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Monthly Archives: December 2012

Most Likely Fertile Couple Strikes Again!

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Way back in July, before the world knew of the iPhone 5, I wrote an entry about a couple of friends we have who got married a month after us. I dubbed them the “Most Likely Fertile Couple” because MLFC Wife does things like pick sesame seeds off of her California rolls, and is generally high maintenance and obliviously annoying. Those are the types that usually get knocked up after having sex twice because the universe likes to hate on those who obsessively chart our body fluids and cry and/or get jealous at tampon commercials. MLFC Wife had told me at a 4th of July dinner that she had been “preparing” her body for pregnancy, and they would start actively trying the following month. I told her between my 3rd and 4th glass of wine that we’re having problems even trying because I hadn’t ovulated in a year. She tried to be understanding, but it was hard to listen to her bitch about how much her period cramps hurt her now that she was off the pill and cycling like clock work.

Well, my friends, today we found out through a mutual friend the news I’ve been practicing my eye roll for. (Eye roll please): I am proud to announce, that MLFC Couple is due…. next June! which means it took them all of…two months of trying since 4th of July!!!!

I’m sure I’ll get to hear from MLFC Wife how scary it was to not get pregnant after the first month.

Yes, I know I sound bitter. Seeing as though I’m pregnant too, I have so damn much to be thankful for, and I know this–trust me–I know this.  But has anyone else had just a tiny part of them that wishes that the MLFC in your lives could experience, even for a day, what it might be like if they weren’t so lucky? I know we all say we wouldn’t wish infertility on our worst enemy, and 97% of that sentiment is true for me, but there are some times that I just…want to be better understood. And I guess that’s the 3% of me that rolls her eyes at the MLFC pregnancy announcement. Even Fertile Franny, who couldn’t shut up about how damn lucky and grateful she was to get pregnant on her first attempt for both of her children doesn’t really know what “lucky” feels like. Unless you’ve been on the side of pain, worry, and fear you may never conceive, you can say how “lucky” you feel until your HCG spews from every orifice, but I have a hard time believing you truly know the meaning of the word. There is not one iota of me that would wish MLFC harm or heartbreak with this pregnancy, it’s just that I guess a part of me wishes that more people could truly understand what some of us go through to get to that BFP.

In non negative/jealous/bitchy news, we are telling the family tonight and tomorrow that Bagel is a-brewing. I’m every emotion rolled up into one. There is a small part of me that is still very scared of telling, since we are only 10 weeks along. But in the spirit of being positive, and embracing this pregnancy, we’re going for it. It’s still hard to tell if I’m “showing” yet–it mostly looks like I ate one too many Krispy Cremes and did away with exercise. My torso is very short, and I have no waste to begin with, so there isn’t much room for my intestines to go, and they feel all bunched up and bloated–but nothing that I would call a “pregnancy belly” yet. The whole “no pooing for three days at a time” may also be contributing to my pooch.  I am praying for poo today before I eat my way through the next couple of days.

Have a healthy and safe holiday, beautiful, gorgeous women!


Diving In

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Monday’s 9 week ultrasound marked a big turning point mentally for me in this pregnancy. After nearly 2 weeks of putting myself through constant worrying that Bagel had somehow vanished from my uterus, or was without a heartbeat, and the 5 seconds of holy terror I had in the ultrasound stirrups as the nurse searched for Bagel, everything seemed to melt away when we found him, and I saw how much he had grown, and how strong his little heart beat is now. Suddenly, the two weeks between ultrasounds that I spent fretting that I have had virtually no nausea, diminished boob soreness, and am feeling pretty damn good, felt like a total waste of those precious weeks of pregnancy.

After sharing another celebratory bagel with cream cheese with Hubs after it all, something clicked: I can either remain terrified of this pregnancy 24/7, or I can dive in.

Every summer since Hubs and I have been together, we have gone to a place in New Hampshire called “World Fellowship” with his family. This is a place where Hubs went as a kid, and is sort of like a liberal “summer camp” for adults and families. It was founded during the 50s, and was a place that people traveled to discuss social change pre-internet. We don’t really engage in a lot of the social/political seminars they still host there, but mainly use the camp as a place to decompress and relax. One of my favorite parts of the camp is Whitton Pond–a pristine pond untouched by speed boats, tucked away down a half mile trail from the main camp. The lake has two docks that you can swim out to, and the whole place is the embodiment of peace.


Every year, I am reluctant to go to the pond, simply because I think about the intense discomfort I feel before diving in. It starts out with my toes.

Me: FUCK! It’s fucking freezing.

Hubs (already happily swimming away): No it’s not. Just dive in.

Me: I’m not going in.

Hubs: Yes you are. Quit bitching.

I inch my way up to my belly button.

Me: Hiiiiieeeeeeowww. Fuck.

And then, finally, I’ve had enough of this shit. I take a deep breath, and I dive in. And once I’m in, it’s not cold anymore–the water is actually quite warm and pleasant.

In case you don’t respond to analogies that hit you over the head like a mallet, swimming the pond is like my pregnancy. And on Monday, I realized I was tired of wincing, cursing, and freezing my ass off while Hubs was out in the middle of the lake doing the frog stroke. It’s time to dive in now and enjoy myself, whether this pregnancy lasts another week, or until next July. I want to savor my pregnancy. I told HR at work yesterday, and this weekend, I am going to buy me some pants that fit (I am currently bringing new meaning to the word muffin top).

Oh–and I’m getting a job offer. I got the job!!!!! I’m going to tell them I’m pregnant after the final offer comes in…but guess what. They can fucking deal with it.

It’s big girl panties time, party people! (literally and figuratively at this point.)


Many Thoughts

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Last week’s horrific tragedy has been a constant gnawing pit in my stomach. It’s an event that I simply cannot wrap my brain around. It is too painful to imagine the confusion and the terror and the absolute bewilderment of these poor young kids as they stared down the barrel of an automatic weapon. The gunning down of anyone is horrific. The gunning down of 6 year old children…it hits on something deep and primal that goes beyond any adjectives or descriptors for the heinousness of the act.

I think about my ultrasound today–Bagel was tucked in there, heart beating away at 185bpm. I beamed as I watched his little heart flicker away. It hit me that all of those parents who lost children (be they among the young ones, or adults who lost their lives) had these same moments with their children–the joy of hearing their little one’s heart beating for the first time, the knowledge that there they were, growing and developing into little people who they could finally kiss and hug. They had hope for them. They said, Anything is possible for you, little one.

I am so happy that Bagel is healthy, and yet, I am so torn apart that there are 26 parents out there today who have had to experience the most horrific tragedy I could think of: the loss of a child.

I have decided not to write a big post about gun control–if you have been reading my blog for any length of time, you probably can sense my views on the issue. Plus, Stupid Stork just wrote an amazing post that basically summarizes all of my feelings on this perfectly. I find it pretty impossible to have a gun “debate” with the nut jobs who simply recite the 2nd Amendment like the Constitution is some holy tablet akin to the 10 Commandments. It’s sort of like debating with a five year old who doesn’t like bed time “because”. “Debate” means presenting facts in a logical, rational, well thought out, semi-intelligent and articulated way, and listening vs. bullying. So, to “debate” this issue with the “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” people is akin to me slamming my head in a door a few hundred times, and makes me sad for humanity. The good news is, there are politicians smarter than me, and more able to endure the absolute stupidity of some people in this nation, who will be introducing the Assault Weapons Ban again, and I feel very strongly that it will pass (thanks, President Bush, for not renewing it in 2004, by the way!)

Bagel, thank you for being healthy and hopefully happy in there. Your dad and I love you very very much already. To the parents of Newtown who have lost their children: there are no words that can take away the grief you will live with every day now. But we will hold you up when you feel too weak. We will rage against the policies that made it possible for this to happen to someone you love. And we will yell, kick and scream until something is done to change gun laws in the United States of America.




Someone please bitch slap me upside the head

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Remember a week ago, when I was a happy go lucky “I just heard my baby’s heartbeat” sort of girl? How is it that in a span of a week, I have gone and withered into a bawling mess again? My symptoms are disappearing… my boobs aren’t as sore….I’m not cramping as much…I just don’t FEEL pregnant… DAMN ME! Why can’t I just be relaxed and happy??? What the fuck is wrong with me?? Of course it doesn’t help that every mother loving website I go on has some sort of link to Kate Middleton’s pregnancy and “possible due date” which is pretty much my exact due date as well…except Kate fucking Middleton is spewing her 87 pound ass off in the hospital, and here I am, feeling nothing. Except tired. But I have no idea if that’s pregnancy related, progesterone suppository related, or just “I’m done with this fucking week” related. I’m almost 9 WEEKS PREGNANT. Shouldn’t I be feeling…more?

To make things even “better”, I had a really bad second interview today for the job I’ve put probably 20 man hours into trying to get. This was my final interview, and I think I blew it. The guy was super awkward at the end of the interview, and got up to leave without even letting me know next steps for decision making on the position.  I cried in the car ride back to the office, and our stupid parking attendant caught me crying when I pulled in.

Sorry, I’m just going to use this post as a rant. Please feel free to bitch slap me upside the head.

Also, I’m ticked “poo”nk that y’all liked my most mortifying poo story ever. Makes me happy.



The Obligatory poo post

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I have read many a blogger’s poo posts since I’ve been an active participant in Bloggie World, which is why, on this fine 12/12/12 day, I have chosen to regale you with a couple poo stories of yore of my own. I’m not ashamed to admit my own poo foibles which have been, well, shitty the last few weeks. Get ready for some poo TMI! And complaints about poo!

To start with, there is a 24/7 sig alert going on in my colon right now, and it’s not pretty. I am backed up to high hell, and even when I do poo, it’s like there is a “shit ton” more that needs to exit my body, it’s just taking its sweet ass time.  I’m already prone to hemorrhoids, so this whole “pooing every three days” thing is irritating the hell out of them. I may start buying tampons for my ass hole. This morning, after not pooing for 3 days, I excitedly felt “the urge” and with a flourished bow at the bathroom entrance, closed the door to do my bidness. Not only was my poo like, 8 feet long, I still felt like there was more that wouldn’t come out! Not to mention, the python that exited my ass, once again, ripped me a new one and had me frantically checking to see if the blood was coming from ass or vag. My stomach still feels bloated and distended.

And the funny thing is, I would take this feeling every day if it means I get to hold my baby in my arms after all of this.

Since we’re on the subject of poo, I thought I would bring up this little blast from the past–my most embarrassing poo story ever! I was 17 years old, in my senior year of high school, and dating a guy who was a sophomore in college (God help me if I have a daughter…). He had invited me to his dorm room one night for some activities that did not involve knitting or Scrabble. Earlier in the day, before I headed out to THE COLLEGE (I was soooo mature) I had gone out with a few friends to Venice Beach to hang out and spend the day. For those who don’t know what Venice Beach is, it’s a place where very dirty hippies hang out, men rollerblade in cut off shorts, and food stands cannot be trusted (I’ll get to that in a moment). Venice is where the cool kids go when they are still too young to drink. I was not a cool kid, but liked to imagine myself as one, so there I was. On Venice Beach. Near a food stand called “Big Daddy’s”. My friends and I decided to chance it and order something for lunch. I chose probably the most “iffy” thing on the menu–a cheeseburger.


It came out, and something about it just smelled off, but I convinced myself it was the Cheeze Whiz they used on the burger, rather than real cheese. I took one bite, noticed (after I swallowed) that something still tasted “off”, and threw the rest of the burger away (not before taking the above picture). My friend and I even took a picture to commemorate the most awful meal ever, and you know, to prove we had eaten there, in case I died.) I’m the one on the left. Fashion sense? Not so much.


So aaaanyway. It was time to pack up from Venice and head to a college dorm room for some underage shennanigans! When I got there, my stomach was gurgling a bit, but I ignored it. College Boy and I hung out for a bit, and then, let’s just say, things got a little saucy. Literally. He wanted to experiment with food stuff, and had chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and hand cuffs. (Again. God, I will be ever so grateful for EITHER a boy or a girl should I be so fortunate, but please…help me through the teenaged years if I have a daughter.)

I agreed to be handcuffed to the bed, and then have food stuff poured on me. It was in no way sexy, and I was pretty much laughing through it all. Until my stomach went from “gurgling” to full on “freak out” mode. It happened pretty quickly…I experienced stomach pains that felt as though someone was simultaneously ripping my intestines out, and wringing them at the same time. Embarrassed, and still thinking it would all just go away, I didn’t tell College Boy to stop making out with me, and unlock me from my handcuffs.

No, I made the biggest poo blunder you can make when you are about to have the worst case of food poisoning in your life. I waited until it was too late. As soon as the words, “Oh my God, you need to uncuff me right now” left my lips, my poisoned intestines emptied. I shit on his bed. On myself. On him. To make matters worse, he couldn’t find the key right away, and fumbled with the lock.

Most embarrassing moment of my entire life.

I spent the rest of the night crying and locked in the bathroom throwing up and shitting everywhere. He was not amused or very sympathetic, and the whole thing goes down in history as the worst experience with a boy I’ve ever had. Fortunately for him, I had realllly low self esteem, and I continued to see him afterwards, even though he was a total dick to me during the whole food poisoning experience. He’s now an orthodontist.

So there you go! Two amazing poo stories for the price of one!

I’m glad I wrote this entry. It is distracting me from the fact that I am obsessively symptom spotting and praying for reassuring nausea every day.

8 Weeks Exactly

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Finally! The entry that I have been meaning to write for 5 days now…my life is the epitome of “when it rains, it pours”. And funny enough, I typed “episiotomy” instead of “epitome” just now.

Also, for those curious, I have given Bagel his own little tab if you are so curious to see what a 7 week 4 Day old adorable fetus looks like.

I’m sort of amazed that I have survived these last few weeks. When I’m not commuting 2 hours a day to work, working a job I hate, interviewing multiple times for a job I want, trying to finish two night classes, and praying to little Bagel to stay put for the next 32-or-so weeks, I have been sleeping. Before Ultrasound #1 last week, I felt intense (we’re talking INTENSE) anxiety around this pregnancy, and while I still do have my occasional frets and worries, I have been so hectic in day to day life that by the time I have some quietude to sit down and do some real deeply paranoid irrational worrying about my pregnancy, I want to go to sleep or eat ice cream. I have hit maximum capacity for exhaustion and worry, and so I’m choosing to imagine little Bagel living and growing in peace in a nice cozy womb that he/she can curl up and nap in. Those thoughts make me happy. Although yes, I still look every time I wipe.

So, Ultra Thursday! Let me elaborate. That first ultrasound was mentally very very hard for me. I’ve learned that you can read about everyone elses ultrasound experiences on blogs and chat rooms, but it doesn’t quite prepare you for what it will be like for you.  I wish I could have frolicked right into that ultrasound room, dropped trou, and excitedly spread my lady bits to catch a glimpse of the magical Bagel, but my mind was full of fears about missed miscarriages and blighted ovums. I had not had many severe symptoms, which I took as a very bad sign. All of my negativity impacted Hubs as well–he, the eternal optimist, was beginning to doubt this pregnancy, and in retrospect, I feel awful that I was basically a walking Dr. Google of Doom and Gloom during the days leading up to the ultrasound.

I got my bloodwork done before the ultrasound, and met with the nurse who asked when the first day of my last menstrual period was. I couldn’t remember that, but I told her the exact day I ovulated (CD 19), and that I was 7 weeks 4 Days pregnant. She seemed a bit confused, and told me that the way they measure is by LMP. So, I took my ovulation date, counted backwards 19 days, and let her know when the first day of my period was. She then told me that I was 8 weeks, 1 day along.

“Ummm….no I’m not.”

“Well, according to your LMP, you definitely are 8 weeks one day along.”

“Well, I’m not ovulating on a 28 day cycle, and I’m using a really fancy shmancy online program that has told me that I’m DEFINITELY 7 weeks and 4 days pregnant.” (Ok, it’s not that fancy shmancy, but come on! Get with the program, nurse!)

The woman refused to believe me. WTF? Annoying. She told me to wait to speak to the doctor about it after my ultrasound and wrote down 8 weeks, One day in my file.

I had thought that my RE would be doing the ultrasound, but instead, it was an NP at the practice. This made me nervous because I have heard horror stories where they can’t talk to you about what they see during the ultrasound, they just click away, and then wait for the doctor. I made sure to ask her when she cam in whether or not she could tell me what was going on, and she said she could. Whew.

So, I assumed the position, her magic wand went in…and after about 5 eternal seconds of searching, a perfect round yolk sac appeared, attached to…TA DA!!! Bagel!! My eyes immediately zoomed into Bagel’s tiny chest and saw the flickering pulse of the heartbeat. Music to my eyes. Given that I had already spent about 563 hours obsessively calmly looking at ultrasound pics and videos, I knew exactly what I was looking for, but I think that Hubs was a bit more mystified with what we were seeing, being the sane rational one in the relationship who doesn’t overly Dr. Google things. We weren’t allowed to hear the heartbeat quite yet–I asked why, and she said it was this clinic’s policy not to turn the sound on too early because it could “disturb” the baby–something like that. Anyone heard of this? I’m trying to figure out why, but resisting the urge to Dr. Google again.

Bagel measured at…7 weeks 5 days (so, yeah…something tells me my calculations were right on the money) with a heart rate of 158–nice!

Afterwards, we met with my RE and she reinforced the fact that everything was perfect. I told her about the discrepancies on my due date, and she pulled out another handy dandy calculator. Low and behold…I was 7 weeks, 4 days.

After breathing huge sighs of relief and hugging in the ultrasound room, I got changed, and Hubs and I zipped to the deli downstairs to toast Bagel with a bagel and cream cheese. Hooray!!

I got a message from the RE the next day letting me know my blood work was “fine”–nothing to worry about. Whew. Relieved about that. They called back a second time to ask me for my primary care physician’s info so they could send over some of my blood work to him, and happened to catch me. While I was speaking to the nurse, I asked her what my “fine” progesterone results were–just for my own edification. With my PCOS, progesterone fluctuations are the one thing I know is important to monitor.

“They checked out fine. They’re at 15.”

Voice getting high…”15? But…a couple of weeks ago they were 22, and aren’t they supposed to be going up? Not down?”

“Hmmm…let me go ask the doctor.” She puts me on hold. “Yeah…the doctor just told me she wants you on Endometrin suppositories as soon as possible.”


Okay…so, let me just vent for a second. Had I not asked about my progesterone levels and questioned whether or not I needed supplements, I wouldn’t have been prescribed them! I know that 15 isn’t insanely low, but it is a bit troubling to me that the levels were going down instead of up, and that a doctor wouldn’t have flagged this. I am now on Endometrin 2 x a day, which is fine…I just hope that it can get my progesterone up over the next couple of weeks until the placenta takes over. From what I can tell, most of us are on progesterone supplements from the time we ovulate–especially PCOS-ers. Has anyone here been prescribed Endometrin at 7 or 8 weeks along? I know it’s just a precaution, but it did worry me a bit that had I not been my own advocate I would still be on nothing right now. And I have been amazing at not googling “declining progesterone levels and miscarriage.” I’m sure that’s a fucking landmine right there.

Other than that little adventure in vaginal suppositories over the weekend, I have still been relatively symptom-less. I have about 1-2 very quick bouts of nausea per day, and I can feel a pressure in my uterus from time to time, but that’s about it. My boobs are hurting less, but I have had to let go of the symptom spotting and just trust that my body is doing what it needs to do to sustain little Bagel.

My final “graduation” ultrasound is next Wednesday…I will be 9 weeks 2 days. Keep growing, little Bagel…Keep Growing.


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I want to write much much more on all of this, but for now, a quick update before bed with a promise of more to come will have to do.

Today was, plain and simple, heaven. I saw my baby’s heart beat for the first time. It was a tiny flicker on the screen, but it might as well have filled the room, my lungs, my heart, my world. 158 strong healthy beats per minute, and this little one was measuring a day ahead of schedule at 7weeks 5 days.

Very early on in my pregnancy, I could not stop eating bagels and cream cheese. It was all my body seemed to want. This was also a time when a baby’s size is compared to poppy seeds and sesame seeds, so Hubs and I came up with a name that made perfect sense for our little person: Bagel. I didn’t want to come out with this name until after our first ultrasound, but now that I have seen that gorgeous little flicker of light heart beating, I am proud to announce that Bagel seems as though he likes my uterus well enough to make a cozy home in there. I will post some pics on a separate tab as soon as I can get them scanned and uploaded.

Thank you so much to everyone who sent me good thoughts as I dealt with the anxiety of not knowing how Ultra-Thursday would turn out. These early days in pregnancy are so hard to get through, but that tiny little heart beat just gave me a world full of hope.