Happy Friday the 13th: A Pee Stick Story

Not one to be too terribly superstitious, Friday the 13th never really creeps me out. And today is a special day to me for another reason: Exactly one year ago today, I found out I was pregnant.

I was waiting for my period to start so I could call the RE's office to schedule the repeat HSG he was insisting on. I was supposed to have done it the month before, but the insurance clearance didn't come through in time and I had missed the opportunity. I was bummed that not only had I missed that month, but now even though I was going to go ahead with the HSG I would have to wait until the following month to actually start the IUI's.

And, then, my period was late. I'm never late. Early, yes. Late, no.

I was sure that my luck had just gotten worse--that now we were finally going to embark on another round of fertility treatments, and here I was, going into early menopause.

I figured that if I called the RE's office, the first thing they would tell me to do would be to take a home pregnancy test. I figured I'd beat them to the punch, let them know that no, I wasn't pregnant and something was wrong--so please get me in for some bloodwork.

On the way to work, I picked up a home pregnancy test. I felt so stupid doing this. Especially after all those years of buying those pregnancy tests, hoping I would indeed be pregnant...now this time I was sure I wasn't. This was just a formality. I bristled at having to even spend the money.

When I got to work, one of my employees was already there. I got him started on the first set of tasks--we had a big wedding that weekend--and I went down the hall to the bathroom (shared by the whole floor of the building).

As I peed on the stick I literally rolled my eyes. This was so stupid.

As I waited the required 2 minutes, I studied my face in the mirror. Don't be sad when it turns up negative, I told myself. Don't let it ruin your day. This is just a formality. I tried to think about the facial I had scheduled for myself later that day...something to look forward to.

I turned around and picked up the test.

When I saw the big, strong, undeniable PLUS sign, I slid down the wall, onto the floor and stared at it for a good, long time. My hands were shaking. I had to hold my wrist with the other hand to steady the hand holding the pee stick, so I could really see what I was looking at.

Of course later that day I went out and purchased more tests. That night I repeated the test. This time with the type that has two lines. I wanted to do several tests to see if the line kept getting darker, or if it faded. I tried to prepare myself for a chemical pregnancy.

That night I repeated the test. The test line was darker than the control.

Needless to say, it all worked out. I eventually emailed my RE's office and told them I wouldn't be coming in for an HSG. I remembered reading of similar scenarios by other bloggers over the years--urban legends in my mind.

August 13th was good to me last year!

Four Months Old!

My beautiful Grace,Yesterday you turned fournths old. Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday, you were still moving around inside of me. Now you are here, and my life is changed forever. I have a daughter, I have you. Handsome Man became a big brother. And our family feels complete. It took a long time, but somehow, despite all the dissapointments, I knew one day I would hold you in my arms. I dreamed of you.

But time went on, days, weeks, months and years, and I started to doubt if I would ever hold you in my arms in this lifetime. If maybe, you were just a dream that was too good to be true. If the love I felt for you was make-believe and I was just torturing myself.

And, then, one day, not on my schedule, but yours.....

You made your presence known.

Not sure if it was too good to be true, I panicked through those first early days of my pregnancy. Every morning I woke up expecting you to be gone. But you stayed. First a flickering light on a monitor told me your heart beat within me, then, eventually, you fluttered inside like a butterfly.

And you grew...

And grew...

And then one day, again, on your own schedule, not mine, you came...

So tiny and perfect, your father held you close to my face and your dark eyes peered at me, as if you were a wise old soul, sizing me up for the first time. Like we'd met somewhere before and you were remembering me, and I, you.

Four months have flown by and you have blossomed from a tiny little fragile newborn (I used to call you 'my little sparrow') to a full-fledged chunky, roly poly, laughing, giggling, gorgeous little girl. Just four months and you are constantly rolling over on your belly every time I put you down and trying to crawl. You don't like your car seat and you squirm and protest every time I put you in it. You are a wonderful sleeper and you let mommy get her beauty rest all through the night (most nights) and I need it! Razzes, peekaboo and any thing that tickles your funny bone make you giggle, which is music to my ears. You study your brother, and I can see you love him already and are trying to memorize his every move so you can catch up with him soon and play.

(Handome Man and Grace--Grace at 2 months old)

You are sweet and friendly and smile at everyone, but for now, you love your Mommy the best. And I love you, my precious, precious little girl. God gave me you, God gave me Grace.

She's Baaaaack!

Aunt Flo, that is. I knew she was coming because about 2 weeks ago I had the WORST ovulation pain, ever! So, here it is...the first period I've had in a whole year. I feel a little sad, in a weird way. Somehow this feels like it marks the end of a larger cycle. The process of conception, gestation, birth, and the post-partum phase is now officially over. My little Grace is turning 4 months old tomorrow--no longer a newborn, by any stretch. She is getting big, and chunky and active...she's already making those first attempts at moving on her own. Sort of a pilates-style scoot on her belly, with her arms and legs up in the air. Totally hilarious. But, time feels like it is moving way, way too fast for me. Where is the pause button? I know I am going to blink and Grace will be walking, then talking--not a baby anymore. Just look at Handsome Man. No longer a baby or even a toddler...he's all Big Boy. We're almost (finally) potty trained. Today I will go sign him up for preschool. He often says, "No Mommy, I want to do it ALL BY MYSELF." And I know with Grace it will go the same way...I'll turn around one day and my baby will be gone, replaced with a Big Kid. And I know it is as it should be, but, I am so grateful to have both of these little ones, so grateful to be in this moment in time, so grateful to have a baby to hold in my arms...I just want to soak in it for a while longer. The days pass by too fast. And, the return of old Aunt Flo, marking the end of a certain era for me, does make me a little sad. And, in another way, I feel happy, too--happy that my body is doing what it is supposed to--getting on with the business of its monthly cycle. Not missing a beat, moving forward, ready, perhaps, to create another life? Wait, what? Hold the phone...huh? Oh, I don't know, peeps. I'm certainly not ready for another baby right now, I'm way too overwhelmed. And there's no guarantee lightening would strike twice in my uterus. But, I'm just sayin'. It's not like we're going to prevent, per se. When I went in for my 8-week post partum check up, the doctor (the one who delivered Grace, unfortunately, not my Doctor Wunnerful) was all, 'So what form of birth control are you interested in?' I had to laugh. Really? After all I've/we've been through--all the time we spent (or at least I spent) pulling my hair out, wishing I could be like 'everyone else' and just get pregnant--after all the years of that just NOT happening, it was really surreal to be having that discussion. When I told her we would just see what happens she seemed a little amused. Not in a condescending way, probably in a happy way--happy for us that all of a sudden the possibilities were there again. Or maybe that was my own feeling. I don't know. Possibilities are nice. What is also nice, though, is that--I am not really worried anymore. I don't look at my period as a failure. Another month without conception. At least for now my period is a sign that my body is on my side. It's working. I'm 38 and my body still wants to procreate. So, we'll see. By the time I'm really ready for another baby it might truly be too late. I know that's very possible. It's also possible it just won't happen twice. But, that doesn't scare me anymore. The thought of not being able to conceive no longer chokes me and cuts at my heart. My cup runneth over right here, right now, and I am moving forward with a new outlook on life, a new appreciation and sense of gratitude for this body God gave me, and for what I went through these past 5 or 6 years. It was all worth it. Oh, and p.s. if my periods are going to be like this one so far from now on (pain free! What?) the HOORAY!!!!! Thank you body!!

Perfect Moment Monday:Family Ties

A few weeks ago we (Mister, the kids and I) went out to his parents' house for the weekend. They live out in the country about an hour and a half away, and we enjoy visiting. Handsome Man loves to run around in their big back yard, and we all enjoy taking dips in the pool. My in-laws are the type of people that are just very easy to be around. I never feel like I have to be "on my best behavior" or perfect in any way. There are rarely any scheduled events on these lazy weekends; we're free to just do what feels right: take a dip in the pool, a nap, a snack, read a book, go for an outing to one of the many nearby wineries, farms, or drive into town for a movie or shopping. Mostly we just all like being in one another's company. Not many people can say this about their in laws. I know I am lucky.

On our latest visit, I was sitting in the kitchen with my mother in law. She was holding her newest grandchild, Grace, and just marveling at her beauty--(who wouldn't?)--and beaming with love and pride. She was taking in all her features: her gorgeous, long eyelashes (must have gotten those from Mister) her auburn-tinged hair (where did that come from? Maybe from my father?) when my MIL said off-handedly, "well, I just hope for her sake she doesn't get my nose!" I smiled and looked at her for a moment as she continued gazing at Grace--then she looked up at me and met my eyes. Suddenly we both burst into laughter. Of course, Grace won't have her grandmother's nose. Because Mister was adopted.

But that's the thing: the bonds of love within this family run deeper than DNA. They love their adopted child and their biological children completely and with no preference. The legacy of their love for their child (Mister) will live on through our children, both adopted and and biological. It is not a legacy of chromosomes and genetic traits, it's the legacy of love that matters most.

Breastfeeding Woes, and More Updates

Well, I think I'm about ready to give up. On breastfeeding, that is. Thank you, those of you who sent me the supportive comments. But I think I need to pick my battles, here. When Grace was a tiny newborn, and only required about 2 oz per feeding, when I was only producing about 1 oz, it didn't seem like such a crazy thing to breast feed first, then supplement. She enjoyed being on the breast, and I enjoyed the closeness and experience of breast feeding her (as soon as my nipples stopped hurting so bad) so I really wanted to keep trying. Then, before long, her required intake shot up to 4 oz at a feeding, and now, she can easily hammer back a 6 oz bottle at many of her feedings. Despite my best efforts, I still only produce 1, to maybe 2 oz (max!) at a pumping session. I am trying to pump at least 3 times a day. And, honestly, every time I pump for 30, sometimes 45 minutes, and only come up with 2 0z (on a good day!) it really does nothing more than depress me further. If I pumped 3 times a day (when I can find the time--good gawd!) and got a lucky 2 oz each time, that would only amount to ONE bottle's worth for Grace! However, up until now, she still really enjoyed being on the breast--at certain times of the day, like when she was ready to settle down for a nap. She'd fuss, and pull away from the bottle sometimes, and seek out the breast, and then stop fussing and fall asleep. I was like a human pacifier, with the added perk of having a little bit of milk. But now, when I offer her the breast, she sucks away for a minute and then just gets frustrated. And then I feel horrible. So, at this point, I think I'm trying to keep it up for myself more than for her. I love the feeling of breastfeeding but it is feeling more and more pointless as time goes on. I have a tendency to get mad at my body--you know, like this is just another way my body is revolting against me and failing me. But, I have to pull back at those moments when I get down on myself and remind myself that my body has, actually, done quite a lot for me lately: my body figured out how to conceive this child all on its own (well, my husband was there, but you know what I mean--no injections, no doctors in the room, etc.), and my body carried and nourished this baby for 38 weeks. My baby was born healthy and I enjoyed a fairly uncomplicated and easy pregnancy. And, despite having a c-section, my body bounced back pretty quickly. (And don't hate me but I look pretty good. No one would guess I had a baby 3 months ago. I don't even have any stretch marks!) So, I guess I'll have to cut my body some slack here. I wish I could successfully breast feed. I so felt I missed out on that experience with Handsome Man, too--but here we are. I also woke up this morning with the distinct feeling that I am about to get my period. Ick. One of the many perks I enjoyed with pregnancy was NOT having a period for all those many months. And, I looked forward to delaying its return even longer with breast feeding. It has been a year now since I have suffered through a menstrual cycle. I am not looking forward to seeing that monthly red visitor again. I've also read that for many women, the return of menses reduces their milk supply--so--do I really want to fight this battle with my body any harder? I think it may be time to raise the white flag of surrender here.

All I can say is, thank goodness for formula. Don't report me to Le Leche League. They might string me up for saying that. Grace is thriving and getting chubby and hitting all her milestones, and that's what really matters. (And I keep thinking, what did people in my situation DO before formula? Good grief!)

And, yes, Grace is a healthy, happy little girl. She really is such a GOOD baby. (Not that there are 'bad' babies, but you know what I mean). She has settled into a bit of a routine. Things are not so hectic around here any more. She is sleeping through the night most of the time, and I am getting more (not enough, but more!) sleep. So things are good. Handsome Man still has his moments of jealousy, but for the most part he seems to be feeling more grounded and secure. Those first few weeks were really, really hard. I am not kidding. There were times when I wished I could find a reason to be re-admitted to the hospital with Grace just to get away from him. And to go back to that blissful time of just being with her in our own little cocoon, where I could connect with her, and get my much needed rest. (And 3 good meals a day). (I honestly think that the stress I experienced after coming home from the hospital had an effect on my milk supply, and everything I have read states that stress effects milk supply, but what could I do?) However, now, with lots of love, sometimes "tough love" (there was one point when we had to literally take everything out of his room other than his bed and a dresser until he could get control over throwing his toys and books, etc.--for about 3 weeks!) and attention and work, Handsome Man is back to his (active) adorable, good-natured self. He is more independent now too, and will play in his room with his trains or play outside in the back yard for stretches without "needing" me to be right there with him. So, I am a little more relaxed (relatively) than before. Grace also naps at a long stretch in the afternoon, so that gives me some time to do a few things around the house, or if I'm lucky, relax a bit now and then.

I am still struggling with juggling my responsibilities of working and being a full-time mom. This coming weekend I have two weddings (one is big) and then nothing for the rest of July. Then I have 2 in August, and 2 in October. Then, I'm done for good. (*sigh*). It's hard, but for now I feel it is definitely the right thing for our family. There really is no question. On the weeks when I have weddings to produce, it really throws a wrench into our little family routine, and I am just so exhausted. It's hard. I need to be at home for the next couple of years at least, and that's all there is to that. So I am looking forward to finishing my last wedding and hanging up my clippers, at least for a while.

Now the baby is crying, I must go. Have so much to do today it's not even funny.... the list that never quite gets finished is growing and growing!! xoxo

Grace's Birth Story, part two

(I have decided to just write this post in small dribs and drabs because to find the time and the brain power to actually sit down and write out everything in a well thought out post is seeming impossible)

By about 7:00 a.m. or so, Mister and I both agreed to give up on the sleep thing, seeing as we were too excited and, any time now they'd be coming in to start prepping me for surgery. It wasn't a happy, jittery type of excitement, though. It was more of an I-feel-sort-of-numb-because-this-is-all-too-much-to-take-in sort of crazy, weird excitement. I don't know how to explain it. You'd think I'd be freaking PSYCHED. But I was very in-the-moment...which is weird for me. It was very much like, ok, now: I'm having a contraction. It's a little one. Now: I'm feeling calm. Now: I can hear more activity out on the ward. Now: I am thirsty.

Oh yeah, thirsty. Gawd. They wouldn't let me eat or drink anything all night. Off-limits since I was about to have surgery. Ohhhh I was so thirsty, and probably from the combo of the drugs they had given me and my nervousness, and the horrible crying jags of the day before, I was sooo thirsty! I had the Worst taste in my mouth. I was afraid I would knock out the next nurse that got near me with my vaporous halitosis. If only I had known they were going to make me wait till morning for the surgery, I would have chugged a gallon of water on the car ride to the hospital. Guck. So I sneaked a mini Altoid. Shh. Don't tell.

But I digress.

So, as Mister and I were both awake, we decided to get down to the business of picking a name for this child once and for all. And, since Mister is the awesome geek that he is, he already had a spreadsheet going of our top picks. So, he pulled out his laptop and we got to work. We had a short list of girls names, and we agreed then and there on the one we both equally liked, and paired it with a middle name that funnily enough was a family name for both of us (both of our sisters have the same name). It sounded pretty and I liked it. I sort of saw it as just another thing to check off the list (gotta have a name picked out for boy and girl) but not really that critical, because I was SURE I was having a boy. So we agonized over the boys name. We had a much longer list of favorites as well as middle name choices. There were more names that we both equally liked so it made it a bit harder. I really, really liked the name Liam. Also, it is a Celtic (or Gaelic?) version of William, which is my father's middle name (may he rest in peace) and he always went by his middle name any way so--I thought it was nice. And another name we had really liked, though we knew it was a little popular at the moment was Nathaniel. I also love that it means 'Gift from God' as this little miracle that was about to be born surely was. So we chose it for the middle name. Liam Nathaniel.

Grace's Birth Story, part one

April 9th was a very weird day.

It was a Friday--and exactly one week before my scheduled C-section. I had plans to move out of my work studio over the weekend, and then to spend the rest of the following week relaxing and just getting ready for our hospital stay. I was incensed and determined to get the house CLEAN once and for all. I knew I was running out of energy, and time, to get the house somewhat dust and pet-dander free, and somewhat organized before the Big Arrival. And, depressingly, the baby's room was still not finished. I had a lot to do.

But, for some reason, Handsome Man was having one of those days. One of those days where he just haaad to get into everything. It seemed like every stride I made toward getting things clean, at least one new mess was created behind me when I wasn't looking. And I was an emotional wreck. I can see now it must have been my hormones going completely bonkers. But at the time I was just frustrated and despondent (and exhausted) beyond belief and felt that nothing was going right. Toward the end of the day, after Handsome Man had managed to find, and pour out, an entire bottle of bubble solution (someone had given us this as a gift, idiots) all over the carpet I had just vacuumed, I had totally lost it. And I had at least two more hours before Mister made it home from work. I had to call a neighbor friend to come take H.M. for a while because I couldn't stop crying hysterically. I was a complete basket case.

When my friend came over (God bless her) I got in my car and drove down the street, parked it, and just cried my eyes out until I had gotten it all out. (Which took a while). In the meantime Mister made it home and took over--totally puzzled by my state when I came back. He got H.M. to bed, and I decided it would be in my best interest to eat something. Finally, by about ten o'clock, I decided to throw in the towel, put an end to the day, and climb into bed to get some much needed rest.

But as soon as my head hit the pillow, I felt a strange 'twinge' down in my nether regions--sort of like a guitar string popping. And it hurt. Which made me tense up. And when I tensed up, a little bit of pee came out, which was a pretty common occurrence at that point in my pregnancy. I went to the bathroom, and went pee some more, only, it was strange... it just kept trickling out. I went back to the bedroom, and as I lifted my leg to put on a fresh pair of undies, fluid came squirting out down my leg and onto the floor (sorry, tmi). I went back to the bathroom, thinking 'wow, I really have NO bladder control now!' But by the time I made it back to the bathroom, it was pretty obvious this was not pee. It kept streaming out of me. Back in the bedroom, I said to my sleeping husband, "I think we need to go to the hospital. I think my water just broke." He didn't even lift his head from the pillow, being so tired from a long week of work and commuting, and said, "Are you sure it's not just pee?"

"Yes. I'm absolutely sure."

Then we started rushing around the house, throwing things into a bag. I took a shower, because I wasn't sure when I'd have another chance. We grabbed a sleeping Handsome Man, and put him in the car. I called the hospital on the way there. (And they told me to come right in). During the 30 minute car ride, as I sat on a pile of towels, completely gushing now, I started getting contractions. Now I was a little scared too, because I wasn't feeling the baby move at all. By the time we pulled up to the hospital the contractions were getting stronger, and when Mister asked me to help him find the sign for the Labor and Delivery parking lot, I said, through gritted teeth, "I'm a little preoccupied over here....!"

Once inside we were taken to a small room, where I was hooked up to the fetal heart monitor and another monitor for my contractions. A nurse gave me an exam and told me I was not dilated at. all. Which because I was breech, was pretty normal. Or at least that's the gist. All I know is, I sure wasn't feeling very good. And I was already exhausted. They called the doctor on call--Dr. G.. (the same doctor who I used to see before I switched over to Doctor Wunnerful. The same doctor who had, four years earlier, performed my D&C in this very same hospital.) Dr. G. had just gotten off shift, and the nurses asked if I felt ok with waiting until 8 a.m. for my C-section. They would give me drugs to keep the contractions at bay until then. I figured it would be better to wait and have a doctor who's fresh and has had some sleep perform my surgery, and it would be better to try and get some sleep, one last time, before I became a mother of two.

My friend, T., was so kind, and met us there, and took Handsome Man home back to our house so Mister could stay there over night with me. They promised us a room where we both could sleep. Only, we waited for what seemed like forever. And after finally getting into our comfy room, sleep was somewhat elusive. Despite the fact that I had been given (or so I thought) drugs to reduce contractions, and pain meds, they were coming harder, faster, closer together. Finally, I rang the nurse. She hooked me back up to monitor my contractions, and a few minutes later returned and said, yes, I needed more meds. The meds. The meds made me feel yucky too. Shaky and gross. These were the same meds they had given me the previous week when Dr. K. had attempted the 'version' to turn the baby. Icky icky ick. Add to this the fact that it seemed like someone was coming in there every 5 minutes to check this or do that, and sleep was not on the menu. For either of us.

Luckily, despite my earlier crazed emotional state, despite the fact that there was a mountain of things I wanted to get done before the baby came, a mountain of things that would now obviously not be getting done, Iw as strangely calm by this point. I just submitted. I was still a little scared about the surgery. I tried not to think about it. Did I really have a choice? Plus, after what little sampling I had just gotten of labor, I thought maybe having a c-section wouldn't be so bad.