Holy moley how have 6 months gone by?

Sorry for the vast, unending silence from my end (is anyone still even reading this or waiting for updates?) I've been following along and commenting when I can, but I have found that time to sit and compose a real post is in short supply. Time, in general, seems to be in short supply, but more on that later.

So things are good. Really good.

My baby is 6 months old today and, well, unbelievably awesome.

A few items on what's going on with Mr. B:

- He eats. Man oh man does he eat. He is in love with bananas, and a pretty big fan of sweet potato, zucchini, peach and apple. Broccoli was not a winner, but he ate it when mixed into the all purpose yumminess of sweet potato. At this point he's eating about 4-5 oz a day in 2 meals. That doesn't keep him from downing about 32 oz of milk as well. He has decided that he wants to feed himself so he grabs the spoon and shoves it into his mouth. Super cute. Super messy, as he also shoves his hand in his mouth. Yum!

- He rolls. He pretty much decided that his tummy is where he wants to be, and he can get there very easily. It freaked me out in the beginning (my baby is going to DIE if he sleeps on his stomach! I need to flip him back over! He MUST be on his BACK!) but now, well, there is really nothing I can do. And he is fine. And it appears that he can roll the other way as well, as I have found him on his back the last two mornings. He hasn't yet figured out that rolling can get him places, but that will be soon, I'm sure.

- He (kind of) sits. He still has his hands on the floor or his lap, but he's getting the hang of it. Although he often decides his feet are more interesting and just folds right over so he can nom on his toes.

- He grabs. Everything. My glasses and hair are favorites, and are usually in his mouth in about 2 seconds. And he loves putting his hands in my mouth, and holding my face. And despite the fact that sometimes it hurts when he chooses to grab, I love it. I seriously cannot get enough of staring at each other with his hands on my face.

- He laughs. All the time. He laughs at toys, at his books, and funny sounds we make. He is a super happy kid, and I am so grateful.

- He sleeps. Here, I seem to have lucked out. He is in bed by 8pm every night, goes down without a fuss, and sleeps until about 6am. I'd love it if he slept until 7am, and I strongly discourage 5am (Yeah, that sucked.), but he sleeps at least 10 hours a night with no interruption, and that is f-ing awesome. Daytime sleep is less fabulous -- usually one good 1.5-2.5 hour nap and then several smaller 45 minute naps, but I'm not complaining.

He is, truly, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me -- I cannot believe how much I love this baby. I didn't even know that I could love this much. There are times, and they are frequent, that I look at him and just tear up because I am so grateful that I have a child, that I have this child.

I was playing peekaboo the other day with him and was hiding and said "Where's mommy? Here's mommy" and it hit me. "Mommy" isn't *my* mom hiding behind the burpcloth, it's actually me. He is my son and I am his mommy. And I will be always. And that is so wonderful and beautiful and perfect.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Yep, it's been a year. (For the record, re: this blog post title, I hate show tunes, and thought Rent was stupid, but I do think that it gives a good sense of the passage of time. So I used it.)

A year ago we put the last of our icicles back in for what we really thought was a total waste of time cycle. I had already done orientation at clinic number two where I was hoping to have more success since I had not managed to get a beta greater than 5 during 2 ivf and an fet. I admit that ivf 1 and fet 1 were both single embryo transfers, but after 4 back in and no pregnancy I was losing hope.

Fast forward to today -- I have a wonderful, happy, cuddly baby boy asleep in his room. I could not possibly feel more luck or grateful, and still surprised. That little ball of cells in the photo tht we gripped super tightly after we went home is a really human being now. The source of the kicks and the pokes and the endless heartburn can smile and laugh and shake his rattle. Despite the fact that I know where babies come from, I still have the hardest time putting it all together in my head. But even if it still seems amazing (and honestly, I hope this sense of gratitude and wonder never fades), I wouldn't want to miss it for the world. I've had a lot of experiences and done a lot of stuff in my 41 years -- professionally and personally -- and this is by far the best and most important thing I have ever done.

yeah, but *I* think it's funny

So as it turns out, when you are an infant, people (like your mom) can dress you up in funny outfits and you cannot do a damned thing about it. Except make funny faces and look sort of put out, which is what Mr B resorted to when I put his sunglasses on.

It was bad enough that I insisted on the concert t-shirt that his daddy bought, the one that doesn't have snaps or anything at the neckline. But the glasses? The indignities never end. In fact, I suspect that they are only beginning.

Everything else is going really well. There have been a couple of days where Mr B would not, could not sleep for more than 20 minutes at time between 6am and 8pm, but other than that? It's been really awesome. (But let me not minimize that -- 3 days in a row of no real napping is very stressful -- it means that there is no time to do ANYTHING at all for the entire day. Like eat, or shower, or rest. But we are back in nap land, at least for today, and I am grateful for it.)

And feeding him has reached a decent equilibrium -- I pump and feed him from a bottle and supplement with the anti-reflux formula to help him feel better -- otherwise he has bad reflux 30-60 minues after he eats. It breaks my heart -- he has these little wet hiccups and each one makes him cry this sad, pathetic little cry that says "that hurts, mommy. Please make it stop." And there is nothing to be done except hold him. So preventing it is the key to happiness for both of us.

Do I like pumping? Nope. Do my boobs hurt? Yep. And I get clogged ducts and had a blister thing that I had to tend to with a sterilized needle, but it is OK. Although the needle surgery was really really not fun. Seriously -- needle + nipple? Not awesome. More like something from a bad horror movie. And while I would like to say "never again" I'll do it if necessary, as it did the trick.

But otherwise all is good -- we went on a couple of car rides (which are a big deal, since we don't have a car) and he did great, and he is on a pretty decent night time sleep schedule -- he goes to sleep around 8pm then wakes at 2 and again at 5 and at 8. And the 2pm wakeup is usually only for about 20 minutes or as long as it takes him to eat 3-4 oz and then he falls right back to sleep. It's really not so bad, and since he is bottle fed, my husband usually takes one of the feeds so I can sleep a bit more. Although I still find that I rock myself to sleep more quickly than I rock B into slumber. Probably not exactly the best plan, but the motion is so relaxing!

I ended up sleeping in B's room last night so that my husband could get some sleep before a big meeting, and was lying there listening to him breathe. And all I could think was that I am so grateful and so lucky and so in love. It is wonderful. And amazing and I am happy.

Life with baby -- birth

Wow -- I've tried sitting down to post about 100 times, and yet never quite make it (and now should be napping, but...).

I'm totally in love with my son. Heart-stoppingly, life-changingly in love. It is more amazing than I could have expected, and just thinking about how lucky I am and how grateful my husband and I both are for the opportunity to have this child -- our child -- makes me cry.

So how did I get here? After my routine 36 week sonogram showed very very low fluid levels, I was admitted to the hospital and hooked up to an IV and fetal monitor and basically let alone until the next morning. Note that, at 36 weeks pregnant and being pumped full of fluids, I became quite adept at moving through the cramped double room to the bathroom with the IV pole. I probably slept no more than one hour, because, well, I had to pee over and over and was terrified that they would have to deliver the baby early.

My OB came in at 730 the next morning and did another sonogram and, to our dismay, there was still low fluid. No good reason for it (I was drinking HUGE amounts of water every day), but so low that it could have led to cord compression and danger to the baby. So we started to prep for an 11.30am delivery time. And I started to get really really nervous. Apparently I hid it well, because my husband was not aware of how terrified I really was. The Boy arrived at the hospital at 9 and we both began the pre-op process. Even if the baby hadn't been breech, he would have had to be a c-section, because with such low fluid, contractions could have harmed him.

At 1030 they took me to the OR and yes, I was still scared. Scared that the c-section itself would hurt, scared that there would be something wrong with the baby, scared of being so completely mentally and practically not ready to have a baby that day and how we would manage.

Anesthesia was not bad (remember, we are all good with needles, and this one I didn't even have to see!) and my OB who I love love love basically hugged me as the anesthesiologist put in the local and then the spinal block. Then the nursing team and OB sprang into action and started prep for the procedure. At this point the curtain was set up over my chest and so my husband came in. I swear I have never held anyone's hand so tightly for so long. And I kept my eyes either closed or on him -- for some reason looking up at the lights or at the curtain just amplified my anxiety. But talking to him about what was happening -- that we were about to meet our baby -- made it much much less scary.

The team was great about telling me what they were doing and when, and were very forthright about the fact that there would be "pressure not pain" -- I honestly couldn't even figure out what that meant until it was happening. But once I was opened they really started compressing my belly up near the top -- there were a couple of very big pushes into my chest so as to move the baby down so that he could be brought out. It didn't hurt, per se, but was just a very foreign and not entirely pleasant feeling.

And then, after only about 10 minutes from the time the procedure started, he was out. And it -- the mystery baby that we have talked to and hoped for and loved -- came into the world and we got to see him. And finding out that the baby was a boy, and knowing that our names were all picked out, was just wonderful because there was this one moment where the baby went from being a theoretical "it" baby to being a our son with a name.

And so they showed us Benajmin, all covered in goo, and then took him to be cleaned up and checked out. And we cried, because he cried loudly and healthily, and because we were so so lucky that he was not very small and was breathing without trouble. He scored brilliantly on his Apgar test (9.9! Yeah for slightly premature babies exceeding expectations) and so was deemed healthy enough to avoid the NICU entirely and go to the well baby nursery. He weighed in at 6lbs 1oz and 20 5/8th inches -- he was clearly on track to be a big baby!

And then they brought him back to my husband and let him hold him while they put me back together, and we all reconnected about 30 minutes later (really, I have no idea of the time -- there were drugs involved) in the recovery room. And I got to hold him and touch him for the very first time and it was magic.

It wasn't at all how we had prepared or planned, but it was wonderful all the same. Because all that is really important is that Benjamin entered the world and that he is here and is healthy.

More on the days after in a later post.

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.