Babies R Not Us

Such a discouraging title this week for somebody who is 22 weeks pregnant...You'd think I'd be beginning to get myself together considering we are more than half way done with this pregnancy! Since my last post at 16 weeks, I've accepted that this is really happening. There is a forreal baby inside me right now, tumbling around (probably because there is a laptop on top of him; I'm sure it's a big no-no on the list of things to NOT do while pregnant, but hey, I won that award weeks ago according to my daily newsletter from What to Expect While You're Expecting.) 

I have been feeling SO good this trimester! I'm sleeping, eating, have energy, eating, my skin looks PHENOMENAL, eating more, and have basically grown to the point where I can no longer see my nether regions. To give you a better picture (not of my nether regions, get your mind outta the gutter!), while I get dressed in the mornings, Mike comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my belly while quoting one of our Top 5 favorite movies of all time, Airplane, "And Kristin's gettinnnnggg LARRRGGERRRR". 

The first few times was rather humorous. Now if looks could kill, my kid would be fatherless. 

One symptom I'm experiencing a little early is frequent urination. I had this somewhat in the first trimester, but as things are shifting, my blatter takes a daily beating. There is a rap song that gets played on every Gatorade commerical ever created and at every basketball game played that goes like, "All I do is win, win, win, no matter what!" All I hear every hour in my head is, "All I do is pee, pee, pee, no matter what!". #pregnancyproblems

Let's talk about the daily newsletters I mentioned. I'm a little concerned about the words "fit" and "pregnancy". Especially when used in the same sentence. What is this trend and how did it get started? WHO. DID. THIS. I've been proud of myself for trying to walk at least 5 times a week for about 30 minutes. I sleep well and I feel better afterwards, but during...Holy Christmas cookies. Last summer I was running miles and this summer I can't walk from the porch to the driveway without shortness of breath. I can't walk across my classroom to the trashcan without having to take a break. How are these women running and lifting and doing this insanity?! All I can give them is props because the only way I'm going to improve my regimen (and lack thereof) is if I walk a mile with a team of doctors riding in a van behind me with proper oxygen equipment on standby. 

Also, who in the name of Santa came up with sizing your baby each week to produce? Last week, I was at a spaghetti squash. The week before I was a papaya. What are these things? Do they even grow here? I had to Google Image them to reference the size of my daggone baby. Why can't they reference foods most Americans will understand? "This week your baby is the size of a Lay's Snack Pack bag of BBQ chips" or "This week your baby is the size of an apple turnover from McDonald's". I finally just had to find an actual ruler to visualize the actual size of the baby using the measurements. If I had to resort to using math skills, then it's officially time to change the produce equivalents, you pregnancy expert people.

Last weekend we decided to go to Babies R Us to make our baby registry. There were tears. There were talks of divorce. There were feelings of helplessness. Mike and I are pretty intelligent people, but when you put two intelligent people in a world where they know nothing about their surroundings, tensions will rise. We might as well have landed in Bangkok.

I'm the oldest of seven grandchildren so I remember how to change diapers and how to hold babies and how to feed them. But the youngest grandchild is now in high school and I'm 29. It's been a few days. Now, you can't use powder on babies? WHAT? They have wipe-warmers? WHAT?! There are bottle warmers so you won't burn your wrist while checking milk temperatures. WHERE AM I? Is this real life? There were carriers and strollers and carriers that went with strollers and carriers that you could buy in addition to matching strollers that already had carriers. It was as if someone took apart every part to my car and left them in my driveway then told me to rebuild it. Total shock and confusion. I plan to breastfeed (I think, o.O) so we went down the bottle aisle. Insanity, I tell you. Pure insanity. There were 7,000 types of bottles. 8,000 types of nipples. Accessory kits. Starter kits. Kits for kits for kits that I don't even know the purpose for.

I just wanted to channel Prissy and scream "I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN' BOUT BIRTHIN' NO BABIES, MISS SCARLETT!!!!!!!!!!!!" right in the middle of the crib aisle when I found out you do in fact have to purchase the mattress separately from the bed. Help. Me. 

Meanwhile, there are these moms that kept showing up on the same aisle as me either with their children or with bellies much further along than me. They all looked like they knew what they were doing, going directly towards an item with confidence. I'm standing with glazed-over eyes in a state of shock while Mike is taking 25 pictures of this ridiculous Batman car seat, so I started to shoot daggers at the expert mommies with my eyes that said, "How dare you be more pregnant than me?" or "My kid will be way cuter than your kid!". Green with envy, it turns out, is not my color. 

We pretty much spent two full hours in the store and added 300 items to a list. Of the 300 items, I'm confident I know how to use 10 of them. Maybe. I can already hear my son in his Mikey from Look Who's Talking voice saying, "Mommy, that wipe is too cold on my bum! Why were you so cheap to not buy the wipe warmer?" And me with my frequent response, "Son, your bum may be cold for 30 seconds, BUT DID YOU DIE?" I'll go ahead and join that hashtag chain (#butdidyoudie) because I feel like it'll be a mantra at the Peebles Family Household. 

We've worked for years to get to this point. We both want children so we can teach them and take them places and mold them into the best versions of ourselves. But you start that when they are toddlers. It's like 3 years I have to keep this kid alive for until I start to know what I'm supposed to do! We went to war with infertility and we won, but it's like an entire war about to start all over again. I'm the walking-talking professor for knowing what to do to get pregnant, but when it comes to knowing what to do when he actually gets here, I might as well be the stoner drop-out guy from college that was in all of your classes but you never understood why he was there and how he managed. 

I'm praying all these people are correct in the assumption that things will come naturally to me once he gets here. If not, I'll go ahead and work up a schedule and sign-up sheet for my readers that have been there, done that and are willing to come and change my kid's diapers. But preferably without powder and with the use of a diaper warmer, because, DUH. Everybody knows that...

Hooooo, BOY!

I'm currently in Week 16 and it. has. been. FABULOUS! I reread my last post and was so disappointed in myself...I don't even recognize the miserable old coot that wrote it. With the second trimester brings a second wind, so to speak. So far in my "normal" pregnancy, I've followed the classic pregnant-lady symptoms to a T. First trimester: fatigued, nauseous, and severely crabby. Check. Second trimester: lack of symptoms other than a growing mid-section, renewed energy, and glowy-baby-dust happiness. Check.

During Week 15, we saw a perinatal doctor. It was recommended to us by our fertility doctor that we have an amniocentesis done. There are no direct correlations between birth defects from IVF (well, there are plenty of inconclusive arguments regarding that), but we are actually considered "IVF-ICSI" (pronounced ick-see) which puts us at a teeny-tiny bit more slight at risk for potential problems, more specifically, Down Syndrome. I never really discussed ICSI (Intra-cytoplasmic sperm injection) when we did it, because for once, this isn't an issue with me. It's a sperm thing. To make doubly sure that the sperm broke the egg and fertilized on its own to grow into embryos, we had a special procedure where the doctor put Mike's sperm into a needle and injected it directly into my egg. It worked. But clearly, that's never been a problem before either. At least 4 times. 

ANYWAY. Before it actually worked, one would say I'd become a wee bit obsessive-compulsive regarding all things IVF. My perinatal doctor took a look at my chart and said, "Ah! I see you had several graduate courses in infertility". Um, homie, I GOT MY PhD IN IT. Recognize. 

Now that I've achieved what I wanted, I'm struggling with research. There is literally an article about every speck of pain, symptom, and potential problem during pregnancy. They all mean impending miscarriage or my kid will have birth defects, basically. And when you start to read said articles, they start contradicting themselves. Pretty much, every single pregnant person that ever lived is different, therefore, the things I read aren't worth it to me to investigate. I don't like contradictory. I like straight-up facts. The facts I found about amniocentesis were scary, so we went into the perinatal center with shall I say, a shady outlook. 

Once we were called back, I had my very first on-the-belly ultrasound. Up to this point, all of them have been vaginal. This was very reassuring to me; it meant my kid had grown enough to be seen without a doctor digging around inside. The tech spent like, 45 minutes checking every single part of the baby. It was the best experience I've ever had. We've been under a gray cloud since my confirmed pregnancy test (and I'm sure it'll still be floating around until we actually have a live birth). After seeing the human we actually created move around, blink, wave, cross his ankles, well, there just aren't any words!! I hadn't been emotional about finally being pregnant up until the point when I could actually count five fingers on each hand and hear the tech say test after test  "all clear" or "perfectly normal", therefore no need for further testing. It was an incredibly moving experience. 

Then the tech asked if we wanted to know the gender. DUUUUHHHH. Do you know how long it will take Mike and I to decide on a name? We'll need at least 5 months to do that. She flicked the screen over from the top of the head view to the between the legs view. And there in all it's glory, was the most perfect little penis you've ever seen. (Let's not get pervy, that's my little boy we're speaking of for God's sake). 

When you're a girly-girl like myself, you spend your life dreaming of your wedding, your kid's name, and all the ways you're going to girlify your own little girl. While I realize I've known what the gender is from the very beginning, I still had a glimmer of hope for PINK. So when reality hits and you're staring at boy parts on the screen and there's no chance of mistaking THAT, it's a rude awakening. At least it was for me. There were visions of me in my kitchen with a 5-year-old running through the back door with a bucket full of frogs yelling, "Look, Mommy", followed by me fainting and the kid getting worried and knocking over the bucket and all the frogs jumping out all over me and the kitchen floor. I saw me throwing down at a little league game because somebody hit my kid with a ball. I saw Mike with a mini-Mike beside him peeing off my front porch because, God forbid, it would take too much time to walk 10 feet to the bathroom right inside the door. And I saw me writing letter after letter to all children's clothing companies because OMG have you seen how boring little boy clothes are?! 

These were the thoughts running through my head as I lay there on the bed. Meanwhile, Mike has fist-pumped the air fourteen times to the point he has pulled a muscle, has shot off confetti in all corners of the room, started passing out champagne and cigars to random nurses, and has sent off an application to the Green Bay Packers Training Camp to pre-enlist our child for some sort of NFL-related future. 

Needless to say, some of us are beyond ecstatic with the news of our gender reveal. And some of us are...adjusting. I know you're thinking, "She should be thankful for whatever she gets" and you're completely right. But let's be honest, women are partial to girls and men are partial to boys. It's human nature. Or maybe its just my nature? In the end, you love WHATEVER it will be just as much as you would have loved the other gender. It can't go unsaid that I haven't had visions of sweet boy cuddles when he's sleepy or him running to me when he couldn't have his way with his Daddy.

Plus, let us not forget I've got 9 babies on ice. One of them is just BOUND to be a girl...

Scared Straight Program

**Written on March 31, 2015**

I'm currently in the middle of my 14th week. The last time I posted was in the middle of Week 10, so needless to say, things have come and gone with a bang. Weeks 6-11 were TEXTBOOK pregnancy symptoms. It's so weird for me to actually be considered "normal". For so long, I've had to take alternate routes to figuring things out for myself because my case has been anything but. 

I had gotten SO spoiled with my treatment. Every time I went to the doctor, they had to do an ultrasound and I got to see my innards, whether I wanted to or not. I went to my Week 12 appointment, waited like 45 minutes to see the doctor, only to have his nurse whip out a heart monitor, listen to the baby's heartbeat, and let Dr. G "wham-bam-thank-you-mam" me and my pelvis. Which took all of 7 minutes. When I vented about this to literally every woman I know who has ever had a child, they looked at me like, "Um, not every appointment is an ultrasound". What? WHAT?!?!?!? I haven't seen my kid since like Week 8. What if it's a unicorn? I just can't get over how things are so "come back in 4 weeks and we'll take more of your money but not really tell you anything exciting". Ugh. Sometimes it sucks to be spoiled. 

On a more exciting note, I VOMITED ONCE DURING WEEK 11!!!!! It was truly the greatest. Luckily, I really only ever dealt with serious nausea sans vomiting. Towards the end of the first trimester, I was still pumping estrogen and progesterone into my body--the SAME body that was already pumping out estrogen and progesterone on its own. Naturally, with the double dose I was getting, it was only fair that I should feel the effects from it. I had had about 4 days in a row of the worst nausea known to humans, or in other words, basically: "Sugar, step away from Mrs. Peebles cuz you bout to have a story you can tell at your high school graduation about how you always suspected your fifth grade teacher REALLY did not care for you". 

On the 4th day of misery, I was sitting in my chair trying to take attendance and I just said to myself, this is INSANITY. I started to make myself have that extra spit form in my mouth--you know what I mean--so I jumped up from my chair, grabbed the first adult I saw and told them to cover me, and ran to the nearest bathroom where I promptly and spectacularly threw up. It was the most excited I had been in the longest time. I puked from being pregnant! Do you know how long I had waited for that?! 

Since my lone-puking incident, there have been many instances that would qualify me to be a spokesperson at a high school about pregnancy. And not for the obvious reason: make them feel guilty about easily having a kid by telling them about my struggle. No. I want to just be flat-out REAL with the girls. And not even about the obvious pregnancy symptoms, either. Nausea, vomiting, yada, yada, yes, that happens...

But I'm talking about the symptoms nobody really tells you about. Like when you wake up in the morning and not a single pair of pants fit anymore. But they fit yesterday! What happened?! I had a pair of simple button/zipper dress pants that literally would take Ponce de Leon and his crew to leave the button side of the pants and explore the ocean of belly to the other side where the fastener was. My mom friends told me, "Oh, just use a rubberband and attach them" or "buy the belly band and you'll be fine!"...um, WHAT? My stomach literally expanded overnight. I do not trust my organs enough to NOT move during the day and pop the band off and hit a kid in the face. And just who in the hee-haw heck came up with the "pregnancy glow"? The only glow this face has seen has been from the sweat that broke out on my forehead from trying to zip up my dang britches. This is real pregnant life, y'all.

Also, has anybody taken a gander at maternity clothes lately?? I'm so glad we've evolved from the basic moo-moo I remember seeing pregnant women wear when I was a kid, but let's face it. There are extremely limited fashionable maternity clothes available. Let me rephrase. There are extremely limited AFFORDABLE, fashionable maternity clothes available. The slim-pickins at your regular Gap, Old Navy, Kohl's, etc. are less than to be desired, while the adorable, stylish maternity clothes found in boutiques are pretty much "$68 for this t-shirt". I'm carrying the spawn of a teacher and a cop. Let's face it, I'm used to stretching $68 into 3 t-shirts, 2 pairs of jeans, and a necklace. From Target. 

How about achy, bleeding gums? Oh yeah. Sexy. Around Week 5, I had my regularly scheduled dental cleaning. I complained that I noticed when I was flossing that my gums were bleeding. My hygienist told me that it was a pregnancy symptom and it would probably get worse. She didn't lie. After having braces twice and enduring jaw surgery, I take much pride in my oral hygiene. I brush and floss religiously, thank you very much. I also wear my retainers EVERY SINGLE NIGHT(<--- speaking of sexy). Yet I find myself waking up in the middle of the night with achy teeth and have to take my retainers out, which causes my highly sensitive gag reflex to kick in, which grosses Baby Daddy out. Then I would dream my teeth were falling out. I couldn't let this weird situation go, so I consulted Google. Apparently, when you dream you are losing your teeth, it's because, ironically, the dreamer can't "sink his teeth" into a situation. Bless you, Google. Of course I can't "sink my teeth into" the fact I'm in my second trimester. 

Lastly, I'd like to just say to the teenagers, "Oh you enjoy eating food? Go ahead and get pregnant, cos sweeties, your appetite is more varied than yo' mood swings". Not exactly sure why I'd talk to them like I'm a veteran black lady cop, but it seems to be more intimidating, so let's go with it. While the first trimester really messes with your taste buds, the second trimester brings back some of your cravings for your favorite foods...until you eat your favorite foods and they set your ass on fire. I have so many treasured stashes of Tums at my house that it would take Ocean's Fourteen, Fifteen, AND Sixteen to break into them. My former favorite meals and restaurants are currently the things I can't stand to even think about because of the repercussions. When you do indulge in things less than healthy, you read daily pregnancy tips from the apps on your phone and they make you feel like you've earned whatever the opposite of the "Mother of the Year" award is. First they tell you to drink milk and eat veggies and fruits and whole grains, while in the next sentence, they say too much of these things will cause imminent death for your kid. Eat this, not that. Drink this, not that. Do this, not that. I may have had a graduate course in how to GET pregnant, but BEING pregnant has turned out to be more reading and studying than I've ever hoped for. There's no time for extracurricular activities; you sleep for 22 hours a day, eat for one, and then read about what you are and are not supposed to be doing for the last. Now, just what teenager do you know actually LIKES to read?!

We all know I've mastered the actual first stage of pregnancy: getting pregnant. I seem to have made it successfully through the first trimester. Now it's my job to spread what I know with the ones who struggle with the concept of "I shouldn't be having a kid right now". I'm pretty sure I exceed the qualifications. Somebody hook me up with tour dates and an RV with the slogan, "Coming to a community center basement near you" next to a picture of me with no make-up on, oily 2-day old hair, and a baby bump showing out of my faded yoga pants and a tank top that should have retired with Michael Jordan. This is life-changing, motivational stuff, folks. Life. Changing. 

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.

                 

Diary of a Potentially Pregnant Woman

***This post was previously written on January 18, 2015.***

Tomorrow is the end of the elusive two-week-wait post-embryo transfer. Except I haven't had to wait two weeks. I basically jumped in the express lane towards the end of this process and now I'm fah-reeking OUT because tomorrow we find out IF...IF this whole deal actually worked. 

I had the frozen embryo transfer done on the afternoon of Friday, January 9, 2015. We got to pick the date and since I'm insanely obsessed with odd numbers (that's a whole other post in itself), I thought that particular date was the perfect match. Also, it means I didn't have to take off work for the mandatory bed rest that the transfer requires. For two and a half days, I barely walked to the bathroom and when I did, I perfected the role like I was Betty White walking the red carpet at the Golden Globes. 

How funny, I kept thinking, how many women out there never know the true date of their conception, yet continue leading their extremely dangerous lives all the while the inner workings of their tag-team tubes/ovaries/uteruses design and begin the process of making a baby. How many women were jumping up and down during an aerobics class, unintentionally shaking up the egg/sperm concoction they made with their mates the night before? How many women were shooting tequila at a mexican restaurant with friends? How many women were watching Channing Tatum perform his Oscar-award-winning dance to Genuine and then rush off to their bedrooms with husbands and boyfriends to have sex and cause their uterus' to contract, therefore giving said egg/sperm concoctions a very difficult time to STICK to the walls? 

How funny that most of the normal women in the world were doing all of these normal things and I was laid up like I had the Titanic necklace somewhere on my body. You know you wouldn't be able to move with that thing on you. They make babies every five minutes and continue doing these things like it's nothing. Ugh. I couldn't even get a sip of Pepsi for fear of over-caffeinating the embryo.

I digress. So tomorrow is the big day. It will be Day 34 in my cycle (the first day of my last period was December 17th). My last pregnancy (October 2013), I took a blood test on Day 27 and pregnancy was confirmed. I started bleeding on Day 37. I'm hopeful to find out the result as it should be clear as day by tomorrow. 

How pitiful that we won't even be able to get excited if I get a positive beta tomorrow?? (Beta means number or level of the pregnancy hormone HCG in your blood once an embryo has implanted itself into the lining of the uterus). The majority of women I know (or read about) have IVF done because they've never been able to get pregnant. I've done it four times, just can't stay that way. I never really got nervous about the egg-retrieval and preparing my body because clearly I've been able to do that part on my own four times. Plus this time, the little buggers are actually hand-delivered into the exact place they need to be. I just basically signed for it and Dr. Edelstein is a fancy-dressing Fed-Ex guy.

The blood tests following a first positive beta is just the absolute worst. It's all about the numbers and I'm a wordy kind of girl. 48 hours after the first positive test, I have to do it again and pray that the numbers have doubled. If they haven't or are slow rising, it means high potential for the pregnancy not to last. And I've been down that road. Got the t-shirt. 

I'll be excited when I see what I need to see nestled into my uterus on an ultrasound screen with a heart-beat; after all, we've never made it quite that far before. It's been a highly-stressful last 10 days. On Day 7, post transfer, I woke up with period-like cramps that lasted alllll day and allll night. It was devastating. It was quite the mental melt-down and I pretty much have been retired to my couch since that day. The cramps subsided the next morning, but after a scare like that, your brain can't settle down. I'm trying to contain myself tonight so I can focus on this upcoming week. It should be a DOOZY. I'll leave you with "A Diary of a Potentially Pregnant...via IVF...Woman's Guide to Surviving the (Didn't Even Make it to Two Weeks) Wait". 

1. Don't buy any books with the remainder of your Christmas Amazon gift card balance. Your brain can't settle enough to READ. Unless it's the same three sentences over and over over until you just say "F*@& it" and throw the Kindle to the love seat where it bounces into the floor and stays there for the next 4 days until you spontaneously decide to vacuum. <--- See #5

2. Don't read online community forums about what you will experience over the TTW (two week wait). It's worse than WebMd because it's pretty much women jacked up on junk food and estrogen and progesterone and they are IIINNNSSAAANNNEEE. Let me put it to you this way: Bitches. Be. Trippin'. Here's all you need to know if you ever go through this: if you cramp, there's nothing anybody can do. You might be pregnant. You might get your period. Deal with it and move on. Also, the progesterone shot EFFFINNNN SUUUCKKKKKS. There's no way to sugar-coat it so don't let some rando try to tell you tips to ease the pain. It hurts. It doesn't go away. End of story. 

3. DO binge watch Gilmore Girls on Netflix for an approximate total of 35 hours in a 48-hour time period. Can Lorelai Gilmore and Mindy Lahiri PLEASE, for the love of GOD, find each other and do a spin-off? Nevermind. My brain would explode.

4. DON'T watch Channing Tatum's Oscar-award-winning performance to "Genuine" on the Oxygen channel. Number one: it's not in HD. Number Two: you can't have sex afterwards because *in my whiny, mocking doctor voice* "sex is forbidden until the end of time times infinity because we don't want anything to contract the uterus" Yada yada yada. 

5. I realize that Lay's return of Tangy Carolina BBQ Potato Chips would be a bigger miracle than what I'm about to say, but it is entirely possible that you may, just for about 30 minutes, might want to clean your house. (It's brief, but it happened. It was magically horrid.) 

6. There are not enough People Magazine Celebrity Crosswords in the entire world. There. Just. Aren't. Let me rephrase. There are not enough People Magazine Celebrity Crosswords that I can actually complete in the entire world. (I've done like 87 over the last four days, yet none of them are done). 

7. Annnnd number seven. Stop reading what other people suggest you do while waiting for literal life-changing news. It's not worth going crazy over, like I am right now. I'm preaching to the choir, and every person that tells you "it's all okay" or "stop thinking about it" can royally suck it. Time is either going to go slow or go fast and the most important thing you can do while you wait is decide how you are going to handle the news, good or bad, when you get it. 

So what will the outcome be? Did it work? How many babies will it be? I guess you've been waiting over three years to find this out, just like me. 

One more day won't hurt us... 

Tender Meat

I know I've been keeping you all in suspense. It's officially "after the first of the year". Has she done it? Is she pregnant?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!!!!?

Did you not listen to me after the last post?! I can't tell you that. I have to keep a tight-lip about this very sensitive, last portion, MOST important part of the entire IVF process. I can't jinx it! I know it's frustrating because this has literally been an ongoing drama for the past 3 1/2 years not just for me, but for you too. I'm just as anxious to know the end result of this season's show as much as you are. 

When I first started writing, it was strictly for selfish reasons. It was therapy for me. It also was an outlet for me to let people know details of my situations so that they wouldn't have to awkwardly ask me what was going on and I wouldn't have to awkwardly respond. (Here's the link to my very first blog post). As I've grown through this ordeal, it's more about YOU than me. People, especially women, should NOT be afraid to talk about infertility, no matter what form it comes in. It shouldn't be an awkward topic. People need to UNDERSTAND infertility and learn about their options for treating it rather than whispering about it behind backs of others' just because you don't want to seem insensitive. 

I can't believe I just lumped myself with the word, "INFERTILITY". I was so offended when I first got referred to the Fertility Institute because if there is one thing we've clearly learned from my female bits is that, bitches, I'm pretty fertile! When I first started researching 'recurrent miscarriages' and kept seeing 'infertility' within the same paragraph, it was a hard pill to swallow. As time has gone by, I've broadened my understanding in that 'infertility' covers any couple who is, for whatever reason, not able to conceive on their own. (Here is my post about when my mystery was finally solved. Here is the first post about IVF, for I know some of you are new followers and don't want to scroll back that far!) 

I'm at the point where I'm PROUD to have that label attached to my name. Y'all, going through IVF is not for the weak. I (and Mike, actually) read so many forums online about different issues, symptoms, and topics from other couples going through the same thing and you wouldn't believe how whiny and dramatic some people are about their experience. If I get whiny and dramatic, then you have my written permission to slap me. (Okay, let's just extend that invitation only if I get whiny. Me and dramatic are too close of friends to let that be a determining slap-factor). 

You can't be a wuss and you can't be a pessimist if you are finding it hard to conceive. There's no time. Do what the DOCTORS tell you, and even though I consider myself one, you can't let me tell you what to do either. Do what they say, because they know best, and just suck. it. up. If you haven't been to a doctor yet, then GO. There's nothing wrong with asking questions! So what if your first, or second, or even third attempts don't work. Monica from Friends (the actress, not the character, although ironically, Monica and Chandler had infertility issues...) had eight miscarriages and was NEVER diagnosed with any problem. She was like, 50, when she had her kid. But she had it. On. Her. OWN. There is time and there are doctors and there are procedures for basically every problem out there. Hang in there. Don't be a wimp. 

I still won't tell you when I'm having the transfer (or have I already done it?!!) and I probably will follow the legendary 3-month wait to announce if I DO end up pregnant, but I can tell you what is going on before that. Here is the daily cocktail before a FET (frozen embryo transfer):

*Regular prenatal vitamin

*Folic acid supplement

*Baby aspirin 

*Estradiol (estrogen, 3 times a day)

*Antibiotic (twice a day)

*mild steroid (twice a day)

*Progesterone in oil injection, in the rear, EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. (This will be done even AFTER a confirmed pregnancy to continue to support the lining of the uterus.)

Basically, I'm the healthiest person on the planet. 

I posted about the shots I was taking before the egg retrieval. And I spoke too soon. I wasn't prepared for the insanity that is the nightly shot I'm doing now. Because the medicine is in oil, it's a thicker needle and it takes longer to inject. We have to alternate cheeks each night and I pretty much have a heating pad glued to my backside 24/7. My rear is black and blue and green and yellow. I'd post a pic but I just don't think y'all are ready for all that. Kim Kardashian broke the internet because people wanted to see her butt. I'm pretty sure I'd break the internet because people would be trying to escape the sight. Butt seriously though, (bahahahahaha!), we are troopers and are moving right along, scary needles and all. Medicines and shots and raging hormones will be worth it if it gets us what we want. I'll leave you with a pic (not a rear-view) that clearly shows how badass we infertiles are! 

Ice Age

Because I’m at that weird adult stage in life, I've come to realize that the holidays can be categorized into two sections. Either, ‘You love Christmas because you are a child’ or ‘You love Christmas because you have a child.’ Okay, so I forgot one category. The, ‘You love Christmas because you married a child trapped in a thirty-something’s body.’ Which is clearly the category I should be placed in with all the Batman, Yankees, Derek Jeter, and Star Wars stuff I’ve cyber-shopped for the past few weeks.

Each year I spend growing more distant from my teenage self, I find it harder and harder to get into the Christmas spirit. When I've shared that idea with others, especially older people, I’m told it’s because I’m at the age where having my own children will start to bring the magic back into the season. That’s all well and good, but what about the Christmas spirit of a mother whose eleven children are currently frozen? 

*Insert awkward pause**

Oh yes. I said eleven. The last time you got an update from me, I just had my eggs retrieved. All twenty-seven of them! That number trickled down to twenty-one, after Willy-Wonka-weeding-out the “bad eggs” from the “good eggs”. They were mixed with Mike’s cleanest, top-notch sperm and we were able to get sixteen embryos. At the time to freeze, eleven had reached the appropriate maturity level, so eleven embryos basically got “Hans Solo-ed”. (If you aren't exposed to closet sci-fi geeks on the reg, as I am, then YouTube “Hans Solo Gets Frozen” for a mental picture.)

The embryo transfer will take place after the first of the year. It’s all about the timing…getting my cycle back on track after insane hormone fluctuations…getting doctors back on track after being on Christmas vacation mode. Etc. Etc. I've been asked a hundred times how I’m going to handle this portion of the process with my blog. If I give you a date, you’ll know two weeks later that I’ll  know whether it worked or not. This isn’t a normal pregnancy announcement…most people don’t say, “OKAY! Well, we are going to go fertilize my eggs tonight! Check back in two weeks for a positive test!”

As much as I want to share those intimate details with you all, I know what it’s like to jinx myself when it comes to announcing pregnancy prematurely. In my case, you all will know when it worked when I’m waddling down the street and can no longer see what color socks I have on.

There have been lots of difficult decisions to be made since starting IVF. The first one being, “Are we going to do this?!” (The answer was always, “DUH. YES!”) The second one being, “Can we afford to do this?” (The answer being “@!@* no!!-- but what middle-class working person in America do you know that isn’t poor right now anyway? Might as well be poor a little while longer.)

This was followed up with the decision of what to do with any remaining frozen embryos-have them destroyed or donate them? (The surprisingly easy answer: donate. There are couples out there who have physical problems way worse than no Fallopian tubes. Woman who can’t make eggs, men who can’t produce sperm, among other issues. If I can provide someone the same opportunity that science has provided me, then so be it.)

The next big decision will be “How many embryos do we transfer?” This has weighed heavily on our minds since IVF became a possibility. Sadly, the general public associates “IVF” simultaneously with “TWINS”. I associate “IVF” with “THE OPTION FOR A COUPLE TO HAVE A CHILD”. All cases are different because all women’s bodies are different. The number of embryos to transfer is based on many different factors. Some women who do this are older, therefore they put more in to give them a higher shot at achieving pregnancy since this may be their one and only pregnancy. Some women have two, three, and four put in because the doctor may think their uterus lining isn't strong enough to support all of them, so while they may lose two or three embryos once implanted, at least they’ll end up with one or two live births.

In my case, I’m young. If I wanted, I could put in one the first time and see what I got. If it doesn't work, the next cycle I could put in one or two, and so on and so on. Here’s the thing: Just because I’m young doesn't mean I want to go through this repeatedly, unsuccessfully. I think we can all say for certain, I’VE BEEN THROUGH THIS, FOUR TIMES, UNSUCCESSFULLY. I basically have the Oscar for “Pregnancy: UNSUCCESSFULLY”.

I’ve always wanted a large family because I come from a large family. I want my children to experience that. I always said I wanted three children. Then I started dealing with…all this…and my tune has changed. I just want one. ONE. I get frustrated with parents who are struggling with conceiving a second and third child because I’m over here all like, “JUST GIVE ME ONNNNNEEEEEEEE KIDDDD”. I feel like they aren't appreciating what they already have. 

While I love my husband so very much and he has been through all this with me since Day One, I’m the one who has put my body through torture. Plus, there’s the whole “period” bullshit. If I had to make a decision right now, I’d say, transfer two. If I get two, great! Two for the price of one. If I get one, THANK GOD. Get me to a healthy delivery and then TAKE. THIS. ENTIRE. FEMALE. REPRODUCTIVE. SYSTEM. OUTOFMYBODY!

Bottom line, we’re going to do what the doctor suggests that we do. In a nutshell, we have six times to try the transfer using my litter of embryos. You’ll know what our decision is when I’m at the hospital on Delivery Day standing in the parking lot using my Oprah voice, hollering, “And YOU get a baby, and YOU get a baby…”

So I’m going to sail through this holiday season with no thoughts of babies. There’s no need to worry about things I have no control over. It’s taken an extremely long time to reach this point where I’m comfortable enough to admit it’s no longer in my hands. (No really, my babies aren’t in my hands, they aren’t even in my body. They are temporarily in a frosty, Winter Wonderland.) I’m going to enjoy my awkward lack-of-Christmas spirit, for the New Year brings so many possibilities for next Christmas. Until then, the saga continues in "Mike and Kristin's EGGcellent Adventure". We have much thawing to do!!