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Like riding a bike

12 Apr

My period is late.  Like a LOT late.  I’m not pregnant.  I know this.  Not only is the timing of things wrong but I’ve taken a pregnancy test.  I know I’m not pregnant AND I’M GLAD.  Mostly.

We’re still on the fence with #3.  There are days when I can’t imagine adding more chaos to our lives and days when I can’t imagine not giving birth again or nursing a new baby or rubbing my cheeks on fluffy baby hair.  But when I look deep into myself I really can see being happy with just the four of us.  Todd would be more than thrilled with keeping things they way they are and on most days, I would too.  I just don’t know.

But I digress.

I spoke to my OB’s nurse yesterday about this missing period thing and asked if there was anything I should do.  I was taken aback when she called me with the instructions to come in for a pregnancy test. “Taken aback” is the world’s biggest understatement, FYI.  I agreed and told her I’d be in something in the morning and hung up the phone.  After taking a few minutes to process what she said I got really, really angry.

My cycles since Finn have been a mess, very unpredictable.  I’m older.  And fatter.  It’s not really a huge surprise.  What was surprising was how I felt this morning when I went into the old clinic/lab.  I knew where to park and which floor and where the lab check in was located.  I knew the protocol with the paperwork and how to exit swiftly and make my way to the elevator with tears streaming down my face.  This morning was so much like all of those other mornings 5 years ago.  Hell, daycare shares the same parking lot as the company where I worked back then.  It was way too surreal and heart wrenching.  Especially for someone who doesn’t even know if she wants to go through this all again.

I suspect I’ll get a phone call tomorrow morning (or maybe even tonight) with negative results.  They’ll offer to call in a prescription for some progesterone to kick start my period.  Do I want to investigate what’s going on with my body and go in for CD3 bloodwork?  Or just let sleeping dogs lie and deal with the unpredictability of my body?

2 Apr

I watched this week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy this afternoon. While not a fan of all of the cast members singing the music itself took me way, way back. Like 4-5 years ago. Before kids and right in the thick of trying to get pregnant with A.

Like many infertiles I had a soundtrack. I made my soundtrack when when GA was uberpopular. “Chasing Cars” and “How to Save a Life” were both prominently featured on Grey’s and both were on my CD.

“Would you lie with me and just forget the world.” I remember singing that and driving and driving and crying and driving. Not able to stay at home facing the beautiful house we bought intending to fill with our children. I had to get out, escape. So around and around I drove making the same loop that I would make 2-3 years later in an attempt to get my daughter to sleep.

The scene with Meredith and Derek in the elevator was so familiar to me. I said all of those things and felt that guilt when something terrible happened to a friend (as if I had that kind of power or something). I’m not a fan of Meredith Grey but at that moment I could identify with that character so much that I wonder which one of the writers experienced infertility.

But what really got me was the song that Callie sang at the end. Brandi Carlile – The Story:

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true…I was made for you
I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
But baby I broke them all for you
Because even when I was flat broke
You made me feel like a million bucks
You do
I was made for you
You see the smile that’s on my mouth
It’s hiding the words that don’t come out
And all of my friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t know my head is a mess
No, they don’t know who I really am
And they don’t know what
I’ve been through like you do
And I was made for you…
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true…I was made for you

This was the song I sang to A as I rocked her to sleep. I still sing it to her, it’s our song. It zips me right back to being pregnant with her and rubbing my stomach and praying to God that she would be healthy and that my heart would heal. It was a lot of pressure to put on a baby but holding her tiny body against mine I knew that she saved me.

Tomorrow my baby turns 3

19 Jan

Two years and 364 days ago I was at work on a Friday frantically trying to clear out my in box and wrap up loose ends. My due date had come and gone. My body wasn’t really showing signs of impending labor but I had a feeling I wouldn’t be back in the office on Monday. So I worked and worked until I felt like someone could pick up where I left off and I went home and went about my business. I slept as much as a pregnant woman sleeps and woke up the next morning without giving work another thought.

I had some cramping and wondered if it was anything. My husband and I went for a walk over at the fancy pants outdoor mall and I had to stop every now and then because of the contractions. I was excited and very much looking forward to meeting my daughter. But the contractions fizzled out on the drive home. I tried not to be too disappointed and tried to take a nap.

Later that night we went to dinner at IHOP. I wanted pancake in the worst way. Flash foward 4 hours later and I was sure my “discomfort” was because of those pancakes. Or was it labor? I didn’t want to get my hopes up so I tried to blame it on indigestion. Eventually I realized that I couldn’t deny it any longer. I was in labor. And it was worse than I expected.

I desperately wanted natural child birth. My body betrayed me time and time again trying to get pregnant – I NEEDED to know that I could do this. We took a Bradley class to prepare and hired our teacher to be my doula. I did the work. I practiced relaxing. I did more pelvic tilts than I needed to. I felt prepared. My contractions came on fast and furious. I got in the shower to see if that would help (it did). Then I got into the tub (that helped too). Then I got back into the shower. My husband called our doula to give her a heads up. I got out of the shower (around 11 pm) and got into bed to try to rest.


Instead of resting I was busy crying and telling myself that I needed a c-section. The poor guy didn’t know what to do with me. I barfed my guts up and made an executive decision to head to the hospital. We finished packing our bag and proceeded to the car for the drive from hell. We live very close to the hospital so it wasn’t *that* far but I’ve supressed those memories because it was so awful. We pulled up to the ER entrance and my husband let me out. As I was staggering up the drive a perky couple walked in arm and arm and pronounced that the wife was in labor. I wanted to kill her. SHE wasn’t in labor – *I* was in labor. It only took one look to see that I needed some serious assistance but I waved them to go first. I’m always polite and they did get to the desk before I did. Besides, I was waiting for T and our doula so I made myself comfortable bent over a chair trying not to die.

We got checked in pretty quick. And skipped the whole triage thing. Then got me into a room STAT and did an internal. I was dilated to an 8 (holla!) thanksweetbabyjesus. Oddly enough, I was most comfortable in a semi reclined position so that how I stayed through the rest of L&D. I did roll on my side at one point with the hopes of getting a small lip of my cervix to pull back but for the most part I was “happy” just how I was.

Interestingly, my water didn’t break until I was pushing. A nurse offered to break it for me but I declined. There was meconium in the water so poor MM had to be suctioned but she was just fine.

Labor was short. My contractions started at 10:30 pm ish, we got to the hospital around 1:45 am and she was born at 5:36.

And I made it. I delivered her without any medication or interventions. It was hard but it was worth it. It gave me confidence in my body that came in handy as we struggled through breastfeeding. I knew I could do it and I did.

But that’s not the point of this post. The point is that MM is going to be 3. That’s three years of sassy girlie stories. Three years of snuggles and giggles and tantrums and love. She was born looking just like her daddy but is starting to resemble me more and more. She’s smart and funny and a breath of fresh air. She is my sunshine and I can’t wait to see her face when I pick her up from school today.


2 Dec

You know what I hate? I hate that I got my first postpardum period. You know why? Because now I need to decide: do we want a 3rd baby or not.

We got lucky with MC. I charted the three cycles I had after MM was born and bam! Urban legend city. Two under two. Buy one, get one. I’m not naive enough to believe that can/will happen again.

What if it takes two years like it did with MM? I’m 35. Can I afford to wait until MC is 2 to start trying again? Am I prepared to be a pregnant 38 year old? Advanced maternal age and all of the potential risks involved with it? Am I prepared to start trying NOW and possibly end up with 3 under 3? I can’t afford daycare for three little ones and I can’t afford the mental anguish of quitting my part time job and staying home full time.

Hell, I’m not entirely on board with having three kids but I’m pissed that I don’t have the luxury of taking my time to think about it. I feel pressure to decide NOW and either get on board with trying to conceive or to get rid of all the baby stuff and be at peace with the family we have. And that family is awesome. Truly. It’s hard to imagine fitting another person into the mix when I feel like we’re finally getting to the point where everyone’s needs are (almost) being met.

But I’m don’t know if I’m ready to be done. Never give birth again. Never nurse another newborn. MC will never be a big brother. I won’t reuse all of the adorable cloth diapers I invested in 😛

Being a grown up is hard.

I’m painfully aware of how fortunate I am to even be in the position to consider a third baby.

Well how about that?

16 Nov

I got my first postpartum period. And suddenly everything makes sense. The mood swings, the crappy skin, the bloat. Sigh. I had a feeling it was coming and yet it still took me by surprise.

I dusted off the ol’ diva cup and let me just tell you that inserting that thing is NOT just like riding a bike. Every time took a couple of tries – here’s hoping that next time won’t be so hard.

The unfortunate thing about getting my period is that now I’m faced with the possibility of getting pregnant again. Do we want to? When? Can I? I’ve learned to take nothing for granted when it comes to fertility. I’d hate to get my heart set on having a third only to encounter the same difficulties we had with MM. It would be so easy to stop at two. After all, I have a boy and a girl – there no reason to keep on procreating, right? Our house is a good size for two. It would be less expensive for traveling, college – hell, even food – but I love me a newborn baby. And I want a homebirth. And we already invested in cloth diapers!

But what about daycare expenses? Those would increase significantly. Wanting a homebirth is not a good enough reason to go through another pregnancy (assuming I can get pregnant, of course). But my heart doesn’t feel like we’re done yet. I think I want one more tiny one to marvel over. One tiny nursling that will sleep on my chest. One more babe to stare at while she sleeps curled up next to me.