hormonal balance.
- Dong Quai root (Angelica sinensis): Aids in hormonal balance. Used for congestive fertility states such as endometriosis, uterine fibroids, PCOS, ovarian cysts. Supports healthy circulation to the uterus, nourishing for the blood. Reduction in pain associated with reproductive organs. Strengthens the uterus by regulating hormonal control, improving uterine tone, and improving the timing of the menstrual cycle. In Asia dong quai is to women’s health as ginseng is to men’s health.
- Eleuthero root and stem bark (Eleutherococcus senticosus): Supports proper endocrine function through its adaptogenic properties. Supports overall hormonal balance, excellent for stress support.
- Evening Primrose Oil cold pressed from seed (Oenothera biennis): Supports overall hormonal balance and cervical mucous production through its high content of the omega-6 essential fatty acids (EFA’s), Linoleic Acid (LA) and Gamma Linolenic Acid (GLA). LA is needed for prostaglandin E and GLA is needed for the synthesis of prostaglandin E. One of the many functions of Prostaglandins is to help control regulation of hormones as well as control proper cell growth. This is because of its high content of the omega-6 essential fatty acids (EFA’s), Linoleic Acid (LA) and Gamma Linolenic Acid (GLA).
- Hibiscus flower petals (Hibiscus sabdariffa): Very high in vitamin C, may support healthy cervical mucous. Vit. C is essential for proper absorption of iron. Best combined with herbs high in iron, Raspberry lf., Yellow dock, Nettles. Supports proper heart health and blood pressure.
- Lemon Balm leaf (Melissa officinalis): Excellent nervous system support. Supports healthy stress response, lessens depression and anxiety. Good emotional health, and stress response is important prior to conception. Not for use for people with hypothyroidism.
- Maca root (Lepidium meyenii): Maca is a nourishing food for the endocrine system, aiding both the pituitary, adrenal, and thyroid glands (all involved in hormonal balance.) Supports overall hormonal balance, works to balance estrogen/progesterone levels. Maca is the only plant known in the world that can grow and thrive at such a high altitude and in such harsh weather. For more than two millennia, native Peruvians have used maca root as food and medicine to promote fertility, endurance, energy, vitality, and sexual virility.
- Milk Thistle seed (Silybum marianum): Supports hormonal balance. It is one of the best plants for liver health. Liver health is vital for hormonal balance. The liver helps to filter toxins from the body, including excess hormones.
- Nettles leaf, root, seed (Urtica dioica): Nutritive; high mineral, vitamin and chlorophyll content. Supportive of gentle cleansing of the liver, lungs, intestines and kidneys. Great adrenal support. Supports proper blood formation through its high iron content.
- Oatstraw (stems), Milky Oats (tops) exert a stronger effect than oatstraw, (Avena sativa): Nourishing, aids in stress reduction by supporting nervous system. Great support for stress related fertility issues.
- Red Clover leaves, blossoms (Trifolium pratense): Red Clover is a nourishing food herb. It is rich in a variety of vitamins and minerals. It is one of the best blood purifying herbs, aiding in detoxification of environmental pollutants prior to conception. Phytoestrogenic, may help protect body from xenohormones. May increase cervical mucous.
- Red Raspberry leaf (Rubus idaeus): Nutritive, high in vitamins and minerals. It is a uterine tonic, preparing the uterus for pregnancy and labor.
- Schisandra, fruit and seed (Schisandra chinensis): Adaptogen, supports healthy hormonal balance through endocrine system support. Promotes proper immune and stress response.
- Seaweed (variety of species): Extremely high in vitamins and minerals, including iodine, which is necessary for proper thyroid function. High in fiber for improved estrogen metabolism. Learn more here…
- Yellow dock root (Rumex crispus): Stimulates bile production for healthy removal of toxins, supportive of liver health and is high in iron, which may help support adequate iron levels which is essential for proper blood formation.
The lemon balm was something that came with our home last year (which I believe is a sign!), however at the time I didn't realize what it was and took the larger plant we had growing and tossed it out when I re-did the beds. Luck for me, this stuff is like Creeping Jennie and it's already shown itself in no less than 8 other places around the yard; so I KNOW it will come back. I've already been able to collect about a dozen leaves to begin a small stock.
At the Spring Creek Park, Alfalfa grows completely wild and unmanaged. As it's open space, I'm finding myself to be wary about collecting any of it, not knowing any of the practices used in the area for insect management or plant disease and treatment. I haven't decided if I will be using this plant from this source.
Dandelion leaf. This shit is growing so far up my bandwagon, I could just farm it for a living. My first payload was collected last night and following a thorough washing, it's already laid out for drying to be added to my tea.
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