And Now We Wait

After weeks of being almost completely asymptomatic, I started spotting yesterday afternoon. Just that quickly, my chances of losing this pregnancy ballooned from 5% (that's the probability of having two miscarriages in a row) to 50%, the probability of miscarrying after having spotting or bleeding.

Marcus and I had to haul ass to find someplace to get my blood drawn before they all wrapped up for the weekend, but of course we won't find out what my hCG levels are until Monday. I'm also getting a second draw on Monday before work to see if my levels are rising properly, and I've been prescribed Prometrium (a progesterone supplement) in the meantime.

We should find out before the New Year whether or not this pregnancy is already over. I don't have a good feeling about this, friends. Not at all. I could feel more optimistic if I'd been having any sort of symptoms in the past two weeks, but I haven't. No fatigue, no increased appetite, no morning sickness, no pulling feelings low in my abdomen, no bloody noses, NONE of the stuff I experienced last time except for sore nipples (and they're not even all that sore).

Midwife Me!

I've decided against calling Doctor D. I did like her demeanor, and as receptive as I was to working with her while trying to conceive, I've since of fallen on the side of not wanting to work with an obstetrician for this pregnancy. Fortunately, my insurance covers nurse-midwives, and I've already called and made an appointment for January 14th with a highly recommended local practice.

I have trust issues with doctors as it is, and my last pregnancy sort of reinforced that. My last GYN seemed okay, until it became apparent that I had miscarried, at which point her attitude towards me and my situation became mechanical and almost stand-offish. After waking up from my D&C, one of the nurses became impatient with me and treated me as if I was purposely wasting her time because I was sobbing so hard that my heart rate stayed elevated. Experiences like that made me feel as if I was just a body (a lame body, at that) that had to be dealt with and not a woman in mourning.

This time, I want an experience that is more intimate and less clinical. I want to work with a woman who is empathetic, trustworthy, knowledgable, and LISTENS to me. I also want minimal intervention with this pregnancy.

Has anyone hear had experience with a midwife (or know someone else who has)? I'd like to know how you felt about it and whether you would do it again. If you chose not to use a midwife, I'd like to know why. I'm not entirely decided and I'd love it if you shared your experiences and concerns with me!

Today

So it's been a little over 24 hours since I peed positive. I'm nervous. I'm trying to take things one day at a time - which is a great difference from how I handled my first pregnancy. During my first pregnancy I focused on various points in the future and counted down obsessively; I had countdowns for the ends of every week and month, one countdown to my first ultrasound, one to the beginning of the second trimester, and one to my due date. I had so many days to look forward to, each for different reasons.

Not so much this time. I know how far along I am (3w6d today) and I know my due date, but I haven't bothered calculating anything else. I think that my first trimester ends around Valentine's Day, but I don't know for sure. I'm not keeping track. I don't even have an interest in thinking about the future because I can't take for granted that this pregnancy will make it.

The first time I got pregnant, I was terrified that I was going to lose it from the very beginning. I knew what the odds were and I knew that there were a lot of factors that were completely out of my control. Everyone, my husband included, dismissed my anxiety as unfounded paranoia. They would use words like "when" and when I corrected them with words like "if," the reaction was often along the lines of, "Don't be silly, you're not going to miscarry, of course there's going to be a baby."

When I did miscarry, I was too wrapped up in my own head and heart to say, "I told you so." But I did think it. A lot.

And now with this, my second August pregnancy, I'm trying more than ever to just keep myself in the here and now and not take anything for granted. Today I am pregnant, and today I am grateful for being pregnant. If I'm still pregnant tomorrow, I'll be grateful for it then too.

August 23rd

I was woken up this morning by a very whiny, very needy cat. Rocky was meowing and pawing beneath the door, a habit that drives us up the wall but we haven't corrected much lately as long as he waits until at least 7:30 (which is when I'm SUPPOSED to get up) to start. I turned off my alarm, determined to sleep in, when I remembered that I'm supposed to take a pregnancy test this morning. Today I am 12dpo, and even though the test had come up negative on Wednesday, there was a chance that it was a false negative. I wasn't all that excited, but it was enough to get me out of bed.

I peed on a FRER and then waited for the line(s) to show up. It took less than a minute for a solid pink line to appear on the right side of the window. A single line. Negative. Yet again.

I can't say that I was disappointed, really. At this point I'm just tired. I sat with my head in my hands and wondered, What is wrong with me? Is our timing completely off? Am I not ovulating? Are we fertilizing successfully, but just failing to implant? I thought about the corpus luteum cyst I had on my right ovary during my last pregnancy, and my failure to get a follow-up exam for it after the miscarriage (I couldn't stand the thought of yet ANOTHER ultrasound in another depressing pregnancy-centric room), and I wondered if it was still there and mucking things up. I thought about calling Dr. D and making an appointment for January, after our next inevitably failed cycle, and winced at the thought of the tests and medications that lie ahead.

And then I looked back at the test, and there was a second line. It was faint - so faint that I couldn't be sure that my eyes weren't playing tricks. I woke Marcus up to make sure - and he could see it too. It darkened slowly and by the time ten minutes had passed, I could see the second line at arms' length even without my glasses on. It was absolutely, undeniably, amazingly POSITIVE.

I have a lot on my mind right now and not enough time to get into it all, friends. But you can expect a lot more entries from me, especially now that I have more to write about.

I'm trying not to get too excited. Anything can happen. It's still really, really early, and my chances of a loss are very high. But at least we made it this far. At least I know it's still possible.

My due date is August 23, 2009. May this one stick around long enough to meet us then.

The Battle Begins

Today I am 10dpo. This time every month, I start to get antsy. This is the point at which a FRER (First Response Early Response) could possibly show a positive. Between today and 13dpo lies the Gulf of False Negatives, a torturous place in which the sticks come up white but hope is still hurtfully alive. As I do every month, I try to hold out for as long as I can. The first month we were ttc I think I tested on 7dpo or something crazy like that. The last month, I somehow managed to make myself wait until 11dpo. Here's a nifty chart to illustrate my relationship with early testing:



Right now I'm trying to focus on Friday. That would be 12dpo and my chances of a false negative are much lower. If I make it that long, I can be proud of myself.

And To Think, I Used To Be The Kid Picked Last For Sports

I subbed for an absentee curler on a team of strangers last night, and while my team ultimately lost, I didn't do too badly and even had my ego stroked quite a bit by a couple of the senior curlers. After delivering one of my stones, a woman who has been curling for over five years remarked, "You have the most beautiful form I've ever seen on a new curler." (I'd heard the sentiment before from other new curlers, but this was the first time a seasoned curler had commented on my form.)

Late in the game, my team's skip (for you non-curlers out there, the skip is the captain and main strategist of the team) pulled me aside and said, "You curl very well. I was wondering if you'd be interested in being on my team in the second half of the season. That way I'll technically have a new curler, [it's mandatory to have players of mixed experience on a team in the casual leagues - August] but we'll have an advantage!"

The fact that I was being recruited to be a sort of newbie ringer on someone's team was pretty damn flattering, especially since I've only been at the sport for about 6 weeks! After we lost, the woman told me, "You're going to be an awesome curler. Let me guess - you've always been a jock?" Taken aback, I laughed and told her that I have always sucked at sports, but I was ever-so-grateful for the compliment.

I've been in a pretty good mood lately because I'm positive that I actually ovulated this cycle. I know, we're supposed to be on a break from ttc - and we are. I haven't touched that thermometer or microscope even once. But my usual post-ov symptoms, which I haven't had in a couple of months, kicked in pretty strongly on cycle day 15. The familiarity of my symptoms is assuring even if we aren't pregnant this cycle; I'm just glad to know that my plumbing still works even occasionally.

If something has made you smile lately, share it here. I'm all about the good news lately!

Not Everyone Gets The Memo

The day that I found out that I had miscarried, I immediately made a few announcements (mostly online) to people, in order to stop the influx of inquiries about the baby. I also requested that people not flood me with their condolences; I just wanted to be left alone with my grief. Naturally, not everyone got the memo (and I certainly wasn't as thorough as I could have been when updating people), and for weeks and months afterwards I still received comments and queries regarding the pregnancy that no longer was.

In the beginning it was very hard. A friend left a comment on a Facebook picture of me on a unicycle: "Is that safe in your condition??" A neighbor asked me several months later how far along I was, even though I was clearly not visibly pregnant and should have been far into my second trimester. I got a call from my insurance company's maternity department to talk to me about my birthing options. Even as recently as Halloween, an acquaintance at a party blithely asked, "You were pregnant the last time I saw you. How'd that go?" [I just as cheerfully responded, "I miscarried!"]

It happens. All the time, it happens. And for the most part I've gotten used to it. I know that one of these days will be the last time - it has to be. People can't go on asking me about the baby forever, right?

In any case, the most recent faux pas was especially sad. Marcus and I used to model for a friend of his back when we were dating, and since he moved to Maryland to be with me, he's only kept in contact with her through the occasional email. Apparently they must not talk that frequently, because she emailed him the other night asking if we wanted to bring the baby in for family photos.

One of these days it will end, I'm sure of it. It has to.

Truth Hurts

I picked Sega up and held her face close to mine last night before bed. This is the conversation that I had with my little kitten:

Me: Do you love me?
Sega: *blank stare*
Me: Okay, do you like me?
Sega: *blank stare*
Me: Um...do you tolerate me?
Sega: *blank stare*
Me: Are you planning to kill me?
Sega: *eagerly licks my nose as if to say You bet! and then bounces cheerfully away*

I suppose I should appreciate her honesty.


In other news, we currently have four cats living with us right now. We're catsitting for a friend while he's out of town for the week, and the poor girl is inexplicably injured (we didn't do it, my friend came home and found her limping yesterday). She's sad, misses her daddy (she spends her day curled up in one of his shirts), and is going to be furious when I have to stick her in the cat carrier and subject her to the vet's poking and prodding tonight. I really hope that I don't get bit, but I can't be too mad at her if I do; I'm a stranger to her, after all, and she's frightened and in pain.

I'm hoping to befriend the new cat sometime during the next week, though. I'll need all the protection I can get from my devious kitten and her nefarious plots.

Four Months

I have a deceptively young face, such that when I showed up at my local polling place to cast my ballot, the election judges asked me if I was old enough to vote. Strangers regularly assume that I'm still in college, or even in high school. And I can forget about buying drinks or seeing an R-rated movie without my ID. (The looks and snide comments I get from strangers when buying pregnancy tests is no thrill ride either.) As a result of this, I'm actually really really bad at guessing the age of others. I can't assume that anyone is as young as they look, because others can't make that assumption about me.

Not so with children. I know children. I grew up with a lot of kids, thanks to the daycare my parents ran in our home, and I've helped care for dozens of children of various ages for over a decade. I can accurately estimate the age of an infant, toddler, or young child with a glance, and I'm familiar with the developmental milestones that kids typically reach as they age. I can easily recognize developmental outliers ("Wow, she's TALL for six months!"). I just know kids.

If I'd given birth in August, we would now have a child almost four months old. It may sound odd to have a favorite developmental period, but I do. And it starts at four months. I've found the time between four and eighteen months to be the most fun, the most exciting, and among the most adventerous (for us, the parents; not necessarily for the child). It's not like the fun and excitement of being a parent suddenly stops once a child approaches two; but it does change to a different brand of fun. I simply adore kids at that age and I have always looked forward to sharing that time with my own child.

The holidays are going to be rough on me this year. This time last year, I was pregnant and didn't know it yet. I spent Thanksgiving with my family, gorged on turkey, and joked with my cousins and aunts, completely unaware of what was going on inside me. I'd hoped that this Thanksgiving would be different, that I would have a new baby to introduce to them. And even after the loss, I thought that I would be pregnant again by now, but we don't even have that news to share. I thought that this holiday would be particularly special, in that the family that I only see once a year would finally welcome me as a mother, as my cousins were before me, and that they would welcome my son as one of their own, as I was before him.

I've started to cry, and that's no good since I'm at work right now, so I'm just going to end this entry now. Sorry for the abruptness, friends.

TTC: Cycle 6

Verdict: Failure.
Future Prospects: SUCK.

As you can see in the chart below, I gave up early on in the cycle. We had sex a couple of times during my fertile phase (if I had a fertile phase), but I didn't bother recording it. My growing sense of futility is not such a great motivator to chart diligently, as it turns out.

This past cycle was particularly unfair, in that my period was a couple of days late, but the tests still came up negative. The last time my period was late (an entire year ago, now), I was pregnant. This time...not so much.

In the meantime, Fertility Friend is throwing a fit because my subscription is about to expire. I don't intend to renew it for now. Doctor D wants to see me if the next couple cycles are a bust, so I'm going to take break from charting for the next two months. It's just such a pain in the ass to deal with the temping and all that, just to see every damn cycle to come to the same disappointing end.

How To Soothe A Crying Infant In 5 Easy Steps

Doctor Harvey Karp, pediatrician and author of The Happiest Baby on the Block: The New Way to Calm Crying and Help Your Newborn Baby Sleep Longer (damn, what an obnoxiously long book title!), claims to have discovered how to activate a calming reflex in infants. My first instinct, as usual, is to think that it's simply too good to be true, but the video is pretty interesting:



Now, the shushing really really doesn't sound like anything I would consider to be "soothing" for a baby, but Doc Karp remarks that the sound of a woman's blood flowing through her veins sounds about as loud as a vacuum cleaner to the growing fetus. I'm not sure if that's true (a cursory Google search didn't turn up anything), but there are a lot of mothers in one of my pregnancy forums who swear by this method - basically, every one who of them who has tried it says that once they figured out the right formula for their kid (some kids were more responsive to one particular step than others), it worked like a charm.

Has anyone out there ever tried this or heard of it? Would any of you with infants be willing to give it a shot and share the results with us? Y' know...for science?

Sometimes It Just Sucks To Be Pregnant

Health officials in North Dakota are now recommending that pregnant women and children under 6 abstain from eating meat from animals that were killed using lead bullets. This recommendation comes on the heels of a study which found that people who eat wild game killed with lead bullets had higher levels of lead in their blood. So I guess that means we can add venison to the long, long list of things that pregnant ladies can't have. (I wonder what this means for low-income rural families whose primary source of food is what they've hunted themselves?)

Meanwhile, the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission has found that the incidence of employment discrimination against pregnant women is still going strong, even thirty years after the passage of the Pregnancy Discrimination Act.

Obviously, there are financial reasons why a firm might not want to hire a pregnant woman: her health insurance will be more expensive and she'll have to take some leave in the foreseeable future. Even so, if it can be proved that that's the only reason she wasn't hired, that firm could be facing the EEOC. "You can imagine the slippery slope," says Frye. "First it's, 'Don't hire a pregnant woman.' Then it becomes, 'Don't hire a woman at all, because she could get pregnant and is likely to be the primary caregiver.'"

Then there are the studies that suggest that pregnant women just plain gross some people out. In one, people who viewed videotapes of non-pregnant women and visibly pregnant women doing the same task judged the pregnant women more negatively (and no, the activity was not smoking. Or sit-ups.)

That bias may stem from an urge to give pregnant women lesser duties. "People may feel they're doing the right thing," suggests Frye. "But they're not."

The emphasis above is mine. I'll be looking into these pregnancy gross-out studies later.

I feel like I should apologize for my recent lack of posts. In all honesty, I get sort of bummed out sometimes reading and writing so much about pregnancy, all while we continue to struggle to conceive. It just starts so feel very, very masochistic after a while.

Okay, I Surrender!

I'm giving up on this cycle. My temps don't indicate a thermal shift and my microscope also says that I have not ovulated. I'm really just getting tired of it all.

You see the look on Charlie's face? That is how I feel about this cycle.



In other news, I officially joined the curling league today. Dodgeball season ends in two weeks and I need something to keep myself occupied (and to make sure I leave the house and socialize with others!) until we finally catch an egg.

Now I'm off to tend to my pulled groin! (Note to self, stretch before curling.)

A Good Weekend Makes For A Lazy Cycle

I'm still floating cheerfully on my natural high from an astounding weekend, which has resulted in my being rather lazy with temping, checking cervical mucus and cervical position, and spitting on my tiny microscope. I know you must be wondering, "What could have happened that was so wonderful that August has managed to relax her neurotic grip on ttc?" Allow me to share!

Thursday was like any other day, except for the fantastic dodgeball match we had that evening. I played better than I have all season: I threw further and more accurately, I dodged more quickly, and I caught more balls. My team lost the match (as per usual) but played competitively and managed to win four of the games - and I ended one of those games. There were three of us and two of them left, and I hit one of them out and caught the last guy's ball (he threw it at me while I was distracted with the other guy) in short order. The other team was friendly, playful, and overall a joy to play with.

Friday was a whirlwind of activity. I went to work, ran around like a madwoman trying to do as much as I could in four hours, before leaving to pick up my bridesmaid's dress from the seamstress at David's Bridal. I had about fifteen minutes to breath before I had to shower and dress for the rehearsal. I met the brides and their families at the hotel where the reception was going to be held, we drove to the church and rehearsed the ceremony, went to the restaurant for dinner (one set of grandparents was accidentally left behind at the hotel - d'oh!), and had a grand ol' time with our friends. After dinner, Marcus and I spent the night in the brides' apartment caring for their dog, while they spent the night in their plush hotel suite.

On Saturday we woke up, let the dog out to pee, went to my mom's house to pick up the wedding gifts that she'd bought, then went home, where I promptly panicked when I realized that I couldn't find the shawl to my gown, tore the house apart for half an hour looking for it, then remembered that I'd left it at my mother's house for safekeeping two weeks ago. I showered, grabbed my gown and my shoes, went BACK to my mother's house to pick up the shawl, then went to the hotel for wedding pictures and more running around like a crazy person. The ceremony was beautiful, the brides were gorgeous, and afterwards I got properly smashed at the reception (oh, the joys of waiting to ovulate) and danced my ass off (but not before being reduced to tears while offering a toast to the lovely newlyweds). My husband, who in our three years together has neither seen me drunk nor seen me dance, was absolutely tickled by the sight.

On Sunday morning, a friend and I took a three hour course called "Learn to Curl," where we learned the ins and outs of sliders, grippers, skips, houses, and stones. I had a certain advantage and learned how to shoot the stone rather quickly, as it requires a honed sense of balance - and as a mountain unicyclist, I can say pretty confidently that I am a well-balanced person. I've got to say that I absolutely love curling, and Marcus and I will be returning on Saturday to participate in their breakfast game.

Today is Tuesday, and my abs and thighs are still incredibly sore from dogding, dancing, and curling. I've got another dodgeball game tomorrow night, so hopefully my muscles will feel a tiny bit better by then. Even after all these months and all the frustration, a part of me is very grateful that I got to experience this weekend with no limitations. If I were pregnant, I would not have drank; and if I hadn't drank, I would not have relaxed enough to dance at my sister's wedding, which felt wonderful, as I haven't really danced in about 8 years! It may be a strange thing to be grateful for, but grateful I am. It was a wonderful, heartwarming, amazing celebration, and I'm glad that I got to fully partake.

Our Child, Our Future

As the election draws near, and as droves of fearful closet racists have begun to act out, I find myself wondering about the culture in which Marcus and I will be raising our children. How do you raise a child to be sensitive and thoughtful towards other races and cultures in a nation that is so saturated with prejudice? Racism is a part of everyday life here; and I do mean that literally - I enounter it almost every single day.

Not all acts of prejudice are equal. Not every act is violent and not every act is hateful. Some are merely annoying or inconvenient. Some may be frightening while others may provoke a mere eyeroll. It's been years since I've actually been brought to tears over it, which means that I should probably count myself lucky.

This is the culture we live in:

At work: Just yesterday, one of my coworkers called another a "chink" and then quickly dismissed her as being oversensitive when she took offense. The day before, another coworker squinted his eyes at her and then told her that he was part Chinese. Last week yet another coworker (there is no shortage, I tell you!) went on a tirade about how interracial marriage is destroying the country.

Online: Ugh, there is no shortage. I frequently come upon psuedo-scholarly rants about how blacks are naturally inferior and less intelligent than whites in Youtube comments, web forums, comments sections in news articles - basically any medium in which anonymous users have the freedom to rant. It doesn't surprise me to see even the most foul and racially charged comments anywhere online, I suppose because I'm used to it.

Retail: While on vacation, Marcus and I went into a souvenir shop that had several t-shirt designs featuring the confederate flag and wonderful slogans such as "It's called the WHITE house for a reason."

Even our nation's holidays are no exception. The whole nation over, children are being taught that we celebrate Christopher Columbus every October because he "discovered" America. The fact that he was a bit of a murderous psychopath and the father of the TransAtlantic Slave Trade never seems worthy of mention. (Is it really progression to whitewash history and pretend that those things never happened, to celebrate a day that the indigenous people of this country rightfully mourn?)

I think about my childhood and I wonder if our children will endure anything like that. It wasn't awful, it certainly could have been worse...but it certainly could have been better. My brother and I were called nigger sometimes by our classmates. When i was 11, a couple of boys in our school threatened to stab me with a broken hula hoop (they swung it about an inch from my face) and then told my 8-year-old brother that they were going to cut off his penis. He was bullied constantly.

One incident that I don't think I'll ever forget happened to me in 7th grade. A black girl named Lynette joined our class (there were about 40 kids to a grade and 20 to a class - it was a very small school) and she was immensely liked by the popular kids. One of those popular girls, someone who had been my classmate for almost a decade, started talking to me at the start of the school year, which came as a surprise to me. She sought me out at lunchtime and talked to me about boys and makeup or some crap like that, and I just sort of tolerated her for a week or two, until the day she suddenly called me Lynette. Startled, I looked at her and stammered, "I'm not Lynette." This girl, who had known me since pre-K but apparently couldn't tell the difference between me and a complete stranger because of our skin color, just stared at me before saying, "Oh" and walking off, ignoring me ever after.

My brother and I never told anyone about the abuses we suffered in school due to our race, and now that I'm all grown up, I have to wonder why. I remember feeling like it was just the way things were and being certain that if I spoke up, I would not be taken seriously. The people that said these things were usually known as good or okay kids; would any of our teachers even believe us that they could be so hateful in secret? I knew that our parents would believe us, but honestly, I still don't know why I didn't tell them either. I hope that if our children are ever threatened or bullied (because of their skin color or any other reason) that they know that they'll be able talk to us about it.

I hope that my children know that I will always be their advocate.

I don't want to be "that" parent, the one that folks in the PTA hate for not being content with the status quo. Common practices that seem minor and harmless to lots of other people don't seem that way to me (for instance, many people would be horrified if their children brought home an assignment to "color the negro" or dressed up in blackface for a play at school - but it's perfectly acceptable to color a caricature of an Indian or to don a stereotypical costume?), and I'm going to raise my children according to my values. The woman in that link sent her son's assignment back uncompleted, which I think was appropriate. But what if he was punished by his teacher for it? I hate to think that my child could get caught in the middle of an ideological struggle because of me, that she may pay for something that she might not even totally understand.

But at the same time, I can't help my convictions. I can't help feeling that some things are worth fighting for even if it gets ugly, that comfort and approval from others is a small price to pay for doing what is right, that some unsavory truths must be dragged into the light if we're to ever achieve...harmony? I don't know. I don't know what I can realistically expect for our children's futures. I just know that I want my kids to be sensitive, to be aware of their privileges, to be grateful, and to be kind. And I want them to know that doing the right thing will sometimes mean pissing a lot of other people off, but that doesn't make it any less right.

TTC: Cycle 5

Verdict: Failure.
Future Prospects: Meh.

See that temperature spike just two days before the end of the cycle? Yeah, that's never happened before. My highest temp of every cycle has always been on the sixth day past ovulation (and in one case, the seventh). To see it on 12dpo caught me completely off guard, and I actually spent all of Wednesday thinking that I really just might be pregnant. I really did. I was surprised and disappointed on Wednesday night to see the negative test result, but still hopeful. I decided that if Thursday's temp remained high, I would test again, and if not - well, I knew what that meant.

As you can see, Thursday's temp was almost an entire degree lower than Wednesday's. My hopes were dashed and my day was ruined just 2 minutes after I woke up, and I remained in a bitter, tearful mood for most of it (as yesterday's post can tell you).

My consolation is that we get to approach the next cycle with a brand new tool - my microscope. I don't know if it will work, but it's comforting to have something to try.

Polaroid

Last year, I broke the rule and did what no spouse is supposed to do: I bought a birthday gift for my husband that was really for me. (Although to be fair, it wasn't nearly as egregious as the bowling ball that Homer Simpson bought for his wife.) I surprised him with a Polaroid camera and 4 packs of film. He was skeptical, but I insisted that it wasn't just a present for him or me, but that it was a gift for the family that we were going to have someday (I would conceive just a week later, but I didn't know that then of course). It was a gift for our children.

When I was a child and teen, I used to pore over our family albums. I loved going through them again and again. I loved looking at pictures of my baby brother (he was so adorable) and my dad with his Afro and my mom in her wedding gown. There was so much that I couldn't remember about the early days, but I had proof of them right in front of me, and that was FASCINATING to me. Looking at pictures depicting moments that I have no memory of just captivated me. It was like looking into an alternate universe.

Some of those pictures were taken by me when I got a little older. I loved to play with my mom's instant Polaroid. I loved blowing on the film in the hopes that it would make the photo develop more quickly. I loved changing the film cartridges and I loved the noise that a Polaroid camera makes as it expells a newly-taken picture. It was all so...tactile. And just real.

I thought when I got pregnant, that we would create an album for our son just like the one my parents made for me (it was for themselves, probably, but I just don't think that way about it). I thought that as he grew up and grew older that he would know what it feels like to grip such a huge, heavy, and clunky camera with tiny fingers and to peek through the viewfinder at someone that you love (and loves you - so much!), to press that button and to pull out the film and to wait in eager anticipation, surrounded by family, for it to reveal itself to you.

But no, I guess it will never be. The Polaroid instant line has been discontinued, and my son is dead. No, wait; he wasn't even born. No, wait! He wasn't even a son. Might not have even been a "he." It was only ever just a stupid pink plus sign and a lot of puking and sleeping and a very still shrimp-shaped blotch on the ultrasound.

I should be on maternal leave right now, I should be spending my days and my nights with my baby. I should be feeding him, bathing him, talking to him, dressing him, burping him, holding him. Smelling him. Seeing him. Hearing him. Touching him. I should know by now that he ever existed. But he didn't, and I don't. This family of mine is still just a daydream.

I should be loving him, and instead here I am in this stupid gray cubicle in this awful windowless room, weeping and alone. It's been months since I last cried over this. I'd hoped that I was finished.

This sucks, my friends. This fucking sucks.

Dr. D And Why I Think I Might Keep Her

My pre-conception appointment went much as I expected. She told me to relax, take my vitamins, and to call her if I wasn't pregnant by January (which is a mere 3 cycles away), or to call if I do get pregnant before January. I had blood drawn to test my immunity to Rubella and Toxo among other things, and to screen for sickle cell anemia.

The place was small, quiet, and pleasant. Classical music played softly from somewhere behind the receptionists' desk. The waiting room was full of pamplets and 90% of the magazines were child or parenting related, but there was also Time, so that was something. The nurse and receptionist were both very kind and easy to work with. The doctor was soft-spoken (in a gentle way; not in a nervous way like my primary care physician - he always seems like he's on the edge of a nervous breakdown) and took care to fully explain her professional opinion to me rather than just bossing me around.

This may sound kind of sad, but what I liked best about the whole experience was the exam room. There was a poster about BMI on the door, and a poster about eating healthy and another one about menopause on the wall next to the table. There were pamphlets everywhere about safe sex and menopause and all sorts of things relating to women's sexual health. There were no pictures of babies. There were no posters of developing fetuses. It was unlike any other OB/GYN exam room in that there was nothing there to remind me of my loss. It was a relief.

Dr. D invited me into her office before and after my exam, which happens to be where she keeps all of the pregnancy-related pamplets and information. I wondered if it was deliberate and what her reasons were. In any case, it was refreshing to visit an OB/GYN and not walk out of the office depressed, anxious, and let down.

Hopefully this is the start of a beautiful relationship.

My First Pre-Conception Appointment, Or: That Thing I Should Have Done Six Months Ago

I'm seeing a new doctor today, which makes me nervous, as it always does. I've got a long history of dealing with doctors that do not take my concerns seriously, condescend to me, and just overall are professionals that I have been unable to trust. I've had some rather good doctors, certainly, but they're outnumbered by the ones I hated dealing with.

Sometimes the consequences of being completely dismissed by my doctor were minor. In high school I started getting rashes on my mouth that became increasingly bloodier and difficult to deal with. At one point my mouth was actually sealed almost completely shut by scabs for about a week, leaving me unable to speak. My dermatologist insisted relentlessly that it was the result of dry skin, and kept telling me to apply chapstick or Vaseline. As it got worse, it became his mantra: just keep moisturizing. After a couple months of hell, I realized that the rashes were an allergic reaction to all of the gunk I was putting on my mouth; once I stopped moisturizing, they went away. To this day I can't have ANYTHING on my mouth (not even the natural stuff like Burt's Bees), and I live with chronically chapped lips (sexy!).

Sometimes the consequences were not so minor: I spent almost an entire year in pain and vomiting almost daily because my GI doctor insisted that I'd simply become lactose intolerant, when the truth was I'd been living with an undiagnosed infection in my esophagus that was only getting more severe as time went on. I ended up dropping out of college (I had a full scholarship and everything!) because I was so ill. That was no minor consequence.

So yes, I have trust issues when it comes to doctors. I won't be seeing my last OB/GYN again, as she disappointed me in several respects with the way she dealt with me after my miscarriage. I'm seeing a new OB/GYN today and I found her just like I've found every other doctor I've ever seen: I picked her name randomly out of my insurance directory. I intend to talk to her about our efforts to conceive and to maybe get some bloodwork done, and while I don't expect her to work miracles or be able to answer my every paranoid question, I do hope that she is confident in her knowledge without being cocky, sensitive to my concerns instead of dismissive, and able to communicate her professional opinion without being pushy or condescending.

Wish me luck.

That's IT, We're Switching To Comcast

Verizon once again took it upon themselves to cancel today's service appointment, because they tested our line remotely (who knows when?!) and found everything to be in good working order. We had no Internet connection for six hours yesterday, and today they said that we should have called them then and complained. Um, WHY would I sit on hold for an hour to tell them that we're having the same problem we've been having for weeks, when we ALREADY had an appointment scheduled with them today?? If I'd known they were going to cancel our service request even after we explained the situation and specifically asked them not to, then yeah, I would have called.

Marcus was none too friendly with them this morning. The problem is that our Internet connection keeps going out and coming back randomly, and their response was essentially, "We can't come out unless the connection is out at the moment you make the complaint, the moment we check the line before your appointment (whenever THAT is), and the moment we arrive at your door." Since the problem is intermittent, can't be predicted, and often happens in the middle of the night (we frequently wake up to find that we have no Internet), what the hell are we supposed to do? Keep paying full price for a service that doesn't work half the time and that they refuse to fix?

So, yeah. Marcus is calling Comcast today to see if we can get the guy to come out on Friday. Verizon has been one long, ugly fail for far too long.

Just One More Day

The Verizon guy is due to come by tomorrow. Hopefully we'll get this Internet thing straightened out then and I can get back to blogging regularly (and so I can finally research the answers to my last Pregnant Lady Quiz!). Right now my only dependable online access is at work, which doesn't help much.

In the wonderful world of trying to conceive, I think that I'm going to concede to Fertility Friend; I don't think anymore that this was an anovulatory cycle. Perhaps it was just a less progesterone-y cycle. Despite the lack of post-ov symptoms, my usual luteal temperature pattern (temperature spike at 6 dpo, then a rocky downward trend leading inevitably to the premenstrual plunge) is spot on. I suppose I should be grateful for the fact that I can now recognize what a failed chart looks like a week before my period is due; I haven't tested even once and I don't think that I'm going to. My chart looks exactly like it always does.

On a sadder note (don't I always have one?), one of the women who lost her pregnancy last month managed to get pregnant again immediately, and just as quickly lost the second one. Two miscarriages in two months. The stuff of fucking nightmares.

I cleaned up cat puke three times today. How was everyone else's weekend?

My Baby's First Microscope

Despite Fertility Friend's insistence to the contrary, my husband and I are rather sure that I did not ovulate at all this cycle. My temps are strange and I've experienced precisely none of my usual pre- or post-ovulatory symptoms. As frustrating and disappointing as it is, the occasional anovulatory cycle is not considered a big deal in the world of young mommy hopefuls. It happens to every normal woman at some point, and can be a result of a range of things, from stress to diet to medication.

In order to clear up some of the confusion I've felt about my last few cycles, I finally broke down and invested in an ovulation predictor: a microscope.

When I first heard about fertility microscopes, I thought that they were a scam. Seriously, I thought it was bunk (of which there is no shortage) designed to target desperate mother-hopefuls. The idea of pinpointing ovulation by looking at your spit through a microscope seemed...well, like something that somebody made up.

But after doing a little bit of reading, I realized that these things are legit. Apparently, as a woman approaches ovulation and her estrogen levels rise, the salinity of her saliva increases as well. The salt actually starts to crystallize as her hormones peak, resulting in the appearance of fern-like structures, which can be viewed under a microscope. Check out the progression below:

Not fertile: Kinda fertile: Fertile!

There are many brands out there, and after perusing some websites and reviews, I chose the Maybe MOM Mini Ovulation Microscope. I chose it primarily because of the microscope's lifetime guarantee and because of their FDA approval. It just looks like a fat little stick of lipstick and is just as portable (not that I need to carry a microscope around with me - I just leave it in my bedstand - but whatever, the option is there, I guess).

Technically, this cycle is not over yet and I'm in the two week wait, but I'm positive that it's a bust. I am eager to see if the microscope lives up to the hype, so I'll just be waiting patiently until my next O day.

Verizon Hates Us

Forgive my recent absence. Our Internet access has been really iffy and Verizon doesn't seem to be as interested in fixing the problem as they are in charging us for a service that doesn't work. Hopefully we can get this taken care of soon. In the meantime, hang on, friends.

It Was A Dodgeball Massacre

If I had to describe last night's game using just one word, I would choose: Ow.

Ow, my jammed thumb.

Ow, my pulled shoulder.

Ow, my FACE (I took two ridiculously hard shots directly to the face, hard enough to send my glasses flying both times, within about 5 seconds of each other).

Ow, my pride.

My team didn't stand a chance. In the minutes before the game, while my teammates talked and stretched and bullshat each other, the other team ran around the court with knees high and practiced organized throwing drills with a few footballs. We watched them with interest (all right, more like fascination) and thought, "Hm. This doesn't bode well."

The other team picked us off the court as if they were shooting fish in a barrel. They had several intimidatingly strong throwers (two of which hit me in the face) and they sent the balls flying at us at honestly frightening speeds. It wasn't nearly as fun as last week's game, when we actually stood a competitive chance. We were entirely outranked, and plenty disheartened since our competitors obviously didn't belong in the social league.

It was fun enough, though, and it was better than sitting at home, not playing dodgeball, especially since our Internet connection went kaput (it's back today, obviously).

I'm currently waiting for the love of my life to rouse. Today is the 2nd anniversary of our elopement, but we don't have much planned other than seeing a couple movies and cleaning the house in preparation for tomorrow night's party. We've got the next few days off and I'm looking forward to a long weekend filled with love, friends, and sleeping in.

Here's a link to this month's Pregnant Lady Quiz (the twins edition!) in case you missed it..

Happy Friday, everyone. Any weekend plans?

Go Egg, Go!

I have no idea what my temperatures are doing. I may have ovulated already (my temps indicate it somewhat), but I'm not really sure. I don't have any of my usual post-O symptoms, I haven't had any of the good CM yet, and really, I just have a hunch that it hasn't happened.

I wish that I could lay an egg and that my husband could just fertilize it with a syringe full of goo and then stick it back in my uterus for safekeeping. It's admittedly a creepy thing to daydream about, but I'm tired of this crap and I'd appreciate a more straightforward method even if it does resemble the reproductive cycle of some freaky ranine-marsupial hybrid.

In any case, I can't wait to go home tonight. After my dodgeball game, we're going to a VP debate party (drinking + politics = ????), and then tomorrow we are celebrating our second anniversay of wedded bliss. I can't wait.

Pregnant Lady Quiz 3: Twins!

It's quiz time again! This month's prize is a jingle. No, seriously. I'm going to write a little ditty about this month's winner and put it up on YouTube, just for you. As always, we use the honor system around here. Just say no to Google. I'll go over the answers in a week. Leave your answers in the comments below.

Here are this month's True or False questions:

Yay or Nay?

1. Approximately one third of all twins are identical.
2. The longest span of time between the birth of twins in a single pregnancy is 5 days.
3. 70% of all conjoined twins are male.
4. It is possible for a woman to naturally conceive twins by two different men.
5. As many as 1 in 8 pregnancies start out as twins.

If you missed them, here are the links to the Pregnant Lady Quizzes of yestermonth:

Pregnant Lady Quiz 1
Pregnant Lady Quiz 2

And their answers:

5 Things You Didn't Know About Pregnancy
5 Things You Didn't Know About Pregnancy (II)

The Cute, You Cannot Resist It

Seriously, is this little lady beautiful or what?

Dodging, Ducking, Weaving

We had our first dodgeball match last night and I actually did pretty okay! Marcus came to cheer me on and soothe my nerves (I know, I know, it's pathetic to be nervous about a game of dodgeball, but I was always the kid that was lousy at sports), and on more than one occassion I looked up to see him absolutely cracking up at my smooth moves.

There were more than a few dramatic moments; at one point I even fell on the ground near the front line while three guys approached menacingly with their balls drawn (ha!). Through some miracle that I like to call You Throw Like A Toddler, all of them managed to miss me completely even though I was lying defenseless on the ground just meters away. I also managed to be the last woman standing in 3 or 4 games, and I even got a few people out. All in all, I wasn't too shabby.

I'm looking forward to next week's game! Marcus is going to bring the camcorder next time, so hopefully I'll have some amusing footage to share with ya'll next Friday.

Today is not a bad day. Marcus is coming to have lunch with me, which always makes my workday a little shorter. My weekend is full for a change; I've got a bridal shower to attend and a ton of cleaning to do to prepare for the post-anniversary party we're throwing next weekend.

Tell me, friends: Were you any good at sports when you were young? Which ones did you love and which ones did you hate (and why)?

The Party Never Stops In The Pee-pee Teepee

Jaunty Santa hats? Or sensible little tents for your son's unpredictable penis? You be the judge!



From the makers of this wonderful wiener hut:

The Pee-pee Teepee™ Poem
Changing a baby girl is not all glitz and glory;
Changing a baby boy is an even bigger horror story.
You hold his feet in one hand, and the diaper in the other;
The whole time praying, "Please don't pee on your mother!"

The Pee-Pee Teepee is a work of innovation created to protect fearful parents from their young son's indiscriminate penis. I've changed enough diapers to believe that such a product would be more or less useless, as little boys are so eager to grope themselves at the first opportunity and would therefore send the tent flying to the ground (or towards an eager toothless maw) instantly. But really, what do I know?

I do have to admit that the pic at the top of the home page is kind of adorable, albeit silly.

Perhaps Things Are Not As They Seem

After being surprised by last month's cycle (which ended two days earlier than expected) and being downright baffled by this last cycle (three whole days?!!), I decided to re-examine my assumptions. While it would seem that my luteal phase - the progesterone-dominated phase of the menstrual cycle between ovulation and menses - is suddenly shortening, the fact is that LPs don't often vary in length by more than a day, if at all. For me to suddenly go from having a 14 day LP to an 11 day LP is ridiculously unlikely.

What's probably happening, which I am loathe to admit (even though it's the least ominous possibility), is that my LP is normal and that I've been ovulating earlier than my chart indicates. If I count back 14 days from the end of my last cycle, that puts my actual ovulation at cycle day 12 instead of 15 - meaning that our timing for sex was actually really very awful this past month, with one encounter happening 3 days before ovulation and one on the day after. Ouch.

Fertility Friend's own FAQ confirms my suspicion:

The luteal phase (the time between ovulation and menstruation) does not usually vary much from cycle to cycle, while the follicular phase (the time between menstruation and ovulation) can vary considerably. A variance of more than a day or two in your luteal phase usually means that ovulation may have occurred earlier or later than your chart indicates on one or more cycles and you may need to make some adjustments to your charts.

So, there you have it. It's a bit frustrating to think that there was probably little to no chance of success in the last two cycles due to our poor timing, especially considering the money and energy wasted on testing. But I prefer failure due to a human/software error over an actual biological deficiency any day of the week.

On the plus side, I still get to participate in the first four weeks of dodgeball season. Go, balls, go!

TTC: Cycle 4

Verdict: Failure.
Future Prospects: ...

My period showed up 3 whole days early this time, which is unheard of. My luteal phase was only 11 days long. I don't even know what to say about this. I just really don't know what to say.

Babies In Beijing - Poisoned?!

I already have every intention of breastfeeding my future children if at all possible, and here is yet another reason to motivate me: Formula, like any other commercial product, is subject to quality oversights within the industry. I want to breastfeed for the same reason that I prefer to cook (and eventually, grow) my own food: because I know where it's been.

Remember that awful scare when melamine got into various pet foods and thousands of cats and dogs were sickened or even died because of it? Yeah, well it happened again, only this time the melamine was deliberately added to infant formula, and three babies have already died and over a thousand more are suffering.

China's largest producer of milk, Mengniu Dairy Group, announced the recall of three batches of formula made in January after tests showed they were contaminated with melamine, said Li Changjiang, China's director of quarantine and inspection.

Though it should not be added to food ingredients, suppliers in China sometimes put it in food to make a product appear to be protein rich. Melamine has nitrogen, and standard tests for protein in bulk food ingredients measure levels of nitrogen.

More than 1,300 infants are hospitalized with illnesses including malnutrition, kidney stones and acute renal failure.

Apparently the formula was watered down by the manufacturers to save money, then melamine was added to the diluted formula so that it could pass quality checks for protein. The two men who contaminated the formula are facing the possibility of execution.

I'd like to think that such a severe quality failure with such serious repercussions wouldn't happen in the US, but I work in Quality Assurance myself. No system is perfect, and one person can perfectly fuck shit up on a massive level with just a little bit of carelessness. The more control I have over what is going into my infant's stomach, the happier and less anxious I will be.

A Sobering Reality

In the short amount of time since my Little Green Kitten post, two of the women I know have already lost their pregnancies.

A [Not So] Brief History Of Passion

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted badly to be a mother. Some little girls want to be dancers when they grow up, some little girls want to be revolutionists, some little girls want to be Mensans, and some little girls want to be the best athlete/writer/doctor/fire fighter that they can be. I wanted to be quite a few of these things at one time or another as a child; but I changed my mind about as often as I changed the barrettes in my hair. The one thing I never changed my mind about or doubted was that I wanted to be a mother. There was no doubt about that, ever.

Like many teens, I became sexually active while still in high school. Unlike enough teens (unfortunately) I immediately took responsibility of my sexuality; weeks after losing my virginity, I started on the pill (and stayed on it for almost a decade). I made my appointments for Pap smears and STD screenings every 6 months, and I did all that I could to help my friends do the same. I helped a few of my peers make appointments with the clinic and then drove them there; I compiled all the information I could find about safe sex, pregnancy symptoms, and STDs on inconspicuously labeled floppy disks (remember those?) and distributed them to my friends; I took as many condoms from the free clinic as I was allowed and gave them out to anyone who asked; and I even showed a friend the proper way to put on a condom using an empty wine bottle as a prop. I was known among my friends as the go-to girl for information and advice about safe sex. I would help anyone that needed help, and I would do it without judgment.

I always practiced what I preached, but as I got older and entered committed relationships that I thought would last forever (I'm grateful that they did not, and my husband might be too), a little voice inside my head started to complain. She was getting a bit antsy, with all this sex and none of the pregnancy. But she understood that the time was not right, and it would not be fair to me or any child I had to jump the gun. I wanted badly to become a mom, but I did not want to be a teen mom.

College was more difficult. By then the little voice was not quite as impatient, as I was in a long-term relationship that I was pretty sure would end in marriage [Insert silent prayer of thanks here for that relationship's dismal failure], but she was starting to become paranoid. What if something were not right with me? How could I be sure that I was capable of pregnancy? How could I be sure that I would not have a miscarriage someday?

Back then, miscarriage was a bogeyman to me. It was this beast that lurked deep in my mind, and I was sure that if I ever saw its face, I would not survive the encounter. I had the naive privilege back then of believing that miscarriages were these rare anomalies that only happened to women that had something wrong with them. It terrified me.

In my early twenties, that voice once again began to get impatient. I was not a child anymore, I was not a teenager, but the situation was still not right, dammit! My boyfriend was dragging his feet on the marriage thing (praise Zeus!), and as I started to realize that our relationship was a mess that could not be salvaged (which happened around the time that I realized that his drinking habits were like not your typical college binge drinker, but much more insidious), that little voice inside started to despair. Nothing was happening like I always thought that it would. I had waited, patiently, and the time was still not right.

Surprisingly, less than a year after breaking up with the alcoholic, I met an amazing man. He was so amazing that I broke my vow to be single for a while so that we could date. So amazing that we were married less than a year after we met (on a Tuesday!). So amazing that even though he snores and hogs the bed at night, I love him with all my anxious little heart.

Anyway, after I got married, the little voice inside that for years had only whispered and whined started to yell. I wanted to start trying within a year of our wedding. He wanted to start trying significantly later. It was something we fought about regularly - the only thing we really fought about. When we bought a house of our own, that little voice evolved into a full-fledged banshee. We finally came to an agreement; we would start trying after Christmas.

I got pregnant in November, a month before we were supposed to start trying. I can't really call it an accident, as we had gotten lazy with the condoms (but if you can't have spontaneous unprotected sex with your spouse, then who can you do it with?), and I would never call it a mistake. But it was unplanned. And intensely joyful. And entirely too short.

About a month or two after the loss, I encountered a feeling that I had never once imagined possible. I did not want to be pregnant. I was terrified of the very thought. And rather than being a relief, it was devastating. My one faithful desire, the only thing I have ever been sure of in my life...was gone. I was unsure. I didn't know who I was without it.

This might all seem a bit silly. But everyone has their passions, and while there are people who would be quick to dismiss mine because it's "only" motherhood, I can assure you that the passion I have always had for being a mother is just as valid, just as alive and organic, as some people's passion for music. Some people have a talent for dancing, and they need to dance to be happy. I have a talent with children, and all I've ever wanted to do was raise a couple of my own.

Time healed my uncertainty. It may have happened gradually, but it sure didn't feel that way. One moment I didn't know what I wanted; five minutes later, after listening to this song for the millionth time and having yet another good cry, I did. It was an astonishing relief.

And now here I am. For better or for worse, I suppose.

------------------

My chart looks a little different this cycle. I'm on CD8 and today is my highest temp of the cycle so far, and hopefully it just continues upwards. On my other failed cycles, my temperature peaked at CD5 or CD6 and then it was all downhill from there, tanking around CD9 or CD10. It might not mean anything, but then again, it might. It's different. I know what my chart is supposed to look like and this one has just been different, even pre-ov. Hopefully different means good.

I'm waiting until Saturday morning, when I'm on CD12, to test. I have a date with the stick after my daily romantic interlude with my thermometer. And I'm nervous. I hate seeing those stark white negatives. I hate wishing to see something that will not be there. I hate thinking Yes? and being consistently told No.

I hate putting my hand on my stomach and wondering, Are you there? and being told, time and time again, There is no one here with you.

Ugh

My stomach is upset. I really, really would rather not go into work, but I might be in enough trouble as it is since I was supposed to come in for an hour or two over the weekend and I did not. I haven't been feeling well the past couple of days (hence the lack of posts, my apologies). I've been antisocial and stand-offish (I didn't go a party that I had been really looking forward to). And this morning my stomach feels icky.

Marcus thinks that I'm pregnant, because I became antisocial and stand-offish the last time I was pregnant (hurray, hormone cocktail!). I think that it's too soon to tell. In any case, it's too soon to test.

But I am definitely queasy this morning. Blech.

Powerless

I had a terrifying experience last night. Marcus and I are temporarily sleeping on the futon in the living room until our new mattress and boxspring are delivered (we don't have a date yet, but hopefully next week). I woke up several times during the night due to the cats being absolutely delighted over our presence; I guess they thought we were having a sleepover.

Anyway, despite the fact that my slumber was being constantly interrupted by an overactive kitten, I found it quite easy to fall asleep almost instantly after each disturbance. After squirting the kitten with water yet again for pouncing on my feet, I closed my eyes and almost immediately started to dream - or at least kind of hallucinate. It was awful. I didn't see anything, but there was a threatening chorus of robotic voices loudly declaring something in my head (I don't remember what) and it was freaking me out, so I opened my eyes...

...and found that I could not move a muscle.

Holy crap, it was terrible. The dream-voices stopped the moment I opened my eyes. I could see the living room clearly enough by the light coming in from our front porch, and I could hear myself breathing very heavily, very panicky. I was awake. But I could not move. I was paralysed.

After a few long seconds I closed my eyes again, waited another second or two, and then jerked my arms violently. I was okay again.

I Googled it today and it seems that it was a random occurrence of sleep paralysis, which happens when you wake up, but your brain still thinks that you're asleep and so continues to shut off all or part of your voluntary motor function. It's not all that uncommon and can be accompanied by hallucinations like mine was.

That was not cool, brain. Not cool at all.

An Upgrade In The Bedroom

I took the day off from work today, as I have the privilege of sitting around waiting for our new bedroom set to be delivered. It includes a nice little cherry sleigh bed - a considerable upgrade from our old set-up (a futon mattress on the floor...yeah) - a dresser, mirror, chest, and a couple of nightstands. The best part about it is the fact that it's all free, courtesy of my parents as a belated wedding gift!

Other than that, there's nothing much going on. I'm fairly sure that Fertility Friend is mistaken about my ovulation date, as my temperature has now skyrocketed and my normal post-O symptoms have made an appearance (the main one being that my nipples now hurt VERY badly). If it's wrong, it won't admit it for a few days; and if it doesn't admit it at all, I'll almost certainly do a manual override and change the date. It's a very useful software, but it does have its failings, and overall I trust myself more than I trust it.

In either case, I'm now in the next phase of my cycle: Resisting the Urge to Test Compulsively, which is significantly less exciting and also more expensive than the preceding phase, Boning Like Rabbits. Here we go again.

Fertility Friend And I

If the Fertility Friend software were able to communicate intelligently, this is what an AIM conversation between us would look like today:

augustdreamt: my temperatures for the past several days have been weird. usually my pre-ovulation temps are all over the place, but instead they've been steadily rising
fertilityfriend: hey that is weird. what was ur temp this morning?
augustdreamt: it was high
augustdreamt: 97.77
fertilityfriend: oh that explains it. u ovulated on friday
augustdreamt: what?
fertilityfriend: u ovulated. congrats!
augustdreamt: but you told me i wasn't due to O until monday!
fertilityfriend: u were 3 days early
augustdreamt: but we didn't have sex until saturday!
augustdreamt: seriously wtf?!
fertilityfriend: sucks to be u LOL
augustdreamt: :-(
fertilityfriend: hahahaha

Bad Dreams

Marcus doesn't have to work today, so I got up alone. As I was getting dressed, he mumbled sleepily, "How did you sleep?"

"I dreamt that my brother was dead."

He sat straight up in bed, suddenly awake. "So did I."

I looked at him. "How did he die?"

"He was shot."

I sat down on the bed with him, put a hand on his shoulder, kissed him. "I have to go to work," I said.

"How did he die in your dream?" he asked.

"I don't know. He was killed in the line of duty. I don't know any more than that."

..............

I'm in a bad mood. It's not the first time that I've dreamed about the death of someone I love, and I know it won't be the last time. But dreams like that just make me think about all of the fucked-up, terrible dreams I've had over the years. The ones that are much, much, much worse than the one I had last night. You wouldn't think that there COULD be a dream much worse than that of my little brother, a 22-year-old rookie cop, being murdered...but there are. Oh, yes.

5 Things You Didn't Know About Pregnancy (II)

Here are the answers to Pregnant Lady Quiz 2!

1. Nosebleeds are a symptom of early pregnancy.

True. I never heard of this particular symptom until I became pregnant myself; my nose frequently bled during my more violent bouts of morning sickness. Since a woman's blood volume expands during pregnancy, this can increase the pressure in the blood vessels in her nose, resulting in more frequent nosebleeds.

2. Semen contains an enzyme that can cause early labor.

Maybe. There seems to be some disagreement on this one. Semen does contain hormones called prostaglandins, which cause the cervix to soften and ripen for delivery, but whether or not exposure to semen is sufficient to start labor in a woman who was not otherwise ready for labor is debatable. This study suggests that semen may trigger labor in women who are already at term. Frequently, women who are already at-risk for pre-term labor may be advised against sex. But there doesn't seem to be any indication that a woman in a normally progressing low-risk pregnancy has any reason to fear semen causing her to go into labor before the baby is ready.

3. The oldest woman to give birth was 61 years old at the time of delivery.

False. The world's oldest mother (so far) is Omkari Panwar, pictured below, who gave birth to twins at age 70 earlier this year. Omkari and her husband, who was 77 years old at the time, already had two adult daughters, but were determined to have a son. They turned to IVF, paying for it with their life savings, their land, and their livestock. The twins, one boy and one girl, were born a month early.

4. The worldwide average of weaning a child from the breast is four years old.

That statement appears to be false. When I posited this question, I honestly thought that it was true. I've heard time and time again that the average age of weaning is 4.2 years old, and that this number was originally provided by the World Health Organization. Indeed, a quick Google search brings up plenty of websites that make the same statement...but I couldn't find anything from either WHO or UNICEF backing up the claim, only a multitude of third parties. In fact, I couldn't find any authority on breastfeeding backing those numbers.

Eventually, I came across the page of another blogger who had noticed the same thing in the course of her research. I also found an article on the natural age at which a child may wean herself from the breast, which has this to say about the 4.2 stat (emphasis mine):

One often hears that the worldwide average age of weaning is 4.2 years, but this figure is neither accurate nor meaningful. A survey of 64 "traditional" studies done prior to the 1940s showed a median duration of breastfeeding of about 2.8 years, but with some societies breastfeeding for much shorter, and some for much longer. It is meaningless, statistically, to speak of an average age of weaning worldwide, as so many children never nurse at all, or their mothers give up in the first few days, or at six weeks when they go back to work. It is true that there are still many societies in the world where children are routinely breastfed until the age of four or five years or older, and even in the United States, some children are nursed for this long and longer. In societies where children are allowed to nurse "as long as they want" they usually self-wean, with no arguments or emotional trauma, between 3 and 4 years of age.

It would appear that the oft-repeated 4.2 is indeed bunk (but if any of my readers can point me to a page where WHO or UNICEF actually make the claim, I'd seriously appreciate it!), and my efforts to look up what IS the worldwide average age of weaning was entirely fruitless, as 99% of the results come back to third parties claiming that "WHO reports that the age is 4.2." I'd like to be proven wrong on this one, but so far it looks quite false.

5. After the first trimester, amniotic fluid consists mostly of fetal urine.

It's true! Pregnant women are full of warm baby pee. The fetus doesn't just LIVE in pee; he breathes and swallows it too. Amniotic fluid is not only essential for development of a healthy digestive system and lungs, but it serves as a cushion in case the wobbly mama-to-be happens to fall on her belly (or otherwise injure herself).

The winner of this month's quiz is Chole, who has won herself an invisible Great Dane, as well as this haiku:

Homeless puppies and
hurt kittens will remember
your warm, loving care.

And, because I feel generous, here's a bonus haiku!

Fingers fly over
plastic rainbow keys. You are
my Guitar Hero.

Thank you BerlinBear, Tigerwong, Kat, and the Broken Man for participating!

The Little Green Kitten

Jealousy.

It's not with me nearly as frequently as it used to be. I'm not nearly as bitter as I was in the months after my miscarriage (though I'd be a liar if I claimed to be 100% bitterness free). But several of my friends and acquaintances seem to have fallen pregnant at the same time. One of my friends decided to start trying for a baby with her husband about 3 weeks ago...and now she is pregnant. Just like that!

Egads. I know that I've got no business whinging when it's only been a few months, but still...I just can't help but be a little jealous. I'm genuinely happy for my friends, I am. But I'm not going to lie about being a little envious as well.

I've tried something new over the past few weeks. I haven't been hiding my miscarriage, as if it were something to be ashamed of. If I'm talking to someone (who may or may not already know about it) and it becomes relevant to the conversation...I just talk about it. I talk about being pregnant. I talk about having miscarried. I talk about wanting children. As if it were normal, everyday conversation.

And I've found that people have responded. Not in the way that they used to, by averting their eyes, or changing the subject, or looking so uncomfortable and lost. But they've actually responded, and tried to relate to me even though I can tell they don't really know how.

When I hide my feelings about my loss, so do others. And when I step forward and open up about it, so do they.

............

Today is the last day to take a shot at Pregnant Lady Quiz 2. I'll be posting the answers tomorrow!

Yay or Nay?

1. Nosebleeds are a symptom of early pregnancy.
2. Semen contains an enzyme that can cause early labor.
3. The oldest woman to give birth was 61 years old at the time of delivery.
4. The worldwide average of weaning a child from the breast is four years old.
5. After the first trimester, amniotic fluid consists mostly of fetal urine.

Team Sports Are Good For TTC...Maybe?

My busy life just got even busier, thanks to my recent amazing feat of...accidentally signing up for a dodgeball team.

You read that right.

A few weeks ago, a friend was telling me about an adult social league that was getting started in the fall, and I told him that I was interested. He asked me for my email address, I gave it to him, and I soon started receiving mass emails from the organizers of the league. I didn't actually read any of the emails, as I hadn't made up my mind on whether or not I was going to join, until today. And today's email had a roster in it - with not just my name, but my t-shirt size on the list. I guess there was a miscommunication.

So I guess my mind has been made up for me, which I don't really mind because - well, it's dodgeball! And I'd love to play! If I happen to get pregnant before the 8 week season ends, I suppose I'll have to ask my doctor if playing dodgeball with slightly tipsy folks is on the long, long list of things that pregnant ladies are supposed to avoid. (Who am I kidding? It almost certainly is.)

P.S. I just realized that the title for this post could be interpreted to mean that the act of trying to conceive can be a team sport. Naturally, that's not what I meant, but it amuses me so I'm keeping it.

Just Learning To Walk? Wear A Helmet!

The pics are adorable, but really, is it necessary?



Introducing Thudguard: The answer to all of your infant rugby needs.



............

For those of you who didn't see the post over the weekend, there's a new True or False Pregnant Lady Quiz. The winner gets an invisible puppy and a haiku!

Yay or Nay?

1. Nosebleeds are a symptom of early pregnancy.
2. Semen contains an enzyme that can cause early labor.
3. The oldest woman to give birth was 61 years old at the time of delivery.
4. The worldwide average of weaning a child from the breast is four years old.
5. After the first trimester, amniotic fluid consists mostly of fetal urine.

I'll be going over the answers on Friday!

Sarah Palin's Vagina: To Whom Does It Belong?

I originally had absolutely no intention of delving into this, but the topic of Babygate, as it's being called, is exploding all over the Internet. The rumor is that Sarah Palin's youngest child, Trig, is actually her grandchild. Fingers are pointing to Sarah's teenaged daughter Bristol as being the mother of the boy, claiming that Sarah faked her pregnancy in order to cover up the fact that her unmarried minor child had a baby.

Now, I'm no fan of Sarah Palin. I'm a sex-positive feminist, which means that my values are pretty much the exact opposite of her anti-contraception ideology. But the vitriol that people are spewing towards her is disturbing. It has been suggested that her decision to board a plane while in labor with a pre-term Down Syndrome baby was criminally negligent; this is not true. There are no laws on the books dictating that all pregnant women must go directly to the hospital once labor begins, just as there are no laws dictating that women in labor must have a C-section if it's the only way to get the baby out safely. Hell, if a woman in labor (high-risk pregnancy or no) wants to pick up some fast food and rent some movies from Blockbuster first, it's her right.

A woman in labor is still a woman first; her rights to bodily integrity don't end when her water breaks. A woman in labor has the right to do the same boneheaded shit that any non-pregnant person wants to do, whether we agree with her judgment or not, and that includes not getting one's ass to the doctor as soon as one should, or not taking one's medication, or not undergoing a surgery that will probably do more good than harm. If it's not criminally negligent for my non-pregnant coworker to procrastinate seeing her doctor about the pain in her knees for 8 months, it's not criminally negligent for Sarah Palin to put off going to the hospital for 12 hours.

I won't argue against anyone who says that her decision was not the best she could have made (although she claims that she had her doctor's blessing to do it), but it was not criminal. She broke no laws.

I've seen many people speculate that Sarah did what she did after her water broke because she wanted her special-needs son to die, which is vicious speculation at best. No one knows what was going through Sarah's head the day that her son was born, and we have no way of knowing, so I wish that people would just give her the benefit of the doubt. If she's pro-life enough not to abort a Downs Syndrome baby, then I'd like to assume that she's pro-life enough to not deliberately endanger him on the day of his birth.

Another speculation I've seen repeated a few times makes the assumption that Bristol is indeed Trig's mother. There are some who are claiming (without a lick of evidence, mind) that Bristol's father impregnated her, which is another reason why the family would want to keep the pregnancy secret: so that Todd Palin wouldn't be outed as an incestuous child rapist. This rumor is so upsetting that I don't even really know what to say about it. How can people so blithely suggest (with no reason to believe so other than they want dirt) that Todd is a rapist, that Bristol is a victim of incest, and that the best and most compassionate way to deal with it (if true) is to drag them both into the national spotlight and turn it into a media circus?

This entire hullabaloo bothers me because pregnant women are already all-too-often treated as children. You see it all the time. Pregnant women are frequently refused service when they try to buy a six-pack of beer or a bottle of wine (even if they never had any intention of drinking it themselves), are lectured in public by complete strangers who have decided that her decision to consume sushi or soft cheese is everyone's business, and are demonized for taking any perceived risks (whether they are actual risks or just unfounded paranoia) at all because a woman's failure to be the perfect mother (even before birth) is too often considered to mean that she can't be a good mother at all.

Imperfect mother = unfit mother. Despite the fact that it's common knowledge that no one is perfect, perfection is absolutely expected of the pregnant woman or mother. Any sign that she may not be putting forth 110% during every moment of her pregnancy (like the day she forgot her pre-natal vitamin or the time that she treated herself to a medium steak dinner) is a sign of absolute failure. I've seen people suggest that because of Sarah's Palin's decision to board that plane, she is an unfit mother and that all of her children should be taken from her. The fact that her children are healthy and seem to be pretty okay is besides the point; apparently the family needs to be broken up and the children displaced - to do what? To punish Sarah? It obviously wouldn't be done in the best interest of the children, so punishment is the only reason I can think of.

People have demanded that, along with her records proving her health, she should turn over any record of how many pregnancies, miscarriages, stillbirths, and abortions she's had. The public has a right to know exactly what's gone on in Sarah Palin's reproductive systems over the course of her lifetime, even if it's got nothing to do with her health or ability to serve as VP, should McCain win the election. I can't tell you how much this sense of entitlement to another woman's uterus horrifies me.

I understand that the stakes are high in this election. Trust me, I'm all too aware of how the outcome of this election may effect my life and the lives of those I love. But Sarah Palin's vagina is none of my business, it's none of your business, it's none of the world's business. Her ability to mother is not what's at question here (and the very fact that it was the first thing questioned after the VP announcement is telling; after all, I haven't heard of any witch hunts questioning the abilities of Obama, Biden, or McCain to be good fathers while they run the country, but there are PLENTY of people asking if Palin can be a national executive and a mother at the same time); her ability to to be Vice President needs to be the focus.

Sarah Palin's vagina, Sarah Palin's womb, and Sarah Palin's children all belong to Sarah Palin, unless proven otherwise. So let's just leave them out of the ruckus, shall we?

Lazy Sunday

I somehow managed to sleep in until almost noon today. And now that I've been awake for a couple of hours, I kind of want to go back to sleep again. My accomplishments for today consist of:

• Eating Cheerios
• Playing Guitar Hero
• Listening to the Beatles
• Accidentally locking the kitten in the master bedroom for 40 minutes (She didn't mind, she merely used the opportunity to nap beneath the dresser)
  

Before I know it, Tuesday will be here and I'll be left wondering how in the world the weekend managed to end so quickly with so little to show for it.

This is pretty much me today, if I were a pair of lazy animals instead of a single lazy person:



How is everyone's holiday weekend going so far?

Pregnant Lady Quiz 2

It's quiz time again! This month, the prize is something [slightly] more substantial. In addition to an invisible puppy, the person who scores best will get a haiku written about them or their blog. I know some of you may not think that there's anything particularly glamorous about a stranger writing a poem about you, but I like to think that there is something attractive about earning the bragging rights to say, "I'm so kickass that the Internet wrote a poem about me."

As per usual, we use the honor system around here, but I like to think that nobody was really tempted to use Google in the first place.

Here are this month's True or False questions:

Yay or Nay?

1. Nosebleeds are a symptom of early pregnancy.
2. Semen contains an enzyme that can cause early labor.
3. The oldest woman to give birth was 61 years old at the time of delivery.
4. The worldwide average of weaning a child from the breast is four years old.
5. After the first trimester, amniotic fluid consists mostly of fetal urine.

I'll go over the answers in a few days. Leave your answers in the comments below!

Also, here's the link to Pregnant Lady Quiz 1 and the answers if you missed it.

I Lied To My Mom About Trying To Conceive

My mother doesn't know about this blog, and she doesn't know that Marcus and I are trying to conceive again. It kills me because I very badly want to tell her. For the past couple of months it's merely been something that I neglected to mention to her, but while we were vacationing at the beach in early August, she asked me point-blank, "Are you trying to have a baby?"

And I looked at her and told her no. She looked disappointed and said only, "Oh."

My mother and I have a terrific relationship. I cannot even begin to express how much I look up to her and how intensely I love her. I also see a lot of myself in her; she's given me so much of her personality, which I appreciate because I really do love myself and the kind of person I've grown to be. I hate to lie to her. I hate to keep this secret.

But the alternative is simply too risky. When I lost my first pregnancy, Mom mourned almost as deeply as Marcus and I did. She was devastated. There are 13 children between my mother and her three sisters, and not one of them has experienced a pregnancy loss. She never believed for a second that she would not have a grandchild in August.

She never thought for a moment that I would not be a mother right now.

I understand my mother, because we're so much alike. If I told her the truth, she'd read my blog every day, and she would read into my symptoms even more than I do, and her heart would fly up and then fall down during every cycle that we fail to conceive. Even when we finally do conceive, as hard as it's going to be (because I love my mom and I value her input and support), we're not going to tell our parents until the 2nd trimester, when things are statistically more in our favor.

If I ever miscarry again, I don't want to put my mother through it. I don't ever want to hurt her like that again. I just can't. I love her too much.