Distraction of sorts

Monday morning I got the news that a months worth of shots and early-ass appointments were for naught.

Monday was also the year anniversary of my grandfather's death, and he and I were very very close.

Monday at 5pm our babysitter cancelled so I had to miss a dinner out (and was therefore home solo).

Monday at 550pm I get a text from our nanny that B's pooping has, well, increased markedly, and she is worried he is sick.

Monday at 7pm right before bedtime I get vomited on. Like something out of the movies, except that the vomiter is not a scary alien but a somewhat confused but still relatively cheerful 13 month old baby. Who knew a baby could hold so much stuff? After stripping us both down and taking a shower, baby goes to bed and I begin the process of cleaning up the wreckage.

Tuesday 8am back at work. Very very busy. B is totally fine, but on bland diet and no milk.

Wednesday 128am wake up nauseous. No, not pregnant. Oh shit, it's the stomach thing. Am up hourly until 5am. Really very unhappy. DH appears to sleep through it all.

Wednesday 630am B awake. Am shivering and covered in sweat and do not move for the remainder of the day.

Thursday 645am feel human. Get call from nanny that she has been felled by the disease. Email work again. Do my best to work from home, and B accommodates by taking 2 1.5 hour naps exactly when I have conference calls. Congratulate myself on being supermom. Then promptly let him smack his head on sandbox in playground. Rescind supermom award.

Thursday 7pm. Try eating some food. Poor idea. Stomach cramps for a couple of hours. Get period for good measure.

Friday 630am. Up and at 'em! Spend morning with B, who demands breakfast upon waking since he cannot have his baba (although he yells for it all the time) and then head to work.

Friday 9am. Try eating muffin. More stomach cramps. Perhaps more chamomile tea instead.

Friday 9.30am. Get "I am 3 months pregnant" email from coworker who was worried about how long it was taking in October. Feel like I have been punched in the chest.

Friday 10.40am Decide that this week has been a bit of a sh.itshow and wish it would end soon. No tears or hysterics on anyone's part (yet), but not an awesome week.

But starting BCPs tomorrow for another round.

American Idiot

No, not the Green Day Broadway play. Me. I'm the idiot.

I'm the idiot because I actually, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, thought that I could get miraculously pregnant on our "break month" before we try with IVF again.

When CD28, 29, and 30 rolled around, I actually let hope in. And the bitch fucking took off her shoes, put her feet up and made herself at home. Once again, I googled things like "timing of implantation bleeding" (there was a tiny bit of light pink spotting) and "spotting at time of period." You'd think I had never done this before. What you really would think is that I should just bookmark this stuff on my web browser.

And so, since I am usually a 28-day girl, I went out and I did the unthinkable. I bought pregnancy tests. Expensive ones. Ones without lines but with words that tell you the news. And to no one's surprise but mine, the test said "not pregnant."

The Boy had a pretty good observation (and I promised to give him credit). What the sticks should say is "Yes" or, in our case, "F**k you." I'm not sure how you market those, but I think it's really quite a bit more honest and more appealing for certain segment of the buying public.

And in more great news, immediately after my "f**k you " result, I discovered that we had no hot water and had to suffer through that. Which sucked almost as much. I love camping, but doing the cold shower at home? Not nice at all.

Then I had to spend a day at site visits with my pregnant co-worker and listen to how she was feeling and hear all of the cooing, and discussions of pregnancies, and listen to her whine about how hungry she was.

So overall, a banner day. Oh yeah, and by 3pm my period had officially arrived.

Like I said, I'm an idiot.

This is my 100th post

This is my 100th post.

I frankly can't believe I've been at it this long, and am certainly not where I thought I would be when I started this blogging project. I thought this would be simple, and that IVF would solve our not-really-that-big-of-a-deal problem in getting pregnant. But I was wrong. I'm not pregnant and I've failed 2 IVF cycles. (Note for those of you who are detail oriented, I did a single embryo transfer for my first IVF and FET, so I count that as one. Because failing 3 cycles? That would be really bad.)

But because I'm apparently too stupid to acknowledge that there is a problem, I was actually trying to arrange it so that the announcement of my positive beta test yesterday would be the 100th post. I mean, wouldn't that have been cute? 1-99 would be getting pregnant and 100-whenever would be all about being pregnant. But it appears that I was a bit overly optimistic about this working. And to be honest, I feel like a bit of a fool for even thinking that way. Actually, I just feel like a bit of an idiot thinking that this was going to work for me at all.

I think that that is why this is so so fucking hard. Because I am (was?) optimistic that IVF will work for us, because it really should based on everything out there. I'm a fool because I let myself get hopeful. And I got hopeful because there is nothing that they can tell us that is wrong with either of us, because I appear to be responding quite well to all of the drugs, and that they think (thought?) that I was in pretty decent shape considering my advanced maternal age. But it appears that, alas, either my embryos all suck and so are not sticking or that something is going on to prevent them from implanting.

So something is clearly not working, and I'm bound and determined to figure out what the hell it is. And so I am distracting myself with activity and my action plan and next steps.

But really my heart is breaking into thousands of little pieces and I am not sure I will ever recover from this disappointment.

My subconscious is out to get me

I'm clearly very very stressed out about this upcoming beta on Wednesday. Here's why:
a) many of my "symptoms" (e.g., sore boobs, uterine cramping, thirst) have disappeared and so I no longer believe I am pregnant. And frankly, I wasn't even convinced before, but I was willing to pretend. Now I just want to get the damn test over with.
b) I turn 40 in less than a month and I am going to lie in bed for days and cry if I am not pregnant. It is no shit stressing me out.
c) I have been an emotional basket case all weekend, and frankly kind of bitchy.
d) I did another AMH test recently (spurred on by the monitoring appointment from hell) and, whereas my test from a year ago was 1.3, I'm now down to 0.7. So I'm really running out of time and eggs.

So my subconscious is apparently also stressed out, as I had dreams this morning about a variety of ways that I might meet my demise in the next several days. I have to say, I was remarkably creative in the ways I envisioned expiring, but it was stressful all the same. The only one that has a real likelihood of occurring is being run over by a subway (and even that is not all that likely, based on the stats of how many people ride the subway every day and how rarely that happens by accident). But I woke up 2 hours before my alarm covered in sweat and then couldn't fall back asleep, because these dreams were so vivid that I could dwell on them even when awake. So it sucked. And I am tired. And I hate that I spend huge chunks of my life trying to do something that should be easy and that billions of people manage to do every year.

So to summarize, I was terrorized in my sleep by my brain that is predicting doom and disaster, I am turning 40 very soon, I am running low on eggs, and even my hypothetical symptoms of pregnancy have disappeared. Oh yeah, and it's Monday. Woo hoo!