The Last Entry / Bookends

I just went back & read my very first blog post. It feels like it was a million years ago. Can I still call myself infertile now that I’ve borne a child? Yes, I think so (seeing as how I couldn’t get pregnant without extreme intervention). Still, it feels strange somehow. It’s familiar and foreign at the same time — like my body, which has returned to its former weight but not its former shape. I have scars that ache from time to time. Body parts have been stretched and pulled, severed and sewn back in a way that still feels alien to me. On the other hand, my body has achieved the miraculous. She has not only nourished and sustained life, but provided the perfect sustenance for the first six months of my daughter’s life. It continues to amaze me – even after 13 months now – that I make milk!

My world has changed almost completely.

All my ‘Are you kidding mes’ have been altered forever.

Are you kidding me?! I got pregnant with the one good embryo we were able to produce after three IVFs?!?

Are you kidding me?! My husband who never wanted children is the most loving father who now adores his daughter more than he ever thought possible?!

Are you kidding me?! I got to have the easiest pregnancy and the most gorgeous baby girl ever?!

Are you kidding me?! I get to stay at home and actually be a Mom to this beautiful little angel?!

Are you kidding me?! After believing she was my last shot at motherhood, I’m actually in a position to try for a sibling for her?!

The blessings go on and on. I wish I could just take this huge lump in my throat that arises whenever I think about just how lucky and grateful I am and make you feel it, too. But there are no words. Language can only deliver a pale facsimile of what I feel. The agony and the ecstasy are far too great to be captured in words. The only way is through.

It was important to me that this particular blog come to an end, since it is so different now from how it started. It’s no longer about the journey through infertility and I no longer feel the need to blog anonymously. I will probably still blog about parenthood because I love it… and writing is so cathartic… and maybe in my moments of vanity, I think it will mean something to my daughter later on in life.

I never expected anyone to really read my blog. Those who have, have surprised me and touched me with their caring. Through reading your blogs, I’ve come to realize what an amazing journey mothers of all kinds go through. Each of our stories, sagas, quests, is so unique and powerful. I have gained tremendous strength through this sisterhood.

Thank you for being here with me now, too, as I say goodbye to this chapter of my life. We’re hoping to try for a sibling for our daughter next year. It would be funny if it were a boy and we named him Robert. I would feel like my prayer to the two embryos I imagined I had in January of 2012 was a premonition, a stamp of destiny upon the ether which materialized. I hope that it is. I love my children: lost, present, and future, more than anything in the world. If they know nothing else, please let them know that.

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She’s almost ONE!

I must have fallen into the rabbit hole as soon as I gave birth because this (nearly) year has gone by so incredibly fast. The other day when I asked my husband if he could believe our baby girl is about to turn one… he looked stunned (although, of course we know she is and we talk about it all the time). He said, “I remember the day she was born like it was five minutes ago!” and then this faraway look came over his face. Yep. It’s insane how everything pre-baby seemed like f-o-r-e-v-e-r and everything post baby is super time-warped. People can say, “It goes by so fast!” until they are blue in the face, but until you experience it, you – my friend – have no idea.

Our little angel, who used to be so calm and mellow, has turned the proverbial developmental corner and now screams (I mean SCREAMS) the split second she doesn’t get exactly what she wants. And what she wants is often completely arbitrary — or at least, it’s a mystery to us. A few days ago, she was happily playing in her play area in the den. She decided to crawl around and when she arrived at her playpen (which was blocking access to the kitchen) she screamed bloody murder! Two seconds before, she’d been a smiling, happy little muffin (that’s what I’ve been calling her these days). My nicknames go through phases… and I find that they spill over to people I love. So now I call my husband “Muffin” too!

She’s doing so many amazing things (well, to me, they’re amazing!) and I’m such a proud Mommy. She can stand and sit like a champ and can also “cruise” or walk, holding onto furniture. A few times, I’ve seen her stand completely on her own and I’m convinced she’ll be walking by her birthday – squeal! She is so cute that I find it really, really difficult to give her soft kisses. I tend to give big loud kisses and squeeze her all over. I have to fight the urge to just bite chunks of cute baby all the time. Okay, I know that must sound odd, but I’m sure I’m not the only one… right?

We’re planning a small, family only, get together for her on her actual birthday. And, I have to say, this is the first party in my life that I’m actually excited about planning. I don’t think I paid this much attention to my wedding – lol. Yesterday, I was reading a baby article to my hubby as he was washing our dishes (yay, me!) and it said something about toddler behavior. Naturally, we’ve come across the word “toddler” a million times, but neither one of us was sure when exactly toddlerhood began. So, I googled it and it turns out that the official toddler era is from 12 to 36 months. When the realization sunk in that our little bundle of preciousness only had another month of being a BABY, it was just too much to take. Mommy & Daddy had a little pity party for ourselves. We have so loved her babyhood and aren’t even close to ready to say goodbye. I can’t believe she’s going to be a toddler now. This whole growing up thing sure is painful… for the parents!

35 Weeks

How big is the baby? The charts say she’s the size of a coconut… a really, really BIG coconut, apparently!

Symptoms:  Heartburn, backaches, swollen ankles, Braxton-Hicks cramps, hip pain… I’m like an old lady these days!

Total Weight Loss/Gain:  20 lbs. as of today.

Maternity Clothes: My maternity t-shirts are creeping up to reveal my belly when I wear regular (non-maternity) stretchy skirts. That’s how huge I am now! lol

Sleep: Sleep isn’t too bad, but what interrupts my sleep most these days (aside from the frequent trips to the bathroom) are these nagging pains in my hips. They make it painful to rest on either side (and sleeping on my back is definitely out of the question). Other than that… the baby has a habit of shifting her entire weight to whatever side I choose to sleep on and then (what feels like) kicking or pummeling that side as if she’s trying to prop herself up. Either way, it’s nearly impossible to go back to sleep most times.

Best Moment This Week: Announcing our pregnancy to friends via Facebook and receiving all the love & support. We enjoyed their surprise in finding out we’re 8 months pregnant! One of my friends called me in (happy) tears and, of course, it made me start crying, too. I was surprised by both how some of our friends shared so much in our happiness and by how some of them (like my husband’s old best friend, B) know we’re pregnant and have failed (refuse?) to congratulate us. It’s shocking, actually… but probably very good to know where people stand nevertheless.

Movement: Big, bold movements that contort my belly. My husband finally uttered the words, “It looks like an alien is inside you!”

Food Cravings: Sweets. I want sweets!!!!

Labor Signs: None other than the Braxton-Hicks cramping.

Belly Button In or Out? The jury is out. I think my “innie” is threatening to become an “outie.” I’m not exactly happy about this, but am consciously trying to relax and not let it bother me. In the grand scheme of things, it’s incredibly minor… but vanity is still vanity!

What I miss: I miss being able to move with any degree of agility. I miss when I could lean forward and do my make up in the mirror without having my baby kick me because I’m squashing her. I miss my “cute” preggo belly of the 2nd trimester.

What I am looking forward to:  I’m looking forward to our 1-day babymoon in Malibu and I’m really looking forward to a short & easy delivery. I cannot wait to meet her!!!

Next Appointment: In a couple of weeks, mainly to see if she’s getting so big that we’ll have to induce. I’m hoping she’s not. I don’t know what Pitocin will do to the level of contraction pain or my ability to handle it.

Milestones: I can’t believe I’m 5 weeks from my due date and that she may be here even sooner than that! It feels sooooo surreal. It feels like everything suddenly reached warp speed, but is in slow motion at the same time!

Great Expectations

I’ve always had a mothering quality to my personality. Maybe I was born that way, or maybe it has something to do with being raised by a textbook narcissist for a mother. Either way, compassion, support, taking care of people – it’s just in my blood. That may have been, in part, why infertility was especially devastating for me. I couldn’t imagine the possibility of not actually being a mother. In some ways, it feels like it’s what I’m meant to do in this life. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This strong motherhood impulse of mine is perhaps why my own mother’s shortcomings baffle and sadden me so. I’ve said it before and it’s still true, I shouldn’t be surprised after 39 years of the same behavior. But I know there’s a part of me that is rooting for her to change – someday, by some miracle, I keep hoping she will be at least partly the mother I need her to be. Logically, I know this if futile. What I don’t know, is how to stop myself from hoping or worse, expecting that she’ll be different.

I guess I thought some kind of extra “mother” gene would kick in for her now that I’m pregnant. She “oohs” and “ahhs” over every ultrasound photo and every baby-related development of mine. She writes poems to my unborn baby. [This is a whole different deal with my mom, who’s gained a certain amount of fame in her home country for writing poetry. It’s an ego thing for her. In fact, in the poem she wrote for my baby, it’s clear at the beginning that it’s her granddaughter and then she Freudian slips into calling her “my wonder child.” Um, no, Mom. She’s not your wonder child. She’s mine!] But aside from using the baby to boost her ego, she’s not really interested in doing anything or being a part of anything.

Much like my wedding, she’ll be at the baby shower as a guest – not as anyone who helped plan or orchestrate the event. My husband says I should be grateful for that, but I’m not feeling grateful. I feel like she doesn’t care at all. My dad’s wife (of 19 years) is doing nearly all the work, and frankly, treating me much more like a daughter than my own mother! And the worst part is that I can’t list her as the host of the party (opting instead to list my gay best-friend) because – and at my father’s request – my mother would throw an absolute fit. Mom doesn’t want to do any of the work, but she sure loves the glory. My dad went so far as to tell me not to thank his wife in front of the guests (or my mother) so that we wouldn’t have any “incidents.” Yes, we all live in various degrees of fear of my mother’s infamous outbursts.

Several months ago, my mother told me she wanted to furnish the nursery as a gift to me. Knowing she didn’t realize how much that would cost and that she couldn’t really afford it, I told her my dad  had committed to buying the furniture, but she could help out with buying other items, decorations, rugs, etc. She agreed and when I ended up buying a cheap rug at a downtown outlet, she gave me the $65 dollars back so it would be her gift. Since then, she hasn’t offered to buy anything else for the nursery, even when I’ve strongly hinted. She did buy an outfit for the baby and a doll (which I really didn’t like), so I asked her to not buy anything else until she had a chance to take a look at my registry so she could at least buy something I liked or needed.

So… yesterday, we were discussing the baby shower and how I plan to open gifts and she said, “What gift are you going to open from me?” I said, “That depends. What gift are you giving me?” And I laughed. She said, “I bought you the carpet.” (And I paused for a moment, incredulous.) It dawned on me that she considered her part completed. So, we went from furnishing the nursery to buying a cheap rug? Wow. It’s not that I’m interested in only what she can buy me – in fact, I don’t need her to buy me anything. I’m just astonished that she wouldn’t  want to do more for her only child who’s carrying her only grandchild.

The same thing happened when we were in the early stages of planning the baby shower. Since my dad’s wife was doing so much, I thought my mom might be upset that there was no role for her to play in my event, so I told her what had already been planned and asked if she wanted to help in any way. She asked what there was left to do and I told her there were lots of little things, like getting drinks or picking up the cupcakes. Regarding the latter, she said, “I’m not good at those things. Can someone else do it?” “Of course,” I said. So my mother’s grand contribution to our baby shower will be bringing bottles of Sprite and Coke Zero. Thanks, Mom, I don’t know how I could’ve done this without you!

My husband pointed out to me that it’s silly for me to expect her to be any other way than how she is. But her actions (or lack thereof) still hurt my feelings. I cannot imagine being in her place and not wanting to do so much more for my daughter. It feels like she doesn’t love me or doesn’t care. And on top of it, I know she’s going to print & frame that stupid poem and expect us to hang it in the baby’s room. I bet that’ll be her baby-shower gift. I bet she’ll stop the shower festivities – just like she stopped our wedding – to read her poem. And then she’ll be in a foul mood because of any of the following: a) she’ll feel people didn’t “appreciate” her poem; b) she’ll think I didn’t like her poem enough; c) she’ll be upset that I didn’t “publicly praise” her poem or thank her for her amazing contribution… or who knows what else. Every time I think I’ve figured it out, I learn I have underestimated her capacity to be petty and self-centered.

It hurts that I don’t have the mother I need/want… and to know that I never have. I don’t know what I can do about feeling this way. I certainly don’t want to keep setting myself up by expecting her to be different. And I can see there’ll be ample opportunity for that in the future.

I kind of wish that she didn’t exist. It feels so bad to write the truth. I don’t want any harm to come to her… I just wish she didn’t actually exist. She brings a special brand of misery with her and I’m tired of it. I don’t want her around my child. I don’t want her in our lives. My husband always reminds me that she’s old and that she does – in her own way – love me very much. I try to have sympathy for her. I tolerate her whims and cater to her much more than I think is healthy. But is it so wrong of me to want a break? She drains so much of my mental and emotional energy and I just can’t afford that anymore. I’m about to give birth to someone who really needs me. And I plan on being 100% there for my baby. Anyone who takes away from that is going to have to be relegated to the sidelines of my life.

I may not have had the mother of my dreams, but I can promise my baby girl that I’m going to be the mother I always wanted… the mother she actually needs.

The Experience of Birth

I’m having a hard time with the notion that I probably won’t be having the peaceful, hippie, home-birth experience that I dreamed about ever since I watched “The Business of Being Born.” That film had a huge impact on me and forever changed the way I saw the entire birthing experience.

I had never seriously considered midwives, birthing centers or home births before then. I had never even contemplated any birth options outside of a traditional hospital setting! But as I watched doctors repeatedly ignore women’s instructions for everything from no Pitocin, to Cesareans, to epidurals – in fact, ignore their every desire (and right to have or refuse medical treatment), I began to see how invisible women, and pregnant women in particular, are to many doctors. They seem to be viewed largely as some kind of inconvenience that has to be scurried out within a pre-determined “reasonable” time, so the hospital can make room for another patient, the doctor’s tennis game (true story that happened to a friend of mine!) or vacation schedule. The process is sterile and dehumanizing in a way that I was never aware of until I witnessed how warm, comforting, supportive and peaceful a midwife-attended birth could be.

I started doing my homework, researching midwives, centers, home-births and birthing methods. Of all the methods I encountered, the Leboyer method resonated most with me. It is described (online) as a psychophysical approach to delivery with the goal of minimizing the trauma of birth by gently and pleasantly introducing the newborn to life outside the womb. It has four aspects: a gentle controlled delivery in a quiet dimly lit room, avoidance of pulling on the head, avoidance of overstimulation of the infant’s sensorium, and encouragement of maternal-infant bonding. Unnecessary intervention in the process of birth is eschewed. After delivery, the baby is gently laid on the mother’s abdomen, the back is massaged as the cord stops pulsating, and, when regular spontaneous respirations are established, the baby is gently supported in a warm tub of water by the father.

This is a huge contrast to hospital deliveries where you’re in a florescently lit room, often artificially stimulated with Pitocin, the delivery is panicky and loud (after all, the Pitocin causes contractions to become unbearably painful), because of that epidurals are often required, the umbilical cord is cut right away (preventing important nutrients, hormones and antibodies from transferring to the infant), and at birth, the infant is whisked away by the nurses for cleaning, weighing, observation and whatever else they do. If a baby has any complications at all, it can be up to 24 hrs before the mother is even allowed to see, let alone hold, her baby! The father has no role at all in the birth, except possibly the ceremonial cutting of the umbilical cord.

Additionally, hospitals require the mother to be on her back with her legs up in the air for delivery – the single-most difficult and unnatural position to facilitate birth. And don’t even get me started on the placenta and how many hospitals won’t release the placenta to mothers because they consider it a biohazard.

I could go on and on… but that’s not the point of this post. I’d already had a tough time convincing my husband to go along with my home birth plan, assuring him that we’d run it past my Ob/Gyn. And every time I mentioned home-birth, I’d have to explain, justify, educate whomever I was speaking to until I didn’t feel on the defensive anymore. “Why should I go to a hospital to give birth?” I would ask. “Pregnancy is not an illness.”

Some friends were instant converts, but I could see most people had real reservations. I decided that I didn’t care. After all, I wasn’t seeking their approval. I adopted a Mother-knows-best approach and was feeling more and more confident about my plan… until I read an article a few days ago – by a DOCTOR (in all caps because it’s so hard to find a doctor’s unbiased point of view on this). The article was about the growing U.S. trend of home-births. The tone was respectful and objective. I was immediately interested in what he had to say about my choice – the exercise of my control over my birthing experience.

In a nutshell, he confirmed many of the positive stories I’d heard about the home-birth experience and how it truly was beneficial for the mother: fewer episiotomies, less stress, easier births, fewer drugs or interventions, and how it really benefited women who wanted to assert control over their birthing experience. “Perfect!” I thought. I was already sold.

And then I read the other half of the article… which said even though it was a better experience for the mothers, the same could not be said for the infants. I’m sure he listed multiple factors, but the only one I saw – the one that glared at me and became larger than life – was “three to five times the infant mortality rate as compared to hospital births.” He cited the fact that doctors are not present at the majority of home births and that when emergency situations arise, oftentimes, they can’t get mother & baby to the hospital fast enough. It seems that delivery emergencies require seconds and not minutes before a response is required to save the baby’s life. He was open about the fact that emergency situations are rare. But what happens if you do have one?! He said home-births were better suited for women who have already given birth before without complications and not for first time mothers.

I was crushed. I felt that everything I wanted, everything I had envisioned was slipping away from me. I realized then that my first sacrifice as a mother would be sacrificing my desire for a particular birth experience. After all, my “experience” wasn’t nearly as important as my child’s experience… and given every improbable miracle it took me to get to this place… there’s no way I could afford to risk any of that. To insist on what I wanted would be the most selfish thing I could do.

It’s been a few days now and I’m still sad, but feel like a better mom already. I wish I could have it all work out the way I wanted. I wish my hospital had a midwife or that I could bring my own, but I can’t. My husband and I decided to take my birth plan to my next Ob/Gyn appointment in two weeks and see what she can & can’t accommodate. I know I’ll have to give up the dim lighting, music of my choosing, ability to eat a light snack and birth in a position most comfortable to me. I hope she can accommodate my no Pitocin, no Cesarean, no epidural, no episiotomy requests, waiting until the umbilical cord stops pulsing before it’s cut, immediate infant to skin contact and taking my placenta home with me.

Whatever happens in the end will be okay with me as long as our baby girl is healthy and happy. I hope she knows just how much we love her.

Absent-Minded

There’s no question that I’ve been absent for a while. I just got to a point where I was so completely wound up with anxiety and fear that it was almost debilitating. I have since realized that I am (uncharacteristically) extremely suggestible as of late.

As an example, I read a friend’s post on FB about pancakes and immediately rushed to my kitchen to make some. I had to have pancakes right then and there! Nevermind that I hadn’t eaten pancakes for over a decade – the urge was so strong and instant that it was like I was possessed. (Thank God it was only pancakes – sheesh!)

This happens all the time now. I see something on t.v. or hear a story and am compelled to act or buy or eat something for which I had no desire seconds before. What is happening to me?

Is this some kind of weird, heretofore undiscovered pregnancy symptom? I’m usually much more rational about things… but something has changed (hopefully only temporarily) and I don’t like it!

So… this is all to set the stage for what sent me on my descending spiral into unquantifiable worry. As I’ve mentioned somewhere here before, I occasionally participate in the TCOYF (Taking Charge Of Your Fertility) forums which, over the years, has been a wonderful place for gathering quality information and receiving (as well as giving) support. It’s been a place to share about IVF cycles and the ups & downs of this entire journey with people who are pretty much going through the same thing.

As it turns out, one of the women who literally got pregnant only days before me (what you might call a “cycle buddy”) ended up miscarrying about a week or so ago. And, for whatever reason – perhaps because our pregnancies were so close – this affected me very personally. My initial thought was, “If this could happen to her, it can happen to me, too.” And that fear grew and grew until I knew I had to peel myself away from the forums and search elsewhere for some kind of confirmation that my baby was okay.

The problem with searching for reassurance is that, well, there isn’t any. Well meaning friends and relatives will tell you over & over that everything’s going to be fine (and some might tell you “whatever’s meant to be will be” – those people deserve a punch in the face) but none of it will put your mind at ease. Because the real bottom line is that you don’t know everything’s okay – you can’t know. Sure, you can analyze symptoms and try to logically talk yourself into an “everything must be fine” scenario… but since you can’t see or hear or feel the baby at this stage, without an ultrasound or doppler to clue you in on what’s really going on, it’s impossible to know for sure. That, ladies and gentlemen (?), is what we call HELL!

Listen, I’ve embraced my share of “not knowing” plenty of times during this whole infertility thing and I think I’ve actually done it well, with grace at least, if not patience… but it just seemed like too much to ask of me to do that now… when the stakes feel higher than ever. I bargained with myself that if all went well at the 9 week ultrasound, I would invest in a fetal doppler to put my mind at ease during the long stretches between doctor visits. My husband had concerns about the safety of using the doppler and wondered whether or not it could harm the baby. I convinced myself that his fears were inconsequential in the face of my completely freaking out heightened stress levels and that my stress would be worse for the baby than a few seconds of amateur doppler monitoring!

Cut to: doctor’s office, 9 week ultrasound. As soon as the image appeared on the screen of what looked like a huge baby-shaped thing in my uterus, I realized I hadn’t been breathing for about the last two weeks! Relief was the overwhelming emotion. I could barely participate in what the doctor was saying or even fully listen to his description of future eyes & limbs. I was so overcome by this flood of relief! (I know, very self-centered, isn’t it? I’ll have to work on that.)

We talked to the doctor afterwards and I told him how worried I had been and why. He said, “You shouldn’t be. You have the pregnancy of a 20 year old.” I’ve never been told I have the anything of a 20 year old… so that felt good to hear! And he went on to say, “Do you know what the difference is between you and your friend who miscarried? You had PGD and she didn’t!” “You’re absolutely right,” I had to admit. And even though I knew that before, somehow the weight of it didn’t really sink in until a man with a white lab coat, degrees & years of experience stated it like some kind of commandment.

He also urged me to not use my own fetal doppler and pointed out that these are strong energy waves and “we don’t really know” what the impact might be on a fetus because there haven’t been any long-term studies. He suggested that I relax and enjoy the pregnancy instead. (My conversion took a little bit of time, but ultimately, the thought of putting my mind at ease at the potential expense of causing my daughter any type of harm just didn’t make sense.)

So, I have decided to RELAX and ENJOY my pregnancy!!!

And then there was ONE

Today is 5 days past the 5-day transfer. For those of you keeping score (really probably only me) that’s 3 IVFs, 34 eggs retrieved, 22 fertilized & analyzed, and a grand total of… can I have a drumroll, please?

ONE. Normal. Embryo.

Well, at least there was one, right? The alternative would have been much worse.

So… because no one I know in real life reads this, I will tell you, dear anonymous person struggling with infertility, that our little blastocyst is a female. It feels kind of special to know that for some reason. And it’s funny, too, because all my mom’s psychic friends have predicted either a male child or male twins. Not on this round, I’m afraid, ladies!

Oh, and, I find it very interesting that the normal embryo was actually one of our frosties from IVF #2 – the cycle where I was the most stressed-out, sleep-deprived, and depressed! That was actually quite a surprise to me. Still, I’m glad we let her get to the 5-day blastocyst stage. I feel/hope/pray that will give her a better chance to implant.

The transfer procedure itself was actually extremely romantic. I know it sounds like I’m being sarcastic, but I’m not – I swear! We were in a transfer room with dim lighting and “mood” music – which I found to be both simultaneously cheesy and relaxing. I was lying down with my legs in stirrups (okay, that’s not romantic) as doctors & nurses bustled about readying everything. My darling husband sat behind me, stroking my hair, gazing at me lovingly, and gently tracing the features of my face. I felt so incredibly loved.

During the actual embryo transfer, the music became quite dramatic and hubby said something about it sounding like Liberace! I said, “Are you seriously telling me that our baby is being implanted to Liberace?!” It was all I could do to control my laughter. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep still when every part of you is trying to repress a full-belly laugh?) “It’s Debussy,” our RE chimed in, “I think this is the music you hear when you go to Heaven,” he added. We were immediately reduced to naughty school children who want nothing more than to bust out laughing during a very serious lesson! It was an awesome experience.

So that was 5 days ago now… and I spent the first 2 days feeling blissful and like my dreams had already come true. Day 3 was okay. Day 4 was very blah. And day 5, today, has sucked. All my hope & optimism seem to have vanished – along with any symptoms, I might add! No more sore boobs? I mean, Progesterone alone causes sore boobs for me and I’ve been on the suppositories since before the transfer. No more bloating? I have bloating even when I’m not going through IVF – what the hell is happening here? The only “symptom” I have, if you can really even call it that, is depression. I cried like there was no tomorrow this morning. I just couldn’t shake this horrible foreboding. I mean, box of Kleenex, snot-dripping-down-your-shirt type of sobbing. I know we’re not supposed to jump to conclusions, but I really, really don’t FEEL pregnant.

I was excited yesterday because I experienced some serious fluttering in my uterus. That has never happened before and I convinced myself it was a sign, however, my best-friend-Google says it can mean almost anything, which really means it means nothing. And of course, I thought it would make me feel less anxious if I could pee on a stick and pretend there was a faint line somewhere. So, I did… and there wasn’t. I mean it was stark blinding white no matter which angle I looked at it!

That made me really sad. (Yes, I know it’s too early, I’m just losing it.) This can’t really be it, can it? Six months, 3 surgeries, $35,000 and immeasurable heartache for this? I’m having a hard time existing in limbo. I don’t know what I will do if it doesn’t work.

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