So Blessed!!!

So our first ultrasound was today. And it was so stressful.  I was so worried. I practically made myself sick.
She called us in 10 minutes early. So I think of waiting room time was like 3 minutes. I got weighed - I've gained a pound. And then it was up on the table for the fun of the internal ultrasound. 

I looked at the screen and saw 2 black spots... and I couldn't quite see anything in them. So I thought that they were my ovaries. The technician was so calm and understanding. She goes, "Ok, here 's the baby. And here's the other one!" TWO BABIES!!! Oh My God. And there they were, snug and safe.

She asked if we were expecting this. And Scott immediately says no. And I was like, "Well, I've had twins on the brain all week." and I have. But I kept telling myself that all we needed was 1 baby. We didn't need to be greedy. But guess what? I'm going to be greedy!!! I want these 2 babies!!!

Scott's on Cloud 9 and I am so happy that I am shaking.

Both babies are measuring right on schedule and the same. In fact, their heart beats are the same too, 169 beats per minute!!! Everything looks great according to the Tech. We have no way to tell if they are identical or fraternal. If they are identical, then their egg split really early, and they landed away from each other. Otherwise, they are from 2 eggs. She said I definitely ovulated from the Right side, but couldn't see anything on the left. So we're in the dark on that one. :)

We want this so badly. We already want these babies. So, here we go, a new adventure! Weston is going to freak out! (in a few months when we tell him.)

Our new Babies. A & B. or Top and Bottom :)

a note from the Grouch...

"Why are you mad all tonight, Mommy?"

This is what I heard when Weston got out of the shower last night. I was lying in my bed, it was late, like 10:30. Scott's hockey game had just ended. And I was shocked. So I said that I wasn't mad, and why did he think that?
"Because Daddy says that you're grouchy."
"I'm not Grouchy."
from Weston's room, Scott chimes in under his breath, "Yes you are. You're always Grouchy."

Wow. So now you're bad-talking me to our child? Seriously?
Last night, I made each person a special personalized dinner on the grill. I DVR'd Scott's hockey game because he was still at work. I made him a strawberry shortcake for dessert. I catered to Weston like I do every night.

This really hurt my feelings. Granted I am a little more emotional right now due to the pregnancy hormones, but still. Weston banished me from bath time when I got upset that he spit water all over me (after I cleaned up all the spit water on the floor, door, etc., outside of the bath tub. He wanted his daddy. And his Daddy was too busy watching hockey to be bothered. So, I left and crawled, exhausted, into bed. And then I hear that Weston is out of clean underwear... Scott only washed 2 pairs over the weekend. Granted I should have done laundry this week, if I had known. So Scott had to do a load of laundry, which meant talking on the phone loudly, banging cabinets and watching TV until 1:15 am. He woke me up for the final time at 1:15 with more cabinet banging. I got up went to the bathroom and went back to sleep. And I'm the Grouchy one. Maybe it's because I don't get any sleep?

So this morning, I got up all alone and got ready for work. I woke them up around 6:20am. I took care of myself, nothing new there. I feel like I always take care of myself, no matter the circumstances. And then we left to take me to work - I was still stewing about the grouchy thing. I couldn't let it go.

So... in the car, which is the best place for Scott and I to communicate, I laid it all out:
1. He can't bad mouth me in front of our children. No matter what he feels at any given moment, he can't do that. I don't bad mouth him in front of Weston.
2. I am sick and tired of being called Grouchy or asked what's wrong with me all the time. I am not upset all the time. I get asked these questions when I'm being quiet. And I'm quiet because I have nothing to say, or because I am so tired that I can't even think, let alone talk. And you know what? Maybe I am responding to your attitude, to the way that you forget things? Or to the way that you take forever to help your child when he asks? I'm just throwing that out there.
3. I'm pregnant. I'm exhausted all the time. I can fall asleep anywhere, at any time. If I don't eat, then I get sick. And I haven't figured out the timing yet. And my emotions are all over the place.
4. I am constantly worried about losing our baby at the ultrasound 1 week from right this minute. I am so afraid to get happy about this baby. I am analyzing every single twinge and feeling in my body. All the time setting myself up to hear the worst possible news for the second time in 3 months. I carry that around with me every step of every day. I worry that our cat's not being all over me is a sign that this pregnancy is also not viable. I worry that we tried again too soon. I wonder if I could survive it again... or if it won't hurt as much because the last loss is so fresh? And mostly I worry that I am not being positive enough for this baby to be healthy.

And it's because of numbers 3 and 4 that you don't understand a single thing. And the fact that you don't ask anymore. It's like this isn't happening to you... oh wait, it's not. so... yeah. We've talked a few times on the phone since then, and it's like nothing at all happened. Everything is fine. When nothing at all is. And they all wonder why I'm frustrated?

understanding the unfairness of the blessings

It's been exactly one week since we received the most devastating news that we could have imagined as a couple. Or maybe in Scott's case, he never could imagine it. As he said:

• We've been struggling. We lost the house, my mom got sick, our fertility issues - trying for over a year, having surgery, following the schedule. When we got pregnant, we should have been great. I'm the healthiest I've been in years. This should have been it.

And it feels like he's right. In the Grand Scheme of Things, we deserved this baby. Our family deserved this baby. Our son deserves to be a big brother. This isn't the way our life was supposed to go. We try to be good people and do what we're supposed to do. We try and try and try. And it does feel like we just can't win sometimes. It feels mostly unfair as I am walking next to a pair of teenage sisters at Target, one about 16, the other a few years younger. And the 16 yr old is very pregnant. And she's complaining about everything. And her younger sister is talking to her about how to get child support from the father. Blah, blah, blah. It took everything in me to pull the cart over and to let them walk away. They were in their own little crisis at the moment, and while it compared nothing to mine, it was everything to them. But that didn't mean that I had to hear about it. Or tell them to shut the "F" up because my baby had died, and she was just a stupid kid. (Do you see now why I stopped? It's safer for everyone.)

But this is the way that life is. It's unpredictable and unfair. It's messy and complicated and exhilarating and excruciating. It's magical and terrifying all at once. Life is complicated. Life doesn't follow any plans.

But Life can be so beautiful. Even a tiny little life that physically didn't amount to more than a cluster of human cells and tissue. That little life gave us all something so important. That little spark gave it's parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and friends a glimmer at a different future. It brought hope and we grew to love this tiny life that only existed to a handful of people. But see? That's the point. This tiny little life existed. It grew from a single cellular experience into something magnificent.

I had doubts from the moment I found out I was pregnant. It was too fabulous to believe. And when the tests came back with such faint pink lines, I thought, "See. I'm not really pregnant. I don't get to have this." They kept telling me, any line is a positive line. I spent weeks, three to be exact, waiting for my period every time I went to the bathroom. I was so used to being disappointed month after month, that it never seemed real enough. I didn't feel "pregnant." I felt exhausted and nauseous. The last two weeks of this pregnancy, my symptoms were a lot worse - much more tired, potty breaks all the time, more food aversions, body changes - I thought that I needed to listen to my body more - I was pregnant. Everyone said I was, even  my dreams. I was dreaming of twins all the time. So, I pondered baby names, we went shopping, I was telling more people. But I still had doubts. I kept telling myself that once we had the ultrasound, everything would be great. The biggest surprise would be twins. Everything will be great, and I will finally feel 100% ok.

As we sat in the waiting room for the ultrasound, 1 week ago today, Scott was reading the paper, nervous but excited looking. Everyone was so excited when we checked in, the receptionists, the tech. We waited for about 20 minutes and I was so nervous. We went back with the tech, the lights were low, and she tried too find anything with the regular ultrasound. I thought this was strange since I was only 8 weeks and a few days, and oh yeah, I'm not thin. After finally progressing to the internal ultrasound, she kept focusing on not-baby things like my ovaries, and other things. And then she just said that the sac is empty. And it happens a lot. and blah blah blah. I kept thinking, is she allowed to be telling me this? Shouldn't a doctor be in here? But she just kept talking all hyper and positive, like she had a Red Bull over lunch with her ice cream cone. Scott had no idea what she was talking about, because she didn't talk to him. I had to tell my husband that there wasn't a baby. And through the doctor consult and the family weekend, I kept saying, "There isn't a baby. It didn't grow. There was never a baby."

But I was wrong.

There was a baby. And it grew. It grew from one single cell, from 2 loving parents who wanted it so badly. Our tiny Spark grew as long as it could - 5 weeks and 3 days. That was as long as our Spark could make it. It's not enough. It will never be enough. But it's still something. And something is more than nothing. Our Spark was something to everyone who knew about it. And we won't forget.

Life... lives, pure and simple. Life is to be experienced. Life in any form is a blessing. Our tiny little Spark of life was a blessing. A Blessing of hope and the love between Scott and I; a blessing of the love of a family.

I was given a handwritten note from one of our workplace chaplains. (Yes, 2 chaplains visit my office each week, offering their guidance or just some chatting.) Anyway, it said that I would one day hold my baby in my arms in Heaven. At that moment, that seemed like a ridiculous thing to say. How could I hold something that was tinier than anything in my arms? Would I know if it were a son or a daughter? Would it be neither? I was a little freaked out. But then I could see myself... and I was holding our Spark. Like a little orb of light that emitted warmth. Just this little Spark of life the could fit into the palm of my hand. I like the thought of that. Of being able to hold our Spark, and being warmed once again by the warmth of its light.

she lied

The recovery nurse who said that things wouldn't get any worse than yesterday morning lied. She was wrong.

I’m getting worse by the day.

Yesterday I felt good. Little to no cramping, not even really any after affects. I worked all day, was a little emotional in the afternoon, but I was ok.

Then Weston and I went to Target. And he took forever. And I started to get really tired and a little crampy. I tried to hurry him along. We were doing pretty good together. But then he got mad when I wouldn’t get him a movie from the checkout end cap (after agreeing to a $5 movie and a toy using his Valentine’s money.) I told him he could get the toy or the movie, only 1. And that was the melt down. “I don’t love you, Mommy. I only love Daddy.” Whining and anger and fighting in the checkout. So… I put the movie back, got him the toy, checked out, and dragged him out of the store. (Dragged by the hand, which he held onto, so I guess that doesn't count as dragging, right?) I was crying by the time I got to the car. That freaked him out, which made me cry harder. I couldn’t stop. 

•  “I didn’t know Mommies and Daddies could cry.” 

Um, yeah you did, you've seen it before. Anyway, it was a rough night. Weston kept asking if I was still sad, which I was, terribly, but I smiled for him as best as I could manage. I started cramping very badly around 8pm, and was up until midnight with a heating pad and ibuprofen, because these were the only meds the medical staff told me I could take. I woke up again at 4:20am in so much pain that I couldn’t get back to sleep until 5:50am, finally dragging myself out of bed at 6:30. So, now I am so tired that I can’t control the emotions. I feel like an over-tired baby that just cries and cries until the cry themselves to sleep. Except I can't cry or go to sleep because I have to work. I miss benefits like sick time and more than 64 hours a year for PTO - you know, companies that value family and women. That would be nice. 

I'm on the lookout for ways to grieve other than crying. And something to help my husband. Any ideas? Comment and let me know.

the last day of my second pregnancy

Mercy Medical Center

Yesterday started out like a normal snow day... I couldn't sleep and was worried about Weston getting to school on time. I rushed through my shower, wanting to be as fresh for surgery as possible. And then Weston wanted me to go with them to daycare. The roads in Altoona were so bad that we thought we'd need to leave early for the hospital. We didn't, it took 8 minutes to get to Mercy. The difference between the Des Moines road crews, and Altoona's lack of road anything.

My view for 3 hours - hospital socks

We got to the hospital by 9:30, and were in pre-op by 10am. And had all the blood work, IV, EKG, etc done by 10:45. Then everything got pushed back. thank goodness for WiFi, my iPhone, Facebook, and the generosity of my friend Jessica for messaging me while waiting. I waited so long, I got visited and checked in by 2 anesthesiologists! Which was actually a great thing. I have problems with anesthesia, and while it's been ok lately, this doctor was able to pull my anesthesia records from Oct. 2007 and see what was done so well that time. I was taken back at 1:15. Great OR staff, super nice and considerate, helped keep me covered all the time. It faintly smelled like McDonald's in there - not kidding, like a Big Mac. The surgery went pretty fast. Scott had spoken with my OB by 2pm, and was grabbing lunch (McDonald's of course) while I was the surgical recovery bay. I had some breathing issues in recovery- every time I fell back asleep, my O2 levels would drop. Oops. Once I woke up more and coughed, that got better. In fact, every time the alarms went off, I focused on my breathing, and things perked right up. I had to go to the bathroom from the moment I woke up in the recovery bay- which the nurses loved since it proved that everything was in working order.

poor waiting husband
- 3 hours wait pre-op

I was moved to the post-op chair around 3:15pm, and Scott was with me by 3:20. I was good by then. Bathroom break done, drinking fluids, dressed and wheeled to the door by 3:45. Home by 4:05. This recovery was a lot easier. No big pain meds, no nausea, and I could eat as soon as I got home. Thank God for Ramen Noodles.
Nothing too bad in the after effects either.

I didn't get a lot of rest... Slept maybe 15 mins after I got home, before Weston and then Shannon were there. One of our daycare moms sent dinner home with us, so I had to heat that up. We didn't realize it was frozen, so they had garlic bread and brownies before Swim Lessons. Yes, she sent Brownies and Bread with a pasta casserole. Because she is a woman, and she is amazing and considerate.
On the note of Swimming Lessons - I missed them, but Weston passed Beginner 2 and is ready for Intermediate 3!!! Woo-hoo! We heard that it sometimes takes 2 tries to pass!!!

I was in bed by 10:15pm. 
I was really crampy  and my breasts hurt so bad that I almost cried when I went to sleep, and they woke me up again and again until about 1 am... But the cramps are no worse than a period. I'm hoping it stays that way. It's how I was after Weston's c-section. The Surgical Recovery nurse called this morning, and she said that it actually shouldn't get any worse than it is.

Scott's not doing too well. He's very emotional. As he deserves to be. But I'm not sure how to help him. I feel like I am not emotional enough in comparison to him. And maybe it's because I had a Murphy's Law feeling for all but the last 2 weeks? I didn't say anything because so many people were so excited. And it was so easy to fall into their excitement. I started shopping in the last 2 weeks - I bought a diaper bag, and looked at bottles and car seats and strollers. I was getting so excited at this baby. But for Scott - Scott was in it from Day 1. He told his family, everyone at work - so this is hitting him pretty hard. He didn't understand what the tech was telling us at first. I had to explain it all to him. Many many times.

the beautiful flowers
from our daycare family

 I'm just trying to let him do what he needs to do - even if it's hug and kiss me, and constantly tell me how much he loves me. Right now... I am very sensitive to touching, I don't like to be touched when I'm in pain, physical or emotional, and I strike out. I am doing everything I can to not do that. To accept what he needs to give. To make him feel better. Friday afternoon at the doctor's office, he kept telling me how sorry he was and touching me. I was a little mean. When we got out of the office, I apologized and then explained that I was trying not to cry in front of an office full of happy pregnant women. When we got away and by the car, I broke down and just sobbed, holding onto to him for dear life. I have no idea if I've ever cried like that in front of him. When my Mom got sick, there was hope. I cried, but I had hope. It was an uncontrollable soft cry, tears falling, nothing I could do to stop them, the tear faucet was on. This wasn't hope. It was death. Our second baby had died before it even got to live... it was never even a fetus. It wasn't really a baby to anyone but the 2 of us, and to some of our family. There just isn't anything to be done but sob and be sad.

the face of post-miscarriage

I had to tell the boss this morning, in case I had to go home today. He just looked shocked, and maybe it's because I never told them I was pregnant. I had to tell the 2 guys who figured it out. That was rough, one of them was very sad. And I had to tell someone else who was joking about my long weekend. I was kind of short with him, and I felt horrible about it. They have been so kind that it made me so emotional. My tear faucet has wanted to leak all day.

I've already been called by the recovery team at the hospital. I called my OB and changed my appt to their Ankeny office (I forgot there was an office 10 mins from my work.) I called my fertility specialist and left a message with the updated information. Dr. Cooper called back personally. He is so kind and just great. We talked about things, how it's common even in normal women without fertility issues to have 40-50% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. And that we did nothing wrong. And how healthy my recovery sounds. He said we could go back to trying after 1 normal cycle. (My OB said 2... we'll see.) I left a message with my family doctor as well, since he handles my diabetic care. Maybe I should have stayed home to make phone calls.

I'm feeling dazed and teary now, but I'm at work. I'll leave early if I need to, though as the day goes on, it's getting better. I'm feeling fine - other than a scratchy sore throat from the breathing tubes during surgery. Hot tea is helping that.

I am amazed at how many women this has happened to; how many never talk about it. It's a travesty. We could help each other. We should help each other. So many of these women have helped me, saved me. I hope to one day be able to help someone else - though I wish this on no one. Ever.

Tardiness...

So... in my last post, I explained my masochistic need to take a pregnancy test a day early. Well... I'm not sure I explained it well, but I did say that it was Negative.

I had told my sister that I was done taking pregnancy tests until I was actually late. That it wasn't worth an additional day or 2 of depression. And I was serious.
But then I had gotten sick over the weekend. At least one person from every singular family had caught something while at my Mother-in-law's Christmas over the weekend. Joint pain, fever, wet cough and just plain sick - Weston had it too. Friday, I started to come down with something - I got more and more achy as the day went on, and my chest started to tighten - like I was just overcoming bronchitis, though I couldn't cough. And I was "just-this-side-of-nauseous" (I'm coining that term, by the way) and slightly dizzy. This went on from Friday-Sunday. The nausea and dizziness lasted until Monday night. So... everyone was like, "You're Pregnant!" A few others thought I had pneumonia. (thanks, WebMD!)
So, Tuesday morning I woke up and thought... hmm, maybe every one's right... Maybe our collective dream has come true... Maybe I am pregnant and I can run in and wake up Scott and we can all be happy together... And then we can have the doctor confirm it before we go north for the weekend. Yes, my brain ran on like that until I had to potty so badly that I almost skipped the test. But I took the test. And as I glanced at it every so often, only 1 line appeared. After the 5 minute timer went off, I studied the test. Yes, only 1 line was visible... but was a second line showing at all? Because if there is a hint of a 2nd line, I can test in a few days and it should be positive. Right? 
Well, there wasn't any sign of a second line. Nothing at all. A Big Fat NEGATIVE without so much as a line or a word or a hint of color. Empty space on a small stick.
I told Scott that I'd taken a test and it was Negative. He just went about his morning like it wasn't a big deal. I went about my day heart broken as you can see from my previous post.

Fast forward to Wednesday. D-Day, the arrival day of Aunt Flo (AF). I make all necessary preparations and wait. Usually, I wake up to AF. My AF is always on time... usually by 3:42pm actually. So, when 5pm rolls around, and I'm blissfully cramp-free with AF no where in sight, I start to get a little speck of Hope. A friend had said to wait, nothing was certain until AF made an appearance. By 7pm, Scott had asked about AF. I told him that she was a "no-show." Scott said, "So, you're late." And his face completely lit up. I said I wasn't officially late until Thursday. Scott knew I usually receive a visit in the morning, and he asked when the last time I was late was? I told him, "5 years ago last December." He kept saying, "Maybe the test was wrong. Maybe you took it too early. Maybe it was just wrong." He was so excited that I let his happiness suck me in. I started counting, thinking how amazing that our child would be a Christmas miracle, and be due in the early Fall, and maybe I'd be on maternity leave over the holidays. I went to bed with such a feeling of hope that I'm surprised I wasn't glowing.

I ended up with a devastating let down this morning. AF had arrived. I haven’t been late in 5 years, until today. Scott was pretty vocal in his dismay this morning. He showed more emotion and energy in the last 2 days (regarding a baby) than he has in the last year. That sort of makes it all worse. His disappointment weighing on my shoulders. It's almost like an anxiety attack when I think about it. So I am giving this to the blogosphere in the hopes that giving this away will release me a little. We'll see how that works out.

Red Lipstick is the answer to everything.

Today my heart hurts.

It sort of feels like an anxiety attack - tightening, heart racing and pounding, then it slows down and right when I notice that - it tightens again. And deep breathing isn't helping. Neither is lipstick.

*****
So that was as far as I got yesterday. That's as far as my heart could go.
I took a pregnancy test yesterday. It was 4 days before I missed anything significant. But I couldn't sleep thinking about the possibilities. And even though my womb feels completely empty - don't ask... it just feels... empty. I can't explain it, I took the test. And it confirmed my emptiness. A Big Fat empty spot on the test... only 1 pink line, not 2 lines. In other words, NEGATIVE.

I threw it away and went about getting ready for work. I told Scott. He didn't seem to notice or care. I'm sure that he does, but he reacts so little, that it's hard to feel anything but alone in this. And no matter how many times I tell him that, nothing really changes for long. He said that we can try again. Then again, that's what he's said every month since the Spring when we started trying. I thought that after the surgery, after seeing what I was willing to go through - the pain for weeks - I thought he would be more sympathetic, more communicative, more anything.

I told my sister on my way to work. She gives me all the emotional support that I need. :)  She was sad too. She once again volunteered to be a surrogate. We laughed at how her work would take that - "Um, I pregnant with my brother-in-law's baby. But don't worry, I'm only taking a week off of work since I won't have to take care of it." It's funny that she forgot to leave my part out of it. :)

Once I sat at my desk, I just felt heavy. And so incredibly sad. I applied lipstick for the first time right then. My heart hurt. I held in the tidal waves of emotions and tears that were threatening to fall. No one at works cares enough about me to notice my silence or glistening eyes. I was so incredibly pale in the mirror that the lipstick stuck out. I kept thinking that if we have to go through IVF (in-vitro fertilization) that we would wipe out our Fertility benefit with our insurance... this would be our very last baby. And as my sister says, you automatically want what you can't have. All I could think about was lost possibilities.

I made it through the morning somehow.

At lunch I went to Walgreen's and bought a new hair color, finished some Christmas stocking shopping. I applied another coat of lipstick, finding the perfect shade of red and headed back into work pumped up by some retail therapy.

The afternoon drug by... I started to feel a little lighter. The mantra going through my head: "I'm ok... I didn't lose anything I ever had. I could still hope."

At 4:15, I applied my final lipstick for the day. I felt better. Not great. Not happy. Just not hurting.
And yesterday, that was enough. It's true, the right shade of Red Lipstick can make almost anything enough.

***UPDATE***
Not Pregnant. The test was right. So, we're onto Cycle #2 post surgery. Here we go again!

Babies, Babies, and More Babies in a TTC Haze

We are being surrounded by babies! 

My sister’s friend Dee is expecting her second child, a son named Otis to join his sister Elleanor, this October. My local bestie is expecting her first at the end of January 2013. And two more of our sorority sisters, including one of my former roommates, are expecting babies the first week of February. Additionally one of my co-workers, the son of our owner, and his wife are also expecting baby #2 at the end of January. And add to that our nephew Jeremy and his wife Charlie, are expecting their first baby around March 4^th; and we just found out that Jeremy’s sister Tasha and her husband are expecting baby #4 around March 1^st. That’s the potential for two 1^st cousin-babies on the same day. 

By my count, that’s 7 babies before the second week of March. Wow. Talk about a baby boom.

That being said, none of these babies are ours. And I have at least 2 other friends that are also TTC with little luck. I’m so happy for our friends and family. And it’s easier this time to deal with everyone around me being pregnant. But the little green-eyed monster is still poking at my heart. I am still a little bit jealous of all these pregnant women around me. I loved being pregnant – that is, when I wasn’t scared to death about something going wrong. But I can happily say that I am no where near the blind-with-jealousy-crazy-weepy-witch I was for the 3 years until Weston’s conception. Thank Goodness for everyone who loves me. I’m lucky. Anytime I start feel jealous, I take one long look at Weston. Our miracle boy can cure jealousy – either by being so adorable or by being a typical mad little guy. Either way, I’m distracted by him.

So… we’re not pregnant. What happened? What does it all mean? Well, since I know some are new to this, and my blog, I’ll try to be as blunt as possible. If you have questions, let me know. I’ll do my best to answer them.

1. I like it how I say, “we’re not pregnant.” What I really mean is, “I’m not pregnant.” Yeah, it’s a shared experience, but the ups and downs of hormones and moods and emotions are inside ME. Granted they sometimes spill over and affect my husband, but trust me, he has no clue how much worse it is to be inside my head, body, and heart. I’m the one hiding the pain, guilt, and shame from everyone around me. As well as the entire process from my new employer- it feels like “wives” have babies at this company, not employees (I am one of 2 women of child-bearing age employed here.)
2.  Cycle 2 of the fertility drug Femera was a bust.
   On Femera-cycle one (TTC Cycle #7), my progesterone level was measured at 10.5 on my Day 21 blood test. (Based on cycles – you take the fertility drugs on cycle days 3-7 to help ovulation. Ovulation generally occurs around cycle days 9-11. You can “see” if ovulation occurred based on Progesterone levels on cycle Day 21.) The nurse told me that they prefer a count over 11, but 10.5 was close enough that I probably ovulated. I obviously didn’t conceive. I had my 21 day blood draw last Thursday for Femera-cycle #2. I forgot to call and get the results on Friday. I wish I had. I could have spent the weekend drinking with Scott’s family. Anyway, with the Labor Day holiday, I couldn’t call until Tuesday morning. And by Tuesday morning, I knew that Femera-cycle 2 was a bust – I had already started my period. But I was still interested in the results. And they were discouraging – only a 7.5. The nurse said that ovulation was possible. I asked how when last month I was told they wanted me over 11. No answer. She called back and told me that the doctor wanted to double the dosage of Femera. Cycle Day 3 is today… my alarm goes off at 10am to remind me to take the 2 small pills.
3.  So… there’s a lot of planning that goes into conception. I take my temperature first thing every morning (on the theory that your temp goes up at ovulation, mine isn't clear yet.) I use the iPhone app “iPeriod” to track every single detail of my cycle. I’ve purchased from Amazon.com some medical grade Ovulation Predictor Kits and Pregnancy Tests, a brand called Wondfo, 40 ovulation tests + 10 pregnancy tests for about $14. (A great deal if you’ve made some of the commercial-grade purchases.) These are the hard-core TTC tests – there are no pretty applicators and you have to pee in a cup to test. Mine should be here by Monday.
   Also – trying to have sex on a schedule sucks. It’s not romantic. It’s work. Usually it’s fun. But when you are having sex every 36 hours, and you’re going away for the weekend… sometimes a forced “quickie” before daycare pickup becomes essential – and that was the hardest one for us. Me especially. This was the most emotionless start-up in our history. I need to work on that.
4. This is our last shot for a semi-normal conception. If this doesn’t work, we will be referred to Mid Iowa Fertility. I did not have a good experience there when we were TTC Weston. I had to make all of the decisions without being informed. I had to do all the research into the possible problems with me. I did all the tests that they wanted, but never seemed to find an answer. Finally, I had a “Come-to-Jesus” meeting with the millionaire doctor who was responsible for the future of my family. He would not help me; he kept asking what I wanted to do. I told him “that he doesn’t make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to have me make the choices for him. That’s why he went to school.” It was humiliating to be put into that situation. Since I had a feeling that I had Endometriosis, I made the decision to undergo a surgical Laparoscopy. And I was right. (Not that any doctor in the previous 4 years had listened to me.) During that surgery all of the endometrial adhesions were removed. And even though Mid Iowa Fertility told me that I had not ovulated the cycle immediately following the surgery (“You didn’t ovulate, and even if you had, we would be able to see the egg traveling, and it’s not there. There is nothing.”) I actually did ovulate, and conceived Weston. Miracle Baby part 1.
   So… if we do not conceive this cycle, and are sent back to Mid Iowa Fertility (our only Fertility Specialist Clinic) we will be asking for the other doctor. I hope it doesn’t come to this.

Ok… so that’s where I am today: Cycle Day 3 of Femera-Cycle 3 of TTC-cycle 9 – a lot to remember, I know.

But there are some fun parts of TTC – Names!!! Scott will not be more active than voicing a yes or no response to a name I say. He will not look at books or websites until we’ve conceived. But he’ll play a game in the car on long trips with my sister and I… we go through the alphabet and name one name for a boy and girl for each letter. And then we discuss. Anything worth keeping gets added to the list. My favorite name site right now is Nameberry. It’s all about names, and its super fun. There are others, like Baby Zone and Baby Center, but they contain everything about being a parent. Nameberry is strictly names until you enter the discussion forums. (I've found some great things in the forums, like the Wondfo tests.) Last night’s blog of the day came from a forum thread about favorite names from A-Z. It was a lot of fun to see what other people chose. How traditional some were versus how many picked unusual names, to how many liked the same name I thought were creative and unique to me. So… to end this, here’s my A-Z list:

 Girl/Boy

A: Anastasia/Asher
B: Bianca/Beckett
C: Cordelia/Christopher
D: Daphne/Donovan & Dashiell
E: Eden & Emerson/Emmett & Elliot
F: Fiona/Felix
G: Greyson/Gideon
H: Haven & Holland/Holden & Harper
I: Ivy/Iain
J: Jillian/Jackson
K: Katherine/Keegan
L: Lucie/Liam
M: Mollie & Myka/Mercer
N: Naomi/Nathaniel
O: Olivia/Oliver
P: Penelope/Parker
Q: Quinn/?
R: Romy/Rhys
S: Sutton/Sebastian
T: Tabitha/Tobias
U: n/a
V: Valentina/?
W: Waverly/Weston (of course) & William (nn Liam)
X: Xavia/Xavier
Y: n/a
Z: Zoey & Zara/Zane

The funny thing is... a lot of the girls and boys names sound alike int he same letter: Emerson & Emmett, Xavia & Xavier, Olivia & Oliver. Other than the "E"s, I like the male version better. And some names I like because they are children in my life, or names friends and family are set on... not names I'd choose for myself. Right now, I am loving Eden and Sebastian... but that could change with a little (+) on a test. ;)

the Realm of Possibilities and Other Observances

So… this is going to be a different sort of post than the previous “Greatest Loves,” but I am still counting it as #5 - top of the list. Here we go:

Weston Christopher Jones, Age 4

My Greatest love is my children… I know that I should say my child, because it’s true: I only have one child - at this moment in time. Weston Christopher Jones turned 4 years old exactly at 6:02 pm, on July 31, 2012. His was a long, hard, overwhelming delivery. And you can read the 3 or 4 posts regarding those 36 hours here. But I digress.

 I said Children. It was never my intention to only have one child. I wanted 4 when I was a child myself. 3 wasn’t ideal, with one always being the odd one out (ask my brother and sister) – though 3 children + 2 parents makes a great family picture set up. And 2 children seemed too few – what if they didn’t get along? Then there weren’t any other options. Only children seemed different, and such a small family. So, 4 children seemed perfect- more than 3, and even number, blah blah blah.

But now? Now we’ve waited too long. We didn’t mean to. I mean, when you start having the “family” talk as a couple you throw out numbers and age differences, names and who you hope they look like. We you’re TTC (Trying To Conceive for those of you Fertile Myrtles out there who don’t have the fertility lingo down) you and the Husband start talking about just having 1 baby, and maybe if your lucky enough, planning the next one so they aren’t too close together, and you aren’t buying 2 sets of diapers, so 2-3 years apart.

And then… And then LIFE happens. The next thing you know, you are throwing your “baby’s” 4^th birthday party, realizing that he starts Kindergarten next year. OMG. He’s become an Only Child. The only thing I didn’t want.

I sat realizing that we hadn’t even thought about it. Not really. It was never the right time. How did this happen? My sister and I figured out a few things:

1. Mom got Cancer. We all lost about 2 years with that life-consuming bastard of a disease. It was always a life or death battle, finding time to think about more kids never really came up.
2. We lost (sold, but it was still a loss to us) our house; and moved into the apartment. This apartment has always been a place to stay, but never a home. I still haven’t unpacked. The thought of adding a baby to this is not what we wanted. Weston wished for grass and a yard last week. I almost burst into tears. I don’t know how to make it happen. I just don’t. But I know that I don’t want to raise my kids in this apartment.
3. Birth Control. Let me explain this one… I have been on super-high-dose (clinical term) birth control for 4 years. I have Endometriosis. This is what caused our infertility the first time around. By taking continuous doses of birth control (3 packages in a row to be exact) the hormones convince the Endometriosis not to grow. (The thought of getting pregnant to stop it from growing being the one thing that’s hard to do when you have Endometriosis. The irony is not lost on me.) Little did I know that these high doses of birth control pretty much killed my sex drive. I just thought that I was tired and married and in my 30s. Um… yes, yes, and yes – but I was still supposed to want sex. Good thing my sex drive resurfaced after months off the pills. (TMI - I know.)

So… we’re officially TTC. Again. I consulted with my OB at my appointment last year. It was decided to give my body 6 cycles au natural before looking at all the options. Suffice it to say – I am not pregnant. So, for the last two cycles I have been back on fertility drugs. Back to scheduling our encounters trying to avoid a 4 yr old in the process. Back to taking my temperature every morning and monitoring everything about, well about me. And back to the monthly blood tests. We have one more month of this before I am referred to a fertility specialist again. I’m not sure that I can do that again. But we’ll see. Oh! And on top of all the fertility stuff, my OB has left the practice and is moving to the NW United States. So I am in the middle of fertility confusion without my OB.

Sometimes I think that it would be ok to be a small family of 3. We have our routine down. Sort of. 
But then I didn't get pregnant. Not that I expected to quickly, I'd been on birth control for almost 4 years. But I was surprised at how sad and depressed I was when it didn't happen after the first round of fertility meds. I don't know why it affected me so much. But somehow, I just thought it would be easier this time around. And it's not. And that when I start thinking that we should just be happy with what we've been given. Weston's conception and birth were a miracle to us. Shouldn't we be happy with that?
But then I think of the “What Ifs.” What if something happened to Scott or Me? We would only have Weston to remind us of each other. What if something happened to both of us? Weston would be all alone. And there is a special bond between siblings. My sister and I are 4 years apart and we’re best friends. That’s a bond I want my children to have – the bond of someone having the same existence in a closed little world, of loving the same people and pets and places.

So… this post has taken a different turn than I intended. I intended it to be about my love for Weston. How he is just so fascinating and enlightening and logical and both a joy and a devastation depending upon his feelings (of which he has tons.) But this post just grew from somewhere else I guess. I started it back in mid July, so it’s a work of love.

2012

Here’s what’s happened this summer –

• Mom’s leukemia came back in her elbow only. She underwent 12 rounds of radiation, and it’s still exhausting for her. But she will beat this. I know it. And I said so. I had the best talk with mom on the phone last week. It was almost like she was her pre-cancer self. I miss my pre-cancer talks with my mom.
• As mentioned, Weston turned 4 years old with a spectacularly chilly and rainy party at the Union Park Splash Pool – in the middle of a summer drought with 100+ degree temps. Go figure.
• Scott and I didn’t celebrate, but more acknowledged our 10^th Anniversary together. 10 years ago on June 28^th, we met and sparked some interest. 10 years ago on July 22^nd, we had our first (and most spectacular public) kiss in Cherokee. And 10 yrs ago in the middle of the night on August 3^rd or 4^th, we became “official.” It’s unbelievable to think that I have spent almost 1/3 of my life with this man. I love him more than he knows. And I hope we have many, many more decades together.
• Shannon graduated with her Master’s Degree in Social Work in May, and then spent the summer trying to find employment. It was hard on all of us, but she found the perfect position as the School Based Therapist for the high school students in the West Des Moines district through Orchard Place. We’re all so proud of her.
• Oh! And we welcomed a new cousin. Kaitlyn Sophia Stanley was born on July 19^th (the same day as her Dad and Grandma.) She is Scott’s first cousin Troy and his wife Jackie’s first baby. Everyone has waited a long time for her, and she is as beautiful as a baby can be.
• We also found out that Scott and I are going to be a Great Uncle & Aunt. Scott’s nephew (and my former drinking buddy) Jeremy and his wife Charlie are expecting in March. This is very exciting since it’s the first new niece or nephew on that side for me. (The others are between 3 and 18 years old, and we never seem to see the youngest ones. Oh, family drama that isn’t our fault.) We are super excited for this little baby.

That about covers it, I think. I hope to post more frequently. I just don’t like being on the computer much at home.But I do hope that this blog helped someone out there. Infertility is still such a touchy issue for some people. But it seems like it's plaguing my entire generation.

Failure in Mommydom

So… I had a rough day yesterday. Ok, let’s be honest, I’ll say it’s been rough lately, most of the last couple of months and definitely since Sunday night.

I’ll admit it. I made a Mommy Mistake. When Weston was a baby, we were so grateful to have him. (Don’t worry, we still are.) And he was sick a lot that first year. Nothing serious, but he had Bronchiolitis and a variety of viruses…. When he had to sleep upright, we put him in a car seat by my side of the bed so I could listen to him breathe. Sometimes he slept with us when he was sick so we could sleep too. (The sheer exhaustion of parenting is a white lie no one talks about. I have been tired for 4 years now, ever since I got pregnant. It hasn’t gotten better.) When he was healthy, and he’d wake up in the morning, we’d bring him into our bed. And we’d cuddle and play. We wouldn’t always go back to sleep, we’d have fun. So, Weston got used to being in our bed – 1^st part of the Big Mistake.

The 2^nd part of said Mistake was not instituting a bedtime. Weston was one of those babies who was awake every 3 hours to eat. It was routine and didn’t change much as he got older. My friend’s baby who was sleeping through the night by 3 months with a bedtime of 8 pm that started at 3wks, no problems. That never happened for us. I kept asking our daycare when we should start a bedtime. She said 6-9 months depending on the baby. That was 3 years ago next week. And I tried. I decided on 8:30 pm. The first week, Weston was asleep by 8:15 every single night. In my arms. No self-soothing in the bed. The next week, he cried and cried and cried. I’d lay him down and he’d scream. After 15 minutes, we’d go in and try to help. After a days of this, I asked daycare again what to do. She said not to talk to him or pick him up – to rub his back and sit by the crib. And he would cry forever! It was horrible and heartbreaking to hear. And inevitably, we’d pick him up. And the bedtime never worked. And it was my fault. Scott works late, sometimes past 9pm. I was alone in the bedtime rituals as I am in the dinners, and pretty much most other things. So… as time goes by, we moved into a craptastic apartment on Des Moines’ NE side. Weston again had his own room. He would fall asleep in our room, and we would move him to his crib at night. About 2 or so months after moving there, we transitioned his crib into the toddler bed, because he was trying to climb out. And every night since, Weston has gotten out of his bed, and climbed into ours. And for the longest time, I would try to walk him back to his bed. And he would cry and come back. And then we’d wait for him to be asleep for about 10 minutes, and then we’d take him back to his bed. And about 6 out of 7 nights, I’d wake up in the morning to find him right next to me. At some point, we just became too tired to move him. Or he comes in, and I don’t even wake up any more. He crawls over me to the middle of the bed and I have no idea he is there until morning. I hate sleeping with a toddler. He’s more than half my height now. So there are legs everywhere! Knees planted in the middle of my back. Arms flung over me like I’m his latest favorite stuffed animal. And Scott’s a bed-hog too. So Scott has his half of the bed, and 75% of the covers, and Weston is trying to take my half of the bed. It’s no wonder that I am exhausted and not sleeping well. All I want is my own bed. And I will never have it. I am trying to figure out a way to get Weston to sleep in his own room. I am thinking of trying out his Twin bed in the room we decorated for his birthday. I wonder what he’d think if I slept in there? So, to wrap the Mistakes up… It’s my fault that Weston doesn’t have a bedtime, and it’s also probably my fault that I do not get up constantly to put him back in his own bed. So, now I need to find a way to remedy this…. Sunday I had knees in my back the whole night. Wednesday he wouldn’t go to sleep. He cried because I wouldn’t turn the tv on. And all Scott said was that he needed to be quiet because people were sleeping. Yeah, Scott was sleeping and had been for over an hour – when it was his job to get Weston to sleep that night. Weston and I made up stories to get him to stop crying, and then until he was ready to fall asleep (in my bed.) I calmed him down and got him to sleep in about 20 minutes. And I wonder why I feel all the burden and responsibility for his behavior and actions? Hmmm…

Weston is not potty trained.

I take that back, partially. He is potty trained at daycare. He’s had maybe 2 real accidents in the last 8 months, and maybe 2 other random “I peed on my clothes while peeing” accidents. It’s a boy thing, trust me. Once, about a month ago, I thought we were in for the home stretch. He woke up and went potty in my potty! Before school, no problems, we were all so very excited. He got to pick a prize (Yes, I am to bribery now) and he took a whole big package of name-brand Goldfish to daycare to share with his friends for snack time. And then he got sick over the weekend… so all training went out the window. I decided to be firm last night. I picked him up from daycare. He was in Big Boy underpants. We went to the chiropractor. He begged me for a pull-up or a diaper. I said no. I held firm. We went to the bathroom. He wouldn’t go. I tried going in front of him. He didn’t care. I held firm, we left the bathroom. 20 minutes of begging ended in crying. Horrible, gut-wrenching crying and screaming and sobbing - it was torture for me. I was sad that he was crying and embarrassed because I knew there were massage therapists trying to invoke peace and relaxation and my son was ruining it. I was angry at him for not making this an easy and simple experience. He does it so easily at school. The pure exhaustion of the week, and then dealing with the potty training… I was so mad yesterday. At the situation, at Weston for never listening, at Scott for not helping with the important stuff but having the nerve to want another baby, at the world and everyone in front of me for being there. I cried from the chiropractor’s office to the mall because of my guilt over my anger at my little boy. I almost cried trying to explain it to Shannon in the Playground at the mall. No one understands around me, and I feel like anytime I say anything, I am just being a nagging bitch. Scott won’t listen when I try to talk to him. It’s like if he doesn’t hear it, then it doesn’t exist. And I hate living in oblivion.

I have to get going… but still, I just had to explain myself. I feel guilty all the time for my frustration, anger, and the inability to change things. I feel like my world is spinning out of control, and that I am failing at everything. And I need someone to catch me. To help me. Please? I love my little family more than anything, but I feel like we need to be a better family. And I'm not sure how to do it.

Cream Puffs!!!

So, tonight is my husband Scott's 41st birthday. I generally try to make it special. I try to make all birthdays special. I think birthdays are a gift, and should be celebrated as such (Remind me of this when I hit 40.) Anyway, I had planned to cook him his favorite dinner tonight (spaghetti), go to an I-Cubs baseball game tomorrow and Adventureland on Saturday. But that wasn't meant to be. We have a party to attend in Sioux City on Saturday, and I am afraid tomorrow's baseball game is going to be a downpour. So, my birthday plans kind of road on tonight. I decided a week ago that I wasn't going to do a traditional birthday cake. I wanted something special. So I broke out a recipe for my Grandma Stahl's homemade Cream Puffs. (And by homemade, I mean that she got it from a very old Betty Crocker Cookbook.)

So... as I leave work, Scott calls to say that the power is out in the neighborhood. Hmmm... no cooking, no a/c. I ask him to make a choice, and we ate out. It was ok. But I think that's because I had my heart set on making him Spaghetti.

Obviously by the title of the post, I came home and made Scott the Grandma's Cream Puffs. My friend Sue suggested that I blog the process, so here you go:

Grandma Stahl's Homemade Cream Puffs
You will need:

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.

1 cup Water
1 stick Butter (1/2 cup)
1 cup flour
4 eggs beaten

4 oz. Instant Vanilla Pudding Mix (I use sugar-free) (that's 4 small boxes!)
1 cup Milk
2 cups Heavy Whipping Cream.

ok... here we go:

Step 1: Bring the water and butter to a rolling boil in a medium sauce pan.
Turn the heat down to low.

Gently blend in the one cup of flour until the mixture is smooth.

Add all 4 beaten eggs and mix together until the mixture is very smooth, slightly shiny, and almost ball-like.

Drop the warm dough onto ungreased cookie sheets, about 3" apart.

They are best left free form. Imperfection is perfect. Bake at 400 degrees for 35-40 minutes. Check at 30 minutes, because mine were a little darker than usual, new oven though. Golden brown is the ideal. Remove from the oven and let them cool on their pan in a cool, dry room with no breezes. Think souffle, they will collapse if too much air moves around. your goal is a solid outside with a soft, air-like pastry on the inside.

The ingredients for the filling. Couldn't be more easy. Except you'll need 4 of the small puddings.

Beat the pudding and the milk until smooth, about 1-2 minutes. Add the half and half. Beat for another 2 minutes until soft peaks form. Refrigerate immediately if not eating right away.

The finished cream puff!
Assembly: Using a serrated knife, cut the top 3rd of the puff off. Remove it. Spoon the filling on the bottom, replace the cap of the puff. dust with powdered sugar and enjoy!

Store the cream in the refrigerator. Store the puffs in an air-tight container, also in the fridge. Should last a few days if they aren't gobbled up by then! :)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Scott's Birthday about 3 years ago, or 4, he looks so happy!

Happy Birthday to my wonderful Husband, Scott!!! He is 11 years older than me for the next 6 months, and I love it. Though, the other day, someone was telling me that they thought he was 35. And that's why I keep him around, Ladies. Because he's hot, and he ages really slowly! We should catch up to each other when I'm 60... We'll average our looks to 65 years old. :)

He's a great man, and I am thrilled to have him around. He's a catch. He does dishes, laundry, bathrooms, diapers. Literally, the best husband ever. :)

Happy Birthday, Honey!!! Here's to 50 more!!!

he reads my blog (!!!!)

Scott, July 30, 2008, at Mercy waiting for Weston to be born, while I was blogging. He looks so Buff.

So... Scott reads my blog. Fairly regularly from the sounds of it. I've known about this for a few weeks (months?) now. I always seem to forget that he reads it until he makes a comment about it. And then I'm slightly embarrassed and a little giddy that he reads my writing.

To be completely honest, I like what I write to be read.

I used to think I would be a writer. That I would make my living as an editor or writer for a magazine, that my life would famous through the written word.

I'm not famous, nor is my life extraordinary.

My life is simply a life. A trial of ups and downs (you always hope more ups than downs.) But, I write. I blog about my existence and the existence of my family. I used to keep journals, private thoughts. I started when I was 9 years old and was dealing with the death of my beloved grandma. I put my emotions to paper. It seemed safer than letting them out. An act I would repeat for almost two decades. But then life got so busy that it was hard to keep up. The funny thing is... I always sort of hoped that they'd be read some day. Not by anyone in my immediate generation, but by someone someday. I remember thinking about that even as a child.
So, now I blog. I put my thoughts and feelings into words and I share them with the world (maybe 6 people total.) And my husband reads this. He enjoys reading what I write. He finds me humorous and intriguing enough to keep reading and to actually have conversations about my writings. (Why this astounds me, I have no clue. He did marry me after all.)

It thrills me to know that he reads what I write. I get excited at the thought of him seeing into my head. I positively burst if he's proud of me or impressed by me (I get almost the same feeling when my sister starts showing off my blog to her friends.)

I feel Validated.

I feel Loved.

I feel Powerful.

So, thank you to all who read my ramblings, you devoted travellers through the Land of Erin. It warms my soul to know that someone is out there.

A special thanks to my Husband - You now know how thrilled I am with your literary interest. :)