DE babies love Woody Allen

I am recently released from house arrest.  

My sister in law stayed with us for 2 weeks.  In a row.  She is great and all, but did you know that 2 weeks is 14 days?  In a row?  I have much to catch up on.

Rocco and I made it out to see a movie this weekend.  About 10 minutes into it, the Indian food we had eaten kicked in - that baby was mooooving!  It literally took all my might not to stand up and shout: 

"Do not be alarmed!  The baby is alive!  The baby is ALIVE!!  This just might work out!!" 

Boy, wouldn't that freak some people out.

....... did I just sit here and contemplate deleting everything I just typed for fear of tempting Fate?  Yeah, maybe.  Old habits die hard.

I wish we all lived closer and could meet for a milkshake.  I am a grinning fool.  Scared, sure, but man, am I happy.

ps - Whoever found my blog with the search phrase "scared to poop after an embryo transfer": can you please self identify so I can be your new best friend?

Things we just survive

I don't get it.  I don't know how it all works.  Somehow, some way, we just get through it all.

I cannot believe it has been two weeks since I had my 16 week appointment with Glinda the Good OB.  (Glinda, not Glenda - thanks Sarah.  I love my pop culture when I can get it right.)

I sat down in the chair with Glinda and promptly burst into tears.  "Oh my goodness.  What is wrong?  Are you bleeding again?  You could have called.  Are you feeling ok?"  I cried a little more and the best answer I could come up with was "I am scared."

Glinda has her own stories to share.  Stories of waking up and pulling back sheets to see a bloody mess; preterm labor; more bleeding.  She told me she set the goal of just making it to delivery, then it will all be okay.  Moral of the story:  never set that final goal line.  You know it always gets moved.

She delivered a healthy baby.  She was nursing and the baby began to have seizures.  What.  But she was there.  She arrived at her goal.  She made it to delivery.  It is the self identified safe zone.  Right? 

Her baby's seizures are now managed, no long term impact to the infant.  The only lasting scars are on the mother.  She said it was harder to recover from the seizures than the bleeding and preterm labor because she thought she was in her safe zone.

Some moral, huh?  The moral is more complex than never setting the finish line.  It makes it sound like you are never safe, but hell, you really aren't.  I feel all predestination and shit, but taking it one day at a time is the best I have right now.  Cannot change it for the better and thankfully cannot change it for the worse.

I am out about the pregnancy at work now.  It is kind of fun, especially when I see people in other departments do a cartoon double take at me.  As I told my newly pregnant friend Lut, I highly recommend sitting on your announcement for as long as possible if only for entertainment value.  

Do NOT sit on it justincasethatthingthatcanhappenhappens.  Ahem, like I did.  It doesn't help and it just might do more harm than good.

Things are great now.  Happiness is finally mine.  I feel like a million bucks and only worry late at night when flipping for the cold side of the pillow.  But it doesn't last long or at least as long as it used to.

Thank God we are so damn resilient.  Well done, Sir.

What does that mean?

I remember when I first started to read blogs.  At first I gravitated to the blogs with the glossaries down the side.  There were so many new acronyms I didn't understand yet. I only knew the basics from my own experience, IVF and IUI.

I was quickly pulled in by my the writing style over at Misfit's house.  I was amazed by her story and laughed at the running sidebars of Regular Life Not Associated with the Pursuit of the Baby.  I read and I read and I read.

Misfit was the first one to introduce me to the idea of RPL.  I can remember looking it up.  And I was horrified.  I don't think I fully understood what the costs of RPL might be to a family, to a couple, and to a Momma.  

As avid and regular Misfit reader, time passed.  I assumed I had learned the risks and the pain associated with RPL.  I thought I understood what our Misfit was facing.

Dear Misfit.  I am so very sorry for your loss.  Your pain is now part of my own.  I think of you often and wish I knew what to say.  

For my own blind optimism, I apologize.  I thought I was supporting you with my hoots and hollers of delight in your pregnancy.  I fear it might have felt like acid on your skin.  What do I know about RPL?  I am grateful you can see past the gaffe to my true intentions.

I have been busy with my new prayers... or call them my best intentions, my positive thoughts and just plain thinking about our RPL sisters.  You have my very, very best coming your way.

 

Apologies for my Freak Fest

I don't know what that self induced Freak Fest was, but I am glad it is over.  Thanks very much for your support.  I was walking with a monster on my back for the last several days.

All is well today at 16 weeks.

I let a lot of things get to me.  I am not made of stone.

It sounds absurd in print, but I was certain my belly was smaller.  I woke up one morning, lying on my back, and it all went south from there.  I swear it is like I have body dysmorphic disorder.  

There was more.  I seemed less tired.  I didn't feel better after eating, but I never really felt all that sick in the first place.  Yeah, in retrospect, all those things that come with the second trimester.

Perhaps hiding my pregnancy isn't healthy?  Law knows I am not the most stable chair on the porch.

I had an amazing conversation with Glenda the Good OB.  I am too tired to talk about it now, but I learned a lot from her.  I think I can do this and I honestly believe this will be my last Fest.

I am planning a coming out party tomorrow.  Assuming I have the guts, I will not hide in a bag outfit.  I am going to try to be a pregnant lady tomorrow.

I was up above it

Now I'm down in it.

I head in tomorrow for my 16 week appointment. 

I have a deep and unsettled feeling.

Can't remember the last time I heard this song, but every word came back to me as I drove into the office this morning.  Sure hits home.

I am useless today.

Radio silence for my friends' losses

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My friend Lis needs all the support we can offer her right now.  

Lis delivered her twins at 21 weeks.  

Please surround her as she suffers the loss of her second set of twins.








Please give egghunt your love and support as she recovers from her ectopic pregnancy.

Egghunt has too many cycles of IVF, FET, cysts and miscarriage in her past. 

This recent loss cost her a fallopian tube and is chasing her beautiful spirit.




  

Things that Fertiles never do

If you know me on FB, you see I have not made The Announcement.  

If you know me IRL, you wonder why I wear a sweater with a heat index of 100 degrees.

I have never been good about getting to work on time.  Too much morning time is spent fussing with the dogs, watering a half dead plant or some other urgent task.  Mostly catering to the fair Toddlerina takes up my time.

It is impossible to get to work at a reasonable time now that I have the need to disguise my belly every morning.  I try a minimum of two outfits every day.  I would try on three, but I don't have enough clothes to consider.

We reach 15 weeks on Thursday, plus this is my second/third baby.  Let me tell you the popping and sagging came fast.  Not to mention the boobs.  Heaven help me, these breasts will be the death of me.  I need to buy size L for the girls, but then the arm holes sag.

I still have not come clean about the pregnancy at work.  My guess is some people are putting it all together, but most have the decency not to ask.  Once it is out there, I cannot take it back.  If something doesn't go to plan, I have to face them all.

My defense mechanism?  Carry a notebook.  Everywhere.

I can be seen ready to take dictation at any time, even in the washroom.

Here are a couple of my favorite poses.  (Of course, these are taken at home as I could not risk someone seeing me do this at work and draw any attention to myself.)

 

 

We told my nieces this weekend.  I adore these girls.  The oldest is in 8th grade, the middle is 6th and the littlest one is in the 4th grade.  Their reaction was everything I had hoped for.  I may not have their unbridled joy, but it counts for a lot to see it in their sweet faces.

I asked them if they thought Aunt Roccie was just getting big?  Too much indulging in my much loved milkshakes?  I barely had the sentence out of my mouth before they were all shouting, "Yes!"

Perhaps I have another week undercover at work.