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Monthly Archives: November 2012

What a difference a week makes

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What a week.

Because life is alllllways like this, the day after I found out I was pregnant, I got a phone interview for a job that would be an amazing move for my career (plus, it would get me out of the 1 hour+ drive to work I do every day) I did really well over the phone, so now they are calling me in for a final in-person interview where I meet everyone in the department in a couple of weeks. Of course, now my mind is reeling. What the fuck do I do if I get the job? Assuming everything goes all right with this pregnancy, what am I supposed to say? “Hey guys! Thanks for hiring me! Oh, by the way, I’m 3 months pregnant and I’ll be taking off for maternity leave in about 6 months. Love you!!!” I am forcing myself not to think about this considering I have many hurdles on many fronts left to cross. I honestly have no clue what the protocol would be for announcing a pregnancy to a new job, but I would absolutely need to make sure I was on their health plan first.

As for this, um, pregnancy (still can’t quite believe I’m writing *that word*…) I am experiencing some pretty common symptoms–or what I think are common symptoms?  My nipples feel like they’ve been gnawed on by a teething cheetah. I woke up last night to pee, and the stabbing pains I felt shooting through them was certainly not pleasant, but I’m grateful for every last symptom I have right now as I’m convincing myself it’s evidence there’s something still brewing. So. Nipples. Some women are blessed with cute perky nipples regardless if they’re cold or not, but mine have always been pretty small and flat. I had a boyfriend once who surprised me with nipple clamps (umm…thanks?) and we couldn’t even use them because they wouldn’t clamp on. I’m proud to say that I now have 24/7 Jennifer Aniston nips.

Good morning, world!

My boobs in general have gained at least a cup size, and I don’t fit into my bras right now. Hubs is not complaining about this symptom at all, by the way. My ute symptoms are not as strong in the morning, but by the afternoon, I feel a strong pressure/fullness there, and get a continual low level cramp. It’s a hard feeling to describe, but it’s definitely there. I have been peeing a lot, and every time I go, I have a reflexive habit now of saying “please be clean” in my head before I wipe and looking at the toilet paper afterwards for any sign of spotting. Ever so slightly slightly psycho, but I’m doing what I can to get through the fragile first tri.

Lastly, I know this is totally freakishly paranoid of me, but I’ve been afraid to have an orgasm. What if I spasm the baby out or something? Feel free to call bullshit on my nonsense and tell me it’s time to get down and dirty.




Beta #2

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Is 289 at 17DPO–a doubling time of not quite 48 hours, but according to the doc, it is perfect. I am exhaling a bit right now (but not entirely). I am having my first ultrasound next Tuesday to make sure little * is right where * should be, and everything looks normal.

I have to say, my happiness is quite tempered. Today, a lovely, beautiful, deserving, amazing fellow blogger named Jenn is going through an ectopic pregnancy. It hurts my heart to write these words. Jenn was one of the first friends I made on this blog journey, and her kindness and compassion has pulled me up many a day. Please send her some extra love today.



One Year…ish

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It hit me this morning that I missed my one year blogiversary. Damn! I had intended to do a big post for it, and instead, I think I slept through it last weekend, or was too busy Googling “11DPO no symptoms still hope”.  Argh.

11/10/11 marked the first entry in what will be nearly 200 entries since. But even more important, it marks the beginning of the ridiculously amazing support group  that is all of you. Before this blog, I was crying pretty much daily about our situation, and about PCOS in general. I felt so completely and utterly alone, and was pretty hopeless. Her Royal Fabulousness (who absolutely lives up to her name, by the way), let me in on the fact that she was keeping a blog about her own journey with PCOS and TTC, and it inspired me to write. And then came all of you. Pardon me while I get all emotional for a bit (I blame the increased estrogen), but I wish to all that is good and ovulatory that I could hug all of you IRL. You have held me up in times of stress, cheered me on in times of hopefulness, and have been so supportive of the unexpected events occurring over the last few days. I wish I could stop by unexpectedly and annoy and creep out every last one of you with hugs and cheek pinchies (butt cheek pinchies, of course).

I have no idea what the next weeks and months will hold in terms of this pregnancy…I have been thinking a lot about what I will write about should everything go all right. I want to keep writing– I love this community– but I don’t think I will be posting bumpdates, or weekly pictures of fruit. It just doesn’t feel “me”. And then I kick myself repeatedly for getting ahead of myself like this. For even daring to muse that I could have the choice to blog about something other than why the fuck I won’t ovulate. I haven’t even gotten the results of Beta #2 back yet (I’m terrified, btw.) so I probably need to put down the positive pee stick and shut the hell up. I realize that it’s hard to read a blog of someone who is knocked up when you’re in the trenches, and I fully support you if you need to shun me, defriend me, stop reading, make a dart board of my face/ovaries/uterus, etc. I’ll pout a bit, but I’ll understand.  It turns out that as of right now, I am “that girl”, and I might hate me a bit too.

Beta #2 comes in this afternoon. I told the nurse drawing my blood to think positive thoughts for me when he put the needle in, and then I said, “double down” which was awkward and not really that funny. He chuckled politely. I found a lucky penny outside of the clinic (it was on the ground HEADS UP, as only a lucky penny should be) as I was walking out of my blood test this morning. I picked it up and I made a wish for a really great doubleiscious beta and said a little prayer to that tiny bundle of cells about the size of “*” this to please stick around. Please. It’s funny how something so tiny can hold such a huge amount of hope.



Beta #1

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My RE’s office just called with the results.

Beta#1 is a hearty 148 at 15dpo. Or to quote the nurse practitioner, “No question here–you’re definitely pregnant.”

Beta #2 is scheduled for Wednesday morning. Double, please, little beta. Double!!

I can’t get this jingle out of my head, now.


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Today, I woke up.

Today I am 15 DPO.

Today, I peed in a cup.

Today, I dipped a cheapo HCG stick in the pee in the cup.

Today, Hubs and I huddled around this stick as if it was a tiny campfire, and we were trying to warm up.

Nothing happened.

Hubs left the bathroom for a moment, but I continued to stare at the stark white space where the positive test line was supposed to go.

My heart sank. And then, my heart beat increased.

Me (calling out to Hubs): Um…can you come back in here for a sec?

Hubs enters.

Me: (holding out pee stick): Holy shit.

Hubs: What? I don’t see anything.

Me: You don’t see anything? Nothing?????????

Hubs: There’s nothing there. Ok, maybe a tiny microscopic line, but we can’t go by that.

Me: It’s still a line!!!!!

Hubs: Yeah, but that can’t mean it’s positive.

Me: ANY line in that little line place  is a positive.

Hubs: I don’t know about that….


But I didn’t go.

We just stared quietly at the little pee stick for another 30 seconds.

Hubs: Ok. There’s no doubt about it. That is one damn positive pee stick.


We high fived, hugged and kissed in the bathroom…I was shaking, and just kept repeating “holy shit” a lot.

Today I got my first ever BFP.

Today I am elated, I am nervous, and I am still shaking a bit at the overwhelming feelings of it all. Please stick, little bean…please stick.

Is it too early to start drinking?

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Guess what….

It’s Friday!

I work with a lot of animators so fun stuff like this tends to pop up on my Facebook feed all the time. That, and lots and lots of Star Wars trivia.

Today I will be busy stapling my hands to my legs in order to stop myself from peeing on all the things. I’m 12DPO…this weekend will be the make or break as to whether or not my bladder infected egg got fertilized this month. Hubs jokingly said that the fact that we had to rush to the ER at 2AM to deal with my bladder infection during the week of ovulation means that we HAVE to get pregnant this month because nothing in the Decyst household is ever lacking drama or flare. God, I hope he’s right.

Symptoms: Aside from the huge sore boobs (which I also always get as a PMS symptom), I got nothing. I’m not exhausted, not bloated, not peeing frequently, not eating up a storm, I have no cramping or twinges…nothing. The only thing I noticed that could possibly have been the teeny tiniest of symptoms was yesterday I rode on an elevator with a guy who I swear smelled like stale urine. It was revolting. I asked my friend if she smelt anything, and she said no. And the answer is yes, I’m grasping at straws here.

I’ve been too afraid to temp this morning (12DPO is usually when my BBT takes a nose dive), but yesterday morning it was still up at 98.7, and it was over 99.0 during the day. I’m just keeping those numbers in my head and praying that the bitch doesn’t show tomorrow. Or Sunday. Or for the next 9 months.

Hubs and I decided that I would not pee on all the things this weekend. I just don’t want the depression if I get a BFN tomorrow to ruin my whole weekend. Blissful ignorance is my MO these days.  If AF shows up, I’ll angrily rip open a tampon and have a glass of wine. If she doesn’t, I’d rather have the crushing disappointment or elation  happen on Monday (15DPO).

And now, I’m off to bitch slap this work day and get my weekend on.

Sweet Relief

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You know that feeling of being constipated? That uncomfortable, full, bloaty feeling where you just want to curl into a ball in bed and not let anyone touch you? And then, one miraculous day, you find some magic prune juice. And you drink this juice. And you have the best shit of your life.

This is what the election results felt like last night. Except Obama voters? You were the magic prune juice. And Romney/Ryan? You were that massive turd I got to flush.

My”love all creatures great and small” sister posted this on Facebook afterwards:

“Although I am thrilled to the core at the re-election of our president, and the way in which this election has demonstrated the general progression of our nation, I also have compassion and empathy for the many fellow Americans who are heartbroken over tonights results.”

Really? So, you have compassion for the governors in Florida and Ohio who were doing their best to shut down the votes of minorities by reducing the amount of time early voting polls were open in black and Hispanic districts or threatening to discard absentee ballots which didn’t have some meaningless box filled out? You have compassion for the “heartbroken” who will now have to suffer as they continue to maintain all of their reproductive rights, even if it’s the right to choose not to have an abortion, yet feel like it is their God given duty to tell me what to do with my lady parts, and most certainly would have if they had a chance?

I could go on and freaking on.

I do not have compassion or empathy for these people. I have fear and anxiety that we have to continue to fight these battles with them year after year after year. LEAVE MY VAGINA ALONE! I have enough doctors up in that business. I don’t need some flag waving super mom from Arkansas up there too.

And now I will step off my soapbox and have some decaf coffee.

In other news, I left my credit card at PF Chang’s over the weekend. I realized this immediately, and called PF Chang’s on Sunday letting them know. They had my card “in the safe”, and assured me that I could pick it up any time this week. Phew!

And by “in the safe”, they meant, “with someone else who decided to use my card to go on a Skee Ball spree at Chuck E Cheese.” Fortunately, the fraud department caught these charges immediately. I mean, seriously, thieves, if you’re going to try and pretend to be an infertile, don’t take a card to fucking Chuck E Cheese. We’re on to you, assholes.