are you my moms?

the musings of yet another lesbian couple on the journey of mother(s)hood

The Tit Monster August 29, 2012

Filed under: Hormones,Rigby,Uncategorized — areyoumymoms @ 3:55 pm
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Seriously, Mom? Again with the boobs?

I have two obsessions of late.  1 – in a word, Rigby.  And everything that makes him feel like home.  2 – in another word, boobs.  Mine, and their food-providing skills, to be precise.  Since the day we came home from the hospital, I have been at war with my breasts.  Some of you have just sighed and said, “I see where she’s going with this and that’s the whole problem…it’s not a war…her attitude is what is keeping this from happening.”  You may be right.  But I’m not sure who could’ve wanted it to work more than I did, and self-sabotage isn’t really my thing.  As it turns out, I have a milk supply issue.  So as with my natural birth plan, out the window goes my “exclusively breastfed baby” plan.  And in the process, I have become – as Charlene Frazier would say – the tit monster.  My very patient wife has had to listen to me try to process emotionally what was happening physically.  So has our bff, our mothers, a few friends, and my cousin.  And now you get to hear about it to.  Once I’ve said it this time, I think I’m done.  (That’d be a good thing to have happen the day before we visit the therapist.)  So with sincerest love and apologies in advance to my very natural friends who will most naturally frown on this story, here’s where I stand on breastfeeding.  And why we’re not.

I had latching problems in the hospital.  Some of these little struggles took place in full view of our visiting friends and family.  I think I had a pretty cool head about it, except for a 10-minute meltdown on our last day there.  I knew that establishing a good nursing relationship between Rigby and me would take some time and patience.  So I just tried to relax and “let it happen.”  I took in all the advice the nurses and lactation lady had to offer and planned to put it to good use.

And then we came home and I got this sinking feeling…this tiny child still depends on me for life just as much as he did when renting space in my womb.  I loved my time with him, set up in the nursery with the lullaby Nirvana playing.  At first he did really well.  He latched for 15-25 minutes at a time per side, and was ready to eat every few hours.  The first few days I didn’t really think much of it…he was giving all the feeding cues I’d read about.  His stomach is tiny, and breastfeeding at that age is just as much about bonding as it is about nourishment.  Awesome.  Except that somewhere along the line it turns into an issue of nourishment.  The baby has to eat.  MKL made a wise decision to start supplementing with formula after a particularly long and futile attempt at nursing one night.  I’d still offer the breast with the bottle to keep stimulating milk production, but at least he was getting something in his belly.  And then came the screaming and chest-pounding phase.  Those were a dark 48 hours.  He’d latch for a few minutes and then start to cry and beat his fists against my chest.  I tried to stay light-hearted…even made a few “we are not Celine Dion” jokes.  But we could tell something was wrong, and it was starting to take a toll on my psyche.  As nutty as it sounds, it was hard not to take it personally.  Like he just didn’t have a taste for his mom.

Everyone says breastfeeding is the most natural thing a woman’s body can do.  Not so for me.  I, apparently, needed some instruction.  I was ok with that.  I had talked with friends who told me not to get discouraged.  They told me to use my resources and ask for help.  So I did.  I read every book and website on how to stimulate milk production and then called in the big guns: a home consultation with a lactation specialist recommended by our hospital and pediatrician.  Late last week a polo-sporting, ponytailed soccer mom arrived at my door for a 3-hour discussion of my 100% sure shot at being able to feed our child on my own.  Rigby got weighed and had his mouth examined (I tried not to take offense when she maligned my son’s frenulum.  Frenulua – actually – she managed to insult both of them.); we did an observed feeding, and then he got weighed again.  I was examined, lectured, and instructed to within an inch of my life.  I was admonished for referring to the breast pump as a “medieval torture device.” And yet when she left I felt somewhat more confident about the chances that Rigby and I would eventually get on the same page.  For awhile things started to look up.  We were doing great on the supplement feeder tube and I was faithfully pumping away…despite feeling like a dairy cow.

By the time a woman has been pregnant and given birth, she has every right to claim her body as her own, and trust the signs it sends her.  Mine was telling me, not so subtly, that the milk I wanted to feed our child would not be arriving anytime soon.  My first clue?  My boobs never got big!  As a matter of fact, as I began to lose a little baby weight and was pumping them both for 2-3 hours per day, they were shrinking.  Sore and shrinking.  I can’t think of any two adjectives I’m less eager to associate with my breasts.  There was no getting around it – these boobs are merely ornamental; kinda like my left hand – pretty, part of the overall ensemble, but not the least bit functional.

I’m quite sure that I could’ve done more to get the milk to come in.  Teas, herbs, another trip to the acupuncturist, etc.  But in truth, the whole thing was putting entirely too much stress on me and on our household.  Feedings went from a beautiful bonding time between Rigby and me to a “feed and pump” routine that I had to do 8-10 times per day.  The pumping (intended to stimulate milk) produced nothing, and I began to see a decline in my supply.  Here’s where it gets a little bratty, folks: Frankly, I feel some sense of entitlement when it comes to making a decision that doesn’t involve a whole set of “extras.”  We’ve already done hormone pills, shots, extra ultrasounds, ovulation predictors, acupuncture, herbs, and 8 individual inseminations to get here – not to mention 8 weeks of mid-pregnancy bleeding.  If my body is telling me not to nurse, so be it.  I will relax and go mix some powder and water.  I was raised on a bottle and so was MKL.  Rigby will do just fine.  He’s perfectly healthy and a much happier kid now that he is getting more to eat.  Peace and order have restored to our house, and that makes the whole thing worth it to me.

The pediatrician asked me yesterday if I’m sad about our decision.  And if I’d made it to the end of this post yesterday, I’d probably have said yes.  Absolutely.  I hate being wrong.  I hate quitting.  I hate failing.  I hate that we’ll miss out on all the health benefits of breastfeeding.  I hate that I no longer have an excuse to walk around topless, and that my breasts are still the less-than-impressive rack they’ve always been, instead of those awesome plumped-up new-mommy boobs I’d been looking forward to.  Fortunately today feels a little different.  I’m able to sit back and focus on the dreamy little face currently fart-grinning from the bouncy seat.  You know…this one…the face that melts my heart a hundred times an hour.

Eventually we’ll teach him to buy locally sourced food whenever he can.  For now, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care where his food comes from – just that it’s delivered with love by his moms.


Magic June 3, 2012

Filed under: 3rd Trimester,Hormones,Pregnancy — areyoumymoms @ 7:10 pm

Everyone says pregnancy is a magical time.  And they’re right.  Today’s post breaks down the simple magic tricks we pregnant ladies do every day.  Read, and be amazed at our talent…

Disappearing Acts.  On a daily basis, my patience and sanity disappear without so much as an alacazam.  Case in point – the nursery.  The room that will soon house the baby was, until about 2 weeks ago, a multi-purpose space.  The transformation has involved hiring a crew to relocate the piano and some other heavier pieces of furniture; moving our home office upstairs; cleaning out a closet that’s stored everything from our vacuum cleaner to our dvd’s; and swapping out various bookshelves, framed photos, and decorative oddities throughout the rest of the house.  For awhile it seemed as though everywhere we turned, we found another something that had to be moved in order to make room for baby.  As MKL and I navigated our housekeeping “to-do” list, we argued, we compromised, and we longed for the day when we’d be able to stand in the doorway, admiring the finished product.

A few nights ago our bff came over to help us paint.  After dinner we started to clear a few last-minute things out of the room.  I’m not sure of the precise moment when my hormones took over, but apparently I wanted to give our guest/volunteer a show.  The logical part of me that usually predominates in any project setting gave in to the power of pregnancy magic and…poof!  It just disappeared.  As with every illusion, there was a cover – a distraction to take the audience’s attention away from the trick.  Pregnancy hormones became that cover, and I began to cry.  A lot.  For a good 10 minutes.  It seems that the hormones didn’t think we were making enough progress in the room.  My disappearing common sense knew better, though, and returned almost as quickly as it left.  Just like magic.

Levitation.  The art of levitation is one that I’m still mastering, but I’m getting there. I find that “pregnancy brain” has not just affected my basic arithmetic skills, but also my balance and coordination.  However, through the magic of pregnancy, I’ve been able to make entire glasses of liquid suspend themselves in mid-air for a few seconds before hitting the ground.  Sadly, those glasses are usually full of someone else’s drink and I seem to only be able to pull this trick off in public.  But I think it still counts.

Three-Card Monte.  In place of the cards in this trick, I use pairs of pants, three being the exact number of pairs I have that fit over my bump.  I flatly refuse to expand my wardrobe too much, since I’ll only be pregnant for another two months.  So each morning I do a little routine with my closet.  I move the three fitting pants around quickly and distract my own eye into thinking I’ve found the money pair.  And then I pick out one of a dozen maternity shirts and call it a day.  It may not be an impressive trick, and it’s really more of a con than any other.  But by the end of it, I’m fooled – albeit briefly – into thinking I don’t look like I’m smuggling a bowling ball.

Escape Trick.  It’s hard not to feel a little caged in a pregnant body.  We’re subject to a wide variety of physical symptoms, most of which you probably already know about: swollen feet, sore back and hips, stretch marks, etc.  And there are more that no one mentions to you until they happen, at which time some wise mother of six will confirm that she also got winded getting into the car, or that yes, it does in fact take a helper to get you off the couch by the time you hit 30 weeks.  She’ll probably also reassure you that your belly will eventually move on its own like that scene in Alien, but will hopefully convince you that all the visible movement is normal.  The physical side of pregnancy is well-documented, and impossible to escape until you’re ready to deliver.  The emotional symptoms are less well-known, and involve a lot more than letting your inner bitch shine through (personally, I mastered that skill long before I was pregnant).  The pregnant mind traps me into constant list-making.  I think all the time about what still needs to get done before the baby comes, play a game of “juggle the cash” in preparation for our meetings with the adoption attorney, and spend hours a day trying to figure out the baby’s gender.  But just for 45 minutes each day, I escape.  I spend my commute listening to inane chatter on morning radio, or singing at the top of my lungs.  And for those brief stretches of time, I am able to pull off the illusion, and let myself forget about the baby.  I can escape.

These tricks are each fascinating in their own special ways, and the body truly is full of surprises for these 9 months.  But the most magical part of pregnancy involves those around you.  It’s in the sweet and earnest “how are you” emails and texts from our friends and family.  It’s in the way my wife worries about my every move and anticipates my every need.  It’s in the fact that our bff actually came back yesterday to help us paint, and how our nursery magically looks like a nursery now.  The magic of pregnancy is that everyone who loves you is just as enchanted as you are.


The Ovaryachiever October 9, 2011

Filed under: Hormones,IUI,Meds — areyoumymoms @ 9:06 pm
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I’ve always been an overachiever.  As a child I won spelling bees and essay contests, got good scores at vocal competitions, and sold the most candy in the fund raisers.  I haven’t changed much.  The overachieving that saw me succeed academically transformed me into an adult with a burning need to be right, win arguments, and be the best at anything I do.  I’m not necessarily proud of this trait.  It has a nasty way of creeping in and causing trouble in every facet of my life.  Overachieving has its benefits, though.  It’s also what makes me good at my job and drives me to be a devoted wife and loyal friend. 

As it turns out, I’m also what we’re going to call an “ovaryachiever.”  [Note: this term was coined by my always-witty bff on the way home from the gym.  I hope you are all lucky enough to have a friend like her.  When I count my blessings she’s very near the top of the list.]  A trip to see doc and the guru Friday morning showed that both ovaries are in good shape for another treatment cycle.  Phew.  Doc gave us the lowdown on the menopur, told me to start taking the letrozole, and that was that.  While I was dressing, she and the guru were engaged in a rather intense debate about the size of my follicles and the impact of their growth rate on the scheduling of the menopur shot.  They’ve worked together for a long time and tend to speak a language all their own, finishing one another’s sentences and frequently leaving us in the dark.  I walked up on the conversation and could tell they were talking about me.  Doc picked up on my curiosity and tried her best to explain.  As she described, I’m an “early recruiter.”  Sure.  Makes total sense.  My ovaries are overachievers, too.

When the ovaries recruit eggs early, it becomes difficult to predict ovulation timing, which makes successfully scheduling an iui a bit of a challenge.  It also means that the menopur has to be administered early in order to have any kind of effect.  So tomorrow morning we’re back to doc for the menopur shot, and to measure the follicles.  Menopur is the same drug used by women going through in vitro fertilization, usually self-injected on a daily basis.  Since the point of ivf is to recruit and harvest as many eggs as possible, menopur is given in a very high dose.  With me, doc is just looking to ensure that I have more than one mature follicle that makes it through ovulation.  The more follicles present, the better chance that one of them will meet up with a swimmer or two.

We’ve also made one more change for this cycle.  We bought a 3rd vial of sperm.  Normally we just use 2 vials – 1 for each iui procedure.  But last month’s early surge made us question whether or not we need to have a back-up vial available.  So for this cycle, we’re trading acupuncture and herbs for a reserve cavalry of swimmers.  Lots of couples buy 6 or so vials when they first start trying to conceive.  This is usually done to ensure that their selected donor is available when they need him.  MKL and I have a short list of chosen donors, but aren’t “married” to any one guy.  This relieves some of the pressure of donor availability and also allows us to order vials on an as-needed basis.  The additional vial isn’t cheap, and we might end up selling it back anyway.  But if my body ovaryachieves again this time, we will be ready.


Implanting a Seed September 26, 2011

Filed under: Hormones,Two-week wait — areyoumymoms @ 6:42 pm
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This weekend I abandoned my normal gym routine in favor of the beautiful fall weather.  My BFF and I took her sweet-as-pie dog on a 4 mile walk around our neighborhood Saturday.  It has been awhile since I opted for outdoor exercise, since I’m not a huge fan of the heat.  But this weekend it was just gorgeous – still a little warm, but breezy.  It felt so good on Saturday that I did it again yesterday.  Our neighborhood is full of activity on the weekends – lots of people walking dogs or kids in strollers, restaurant patios full of the brunch/late-afternoon-drinking-crowd, cyclists, walkers, joggers, and the yard-obsessed catching the early leaves as they fall.  As we walked this weekend, I realized just how excited I am to raise a child with MKL here.  Both days, I came home invigorated and warm with babymaking vibes (not to mention a little sunburn).

I expected to awaken in the same sunny frame of mind today.  And then I woke up.  Not invigorated…not even a little; warm, but mostly due to the hormonal rise in body temperature rather than tingly babymaking vibes; and experiencing some of the worst cramping my body has ever known.  I laid in bed, curled into the tightest ball I could manage, and tried to pray the pain away.  No dice.  And then the crying started.  Awesome.  Once MKL realized the pain level and saw me crying, she wanted to do anything she could to “fix” it.  Bless her.  She brought me tylenol, wiped my tears, and offered to call doc or the guru.  Instead, we opted to review the side effects of prometrium (again) and remembered that abdominal discomfort or cramping is usually near the top of the list.  After a few hours the pain had let up enough for me to get in the shower and start my day…with another effing dose of prometrium, of course.

If last month was a cycle of firsts, I think this month has to be the cycle of pattern recognition.  As I was haphazardly throwing cosmetics in the direction of my face this morning, I realized that last cycle’s crying fit happened one week before our pregnancy test.  Guess what happens in a week?  Yep – the blood test is a week from today.  So maybe my hormone side effects are at their worst when I’m 5-7 days into the treatment.  From everything I’ve read, side effects will vary from cycle to cycle.  Yet again, my “I know what to expect this time” theory is thrown into the trash.  Last cycle the mood swings were the worst side effect, with the constant dull headache and waves of nausea falling into a tie for a close second place.  I guess this time around the cramping will take the top spot.

Approaching the halfway mark of our two-week-wait, I had been doing great – optimistic, but I was able to explain away any potential “early pregnancy symptoms” as progesterone side effects.  My goal is to be back in that place by the time I wake up tomorrow.  I’m definitely not there now.  There’s a dull ache going on in the same place where I had stabbing cramps this morning, and any good googler will tell you that this pain could be implantation cramping.  For those of you who haven’t read every single pregnancy book on the shelves, implantation is what happens when your newly fertilized egg takes root in your uterus.  This process is known to happen between 7-14 days after ovulation.  I’m on day 8.  Many women report that they can feel this happen.  Please, God, let me be one of those women.

It’s simple to say, “it’s the hormone…just bide your time until next Tuesday.”  MKL has issued a cease and desist order to stop me from scouring the internet for a description of what implantation cramps actually feel like.  She’s absolutely right to do it, but it’s not so simple to think that way.  This pain was different.  I had the headache, nausea, mild cramping, fatigue, etc. last month with the progesterone.  But I never had this type of cramp last time – not this type of quick stab followed by a day of dull ache, and not this low in the abdomen, either.  So of course it’s nearly impossible not to think that this different symptom will yield a different result.  Though I know it’s most likely the hormone.

In short, this process continues to be a mind-f%#k of epic proportion.  And as I typed that last sentence, one of those stupid Johnson & Johnson commercials came on…you know, the ones that end with the wisdom: “Having a baby changes everything.”  I’d like to publicly invite both of those Johnsons to bite me.


Surprise Party! September 17, 2011

Filed under: Hormones,IUI,Meds,Two-week wait — areyoumymoms @ 4:49 pm
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It was supposed to be a normal, quiet weekend.  A whole Saturday with no plans.  Maybe the gym, some errands, the street festival up the road, some friends were to drop by with their baby nephew.  And then…against all odds, it happened:

The smile you see to your left is the signal that my little digital ovulation predictor kit detected a surge in lh (luteinizing hormone).  This means the follicles doc saw on my pre-treatment ultrasound have received the right amount of estrogen to make them grow (with a little help from the letrozole).  The high estrogen levels have prompted production of lh, the hormone that makes the follicles leave the ovaries.  So when the test detects the surge in lh, I’ll ovulate within the next 24 hours or so.  That’s right, folks.  I read the books.  And the instructions on the ClearBlue Easy box. 

When I say the smile appeared “against all odds,” I’m not just being dramatic.  Today is only cycle day 9, and we were supposed to trigger my ovulation with profasi in two days.  The guru only told me to start using the tests on day 8 as a precaution.  No one, including doc or the guru, thought we’d actually get a positive until after the profasi did its job. 

I’ve been using these “smiley sticks” for 4 months now, and I’ve only ever had a non-medically-induced smiley face once.  It was on or around day 9 last cycle.  I was so excited.  In the months leading up to that cycle I’d not started testing until day 10, thinking that since most women ovulate around day 14, I’d have plenty of buffer.  We sent frantic texts to the guru and went to doc’s office, a ball of excitement and nerves.  I called my mom, my boss, my bff, the Publix deli lady, my 4th grade teacher, and the girl at the hair salon who always gets my appointment times wrong.  We were having a baby, dammit!!  The world needed to know!!  Nope.  It only took 15 minutes and a cup of urine for doc to tell us that it was likely a false positive.  The follicles weren’t the right size yet.  We parted ways for work that day, disappointed, but still on track for our scheduled treatment a few days later.

So when I got the smile again this morning (on day 9!) we were sure it was a repeated exercise in futility.  In the dark of the early morning, I fumbled through my baby file and found my appointment card: “Call or text guru 7am/7pm with positive opk on or before cd 11.”  Right.  Relax and enjoy, I thought, as I typed a quick message to the guru.  It’s just going to be an ultrasound, and then you’re back to your normal, quiet Saturday with no plans.  “Doc will meet u @ her ofc 930.  If follies mature she will insem.”  I woke MKL up and gave her the news, and packed up our insemination good luck charms and the pillows I’d stack under my legs for the 20-minute ride home…we wouldn’t need them, but just in case.  We were both thinking about the money we’d potentially waste on a needless ultrasound, but the alternative is that we’d potentially miss our window.  Even from a purely financial standpoint there’s no question about whether or not to go for the test; we’re better off wasting an ultrasound than a vial of sperm.  I’m starting to think they make that crap out of platinum.  Based on her expression when she greeted us in the exam room wearing workout gear, I’m pretty sure doc shared our doubt about the chances of that smile having occurred naturally.

But that’s precisely what happened.  The ultrasound showed that the already noted follicle in my right ovary was big and ready to go.  The next few minutes passed in a blink.  Before I knew it we were signing consent forms and confirming the donor number from the frozen vial.  Doc shot me up with profasi, to be sure that giant follicle pops out of the ovary on time, while the guru’s weekend assistant thawed the sperm.  30 minutes later I was stacking my pillows in the back seat of our car.

Yesterday was MKL’s bday.  A friend asked her earlier this week what she wanted for her birthday; she half- jokingly replied, “a baby.”  We have beautiful, caring friends who would do anything to make our wishes come true, as we would theirs.  So it didn’t surprise me last night when MKL opened her birthday gift to find a baby doll – their attempt to give her exactly what she wished for.  The doll joined a hand-made-with-love good luck card in our bag and accompanied us to doc’s office.  I’m not sure if it was the good luck charms, the past few days’ lull in babymaking activity, the chinese herbs prescribed by my acupuncturist, or just the whole unexpected nature of the day’s activities, but we were calm and relaxed throughout the entire experience.  If it’s possible to enjoy a procedure like iui, I think we did today. 

The next step is another appointment tomorrow, where we’ll determine when we’re going to do iui #2 for this round…might be tomorrow, or she might postpone.  Remaining in our relax-and-enjoy state of zen during the two week wait might be a chore.  But for now, we’re good.  Who knows?  Maybe MKL will get her birthday wish after all.


T-minus 10…9…8…7…6…5…4… September 6, 2011

Filed under: Hormones,Two-week wait — areyoumymoms @ 6:24 pm
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Let the countdown begin. 

By the time I get around to finishing and publishing this post there will only be about 18 hours left in what ranks in the top 3 most anxiety-filled 36 hour periods of my life.  Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to nod off while typing.  Sleep would be a welcome change of pace at the moment.  The progesterone has a slight sedative effect but the angst about today’s test and tomorrow’s result kept me from blinking last night.  Sleeping would also really help to pass a few of those 18 hours a little faster.  It’s amazing, though, how your body can fight through total exhaustion just to torture your mind into keeping you awake.  When I’m this tired, I find I’m hyper-aware of my early pregnancy/progesterone side effect symptoms.  Swell timing.  Just when I need to keep my mind off this the most, I can’t stop feeling…pregnant

I left a vial of blood at LabCorp this morning and got a nifty bruise in exchange.  I tend to make dumb jokes when I’m nervous (and most other times, too).  The phlebotomist was preoccupied by a bit of a customer service issue wearing Cato’s finest who was tapping her foot in the waiting room.  In an attempt to get her to pay attention to the needle in my arm, I asked her if mine “looked like pregnant blood.”  She smiled one of those “I really don’t have time for humor this morning but you look nice and desperate enough so I’ll play along” smiles.  With almost convincing sincerity, she asked if I wanted to be pregnant.  Do I want to be pregnant?  Are you f&#*ing kidding me???  Sometimes I forget there are women in this world who don’t want to be pregnant.  Or that there was a time in my life when I didn’t want to be.  “Yes.  I do want to be pregnant.”  She held up the vial and seemed to say a sweet little prayer.  Cute.  A little religious for your run-of-the-mill phlebotomist, but well-intentioned.  And if it would’ve worked, she could’ve spoken in tongues and handled a snake.

I know I’ve said it before, but my wife should be sainted.  I’m so lucky that she gets me.  She has done a lot of agreeing with me lately; whether she means it or not, I couldn’t care less.  I don’t even agree with me half the time these days, particularly when the progesterone transforms me into some sort of Jim Henson creation.  But there she stands by my side, reassuring me every step of the way.  Her strength is astounding.  Same goes for our wonderful group of friends and family who are on pins and needles right along with us.  We love you all very much.

Took a break from writing this to do homework with MKL and the 10-year-old for whom she is the most perfect nanny on earth.  I have been nurturing the wannabe mommy in me through my interaction with this amazingly complex child since early last year.  And sitting at the table discussing his math problems with him and MKL made me pray even harder that my blood indeed looks pregnant when they put it in their fancy lab machinery.  

I’ve been pondering events that prompt a countdown: the New Year (obvious), space shuttle takeoffs (well, they used to), the Oscars (clearly the best-deserved countdown…at the very least it’s the one with the best host).  We’ve been talking about starting a family since our second real date.  [for your convenience, I’ve done the conversions: the lesbian second date is roughly equal to about the 6-month mark for breeders and 8th anniversary for gay men; I don’t have any available data for the trans community]  I figure an event as long in the making as my pregnancy is definitely worthy of its own countdown.  And the 18 hours we have left should be a piece of cake compared with the last 9 years, right? 

Right.  If you’re looking for me I’ll be listening to the clock tick.  tock….tick….tock….tick….tock…..tick…….tock…………..tick……………….Is it slowing down?  I swear it’s slowing down!!!


A Thrill Ride – Not for the Faint of Heart! August 31, 2011

Filed under: Hormones,IUI,Two-week wait — areyoumymoms @ 11:48 am
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I love roller coasters.  I love the fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach as the car climbs a steep incline almost as much as I love the feeling of careening back down.  MKL, for the record, does not like this feeling at all (the image on this post might actually make her queasy).  Roller coasters give her whiplash, as we learned on a trip to Universal Studios this spring.  But like them or not, they’re the best possible metaphor for the ttc ride.  You have no idea how long the ride will last; you never just forge straight ahead…there are always bumps, twists, and seemingly insurmountable hills.  It is at once exhilerating and terrifying.  Case in point:

This morning I awoke in tears (sorry again, honey).  I realized that today marks just one week until we find out if this cycle was a success.  My first thought was, “It’s not long, now!  Only 7 more days until we can start re-decorating the spare room!  Just one more week until I can start telling more people!  Only 168 more hours until I can post the joyous bfp!!” 

And then the other shoe dropped…right on my face.

I’ve already been through the very Pollyanna-esque (and not at all ECL-ish) thoughts like: “no matter what, this cycle is a success because we know my body responded correctly to the meds” and “it’s ok if it doesn’t happen the first time around…we know it will probably take more than one try.”  But in all honesty, the minute that doctor said the words “ok – we’re done,” I was filled with hope.  I told myself that I’m pregnant until someone can prove otherwise.  I pictured the nursery and heard our house echo with the sounds of a newborn cry.  And now, in just one week I might hear the words I’ve dreaded, and have to post the awful bfn.  So I cried.  And cried.  It was as though the excitement that comes with reaching the next stop on the journey was completely overshadowed by some cruel Dick Clark countdown to the end of hope.  I could no longer see the nursery or hear the baby crying – all I could see was the next round of meds, the next specimen order, the next trigger shot, and the next miserable two week wait. 

About an hour later on the way to work, I got nauseous again.  It might have been caused by the sea of taillights ahead of me as I fought the Atlanta traffic.  It might have been because of the hormone.  Or…it might, just might be a new life starting inside me.  And the roller coaster crested the hill while I giggled and screamed all the way down.


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