tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54601850475572857852024-02-08T07:27:28.894-08:00Inconceivablemy life of missed conceptionsInconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-51769005506967380462010-07-30T14:19:00.000-07:002010-08-02T07:15:25.506-07:00Who's that Lady?: A Birth StoryI have been happily absent for the last three months and I think it is time to catch up on the exciting conclusion of Inconceivable.<br /><br />May went by quickly with my birthday and wrapping up things at work and the general excitement of preparing for Fancy Fetus. A week and a half before my due date, I started having contractions late one Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning. They were uncomfortable but not unbearable. I waited it out and finally decided to go into work late. I put on this summery dress that really accentuated my lovely lady lumps (in the back the back and in the front) and some tall boots. I thought I looked pretty hot for being 15 months pregnant. My husband went into the city with me and when we got on the train, this guys starts singing a little loudly: "Who's that lady? Sexy Lady, with the baby. She got her high boots on." I figured it was about me when he said "with the baby", but the high boots clarified it. Matt swiftly spirited me to the next car.<br /><br />I was scheduled to start training my replacement that day as well as run a group, so despite the contractions, I had to be on. I worked until 8:30pm and the contractions really kicked in on the way home.<br /><br />During the night the contractions got progressively worse and sleep became impossible. I had my check up that morning and my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">dr</span>. put me at 3 1/2 centimeters and fully effaced. So rather than go into work, my husband and I went to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Bouchon</span> Bakery (the same place where we celebrated my first <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">IUI</span> round and the discovery that I was having a girl) and then to Baby Gap. At this point the contractions went from uncomfortable to painful, but still not unbearable. It was a beautiful day to be in labor so we walked around a little more and then proceeded home.<br /><br />Next Up: Arrested DevelopmentInconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-91456891168922187252010-04-30T14:39:00.000-07:002010-04-30T14:57:50.209-07:00Remedial BirthingWe have completed our birthing class and are now allowed to have our baby. Before we "graduated", however, we attended a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">film</span> night at the hospital. It was birthing for dummies. I suppose if I hadn't read a book or taken classes it might have been useful, but then there still would have been that awful woman leading the class. Her commentary between the film was so painfully annoying that I was ready to ask for an epidural to get through the rest of it. She even carried on about how ugly her <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">granddaughter</span> was at birth. 3 hours of my life I will never get back. I also couldn't help but notice that if you want to be in a birthing film, you have to be hefty, have a bad haircut and own a pair of overalls. I've got the bad haircut right about now, but I'll have to put on a little more weight and scare-up a heap of denim before they'll film me pushing out a baby.<br /><br />Despite the overalls and the scary stretch marks in these films, I get teary-eyed when they throw that crinkly, gray baby up onto the mother's massive <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">bosom</span>. I have seen my share of vaginal births, including the Ricki Lake's, so you would think I that would have built up an immunity to this, but it gets me <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">every time</span>.<br /><br />I made 36 weeks yesterday. So far i have gained about 16 pounds and my blood pressure and urine tests have all been in the good range. I hope I can keep my winning streak up for a few more weeks and carry it into that tiny delivery room.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-91136060460068360772010-04-22T17:47:00.000-07:002010-04-22T18:27:42.381-07:00Do I Make You Sleepy?It seems that whenever I get on a train these days everyone with a seat is suddenly narcoleptic. I have never seen people fall asleep so fast! The minute I get seat, however, everyone wakes,refreshed from the 10 minute nap. Adolescent boys are the rudest. They will look right at you and not budge even though they may be getting off on the next stop. I swear a pregnant woman on crutches could be standing in front of them and they wouldn't move. Overall I have found that women between 30-50 are most likely to give up their seat. But it is a damn shame how lazy and/or oblivious people are to their fellow commuters. I know we are all tired and no one wants to stand for 35 minutes, but when I have to give up my seat for on old lady, something is wrong. Yes, my 8 1/2 month pregnant bum stood up so a lady with a cane could have a seat, and not one other person offered to trade their seat for me.<br /><br />The newest peril of my commute is the subway stairs. My legs have become jelly blobs that give out in protest after about 10 steps up. A low-grade incline is leaving me breathless. As a relatively active and athletic person, I am dismayed to be waddling up stairs. I haven't even been doing any yoga and when I went to the gym on Sunday, I didn't think I would last 10 minutes at level 1 on the elliptical.<br /><br />But those are all minor inconveniences because throughout the day, I get to feel my little girl's knee, elbow or foot nudging me. And despite the annoyance of her constant hiccups, I am so glad to know she is there!Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-34157569779264913602010-04-02T14:43:00.001-07:002010-04-20T09:24:17.982-07:00Baby PhatI think I need to put my baby on a diet. I had my 32 week visit on Thursday, and she is measuring in on the large side - already a pound more than at my 30 week visit. Here legs are also measuring at 34 weeks. I am fine with her having long legs - she has been a called a Rockette before, but I really hope I don't have to push out a 9 lbs baby. I know the ultrasounds aren't always accurate, so I am trying not to be too nervous about this. Everything else looked good on the scan. We were able to see her eyes move around which was a little creepy but also so amazing. I checked out ok too. I have yet to have any fearsome bloating, (I hate to write it because I don't want to jinx it) and haven't gained much weight. I know I am going to get bigger and may even get puffy, but so far, I have been happy with the pregnancy from a purely vain perspective.<br /><br />We also started our birthing class last week, in a really overheated, crowded room (why would you cram 10 pregnant women and their partners in a stuffy room for hours? I guess they wanted to mimic the suffering of labor.) It's a five week session and lasts 3 hrs per class, so I am hoping that my labor isn't as endless as these classes. The teacher is an avid Lamaze advocate and little quirky as I suspected she would be. Overall, the first class was okay. Much of it was a review of things I had read in the "Girlfriends Guide of What to Expect When I'm Pregnant for Dummies!" So spare me the 30 minute detailed play by play of effacement.<br /><br />The most useful part was getting to practice some labor positions. My favorite one was what I call the Knocked-up Prom Picture:husband behind wife with his arms around the belly. When we first started practicing the positions, I had a terrible feeling that, like at my tango classes, they would make us rotate partners. Thankfully, I didn't have to pant with a stranger. At the start of each contraction, we were taught to take in a deep "cleansing breath." I am quite possibly the only yoga teacher that would role my eyes at that, and I did. Cleansing breath? Breath of Fire maybe. Or maybe I could get on board with calling it breathing with the pain, but cleansing breath makes it sound so tranquil and healing (say tranquil in a low/slow whisper). Let's get real here, I think once those big ass contractions get going, there will be no zen in the vicinity. After about 6 cleansing breathes, I needed to get my husband off of me because it didn't feel all the cleansing to be held and stroked when it was 95 degrees and there was sweat pooling in the little space left between my massive cleavage and my watermelon belly.<br /><br />I can't believe I am already 8 months. The weather is starting to warm up and the sun is shining bright today. Damn, I am lucky!Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-85943569154901214792010-03-07T19:50:00.000-08:002010-03-07T20:05:23.058-08:00Confetti EyesI have had some weird physical ailments throughout the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pregnancy</span> (allergies to the F train, pregnancy induced <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">claustrophobia</span>, phantom whiplash) but the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">latest</span> one is by far the strangest. I call it Confetti Eyes. On Friday, I was at my computer nearly the entire day and by the day's end, I had this dancing light in my left <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">peripheral</span> vision. At first I thought it was spots from talking to someone who was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">back lit</span> by the sunshine, but then it got worse. There was an arc of a bubble-like static that went <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">where ever</span> I looked and then it started to look like confetti falling in my cornea. I must admit, I was a little concerned. I <em>could see, </em>but it was becoming uncomfortable to look at things or to focus. The thought of commuting home with a station sign-off pattern in my field of vision was making me almost as jumpy as my eye. It finally resolved itself after I sat in a dark room with my eyes closed for a few minutes despite the fact that with my eyes closed, I could still see the confetti.<br /><br />I am not really sure if this is pregnancy related or why it came on and went away so suddenly. It was probably fatigue from staring at the computer - which is why I probably shouldn't be on the computer now, but if this is going to happen again, I want it to be after I have had the baby and am adequately sloshed so that I have a good excuse to see gold foil raining down.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-82544526683221908662010-02-09T19:58:00.000-08:002010-02-09T19:58:00.358-08:00The Long WalkSeveral weeks ago, I had my 20 week anatomy scan. As I was walking to the hospital, I had a flashback of going there last memorial day weekend for my laparoscopy. This coming memorial day weekend, I plan to be back at that hospital for my baby's birth. While the lap did nothing to further my ability to conceive, it seemed like a necessary step. As I got closer to the hospital, I started going through all of the other steps that got me here, on my way to literally peak inside my baby's heart.<br /><br />Whereas memorial day didn't come through, labor day did. I thought of that weekend and those two very long walks to my other hospital for my retrieval and transfer. They were both beautiful days full of promise. M turned to me at one point on our way and said, "I know I would be happy if it was just you and me." It was a wonderfully sweet thing to say, and we are very happy just the two of us, but I still wanted to cry a miserable tear or two because I couldn't say I would be happy knowing it would only be the two of us for the rest of our lives. Thankfully, we have good reason to hope that neither of us has to find out if we were right.<br /><br />After the sentimental stroll down infertility lane, my practical side kicked in and made me nearly as grateful for fact that I don't have to trek all the way to the eastside in the freezing weather at 8:00 am. Infertility treatment in the summer is the way to go.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-87873919670680807282010-02-07T12:47:00.000-08:002010-02-07T12:55:39.076-08:00The Bermuda TriangleIn a last ditch attempt to get in some world traveling before we become teethered to a 7 (hopefully) pound meatloaf, M and I are on our way to somewhat sunny Bermuda. With the reasonably priced airfare, short and direct flight, off-season hotel rates and temperature that is at least above freezing, it seemed perfect. Beyond that, we have no plans or ideas of what we want to do when we get there. It's a long weekend, so we jumped on it last week. With the added bonus of it being Valentine's Day while we are there, so I am sure we will squeeze in something somewhat romatic. I am thinking a sunset or sunrise - maybe both; it may get crazy.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-90501709744466103252010-02-02T15:19:00.000-08:002010-02-07T12:47:00.056-08:00Mother KickerThe last few weeks, it seems I have popped straight out. A mere two weeks ago people were telling me that I didn't look pregnant and now people are looking at my belly on the train and avoiding eye contact lest they are guilted into giving me their seat. The baby has also started really kicking and each day she is stronger. It was so cute at first; I had everyone touching my belly, but now it is starting to feel like someone is constantly poking at me. Despite the mild annoyance, I was still supremely freaked out when she finally laid off the jabbing one Saturday. I swore I wouldn't be that type of person who flipped over ever normal thing, but I was almost crying at lunch when she hadn't kicked at all that day. She finally resume her regular programming later that day and I resumed complaining about it. All was right with the world.<br /><br />In protest to my complaining she is kicking at me now.<br /><br />I have also recently diagnosed myself with pregnancy on-set morning claustrophobia. I need to look that up, because it is getting to be a daily nuisance. Each morning, about a 20 minutes into my hour commute, I start to feel dizzy with a large helping of get-me-off-this-train. As the train gets more crowded, I start to feel worse. So I have started preemptively getting getting off the train before I feel like I am going to blackout. The thought of blacking out by alone in lower Manhattan does not appeal to me. My dr. said that it is probably low blood pressure combined with becoming overheated. I usually remove my coat and winter apparel when I get on the train, but it hasn't really cured it. This has also happened in church and was the same sensation I had before I lost my breakfast all over that poor Delta galley right after New Years. The common denominator seems to be stuck in one space, surrounded by people, with limited movement. There is little I can do to avoid or change my commute, so I guess I will do everything I can to not fall face first onto some stranger who was busy pretending not to notice I am pregnant and standing.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-55965683232145827282010-01-21T06:50:00.000-08:002011-03-02T09:43:09.381-08:00Holiday ReCapI have been offline for while with the multi-city <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Christmas</span> extravaganza and haven't been updating, but there were a very <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">cherished</span> holidays moments that deserve to be recorded for posterity.<br /><br />1. Being dismissively told at <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">LGA</span> that we didn't have seat assignments and that they might be able to get us out "sometime this week."<br />2. The blizzard that kept us huddled at my in-laws for what seemed like 2 weeks.<br />3. The Delta crew forgetting to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">de</span>-ice our plane which caused us to miss our connection by 10 minutes, but then resulted in first class tickets for the next leg of the trip.<br />4. Birthday cake disasters<br />and finally<br />5. Puking on the return flight. In the back galley of the plane ...everywhere.<br /><br />Notice how the worst ones involved air travel. That last one really endeared me to the flight attendants who, by the way, COULD NOT FIND A BARF BAG for me. I gave them ample warning and desperately tried to wait until the bathrooms were unoccupied. I think they thought I was still hungover from New Years because the guy appeared to not believe me when I told him I was pregnant.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-70329423426611527442010-01-19T17:58:00.000-08:002010-01-19T18:17:48.808-08:00Fancy FetusWhen we last left off, I was sitting on some important news, but because I know there is at least one person out there who still reads this, I kept it to myself until I could tell her in person. So now that she knows, here is the big scoop.<br /><br />At my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">dr's</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">appt</span> at my 17 week check up, I talked my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">dr</span> into telling me the gender despite the fact that my husband couldn't be there and my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">dr's</span> insistence that people from Brooklyn always want to be surprised. He asked me if I had a preference to which I of course replied: "I just want a healthy baby", and then told me it was a girl. I then squealed: "well I really wanted a girl." He advised me not to decorate the nursery until my 20 week anatomy scan, but he was pretty certain it was a girl.<br /><br />Fast forward 4 weeks later for the full anatomy scan (which was creepy awesome by the way), and I was slightly nervous that the ultrasound would reveal a developmental problem, but I was really nervous that they would be like, "um, it's a boy. " I was already invested in it being a girl baby - I mean REALLY. Much to our relief she is still a girl. We have had a girl's named picked out for a while (since I was like 20 years old), but couldn't settle on a boy's name. We have also been calling the baby Fancy Fetus and it is starting to stick with family and friends, and it just seemed wrong for a baby boy, so crisis averted.<br /><br />I am so thrilled. Another May girl, just like me, my lovely twin and my fabulous mother!Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-6992854758005512572009-12-18T16:40:00.000-08:002009-12-22T16:51:56.367-08:00If You See Something, Say SomethingI think there is a concerted effort throughout the MTA to make me throw-up on the train. First it was the excessive cologne of passengers. (There is no need to use half a bottle of hugo boss or j.lo glow before 9:00 a.m.) And every offender seemed to be drawn to me like a magnet. Powdery old ladies, teenage romeos, accountants with obvious olfactory fatigue all want to sit next to me. Lately, the trains have also been more crowded and the mingling of smells combined with my recent inability to score a seat have twice made me have to exit the train in fear that I would faint.<br /><br />Now that I am further along, I can tolerate the odors and crowding a bit. So to ensure that I don't enjoy my commute too much, the City's health department has started running the most gag-inducing <a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/doh/html/pr2009/pr057-09.shtml">ads</a>. It shows a soda being poured into a glass, but in the glass it turns into veiny blubber. It's the realistic kind you used to see in the old TLC surgery shows. (Do they still have those are is it all reality shows about freakish families?) It's the last thing I want to see at 7:50 in the morning after I puked up my breakfast.<br /><br />So dear MTA and commuters, please cool it. You cannot tell when a woman is in the first trimester and or when your breakfast, your lingering cigarette smoke or your blubber will jump-start a vomit on the F train. Remember sick passengers delay everyone.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-18017021523631001382009-11-29T17:24:00.000-08:002009-11-29T17:42:13.216-08:00Mama's Baby, Daddy's MaybeLast week, there was an article in the New York Times Sunday Magazine about <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/22/magazine/22Paternity-t.html?_r=1&ref=magazine">fathers</a> who find out that the children they are raising are not their own. It was heartbreaking to read their stories and about the upheaval it caused in their and their kids' lives. I sometimes joke with Matt about the baby not being his which leads to further joking that the baby might not be mine either. After reading that article, I am not sure if I want to kid about it anymore. Not that our situation would be one rife with betrayal and deceit like these father's, but what if there was a mix-up? How would I feel about it? Would I even want to know the truth? I try not to seriously consider the possibility, but it has <a href="http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/187573/they_claimed_the_child_was_too_dark.html">happened</a> and uncomfortably close to home. I reassure myself that my clinic is one of the best in the country and uses strictly enforced protocols to eliminate such errors, but just like those dads whose babies are born looking nothing like them, there is a creeping doubt.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-10624934758372007922009-11-22T12:52:00.001-08:002009-11-22T18:32:25.706-08:00When it Rains it Pours...In my KitchenA few weeks ago, we had a visit from our downstairs neighbor informing us that we were raining on her apartment - the bathroom to be specific. We had no obvious water leaks, and it was soon concluded that whenever we flushed the toilet, let's just say, they felt the effects. The super said he would need to pull up our toilet to fix a broken pipe, leaving us without a toilet until the job was complete. In the meantime, the neighbor kindly offered to have us call anytime we needed to flush, but there was no way I could consciously flush my toilet knowing it caused a pee storm below me. So I played the pregnant card and the super let us in on a secret bathroom on the 6th floor, a very dirty, very icky secret toilet that I was nevertheless thrilled to have at my pregnant bladders disposal. Within a day, the problem was resolved.<br /><br />So after the bubble, bubble toilet trouble, we jump ahead two weeks. This past Wednesday, I noticed a wet spot on my ceiling in the kitchen. I visited the upstairs neighbor who was having their floors refinished and was told that some water spilled but everything was fixed. The spot didn't spread or get worse. We still informed the super who agreed to look into it. Yesterday, while putting away groceries, I noticed a new spot and this once was dripping and spreading rapidly. The super was over two hours away and no one was upstairs. We gathered buckets and watched helplessly as one drip turned in to 15 and the ceiling started to bubble and warp. It was now a steady drizzle. After what seemed like 7 hours, the super showed up and literally broke into the upstairs apt via our fire escape and was able to turn off the water which dried-up the gathering storm. The ceiling is peeling, but at least we were there to do damage control.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-77887490528142522009-11-19T06:45:00.000-08:002010-09-03T07:45:03.059-07:00Mom Jeans ReduxHoping to expand my (literally) shrinking <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">wardrobe</span>, I cleaned out my closet looking for those clothes that were always a little too big for me to wear. Instead I found my long lost skinny pants. I haven't touched these pants since I started stimming, sure that the bloating wouldn't take kindly to their tight hug. For a laugh, I decided to try them on and see how big I am getting. Imagine my delight when the zipper came up with only a mild protest! I could have danced around the room. I love these pants. They are black and satiny, and I feel like Audrey Hepburn in them. So imagine my distressed when I pranced into the F train and tried to sit down in them!!! The high waist cut into my protruding belly and the area around my hips that is usually snug started to feel like a boa constrictor. Part of the reason I like these pants is their design. They zip up the back with a sewn-in zipper -so my trusty rubber band wasn't going to work with this one.<br /><br />I discreetly tugged at the zipper and was able to take more than a shallow breath, settled in for my long commute. Once at work, I was able to keep the zipper up and sit at my desk. Despite my paranoia, the seam never split, but for good measure, I laid off on the karate kicks.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-79797086869165435972009-11-17T18:10:00.000-08:002010-09-03T07:43:18.567-07:00Mom JeansMy belly has the beginnings of a swell, and I am starting to over-extert the rubber band that keeps my pants comfortably together. I have already had to break out my fat pants, so I finally decided it was time to start the search for maternity clothes. I quickly realized that unless I want to pay $200 for jeans, I might need to search a little harder or settle for those awful unisex looking things. And really how do you know what is the right size anyway? I have no idea if my ass will get huge or if the weight will (mercifully) be centralized in a cute little bump - with my luck it will be door number 1 with a large helping of lumpy bump. In any care the pregnancy hormones must be effecting my taste in clothes, because the other night I was in a cab that was stopped at a light and across the street was what must have been the Manhattan's flagship Dress Barn because it took up half of the block. Normally the phrase "flagship Dress Barn" would send me running to the nearest Anthropologie, but before I knew what I was doing, I was making a mental note of the location. In my defense, it was very late at night and the jacket in the window was pretty cute.<br /><br />I hit my 12 week mark last Thursday and welcomed the 2nd trimester with epic nausea and nuchal translucency test. I had an idea of what to look for on the ultrasound, and the entire time the technician was bouncing the device off my very full bladder, I was convinced something was wrong. The amount of fluid looked huge on the screen and the tech kept saying, "come on baby" as though there were a problem. Finally she told me that the fluid levels were low enough to be virtually risk free of Down Syndrome. The test isn't as conclusive as an amnio or CVS, but it was almost as much of a relief as when they finally let me urinate.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-87322231378449465132009-11-08T12:36:00.001-08:002010-09-03T07:42:46.692-07:00Chaos ReignsA few nights ago, I supervised a music class kids for kids at work. I selfishly went in hoping it would not be a success so that I wouldn't feel guilty for not doing more because too many late nights makes me a cranky girl. But then the cute little kids started trickling in and I was almost as excited as they were. Everyone was attentive and enthusiastic as the group started. They went around and sang their favorite songs and took turns holding the guitar. It was adorable. That was the first seven minutes. For the next 53 minutes, all hell broke loose. It was like a switch was flipped and everything went horribly wrong as one kid crawled under a table and wailed for 20 minutes because I asked her very sweetly not to sit on the table anymore, another small kid started spitting at and shoving the other older kids who in turn wanted to beat him up. One 9 year old insisted on talking like a baby and whining because he wanted a play with a laptop, another girl wanted to read and started throwing books when I told her Wednesday was reading group. 3 small boys kept climbing on the music teacher and each other, and one lone child sat attentive and smiling, just happy to be there. At about 30 minutes in, I expected the fox from <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4L2ooG_MX9E&NR=1" target="_blank">AntiChrist</a> to appear in the room and declare "chaos reigns".<br /><br />I left with a splitting headache and soul-shaking fear of motherhood. I know I won't be dealing with 8 kids aged 4-9, and I suppose it is different with your own, but good lord if I didn't feel completely unhinged when it was over.<br /><br />A day later the music teacher emailed me saying he can't wait to come back.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-60123421486411881692009-11-02T18:58:00.000-08:002009-11-09T17:44:34.411-08:00Where the Wild Things Aren'tI feel as though I have been in a sort of slow motion since I started my stims 2 months ago. I have been hestitant to overextert myself, and the exhuastion of the first trimester has made it hard to be social let alone have a have a full-fledged social life. Halloween rolled around with little fanfare this year. In years past, I have gone to the parade or out with friends then out to the bars. This year, I didn't think I would gather the energy to hand out candy to my friend's kid. But as the day wore on, I started to rally. At 6:30, I put on some make-up, dug out an old wig and went out on the town. Well, we stolled the neighborhood looking at the creative decorations and then we went to dinner about two subway stops from our house. Anything further would have worn me out.<br /><br />It was a warm night for the end of October and there were loads of families out on the street in costumes trick-or-treating at the local businesses. We sat outside for dinner and overcame the light drizzle with a heavy duty umbrella. It felt like old times except for the virgin fruit spritzer and the bloating after about 5 bites of my saurbraten. We were home long before 9, and curled up on the couch to watch a movie. Thankfully with the time change, we earned an extra hour because after all of the excitement and partying into the night, I mean, evening, I needed it.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-2645955425892912322009-10-29T18:12:00.000-07:002009-10-29T18:33:10.633-07:00Like A VirginBeing pregnant has quickly turned me into a tightly wound bundle of nerves. I have developed an intense phobia of walking down stairs (which makes my crazy commute up and down subway platforms a joy); I am convinced that I am not getting enough protein and folic acid and my baby will certainly have permanent neurological damage; and there is the unspeakable crippling fear that the absence of nausea is the worst case (I can't even write it.) Now I can add sexual intercourse to my list and apparently there is a name for it - genophobia. M and I were doing what people do when they love each other very much. After it was not so much said, but done, I stood up and felt a rush of liquid falling down my leg. It was the much dreaded red blood. It was like I had popped my cherry. I had acquaintances back in my college days who referred to themselves as born-again virgins (mostly I think they did it to try to score with the catholic student center groupies), so for a moment I felt like I was touched for the very first time. Well actually I was terrified beyond reason, but later when it was clear that my baby was not in that unspeakable state, I giggled at the thought of being a 34 year old pregnant virgin. Next up is Papa Don't Preach because I'm keeping my baby.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-77668429002913557582009-10-19T15:38:00.001-07:002009-10-19T15:59:14.252-07:00Peaceful Queasy FeelingI haven't been sure what to make of this blog since getting the news. I identify it as an infertility blog, and now that I am in the family way, it feels kind of wrong to continue to write about my pregnancy here, but it also seems silly to start a new blog. In a compromise I have been neglecting it all together.<br /><br />But now that I am 8 weeks and have heard a heartbeat, I am feeling less superstitious and ready to continue and while the road started at infertility, that it not where it will end. So here is what you may have missed in the last weeks:<br /><br />Two live baby scans; both came with a side of strong heartbeat! Two episodes of spotting/ bleeding that left me a complete and utter wreck. A rhogam shot (because of the bleeding) that further bruised my tender side and took-up three quarters of my day. An it-couldn't-have-happened-sooner discontinuation of the evil progesterone shots. (I was completely out of virgin flesh, and the bruising was something fierce, and I am still feeling the flavor deep inside the meet.) Finally being unceremoniously shoved out of the Cornell nest into the Obstetrics wild. (I at least expected an IVF completion certificate.)<br /><br />And then there is the nausea.....Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-25589789031322776372009-09-29T15:49:00.000-07:002009-09-29T16:13:34.771-07:00Conceivable!I am still stunned to near disbelief. I gave in and peed on that stick and got the first second line I have ever seen in my life. It was faint, but there it was. Two days after I had my beta. My Dr. called that afternoon with the most wonderful news! I am pregnant. I did a second blood test, still pregnant and then a third, status quo with an ever increasing beta! Last Friday, I had an ultrasound and not only was I still pregnant, but I saw the sac. It was a square-ish blob on the screen. I think it looks like Matt.<br /><br />It is a little hard to accept that this actually worked. I was really preparing myself for IVF round 2 and the big bad news. I almost feel like I got off relatively easy. Isn't that twisted? I only had to inject myself 30 times and have surgery twice to get pregant. <br /><br />I am still proceeding with cautious optimism. I started telling friends and dreaming of names. I suppose I have to call it Cornell.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-9352401214609409802009-09-15T17:26:00.000-07:002009-09-16T07:21:34.195-07:00To Pee or Not To PeeI said I would be strong and wait until my beta to get confirmation, but the suspense is killing me. I have a box of home tests just begging to be urinated on. They call my name in the morning and dare me at night. I keep opening the closet and looking at them. The entire experience toys with your emotions and then they throw in the industrial strength dose of progesterone to top off the mindfuck. I honestly can't decide what would be better. Get the negative and to not have so much pressure at the blood draw? Do I really want to find out this didn't work from a phone call? During my work day?<br /><br />I am going to go talk to some food about this!Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-73764683214330129262009-09-12T13:50:00.001-07:002010-09-03T07:27:55.392-07:00A Pregnant Pause: The Best of SkintentionsA while back, after a trying week, my very sweet and very selfless friend gave me a gift card for a facial. She insisted I treat myself to a relaxing afternoon. (Because nothing says serenity like having an ex Russian gymnast squeeze blackheads on your nose.) When I arrived at the spa, I was greeted by a cheerful lady who enthusiastically showed me to the locker room to change. (It still seems wrong on some level that you have to get naked for a facial. But call it whatever you want. I am more than happy to strip down if my "facial" will include a mini-massage.) I was then directed into the ladies' lounge and instructed to fill out a treatment questionnaire. It was all pretty standard: name, date of birth, allergies, health conditions. Then I got towards the bottom. "Are you pregnant? " Jeez! What's with the hard questions???<br /><br />Am I pregnant?<br /><br />A myriad of responses popped in my head: Maybe? How should I know? Probably not. I hope so. Outlook hazy; try again. And finally, fuck off. I didn't want to explain that I was trying to get pregnant and was waiting to find out. I really didn't want to explain anything. As though it was a trick question, I debated back and forth, trying to decide what was the right answer. Saying no seemed pessimistic, but saying yes seemed, well, like lying. But at 5 days past transfer there is no right answer. This was supposed to be a calming break for me and there I was stressing over the questionnaire. What would I do when they tried to upsell me with add-on treatments? Well I would say yes of course, and so I said yes. I am pregnant. A week from now, I may not be, but Svetlana, the facialist, will never know any better.<br /><br />When she walked into the room, she congratulated me. I cringed a little, thanked her and told her it was still very, very early. With that out of the way, the cleansing, exfoliating and extracting commenced. It was heavenly to be pampered -aside from the embarrassing amount of squeezing that went on. All that questioning left me so vulnerable that I even agreed to a hydrating seaweed mask which I am sure did nothing more then left me smelling like a california roll.<br /><br />In the end, she wished me good luck. I started to tell her that I needed all the luck I could get right now. It did seem a little psychotic to be telling half-truths (or half-falses?) about the happenings in my uterus, but I didn't want to care anymore. For the first time in my life I was pregnant. And, apparently, neurotic. But Svetlana doesn't need to know that either.<br /><br />I walked out glowing. It could be the pregnancy, but I am guessing it was probably the seaweed.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-60472090449967979602009-09-11T08:19:00.000-07:002009-09-11T11:26:52.976-07:00Pro-Jest-eroneIt is no secret that progesterone induces the symptoms of pregnancy. Knocked-up or not, the hormone will have you checking out Park Slope preschools before the 2 week wait is over. Is there no justice for the infertile?Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-34402003669618776112009-09-09T07:09:00.000-07:002009-11-19T19:37:41.305-08:00I Hear There're Rumors on the Internets<p>When used correctly the internet can be a force of good. Because of the endless information available with a well placed boolean operator, I have supplemented what I learned from my doctors and prepared myself for each step down this barren path. But it is also a treasure trove of half-truths, dangerous advice and mindless information. Anyone with web access can say what they want (case in point: this blog), and it is our job to shift through the pyrite. </p><p>Because I have a one track mind, the vast majority of my searches have been related to infertility. (And you thought I spent all that time google-imaging Viggo Mortensen!) I admit that I first took some comfort in the boards and TTC websites, but soon I was choking on all that baby dust. I was never much of a joiner, and it felt a tad insincere to be cyber-sending emoticons to total strangers who are going through a traumatic time - "sorry your beta isn't doubling! ;P". Thus I have mostly stuck to informational sites and approached the message boards with a what-can-I-learn-about-my-clinic/current-condition attitude and less of a let's-share-everything-related-to-the-ups-and-downs-of-this-cycle. I like my message boards like I like my chocolate - dark, bitter and salty. And let's face it, I would make a terrible cycle buddy. </p><p>So yesterday as I was searching for tips on how to get my backside comfortably numb for these PIO injections, I came across this <a href="http://www.fertilityplus.org/faq/ivfhints.html">gem.</a> The site was loaded with "advice" for your IVF cycle. Here are a few of the highlights:</p><ul><ul><li>Don't talk to your partner too much about his role. This may cause him extra anxiety during an already stressful time and the extra stress can aggravate the performance anxiety that men suffer on the day of retrieval.</li><li>Keep social contacts to a minimum.</li></ul></ul><p>In the site's defense there were some very reasonable and sane recommendations, but I was skeptical when I saw the knit booties on the masthead. Really, don't talk to your partner about his role? As though his role is solely that of sperm donor. If that is his only job then he hasn't earned the title Partner, Associate maybe. And what is this about minimizing social contacts? Am I really too much of a raging hormonal mess to enjoy a dinner out with my nearest and dearest? No better I keep myself locked in a dripping dungeon before I terrorize innocent bystanders.</p>Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5460185047557285785.post-28580534945450990262009-09-07T13:59:00.000-07:002009-11-19T19:41:10.131-08:00Labor DayI spent the remainder of last night trying not to sneeze out the embryo. I have also become defensive at any perceived slights to the little package of cells: "it not an egg; it's an <em>embryo</em>!" I am relieved that the major cycle highlights are over, with, of course, the exception of the denouement: the beta test - let's hope this one isn't a show stopper. All I have to do now is drive a 25 gauge needle filled with viscous oil into an uncooperative muscle daily for the next couple of weeks and wait.<br /><br />The infertility message boards are filled with warnings of how terrible these injections are, but they are also filled with a lot of acronyms that make me cringe more than a syringe to the ass, so I have learned to make my own judgements. I figured it would sting a bit and the muscle would be sore, but the sub-Q shots weren't too bad, and I didn't have the awful, prolonged side effects that many complained of. So I thought I was certain I could handle this. The first one went in with little sensation. It was difficult to coax the thick liquid out of the syringe, but it was by no means painful. We had talked about getting a heating pad, but it appeared to be fine so we resumed our movie. About a half hour later, not even the beautifully choreographed, stylized violence of Kung Fu Hustle could keep my mind off of the ring of fire around my injection site. A warm compress was applied to no avail. The next night was slightly less painful. I think because I was expecting it. To make it matters worse, I am only on my third day of the progesterone, and already I have discoloration and bruising the size of tropical fruit on my hindquarters. This significantly reduces the amount of usable flesh as I am not interested in said 25 gauge going into a knotted bruise. Did I also mention that the pricking had resulted in several broken veins? On my ass? There goes any hopes I had for a spot in the swimsuit issue.<br /><br />It occurred to me that I spent the unofficial start of summer, Memorial Day weekend, recovering from my laparoscopy. Because, I love a pattern, I finished off summer recovering from retrieval and transfer over the Labor Day weekend. It's like surgical bookends. I had an enormous amount of faith that the lap would be my cure. But another season has been lost, and here I am trying not to admit that I have the same faith in this IVF cycle.Inconceivablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10287274421572032335noreply@blogger.com0