Category Archives: Trying To Breed
I spent all day yesterday remembering, but now knowing what to say. I remember. I can never forget. Little things remind me no matter how hard I try to ignore them. Pictures of my own baby can not be viewed without thinking of the baby that came after him. Would they have looked the same? Acted the same? Or completely different. How was I so blessed to have one so perfect, although a bit of a hand full at times … followed by two who tried to kill me, literally, and one who wouldn’t leave my womb long after it’s tiny heart had stopped beating. What was wrong with those two? What is wrong with me?
One of my biggest regrets? Missing so much of Monkey’s childhood as I tried, and failed, repeatedly, to give him a sibling. Days of bed rest instead of days at the zoo. Days of morning instead of days of enjoying what I have.
I won’t keep you in suspense. Monkey absolutely refused.
Perfect situation for the “so how many kids do you have” chat that I know and love with a perfect stranger.
Such a simple social nicety, like, nice weather we’re having, for me is such a loaded question. I feel for the poor innocent soul sitting across from me, trying to stick wheat crackers in a moving target.
The real answer: Yup! Three I had when I shoulda been in high school, two dead ones and.. this one. The partridge in a pear tree. (that last bit should of course be sung.)
But then they would think I was weird.
So I answer yes.
Then they ask me the ages.
I hope everyone is having a fabulous National Infertility Awareness Week and that the infertility fairy has been good to you. Or at least decent. Or at least bought you a drink before spitting in your dreams.
I figured that since I have, as of last February graduated infertility to join the ranks of doting grandmother (if you are a new reader to this blog, well, I’m sorry. It’s sorta like join into Soap mid-seasson. You have a lot of catching up to do, but in the end, it will be totally worth it. In the mean time, use these cliff notes to catch up.)
But now that I’m a
bitter old lady doting grandmother, with an active little Monkey lovingly waking me each morning with a karate chop to the neck (seriously. WTF kid?) I have no need for the Infertility Community. Right? I’m not cycling. I’m not hoping. I’m not involved.
Blarg. It’s been a week and I’m still trying to sort them out. The cold meds aren’t helping. I used to get a cold right after finals every semester. I guess this is pretty much the same thing. Big stress followed by big virus. And this time I was so stressed I cracked one of my brand new fancy white fillings, and now I need a crown. Oh Fab. More time at the dentist.
I’m sad I won’t be able to give Monkey a sibling. Although, realistically, he has a cousin, and several nieces and nephews that are his age. Even thought they are all a state away, we see them on holidays and quite often in the summer. And a couple months ago good friends of ours from the city bought a house down the street and we see them and their two small kiddies all the time. Monkey is not going to be lonely.
Today is 7dp6dt. 13 days passed ovulation. I have been plagued with heartburn the last couple days. And heart palpitations. And the occasional dizziness. And sore boobs. And lots of nausea. And a crazy appetite.And peeing ALL the fucking time. I even had the tell tale change of scent in my lady city, and speaking of scent – I can smell my fridge from here every times it’s opened.
With shaking hands I pee’d on a first response. I snapped on the lid and set it upside down on the bathroom floor. I finished peeing and left to get a good luck sniff of Monkey.
I stared at the bathroom door.
I stared at the little stick.
I reminded myself that I would much rather get a BFN then have another miscarriage.
I reminded myself that I have one fabulous Monkey (who I really wish would nap again.)
I reminded myself that it was only 7dpt and that it was afternoon pee.
I’m trying not to obsess. I really am. I’m trying SO HARD not to run to the nearest Target rip a box of pregnancy tests off the shelf and pee on them right there in the aisle. Partly because I really like shopping at the Target and I don’t think they would let me back after that, and partly because I know it’s too early at 4dp6dt to get a result.
I’m trying really hard not to obsess over every little symptom. Are those implantation cramps or am I just constipated? Is Monkey’s poop just a little bit more gag inducing today? Or am I getting a little sensitive to smells? Is that the progesterone causing this nausea? Did I have this much nausea during my last two week wait? WHY AM I SO HORNEY? Is it just because I am on doctor ordered pelvic rest, or is it because there is more blood flow to my Lady City. (Thank you @DresdenPlaid for the most awesome new name for my girlie parts ever!) And if it’s just from being told I can’t have sex, wouldn’t co-sleeping also make me incredibly horny because Hello?! There is 28 adorable pounds of razor sharp toenails and kung fu jabbing elbows between myself and my Mr every night. It’s the progesterone isn’t it.
Manny, Moe and Curly are on board.Manny and Moe are perfect hatching 6 day blasts. Curly is, as the RE put it, still catching up.
And now we wait. Although I’m pretty sure I’ve already gassed them with my lethal progesterone gas. Good lord. It’s always bad, but this time it really, truly is lethal. So glad the Mr is out of town.
All three defrosted beautifully. The embryologist, a hot french woman came in after the transfer to give me a picture of the embryos and said that Manny and Moe were expanded when frozen, but began hatching immediately upon defrost. This is a very good sign.
I’m torn between wanting to enjoy the illusion that I’m pregnant, and not wanting to think about it at all so that I’m not heartbroken when it doesn’t work.
In the immortal words of Michael Jackson; This Is It. I don’t know why my transfers always have musical references, they just do. Last time it was OK-Go.
Actually, I think OK-Go, Here It Goes Again is the anthem of all woman doing transfers, IUIs or a two week wait of any sort. Probably not what they were thinking when they wrote the song and climbed on their treadmills, but there you have it.
This Is It is much better suited this time. Because I have no tubes. really, this is it. If this doesn’t work, there are no more chances.
I guess I’m lucky in that I’m not going to be tortured month in and month out wondering and waiting and hoping. There is no more hope and I can move on to bigger and better things.
What ever those would be.
I’m also so very lucky to have scored an out of the park home run with my very first cycle that brought us Monkey. No matter what happens in the next 10 days, I still have my Monkey.
This morning, despite none of the 42 OPK’s I’ve pee’d on the last five days being positive, I went to my RE for my mid-cycle date with Mr Wandy. I have been having crazy cramps in right ovary for the last 4 or 5 days. My right ovary is the asshole. Every day closer to the wanding brought a higher stress level as I was certain I was going to be cancelled.
As I laid back on the exam table I told the Dr (sometimes refered to as Dr Hottie) that was a lot of ovary cramping and that I was sure I had a cyst. The Dr smiled kindly as if to say… yeah, whatever.
As it turns out? 18mm follie getting ready to go. On the left. Nothing on the right. (Did I mention that my right ovary is an asshole?) And? My thickest lining to date! 12mm!!
So, everything is moving forward.