Feeling Low

A lot of things are going on that I haven't really been writing about. I've been wrapped up in pregnancy updates... because I have been sort of using this blog as a 'pregnancy log' of sorts--for fear that I would not have a record otherwise and would forget everything... but the less than rosey side of my life I have not been writing about.

I feel like a monumental failure today. In so many ways. The pregnancy hormones may be making these feeling worse, and I am really hoping I can shake these blues away but it seems like all I can do is cry this morning.

What's wrong? Ugh, where do I start?

Due to the fact that we live in the World's Smallest House, we needed to come up with a 'creative' solution to our space problem when we found out we would soon be a family of four. Of course, nothing happened right away. Walking a tightrope through that first trimester meant that we didn't really take action on anything, for fear of getting into the middle of something we couldn't undo if I was suddenly not pregnant anymore. (Which happened with our kitchen remodel of 2006 when I had the miscarriage.) But as it appeared that we would indeed be adding another member to this family, we started thinking of adding on to this house. For a while we seriously considered a true addition--perhaps even doubling the size of our home (which, at twice the current size, would still be considered a modest size home by most standards). We even paid to have some plans drawn up. But, it just seemed like a lot to accomplish by April. And somewhere in my gut I knew it was not realistic. Financially we wouldn't be able to do it all at once anyway, which would mean we'd be in a state of construction limbo over the next couple of years. So what was my bright-ass idea? To turn our one-car attached garage into a proper living space. I thought it would be cheaper and easier. Well, my Dear Husband went for the idea. We'd turn the modest amount of space into a new master bedroom for us (which would include a small laundry room off the side since our existing garage held the washer/dryer and we NEED that). And then our old bedroom (which is near HM's room) would be the new baby's room. Well, long story short, my husband has been working on this project tirelessly since after Christmas. Every single weekend, and many many nights after work. And mind you, he doesn't get home until after 7pm...then to have to work for hours on a construction project is totally exhausting. And, to make matters worse, the whole project ended up costing about twice what we budgeted, so we are now officially out of money. No more money to pay for help to finish the project, and no money left in our savings account. No emergency fund. With a baby on the way. And, unfortunately, since the economy sucks right now, my business is not doing well. There is a chance that I may even go out of business at some point in the near future. And, with no money in the bank, we still really need my income.

Needless to say, my husband is tired, stressed and unhappy.

And I feel like it's all my fault.

We've had a couple of discussions lately that have made me aware of how unhappy my husband is, and, just how disappointed he is with Yours Truly. I have been zero help on this construction project. Between being pregnant and being very very sick for about a month (I had a cold that turned into flu into sinus infection into bronchitis and ear infection, with a stomach bug thrown in for good measure in the midst of it). I could not shake my illness(es) and it eventually took 2 different types of antibiotics to get rid of it. During the week when my husband was at work, I was supposed to get a lot of prep and painting done (once the new room got to that point). I was useless. Then I finally started feeling better and I did start working in there. First I did some prepping and sanding. The problem is I get very winded and tired these days very quickly. I also was trying to keep up/catch up with my work stuff that had been somewhat neglected during my illness. I am desperately trying to get more clients so that I can get some more money from deposits coming in, so that I can keep contributing to our income. Also, I am the person responsible for childcare (obviously, since my husband works an hour away and has is gone from 7 am-7pm M-F). Handsome Man is home with me Mondays and Tuesdays and goes to school Wed-Fri. So on Mondays and Tuesdays I find it very difficult to get anything done. Then by Wednesday I have so much catch up to do with work I find it hard to get everything done. I try to also keep on top of the house work (big fail if you saw my house right now) so, in my mind at least, there is a lot going on. Add to that pregnancy and illness, and, well, what have you got. To make a long story short, my husband and I had a very emotional discussion the other day, where he admitted to me he was very disappointed with me, and the minor contribution I have made to the New Room Project. The painting and prep work, for example, he informed me was so poorly done he had to re-do it all. Meaning it put us yet more behind on the project. But you know what? The other day when I was down on my hands and knees painting skirting boards, I really thought I was doing a good job. I thought he'd be happy and proud of me. See, bending over to get down to that level does not feel good. I have a big belly and my stomach is up somewhere in my chest and I have lots of ligament pain. I can't really bend over at the waist too much. It hurts. Squatting is hard for long periods of time. So I had to do it on my hands and knees. And, then, I guess because my lungs are being compressed from baby, or because I'm just carrying around 30 pounds of extra weight, I get really out of breath. I even get dizzy sometimes. But I did it. I painted those damn skirting boards and the windows and trim. But badly. I wasn't trying to do a bad job. I was paying attention. But according to my husband, it was a bad job. And, as he pointed out this is not the only time it has been that way.

There is a history here. A history of me not being able to get things done. A history of procrastination, or doing what appears to be half-assed work. I really try. I think my husband thinks I sit around eating bon-bons all day while he is at work. I don't. I swear. But I have to admit something. I find it extremely difficult to organize and manage my life. I get extremely overwhelmed. I find being a mom, a business owner, a wife, etc., all a lot to manage. And, it appears that I have been failing miserably.

This is not a new thing. My entire life has been a series of FAILS and overwhelming mediocrity. I know this. I dropped out of high school. I did manage to go to college--first a community college and then State College. It took me forever but I did graduate. With an English degree. (Big whoop. How am I using that degree now?) Ok, I will say I graduated Cum Laude. But how hard is that to do at a State school. It's not like I went to Harvard or anything. My first marriage? Fail. Career? At this point, Fail. I never got a Masters degree, and I am not qualified to do anything. I feel like a failure at parenting (hey my kid is about to turn three and is still not potty trained. Something I am almost too embarrassed to admit to friends and family).

But, as usual, I am getting off on a tangent. The point is that I have been thinking a lot about these things lately and have been wondering if there is any chance I may have Adult ADD/ADHD. I have denied this for a long time because, well, when I really focus on something I can do great things. I can take the monumental task of producing floral designs for a huge event and make it happen. Flawlessly even. But then I seem to fail at everything else, don't I? Then I realized as I started doing some research that being able to hyper-focus on certain tasks is actually a symptom of the disorder.

I am not trying to make excuses. I am trying to get answers to what seems like a lifetime of failure. I am pushing 40 and I would like to really not live this way forever. In my mind's eye I envision living an organized, simplified, happy and productive life. But I never seem to be able to get there.

And now I am more overwhelmed than ever. So the new room is done. We have moved in and I have started clearing out our old room which will be the baby's room. Only there is work that needs to be done in there before I can paint and move furniture in. It seems as if we have a mold problem in one of the walls. My poor, exhausted husband informed me the other day that there is just no way we can repair the problem any time soon. We can't afford to pay someone to do it, and my husband is exhausted. And, we are running out of time. My dream of decorating the nursery is on hold. My husband still has to finish patching, sanding and painting the new siding on the outside of the house where we removed the old garage door (and put up a proper wall) and on the side of the house where the new windows were installed. So this entails several more weekends of work, and by then, the baby could be here any time. I have an empty 'nursery' that will have to stay empty--for a while. I can't ask my husband to work any harder or do any more than he has done/is doing. He is about ready to crack. And, as a result, he has not been able to enjoy this pregnancy with me. He has been working non-stop. We haven't even picked a name. He has made no connection with this baby of his that is about to enter the world.

And on top of all of this, he is taking on side work to try and make some extra money to replenish our empty savings account.

This is all too much to take in and I feel horrible and I am so depressed right now I don't know what to do.

Did You Know I'm Having A....

Boy?

That is, according to the slew of people (including total strangers) who say so. Apparently, since this baby bump of mine is "all out in front" that means I am having a boy. The other day, I was standing in line at Who.le Food.s and I hear someone say, "Are you having a boy?" I had to look around to see where the question was coming from. Some nice meaning yet very smug woman who just came out of the other line with her groceries apparently really needed to know. "I don't know." I chirped as cheerfully as possible (to hide my mild annoyance). "Oh it's definitely a boy," she said, "it's like a little ball right in front."

Okay.

Also, I know people are meaning to be nice when they say, (and they always do) when they hear I am 7 months pregnant, "Oh you are SO TINY!" Please, people, you don't realize you are speaking to an Infertile. Please don't give me another reason to freak out. Yes, I must look tiny. But, I started out tiny. I'm tall and what you might call 'willowy'. I'm downright narrow. So, yes the baby is all out in front (where else could it go?) and sure, I guess I might look tiny.

But don't get me wrong. It's not like I don't enjoy some of the pregnancy related attention. I'll admit it, I do. And a lady at the park the other day told me whatever I was doing 'I should write a book' because I 'look great.' That was a really, really nice thing to say. And one of the doctors at Dr. Wunnerful's office the other day said to me in the hallway (as I was waiting to set up my next appointment) 'That's a cute tummy you got there, Toots!' Even though that might sound kinda weird it was cute. Especially coming from a man who sees pregnant tummies all day long.

But there are only three people who truly know if my baby is a boy or a girl: The doctor that did my 20 week scan, her ultrasound tech, and Dr. Wunnerful.

Anyone wanna place bets? Will post pics of the bump later...

I Love Passing Tests

Glucose screen: Pass! Yay!

In other news, I saw Doctor Wunnerful yesterday and had an ultrasound. This baby's head is in my ribs, and his or her little feet really are tap dancing on my bladder (I keep saying that's what it feels like, and I was right!) I hope that he or she decides to turn around before D-day. But my doc said that one in four babies are breech at this point (I'm 31 weeks). Baby was turned around facing my spine so doc could not get a good glamor shot for me to bring home to hubby. Oh well.

Amniotic fluid levels are good, and baby's measuring in the 46th percentile. I asked if that was small-- if I should worry... he said no, that they only start to worry when the baby is below the 10th percentile. I guess I should be somewhat happy the baby is not ginormous--after all, I do have to get him or her out in 2 months. But, still, I just want to make sure baby is healthy! I have decided not to consult with Doctor Google yet and just trust my beloved Doctor Wunnerful.

A Birthday and a Blogaversary...

Tomorrow is my birthday. And, the next day is my Blogaversary. I started blogging one day after my 35th birthday. One day after the horrible 35! mark--you know, the one where the 'experts' decree that you are old, by fertility standards at least. It is interesting to look back 3 years ago (3 years!!!!) and see where I was then, compared to where I am now. For sure, I couldn't have seen what would transpire. Little did I know shortly after that first post, I'd hear the news that we were about to become parents through open, domestic adoption, to the most wonderful little boy that ever existed.

And as for birthdays--35 was horrible. Especially after two and a half years of trying to conceive, an early pregnancy loss, and a horrible diagnosis of DOR/POF. I don't know of any woman who wants to hear, at age 34, that she is going to be going in to menopause.

So, birthdays, then, and since, have been sort of prickly. Painful, even.

And there is no birthday I was looking forward to less than turning 38. That was the age I sort of held in my mind since childhood, as just TOO OLD to become a mom. Because that's when my mom had me---and I was always deemed a 'miracle'. Because, you know, she was so OLD.

Well, over time I've developed different notions than my parents held about what is old and what is not. As I've talked about before, through this infertility journey and through becoming a parent in my mid-30's, I've decided that a lot of age is emotional and mental. But, still....38 held special meaning for me. And I knew, as I turned 37, that my chances of ever becoming pregnant and giving birth before 38 were gone. But turning 37 also gave me new determination. A sort of 'this is it' or a 'now or never' attitude that brought me to a new doctor, a laperoscopy, and plans for more fertility treatments. I wasn't going to go into year #38 with unresolved options or what-if's. I hoped to try everything ('everything' being limited of course to what we could afford) and then, hopefully, move on. Once and for all.

Well, what a difference a year makes. Or three years. Or five, depending on how you want to look at it. But, for the first time in years, I am really looking forward to celebrating this year's birthday. 38 looks pretty good to me.

Really, Already?

**Disclaimer--if you are having a bad Infertility day you may want to skip this post as I wax a little poetic about the state of being pregnant.**

I'm in the third trimester. I'm rounding the corner on 29 weeks. I can hardly believe it. I feel as though the first trimester was sort of a fog. First, disbelief, then fear (that it all would end too soon), then recovering from an auto accident and dealing with trying to heal my body. It was all surreal then, as I really didn't start showing until- hmmm- maybe 14 weeks? And even then to the casual observer, you wouldn't immediately guess I was pregnant. I remember looking in the mirror and rubbing my belly--longing for the day when I would indeed really look like 'A Pregnant Lady.'

Then all of a sudden, seemingly--POP! I started to show. As I entered the second trimester I started feeling really, really, good. My body was healing well from the accident, and my first trimester nausea and fatigue disappeared.

And yet, still, I have been walking through my days in a sort of haze. Am I really pregnant? Can it be? All it takes is one look in the mirror to confirm it--but still. And even though I feel this baby moving inside of me--I think, can it be real?

And now I am in the third trimester. This pregnancy is nearing the finish line. Even if (God forbid) I went into labor now, I know that I am at the point in this pregnancy where there is a good chance my baby would survive. Wow. Baby. Real, live, baby. Mister and I are taking a childbirth class next Saturday. I'm getting anxious to start decorating the baby's room (on hold until our little construction project is finished--more on that later). I'm starting to think about who is going to come help me when the baby arrives and how I'll manage breast feeding. The nesting urge is seriously setting in.

I'm starting to realize, not only am I indeed pregnant--I'm going to have a baby. In less than 3 months.

Holy crap!

I'm not ready for the pregnancy part to be over though. I'm actually not anxiously waiting for D-day. At this point, I'd be happy for the pregnancy part to keep going for a while longer. I know what it's like to have a brand-new baby to take care of. And I know what the challenges and rewards look like in that area. But this pregnancy experience is a whole new world for me. Being pregnant is the realization of a long-held dream.

I guess, with infertility, the goal went from having a baby, to just getting pregnant. And now, I'm having to shift my thinking again back to having a baby... if that makes sense.

And, while I am mentally starting to prepare for Baby's arrival, I'm a little sad, because I am loving being pregnant. I am feeling so blessed (and though I'm getting really tired again, and a little achey now and then) I feel amazing. I feel.....Fertile. Awesome. Powerful. Confident. Beautiful. Blessed. And there's a part of me that doesn't want it to end so soon.