It's December and I'm still pregnant

I suppose that it should not be a surprise to me any more, but it is. I'm 27 weeks pregnant today (thank you Baby Center for telling me that le bebe is the weight of a head of cauliflower.) And since I haven't written much about what's going on with me and this pregnancy, here's my not-that-interesting-to-anyone-including-my-husband rundown of what's going on.

I'm officially enormous. There is no more thinking "is she just fat?" -- I am unambiguously pregnant. So much so, people have started offering me seats on the subway, and I have shamelessly started to take them. But despite the enormity, I like the way I look. Yeah, I want my own boobs back, but for right now, it's all kinds of awesome.

The amazing energy level of trimester two? That's starting to fade a bit, and my advanced maternal age is starting to make itself felt. I'm pretty tired most evenings after work, actually, and would love to be in bed at 10pm every night.

The swelling has started. Actually, it started on vacation, but was mitigated by a lot of water. Now even my 96oz per day and elevating my feet doesn't really get rid of it all. So I'm consigned to clogs and a couple of pairs of flat boots, and just looking forward to seeing my ankle bones again in March. Although my compression socks do help and I have to admit to being kind of in love with them. Yes, putting them on requires a tremendous effort and all manner of grunting and groaning, but they rock.

My lower back is starting to hurt. Not a lot, but I'm stiff and its harder and harder to get comfortable. So sleeping through the night is definitely a thing of the past, and I expect it to get worse before it gets better (like in a year). Similarly I am winded easily, and find climbing the 3 flights of stairs to our conference rooms more challenging, and know that this will also be harder. And my reflux has not gone away -- yes, it's better most of the time, but it still pops up at inconvenient times (I completely over-ate at Thanksgiving and then thought I was going to die. Or explode. It's so annoying when you feel bad and you know it's your own damned fault. It was like a hangover -- I had no one to blame but myself!)

While none of this sounds all that awesome, I am good. It turns out Le bebe had the hiccups for the first time today (or, more accurately, I really could tell what they were) and moves around a ton. Sometimes it's pretty insistent moving, but I love it. And so despite the fact that I was awake for 30 minutes at 4am and had an aching hip, I was beyond happy about the kicking and the wiggling. I lay in bed giggling and crying because what I am feeling is magical and wonderful and I am lucky. Yeah, I'd rather do without the swelling, but I'd take a whole lot more discomfort for the 30 minutes of wiggling I got this morning.

What a difference a year makes

Just about one year ago I was having a meltdown because (a) I was 39 crashing into 40; (b) my first IVF cycle had been cancelled because of a cyst; (c) I was actually doing an IVF cycle and; most importantly, (d) I wasn't pregnant despite about a year of trying.

This year? This year I am 26 weeks pregnant, 40 years old and ok with it most of the time, and feeling pretty good. I don't have to bring syringes and drugs through the airport and I am obsessing over the perfect gender neutral crib bedding.

And for this difference -- this tremendous, life altering change, I am thankful. I could cry every time I think about how happy I am that modern science worked for me.

Many of you all are still on the road to parenthood, and I know how hard this time of year is, because I have been there and wept and moaned and raged. And I hope that your path leads to a family in a way that brings you joy and leaves you at peace and that you don't dread the next holiday season.

I'm wishing you all the very best for this Thanksgiving.

What should I do? How should I feel?

I've been mulling over this post for a long time, and I'm finally ready to put it out there because, well, I'm kind of just fed up. Here's the story:

About a year ago when I was just embarking on IVF #1 after about a year of trying (and clomid, drug of the devil), I was in hiding. We've all been there -- other people's lives just look too good when you are in the pit of despair. But I came out of hiding and confided in one of my friends and she mentioned that another friend, S, had also kind of dropped off the map. So I took a leap of faith and emailed S to see if she and I were both trapped in the same circle of hell and whether she wanted to get dinner and commiserate.

As it turned out, I was right, and S was already the veteran of 5 or so IVF cycles, had lost both of her tubes (don't ask me how/ why) and was still very much not pregnant. We had a good dinner where we shared and laughed and even cried a little about how horrible it all was and generally just commiserated.

Subsequently, we got together a couple of times and emailed when things were bad and generally just kept up on how each other was doing or when another friend did something horribly insensitive, etc.

In February we had a big girls trip with 11 of us (3 without kids, to include me and S) and it was hard. It was fun and I'm glad I went, but it was hard to hear about kids and second and third kids all the while knowing that my recent beta was a whopping 5.2. And it was hard for S as well. That was visibly obvious. And when I checked in on her after the weekend to try to get together her response was "I need some time -- let's just connect in June."

So I get it. People need to retreat to their comfortable places when they are emotionally not ready to deal , and I don't presume to know how bad it was for her or what she went through, but it kind of pulled the rug out from under me and took away a source of my support as well. But again, when things are bad, we all get very focused on the "me" and not so much on the "you." But it kinda sucked anyway, especially since I went on to fail IVF #2 at that time and could have used an IRL friend who "got it."

Then, against all hope, FET #2 from our first IVF cycle actually worked and I got pregnant. And so I didn't contact S during the summer because I wasn't telling anyone I was pregnant, and I thought that sharing with her would just be cruel. But I agonized over it -- I agonized over not checking in on her and over how I would tell her if the pregnancy continued. Because frankly, I never thought she would get pregnant -- she had done 10 IVF cycles at that point and was thinking about giving up.

After I started coming out to our mutual friends, I was very clear with each person I told that not everyone knew. The Boy and I had decided that the best way to tell S was to send her an email right around the same time I told other people. That way she wouldn't find out from anyone else and she wouldn't have to pretend to be all kinds of nice to me on the phone or in person -- it just seemed like the most respectful and kindest way to deal with what was a really a very difficult situation. But because I was still agonizing about it, I tested my plan with another friend, C, who knows both of us -- and our IF issues -- well. And when C said "don't worry about it -- S is 22 weeks pregnant," while I felt relieved and happy for her, I also felt a little bit kicked in the gut, because it was clear that I was a whole lot more worried about how S's feelings than she was about mine. And I also felt like an idiot, because apparently all of our friends knew she was pregnant except me!

I executed on my plan anyway, and sent her a short note letting her know that I was 15 weeks pregnant and that most of our other friends did know. Her response? "I'm so glad for you. I'm also pregnant, due on Jan 2." It seemed kinda terse. But I soldiered on as if all was fine and set up a plan to meet for dinner, which we did a few weeks later. Dinner left me feeling kinda cold and sort of like she'd rather be home organizing her sock drawer. And she hasn't responded to my two emails since.

I've talked to a couple of other friends about this and two have had similar experiences. And S has said to multiple people, including me, that she doesn't think she will ever get over her experience of IF. And I get that -- trying and failing to get pregnant for well over a year and doing IVF cycles changed me too.

But we are both now pregnant and it has actually kind of worked out. And it would be pretty cool to have a friend in NY who has a kid the exact same age. But she's just shut me out, and I can't get past feeling sort of betrayed and hurt by her. And so I'm essentially writing off the friendship. She doesn't appear to want to be friends and she doesn't really appear to care about my feelings or experience of pregnancy after IF. And I don't want to make it a "thing" and even address this -- I'm just kind of done. Sad at how things turned out, but done. But I guess I'm wondering whether I'm giving up too easily or should at least have the conversation before I check out completely.

Gah. Interpersonal relationships are so messy.

I'm still here

And all is well. I've just been crazy busy at work since we got back from vacation and in the evenings either I am falling asleep at 8.30pm or the Boy has commandeered the computer to watch NHL games that aren't on TV (yeah, our lives are exciting like that). I'm reading on my bberry, though, but I just can't figure out how to comment.

So what's going on here? Vacation was fabulous. We ate truly spectacular food, did tons of walking around each city, and had some great travel adventures. Everything really worked out perfectly.

Funny thing? It appears that I now look pregnant. A couple of little old Italian ladies were really sweet -- one wouldn't let me go through the metal detector at a museum because "it wasn't good for the baby" (this communicated in Italian and sign language).

A couple of takeaways: Rome is not a stroller friendly city. Very narrow sidewalks, cobblestone streets, and kind of crazy traffic. Paris -- much more stroller friendly, and loads of French people wheeling their kids around. Other takeaway? We actually noticed. And noticing people with small children and not being hurt or angry about it was, well, kind of wonderful.

I think it's because I can feel the little wiggler moving pretty much all of the time (except for an inordinately long time yesterday, which completely freaked me out, but that's another story) that I actually have some amount of confidence that we will have a real live baby early next year. So much confidence that tomorrow I am -- wait for it -- going to order a crib and dresser and glider. And I agreed to a shower and I've started allowing people to give me seats on the subway. I'm pregnant for what may be the only time after nearly 18 months of trying, and I'm starting to enjoy the hell out of it.

The woman who ate Manhattan

I am officially enormous.

That's the bad news. The good news is that at our 21 week appointment yesterday, all looks exactly as it should, the little one's heart was thumping away at 145 bpm, and it's all wiggly and has a somewhat simian appearance in profile. (Hence our new nickname "Monkey".)

And I am happy beyond happy about that good news. I go back in 3 weeks for a check and then in another 4 for my 28 week appointment where we test for fun stuff like gestational diabetes. And since I can now feel wiggling a fair amount, I have less fear that the Monkey has expired.

My current fear is about me and my pace of weight gain -- it's kind of stressing me out, and while I can rationalize it away in a variety of manners, it is stressful. Here's the story:
- I am nearly 5'9" and my desirable weight is <135. (I've been as low as 120, but not since I was 30.) I have a pretty small frame, and until I was older than 35 used to be able to eat whatever I wanted, but now there is real risk of porking out if I submit to my desires for dessert(s).
- IVF helped me pack on about 10 extra pounds, so my first weigh-in at the OB (8 weeks) had me at 145 (grrrrrr.)
- I just clocked in at...(wait for it)...165. I'm only 50% of the way to full term and already I have put on 20 lbs on top of the 10 I already had. And so I am kind of stressed out that I am going to be giganto-girl during and after this pregnancy.

I know that this is silly, and I can even come up with a good medical reason to have gained so much weight (more below) but I just feel icky about it. I love my round belly and am very happy that there is a healthy Monkey wiggling away, but I will admit to being pretty freaked out about my size, especially my increasingly enormous rear and the fact that I seem to just be spreading wide everywhere. I guess I just wasn't prepared for such tremendous body changes and I appear to be having a harder time adjusting to them.

And I'm worried, too. In Feb, my thyroid levels had gone kind of wonky and I got put onto synthroid to bring my TSH level down from 4, which we all thought was too high. And I've been having it monitored very regularly and it has been below 2 through this entire pregnancy, but last week my TSH was up to 2.5, so I have had to up my medication again. And now I'm worried about all of the issues that hypothyroidism can cause during pregnancy. I know that mine is anything but uncontrolled, and that lack of control is the cause of the problems, but I still worry a bit. And I wonder if whether the low thyroid function is what is causing the weight gain, or whether I am just meant to be round.

Either way, I'm trying to be ok with the weight gain but I'm just not. And I feel both stupid about even caring, and somewhat reasonable, both at the same time. I dunno -- I guess I didn't realize that being pregnant would be this emotionally complicated.

I've done it

I think that, now that I can feel the little one moving pretty regularly and have passed the anatomy scan, now I might actually believe that there will be a baby.

As part of my believing in the (oh please don't let me jinx this) potential baby, I posted a little ticker thingy on my blog. I figured there's got to be some time when I stop being so neurotic about this pregnancy and start settling in and enjoying it, and this seems as good a time as any.

So that's it: I'm pregnant, I feel pretty damned good (I seem to have learned to minimize the reflux), I'm rocking some comfy elastic waist pants, and I can feel the little one move as I type this. There's no drama and I love it.

Anatomy scan -- check!

We have a healthy 19 week old fetus bouncing around inside of me.

Today was our anatomy scan and everything is, despite my anxieties to the contrary, perfectly, absolutely normal.

I really really enjoyed watching the bebe for a full hour and getting to see all of the different pieces and parts. There are 4 chambers in the heart, which was pumping away at 145 bpm and looking good and healthy. There are 2 kidneys, a gall bladder, a stomach, a liver -- all of the insides are where they should be and appear to be functioning well (I loved the renal blood flow check -- that is just so neat). 10 fingers and 10 toes, 2 ears and 2 eyes, a properly formed brain -- everything was normal and we could SEE it.

A lot of time my inner luddite comes out and I protest hat modern technology has made life harder and more stressful, not easier, but this, this was cool and I'm super happy that the science exists for me to be able to see inside me and the little one to check it all out.

What did we not see? Boy or girl parts. We are still trying to keep this a "mystery baby" and so the tech was great about telling us when to turn our head away and didn't use any gender related pronouns throughout (although, weirdly, I kept slipping into the "he" and "his").

However (and you knew that this could not be drama free), the Boy thinks that he saw the gender on the computer screen with all of the measurements. Up in the upper righthand corner was "Sex: F." And while F makes me very happy (as does M -- I'm just going for healthy), I have a very strong suspicion that the information across the top of the screen was not le bebe's, but actually mine, since also at the top of the screen was my name and SSN.

The OB's office called to confirm that they had received the results and that they were all normal, and I asked the nurse whether, on the screen with all of the data, that was my info or the mystery babe's. Turns out, per the OB who called me back, it was mine. But now the Boy doesn't really believe me and he kinda wants to know the gender. But I am holding firm and really would like the surprise.

We got loads of pictures which I have been trying not to ogle all day (I am supposed to be doing a rather odious spreadsheet task), but here are 2 of my favorites. They crack me up and make me weepy, all at the same time.

Hello? Anyone there?

I can feel it move.

Let me amend that. I'm about 85% sure that what I am feeling is it move.

Wow. There is something in there and I can feel it.

Suddenly the reflux and lack of decongestants seem really really unimportant (and incidentally, both issues appear to be resolving themselves with rest, no eating before sleeping, and a lot of chamomile tea and honey).

There is a growing child inside of me and it is moving and I can feel it.
That is so unbelievably exciting and wonderful I just might cry.

Status update

Warning -- this is a whine-fest. But if you want my view on some of the physical aspects of being pregnant, here it is.


I've been feeling like shit, recently, in at least 2 different ways, but I've been holding back from sharing because, well, it's just seems not terribly gracious. But now? I'm tired, and cranky and need to offload.


I am more excited than I can possibly tell you that I am pregnant. Every day I wake up, rub my belly, and feel grateful to all the powers that be for allowing me to make it to 17.5 weeks. But being pregnant is HARD work.


Way one I have felt bad:
Just when I was rejoicing about how the nausea went away and the exhaustion had lifted, and how I really wanted to eat again for the first time in about 12 weeks, I ran headlong into my new worst enemy: reflux. It turns out that the really spicy food that I am craving (like a burrito with spicy barbecued beef) makes my chest and throat burn like, well, like a whole lot of acid is eating its way through tissue it shouldn't be touching. And worse still? It's not just the spicy food. It's tomatoes. And cereal with milk. And green salad with oil and vinegar. And a peanut and butter and jelly sandwich on whole grain bread. All of these foods have caused tremendous gastric distress and forced me to look longingly at food and then turn away, which is a problem because I am starving.


The solution? Eat virtually nothing I like. The other solution: sleep sitting up. It's bad enough that I am no longer allowed to sleep on my back, which blows as well, but to sleep propped up? I'm basically awake for at least an hour every night just sitting there like a fool, feeling really annoyed that it's 3am, I am sitting up in bed with my chest still burning despite the aforementioned sitting and not asleep. So I am tired, too. Oh yeah, and my shoulders and back hurt from sleeping like that.


Way two: I have a cold. And pretty much all I can take for it is liquids and more liquids and tylenol. Of course, citrus juice would be good, but that makes the reflux kick into overdrive. (I tried it. Not fun.) So I am coughing and coughing and yesterday I coughed so hard that I vomited. It was epically horrible and I think I am scarred for life. Word from the wise: next time you are pregnant and coughing hard and have to pee insanely badly all at the same time, try to hold the pee and face the toilet. Because I made the other decision and it was a disaster. Oh, and I was at work. Which made it horrible and embarrassing, because some poor soul was two stalls down. I took today off because (a) I was afraid of coughing/ puking again in public and (b) I'm hoping that a day off will actually help me kick this, and (c) I think the other person in the bathroom deserves a reprieve from the horror show of yesterday.


And since I can't for sure feel le bebe yet (and of course am starting to get worried about that), and have no other indications aside from belly growth that I am still pregnant, I've convinced that my belly is smaller, which means, to my mucus-addled brain, that the bebe is not growing and doom has finally caught up with me.


In short, I'm sick, chock full of acid, and a nutcase. Fabtastic combination.


On the plus side, Glee is on tonight, I got to sleep until 10 (with a "what the fuck are you doing sitting up" break between 4.30 and 5.30am), and I am starting to feel better. Oh, and I'm 17 weeks and 5 days pregnant, which blows my mind and means that my fancy dancy level II ultrasound is in just. one. week.

All is still well, but I'm stuck

I'm 15 weeks 6 days and all is still well.

I haven't been writing a lot recently because, well, this started as an infertility blog and I feel kind of shitty about turning it into a place where I bitch about how I don't fit into my pants any more because I am gaining pregnancy weight. I hate the idea of this blog in any way making someone else unhappy, because I can certainly tell you that there were many blogs that I used to read and had to stop because (in my mind, at least) they got pregnant and seemingly forgot all about how it felt to be infertile.

So I'm torn, I guess. I struggled for a while -- 18 months to be exact -- to get pregnant, and that pain is still very fresh in my mind. But I'm pregnant and things appear to be ok for now, and for me that means that some things that used to really bother me don't sting so much any more. But I'm not sure about talking about them here, because I really don't want to make anyone else feel bad.

This blog, then, like me, is torn between two worlds -- pregnant, fertile-dom and infertile-dom.

This even came up IRL at dinner on Saturday. We went out with friends who have a toddler, and much of the conversation was spent discussing baby stuff. Read: pregnant, fertile women conversation. But then it shifted, and I was back to being infertile: we were discussing another friend who is expecting in January after many many rounds of IVF. While I haven't spoken to that friend yet (more on that in another post), apparently she said that, while she is thrilled to be pregnant, she may never recover from the experience of infertility. The friend who was telling the story was dismissive of that; something to the effect of "she just doesn't know yet. I view my life as really starting when I gave birth and I think she will forget all of the trouble she had getting there." Infertile me could feel the heat rising and my pulse rate going up when she said that, because, frankly, I don't think you ever really "get over" infertility. I tried to explain to her that the fundamental loss of control, the loss of trust in your own body, and the sheer amount of bitterness and jealousy are really hard to get past, but I don't think she bought it. But the hurt and the anger, the lack of confidence and fear that it would/ could never work all came rushing back when we were talking.

Anyway, this is kind of rambling and long, but the point is that I feel stuck in the middle. I'm definitely pregnant (we just saw it yesterday, and so it is still there and still doing well), but I feel definitely infertile. And because I feel stuck, this blog has felt a bit harder to write. I'm sure it will change and evolve, but right now it's definitely a challenge for me to navigate these two worlds.