Pilot Light

**Previously written on February 28, 2015**

This post has probably been the most anticipated update since the beginning of my blog 3 years ago. I've been playing out how I wanted to write this if the day ever came, yet it's officially here and I'm rather at a loss for how to continue! My emotions are all over the place and for every sentence I write, I seem to delete the next one. This is basically the see-sawing trend of events my life has taken on since November. Teetering emotions? Why, that's just the tip of the iceberg that is pregnancy, my friends. 

And pregnant is what I am (forreal, with pictures and errrthang)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Ten weeks today, to be exact. Do you know how hard it has been to keep this secret? I have gotten asked multiple times in multiple ways on a daily basis since January 1st. I knew in late November the date of my transfer: January 9th. We knew it worked on January 19th and saw a heartbeat on February 9th. Since then, things have worked like they are supposed to in early pregnancy. I had spotting off and on for about three weeks which caused mild panic and serious doubts, but other than that, I've been nothing short of a model of a perfectly normal, healthy, baby-carrying female. The thing about going through this for the fifth time is that there is a lack of excitement when you find out you're pregnant. You can stop reading here, if you wish, for what I have to say isn't the rosey-rainbow gushing of praise about finally being pregnant. 

First of all, let me throw out my disclaimer, even though you know me well enough that I shouldn't even have to make this statement. I realize how monumentally lucky, blessed, fortunate, etc. we are. I don't remember the numbers precisely, but the percentage for IVF working on the first cycle isn't that high. We did the first time, SPECTACULARLY, I may add. I was considered the perfect case for a single-transfer (meaning, the odds were in my favor, highly, of us transferring just one embryo and it working). We decided on transferring two, though, not because we were greedy, but because if the fates allowed us to have more than one child, why not do it at the same time and be done with it? Okay, so that's what I told the doctor. Selfishly, I figured if we transferred two, got one, perfect, got two, even more perfect, and then I'd call it a day and have them take out ALL my parts, the end. I'm the poster-child for things not working out as planned, so, one embryo stuck, therefore resulting in a successful IVF cycle with one healthy, singleton pregnancy!

I've read too many other stories of women who have had success and they suddenly forget they ever went through any hardship to get there because they are blinded by the baby dust. And the thing is, I don't want to forget what I've been through just because we finally seem to be getting what we've worked so hard for. Since I first went to a fertility doctor, my world has been covered in "ifs". "If this works" or "if I stay pregnant" has been the constant mantra. I've made it to ten weeks, more than double the time I've ever made it before, I've seen my baby 3 times, and yet Mike and I still find ourselves saying, "if we make it until September". It's very frustrating but it's very real. And you all know that while I lean toward the label "optimist", I'm a realist before anything else. 

I even have slight guilt over actually being pregnant because I know there are so many women out there still trying (and failing) for the same thing. I've been there and I know what it's like to hear about that one more pregnant person that isn't you. One thing that I wouldn't let happen to myself is turning my pilot light out, and therefore that's my greatest advice for people who are struggling just like I did. When things were at their bleakest, you still have to have some sort of glimmer of hope that things will eventually work out. With my first pregnancy, I had flames so bright shining off of me that I should have had a "FLAMMABLE" sign tattooed on my forehead. And with every miscarriage, the flames dimmed. Whenever I wiped blood here recently, I stopped and said to myself, "This is just a test, if it's going to make it, it will". Things have progressed as they should; my pilot light grows brighter every day, right along with this baby.

So! While I'm still quite scared of things working out for the better, even though I've been told everything is perfectly fine, there have been no shortage of pregnancy symptoms that have taken over my 29-year old body. At this portion of the program, you may find yourself thinking pretty lowly of me, as this is going to sound ungrateful and complain-y. But remember, as I do, OFTEN, not only have I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed for this to finally happen, I also PAID for it to...

1. Can we just look at my boobs, please? While they are sore as snot and I will quite frankly body-slam anyone who remotely puts an appendage in the vicinity of my chest, they look FABULOUS. Sadly, I've never understood what women talked about when they mention their boobs "from their 20's". WHAT? My boobs from my twenties have been small, lumpy, and kinda droopy to the sides when I lay flat. My not-pregnant boobs of my 20's had been replaced with the boobs of my future 70's. As a matter of fact, my 75-year-old grandma has a pretty righteous pair. Clearly, I wasn't swimming in the same gene-pool as her when I should've been. (I was probably at the concession stand getting a hot dog while those traits were being passed down). My pregnancy boobs are bangin'. Not too big, but they fill out my bras (the way they SHOULD be, because I've been known a time or two to buy a bigger cup-size for appearance purposes). 

2. Irritability. I can not stand to be in public places for more than ten minutes. Or at work. Or at home. I'm not sure how I've ever tolerated people while not pregnant. A man at the ATM in front of me this morning took for-ev-er to complete his transaction. I was huffing and puffing and griping and moaning and all but blew my horn at him to hurry up. Yet I was in my pajamas and had nowhere else to be for the rest of the day. 

I can't stand the music that comes on the radio. 

I screen shot like 100 Facebook statuses a day and send them to my friends so I can whine about how ridiculous people are being.

I made a playlist the other day and the following songs made it: Out of Touch by Hall & Oats, Forgot About Dre by Dr. Dre, Kerosene, by Miranda Lambert and If I Could Turn Back Time by Cher. (<----You have not LIVED until you are in a car with me when that one comes on). Obviously, nothing satisfies me at the present. 

3. Let's talk about the mother of all symptoms: food aversions, cravings, and NAUSEA. Week 6, Day 1 I woke up, ate breakfast, and sat on the sofa. 30 minutes later, my head felt funny, like I couldn't move it without feeling like I could puke. There have been 3 total days since Week 6, Day 1 where I haven't felt constantly nauseous. I haven't vomited, and I realize I'm quite lucky in that aspect, as women I've known have spent their entire first trimester in a toilet. But being so sick that you can't move your head, well, I don't know which is worse. Ironically, this feeling intensifies when I've gone awhile without eating...yet most of the time the thought of any food makes me squirm. It's a vicious cycle. 

All of my favorite foods in the world have taken a back-seat. The thought of them makes me want to hurl. There are about 5 things I can tolerate: peaches in a cup (the fully-loaded syrupy kind), Pizza Hut Breadsticks, Little Debbie Oatmeal Creampies, anything sour, and Goober Grape sandwiches. In every single pregnancy book I've read, the diet I should be adhering to looks like the government's version of the Food Pyramid. The authors of these books were MEN. They MUST be. I couldn't eat a piece of broccoli right now if somebody covered it in chocolate and called it Chris Hemsworth. The decision of "what's for supper" at my house is like trying to pass a bill in congress. A suggestion might grab my attention, but then I think of the smell of it and I have to change my mind. I'm a giant pain in the rear to live with, so please give Mike Peebles a pat on the back when you see him.  

There are SO many things about being pregnant that I need to gush about, but I'll save it for another post. Besides, from the looks of things, I'm going to be at the height of my pregnancy during the summer, which means I'll be inside next to an air vent with people cooling me down with palm leaves. There will be plenty of time for writing. You might have thought that since I officially clocked out of my job at the "Fertility Theme Park" that I wouldn't have anything to write about anymore. You thought wrong. This is only the beginning.

I'll leave you with these pictures, sort of mementos from our transfer and the time after... 

These were the 2 embryos we transferred. The one at the top had already started to hatch, which makes me think he was the one to stick. Also, he looks like a bully. Overbearing. Has to have all the attention. Probably shoved the other one out. Definitely my kid.

This is my, "PUT THEM IN MY UTERUS RIGHT NOW FOR THE LOVE OF CHRISTMAS COOKIES" selfie.

 This is right after leaving the lab following the transfer. I wanted the embryos to like me, so I gave them a chocolate chip cookie as sort of a house-warming gift.

 This was Day 3 of bedrest following the transfer. Rudy liked to keep them company.

            

And this was my last visit at Dr. Edelstien's office when he officially released me back to Dr. Gospodnetic, my regular OB. I was crying. Horribly. I didn't want to leave. Mike was mortified at my behavior, I'm sure. Don't zoom in, I have ugly-cry face.