Dear Rowan

You're invited...

2011-05-10T15:50:00.001-05:00

To follow me on my new blog Abiding Andrew. Hope to see you there!

The anniversary

2011-04-19T20:53:00.000-05:00

Today is the anniversary of the day that changed my life -- the day that three tiny embryos were thawed and the two that survived were transferred to my uterus. One of those embryos became my son, who is sleeping down the hall as I write this. He is dressed in a baby blue footed pajamas, he is lying on his back -- deep in sleep -- with his little chubby arms up over his head as if he has surrendered to sleep. He is making tiny little sleeping noises as he breathes in and out. He is the most beautiful, wonderful, magical little person I've ever met.
It is almost unfathomable to think that a small group of cells that were frozen for three months grew into this precious baby. It is nothing short of a miracle and I am reminded daily as I marvel at Andrew at just how close we came to never knowing him, to never being parents, to never living this life that we have now.
My memories of that day are now colored by the happy outcome. Still, I remember feeling less optimistic than in the past. I felt -- resigned. I was pretty sure we'd come to the end of the road as far as our infertility was concerned. We'd gambled three times on IVF and came up empty handed each time. The frozen embryo transfer was sort of like a formality. We had to give those three embryos a chance before we could decide to move on to embryo donation or adoption or, gasp, living child free. On the day of the transfer, I remember watching the ultrasound screen. In all my previous IVFs I had willed my body to welcome those tiny embryos, I would think "hello, my babies, I hope you'll stay. I love you very much." But during my FET, I didn't think these thoughts. I just thought about all the times I'd been there before and how I hoped I'd never be there again.
The most poignant memory of that day is when my husband quietly sang to me as we waited in our curtained room. "Here we go again on our own, going down the only road we've ever known." It struck me as insanely funny at the time. But, Greg was right. Heartbreak was all we'd known at that point. Now, we have such joy. There is joy in the middle of the night when Andrew wakes and I can hear him stirring in the next room. There is joy early in the morning before the sun is up and we lie in bed listening to Andrew "talking" his happy morning jabber. There is in taking care of his needs, joy in knowing that he is happy and healthy, joy in seeing him learn new things and unbelievable joy when he fixes his eyes on my face and smiles.
But, of course, I couldn't have dared imagine all this one year ago.
I was hopeful. Hope springs eternal for infertiles, it seems. Why else would we continue to put ourselves through such horrible procedures and treatments? Even so, I did not have the kind of hope I'd had during my third IVF, when it seemed everything was going right.
Little did I know that one year later, I would be a mother and my heart would forever be changed. Believe it or not, I now cry more easily than I did during those heartbreaking years of TTC. The difference is that now, most the time the tears are joyful. I cry when I listen to the radio. I cry when I think of how Andrew came to be. Sometimes, just looking at my baby's sweet face is enough to bring on the waterworks. I am just so swept away by this child. It's like falling in love -- only better. Even some of Andrew's books make me cry. Yesterday, I finally made it through "On The Night You Were Born" without crying. I still can't read "God Gave Us You." I told Greg that would have to be the book he reads to Andrew since Mommy is such a crybaby.
This is a birthday of sorts. It's sort of difficult to classify this day now that I think about it. It's not the anniversary of the day Andrew was conceived -- that was back in January. It's not the anniversary of the day I became pregnant, because as we all know, pregnancy doesn't begin immediately after transfer. Still, it is the anniversary of the day that changed my life -- the day that started this journey. I am so grateful -- eternally grateful -- for the precious gift that is my son.

A work in progress

2011-04-06T09:06:00.002-05:00

So, the new blog is under construction. I'm actually having someone design it for me so that it will be exactly what I want. I'm so excited about it. And, yes, I will definitely let my readers know where to find me once it's ready.
Andrew is doing great. He is now three months old. I can hardly believe it. He smiles a lot, has laughed out loud a few times and has twice managed to roll from his tummy to his back unassisted. He is very motivated to roll this way because he HATES being on his tummy. We go for his three month appointment tomorrow. His reflux is under control most days and though he is a cat napper, he is sleeping well and letting mommy get a lot of rest most nights.
He is such a little wonder to me! I cannot believe how much he has grown and learned over the last three months. And, I cannot believe how much I have learned. I am becoming an expert on all things Andrew and it feels good to be able to interpret his little cries and motions. I feel more and more confident as a mother as each day passes. I love the fact that most of the time when he wakes up and I lean over his crib, he is smiling back at me. His smile is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. I know that for as long as I live, that will remain true.
We are quickly approaching the anniversary of our embryo transfer and I hope that I can write a post that encompasses all the emotions I'm feeling about this special day. Until then, I'll be working on the new blog and playing with my miracle boy.

I've been thinking....

2011-04-01T12:25:00.002-05:00

perhaps it's time to end this blog and start a new one. The support I found from my readers out there in blogland was very helpful to me during the last rounds of our infertility struggle and throughout my pregnancy. I am thankful to each one of you who ever offered me a word of encouragement or advice. I pray that you get the miracle you are waiting on. However, I find that I am not always being authentic in my writing on this blog for fear of hurting readers who still struggle. So, perhaps it's time for a new blog. I'm envisioning a blog that is blatantly and unequivocally dedicated to my precious baby and this new life we have as a family of three.

Show off

2011-03-25T09:38:00.003-05:00

One of the problems with living so far away from family and friends when you have a new baby is you don't really have anyone to ooh and aah over him. Everyday, Andrew learns something new or accomplishes some new feat (yesterday he managed to get his fist in his mouth, which is not a new trick, but he was able to keep it there, which is new). And, of course, I have no one to witness this particularl little feat. Greg is working crazy hours -- leaving before Andrew wakes up and getting home after he's gone to bed. So I am left alone to revel in every smile, every movement, every dirty diaper.
I long to be closer to my family because they will make such a fuss over my boy that both Andrew and I might both be a little overwhelmed. After a lot of consideration, I decided to make the trek to NC without Greg. So it will be me and Andrew flying home next month.
I am a little nervous about flying with him for the first time without an extra set of hands, but I keep telling myself that it is only 6 hours travel time and we will get through it just fine, even if we have to ask a stranger to help us out.
I can't wait to get there. I can't wait for Andrew to meet his Aunt Renee' and all his cousins, to see my 92-year-old grandmother lay eyes on Andrew for the first time. I can't wait for Andrew and my great nephew Wyatt to meet -- they are only seven months apart and I predict they will be the best of friends for the rest of their lives.
I look forward to seeing my parents with Andrew again now that he has emerged from his state of newness to become this observant, interactive little wonder. I can't wait to see my Aunt Betty -- so sick, in Round 2 of her battle with breast cancer -- with Andrew in her arms. So many prayers she has prayed for this perfect little miracle. She has asked my mother when we will be home every day. When my mom told her April 21, she said "that is still a long time away." I suppose your perspective of time shifts when you are fighting for your life.
I anticipate so much joy in our homecoming. We'll be there for Easter and I plan to take Andrew to church -- the church of my childhood where every face is familiar and everyone who occupies a seat in the pew is linked either by blood or by friendship. My family still attends services regularly and this church has prayed for us to become parents for as many years as we've been trying. I can't wait to show them our answered prayer.
We'll be there for 19 days, plenty long enough for me to miss Greg and my home. Long enough for Greg to really miss us and wonder why I stayed so long. But it won't be long enough. I look forward to the day when I am surrounded by the people I love the most. I'm sure when we make our last move home and get settled I will ask myself why in the world we decided to move so close to all these crazy relatives, but then I will remember this isolation and this particular brand of lonliness and I will know that whatever my family does to get on my nerves is a small price to pay for having a whole host of folks who love you nearby.
Basically, I am looking forward to "showing off" my little guy. He is absolutely perfect, afterall!

Ouch

2011-03-22T13:56:00.003-05:00

Have you ever hurt your knee or your ankle and just when you least expect it that old injury will flare up and remind you of the pain you once endured?
Well, that's a little what parenting after infertility is like. There you are, moving right along with your day, happy as a pig in mud because you've finally got your little one in your arms and then -- that old familiar sting.
I experienced a flare up of that old injury of infertility yesterday. Andrew and I were out for our daily stroll -- I was hoping he'd slip into a little nap as he used to do everytime I'd put him in his stroller. But, there's just too much out there in the world to see! Now he spends his time in the stroller drooling, cooing, shaking his favorite rattle and taking in the big, big world.
We were only a few blocks from home when I saw a young girl standing near the street waiting for a friend who was walking on the opposite sidewalk. From the back, this girl looked a lot like my niece Emily, with her long red hair and her athletic build.
Emily is a rare girl -- unbelievably kind and smart and funny. Her laugh, her smile, well, it's just infectious. You cannot help but fall in love with my niece.
This girl was about the same age as my Emily -- the one that brings you to a state of flux -- not a child, not a woman, just stuck somewhere in between. I could sense her enthusiasm as she greeted her friend and the two locked arms and started chatting and went inside. I thought about all the girl drama they are bound to stir up and I felt a little catch in my throat. Why on earth was I about to cry?
Because I had one thought -- I will never have a daughter.
Damn you infertility. Even in these happiest days of my life, with my smiling, cooing, perfect little son finally here in my arms, you manage to bring me to tears.

St. Patty's Day fun

2011-03-18T20:10:00.002-05:00

Here's a picture of me and my little guy in his silly St. Patty's Day socks.

Sleep, baby, sleep

2011-03-10T11:54:00.004-06:00

I haven't really talked about our sleep issues on here before other than mentioning the reflux was affecting Andrew's sleep and to say that he had grown accustomed to being soothed to sleep by either Mommy or Daddy. Now that we have the reflux issue under control (much better! Thank goodness!), we are working on the other issues.
Two nights ago, after a day that featured very little napping on Andrew's part -- I found myself standing over his crib once again for the fourth time -- he was waking every hour and I prayed out loud -- "Lord, send an angel to soothe this baby so that I can get some rest!"
Well, yesterday Andrew napped like a dream -- 2 hours in the morning, 3 hours in the afternoon and one 30 min. power nap in the evening -- and then a miracle happened. I had given him his last bottle of the day, did our little bedtime rituals -- lullabys, a little rocking, kisses goodnight and put him in his crib fully expecting to pat and shhhh him to sleep like always. Well, after about 10-15 min of pat shush, my boy was still wide eyed and just making his little baby noises. I decided mommy needed a short break, so I went into the living room and sat down on the couch. I could hear Andrew on the monitor -- he was not crying, just cooing and grunting. Greg wanted to tell me something so I listened to his story and by the end of it, the grunting and cooing had stopped. Silence from the monitor.
I told Greg to go in there and make sure Andrew was OK. Greg came back and said Andrew was fast asleep.
What? My babe put himself to sleep? Hallelujah and thank you Lord for that angel!
So, when Andrew awoke at 1:15 a.m. for a feeding, I wasn't sure what to expect. After a feeding and a diaper change (the midnight pooper strikes again) I decided to try my luck again -- I did our ritual (sans lullabyes) and placed a drowsy but fully awake Andrew in his crib. I patted his little leg a couple of times and told him I'd see him in the morning, sweet dreams.
At 6:30 this morning, I woke up in the bed alone -- Greg was already up getting ready for work. I came into the kitchen, made me some coffee and had a nice little chat with my husband before Andrew woke up at 6:45 a.m.
He also put himself to sleep for his first nap of the day (though it was only about an hour) and then again for his second nap of the day, which is going into the second hour as I type this, fingers crossed for a 2 hour nap!).
I cannot say how relieved I am at these recent events. Greg said it might be a fluke, but I am hoping that since we have Andrew's feeding and reflux issues under control -- maybe his sleep issues are resolving themselves as well.
A well rested baby means a well rested Mama! So, sleep, baby, sleep!

Should be interesting

2011-03-08T09:46:00.003-06:00

My mother-in-law is coming to visit. This is big news at our house because my mother-in-law has never visited us. She didn't come to our wedding more than eight years ago and she has not visited Greg in 19 years. We have not seen her in more than two years and all totaled, I have probably only spent about 8 hours face to face with her since I met Greg.
It's not that I have anything against my mother-in-law, I really don't know her. And, I guess that's what makes me nervous. Usually we communicate through e-mail and Greg talks with her on the phone. The only time I've ever talked with her on the phone was one Thanksgiving when we lived in Italy. The phone rang, I said "hello" and a woman's voice said "Is Greg there?" and I said "yes, hold on just a minute," and I put him on the phone. I didn't even know it was her!
I don't think I'm the only one who is nervous about her visit. Greg has been asking me repeatedly if I have thought of things we can do while she's here. I think it has been so long since he spent time with her that he's worried she will be bored or they won't have anything to talk about.
But, I've been so busy with Andrew that I haven't had time to put much thought into what we will do. I suppose she will want to spend a lot of time with Andrew, because that is the reason she is coming. So, I guess I will try not to worry about it too much.
Speaking of worry, last night, I dreamed that I was shopping at Target and talking to my mom on the phone. My mom said "where's Andrew?" and I said, "He's at home asleep but I have the monitor with me." Oh goodness! What a crazy person I have become!

A new direction?

2011-03-05T08:07:00.002-06:00

Andrew had his two-month check up on Thursday. He weighs 12.6 pounds and is 24 inches long! He's a big boy!
I feel like we're finally moving in a new direction. Dr. S has diagnosed Andrew with reflux, which I had suspected since we made the switch to formula. He has many of the symptoms of reflux.
1. He fusses after feedings -- which I had interpreted as a sign that he wanted more but most times he wouldn't take more or he would spit it all back up.
2. He spits up A LOT. He spits up during his sleep, even if it has been hours since his last feeding. This usually wakes him up and he doesn't get the rest he needs.
3. He constantly makes this noise in the back of his throat -- I call it a grunt but Dr. S said it is really a cough, caused by the reflux.
4. He still has the hiccups several times a day.
5. He has a terrible amount of gas. I've watched him in his sleep pull his little legs to his chest and then pass gas, waking himself up.
6. He cries out in his sleep. I can't tell you how many times I have gone to his bed thinking something horrible has happened to him only to find him sound asleep.

So, we have made some adjustments according to the doctor's orders.
We are doing smaller, more frequent feedings. Instead of 6 oz. every 4 hours, he's getting 4 oz. every 3 hours. We burp him every ounce and we hold him up on the shoulder for 20 minutes after each feeding. We have elevated one end of his crib. We are putting one tsp. of rice cereal per ounce of milk in each bottle to weigh down the milk in hopes of keeping it from coming back up. And, perhaps most important (or controversial) Andrew gets two doses of Zantac in his bottle everyday.
Since we started these things, the amount of spit up has decreased significantly. Andrew can put himself to sleep without the endless soothing we were doing. A swaddle and a few pats seeem to be all he needs now. His sleep is more sound and though we have heard the little cough a time or two, it is not constant like it was. He has only cried out in his sleep once. He seems to be napping better.
We had hoped the rice in the bottle would help him sleep through the night, but it has not. But that is OK. That will come with time.
I really hope these new measures will make Andrew more comfortable. I now understand that he has been in quite a bit of pain and discomfort, which is something that I could not fix for him. His crying made me feel like I had to be doing something wrong, but the cause of his crying was something that I could not fix.
It is a terrible feeling when your baby is crying and you've done everything in your power to soothe him and nothing works. Here's hoping those days are behind us.

Let me tell you about my baby

2011-03-01T14:10:00.002-06:00

I want to tell you about my baby -- not the screaming baby who wasn't getting enough to eat during the first month of his life -- not the "colicky" baby who had a problem with his old formula -- not the baby who suffered from the side effects of "accidental" parenting. I want to tell you about the baby who is napping soundly in his crib in his room down the hall as I write this post.
I don't know what has changed. Maybe it is the fact that Andrew is nearly 8 weeks old. Holy crap! How'd that happen? Or, maybe it is his mom who has changed. Everyone says taking care of a newborn is a guessing game -- and I finally feel like I'm getting better at guessing.
I am taking the advice of my sister, my cousin and my friend -- don't worry so much about schedules. In fact, my friend sent me an email after reading my last couple of posts and told me to post it on the refrigerator, which I did.

This is what it says:

You are a great Mom.

Use your instincts. Rock Andrew and let him sleep on your chest - in a very short time he will be too big for this kind of snuggle.

Don't stress over schedules - Andrew will eat, sleep, poop, and play when he wants to.

Don't compare your child or your life to anyone! We all have our own unique situation. Embrace yours!

Focus on what you did accomplish today.

It will not be this way forever - it does get easier!! I promise!

Express yourself - cry, scream, cuss, or laugh your way through the day! Remember - you are not yourself - you are sleep deprived and physically and mentally exhausted.

If these don't get you through - call me!!!! Anytime!! I mean it! I am here for you -I wish I could be there with/for you....but right now I am just a phone call away.

My sister said "I didn't worry about scheudles with my babies, we were just on baby time." And, so I started to shift my perspective. While I'm still hoping to get Andrew to bed at roughly the same time each night, I am happy to say that I'm just taking things as they come.
We've reached some pretty big milestones over the past few weeks. First, right after my birthday, I moved Andrew out of our bedroom and into his own room just a few steps down the hall. This helped me sleep better because even though I had the monitor on, I wasn't tempted to jump up everytime he made a little noise during the night (he is a noisy sleeper). Second, Andrew has started to smile. Sometimes, it's only once or twice a day. Sometimes, it's more. No matter how often I see that smile, it never fails to make my heart melt. Another big milestone is that as of this weekend, my little guy is no longer sleeping in his bassinet. I tried moving him to his crib early last week because he was clearly outgrowing the bassinet. But, it didn't go so well and I ended up putting him back in the bassinet. Well, by Saturday it was clear that arrangement wasn't going to work any longer. His little feet were touching the sides of the bassinet! So, we have made the move to the crib and it is going just fine. It was a bittersweet goodbye for me. The good part about it is though he looked giant in the bassinet, he looks pretty small in his crib.
Andrew can now grip a rattle in his little hand and he can follow an object if you move it in an in front of him. He seems to respond to the sound of my voice or the sight of me when I walk into the room. He "talks" to me with little grunts or coos and Greg swears he can say "hey." lol
He is a chubby little guy with the bluest eyes and the pinkest lips and hair that looks red or blonde depending on the light. He is the most beautiful baby in the world.
My neighbor saw him yesterday and said "he's about to come alive," and though I wouldn't have put it in those words, I think she's right. Everyday brings more awareness and more interest in what's going on around him.
They say that at four months babies enter one of the most enjoyable stages -- when they smile and laugh and interact with people but still can't move around on their own. I am looking forward to that time, but for now, I'm trying to enjoy every day of the stage we're in.

Chunk

2011-02-25T19:29:00.002-06:00

Back when I was breastfeeding and Andrew was not gaining weight -- Dr. S said we'd have to start supplementing to put some "chunk" on him. He was thin then. His little fingers and toes were sort of skinny and his legs and arms were too. Thankfully, those days are gone. Our little guy is a chunk!
I know I am biased beyond belief, but isn't he just the cutest thing ever? This afternoon, after a long week of working 12-hour shifts and hardly seeing Andrew, Greg snuck into Andrew's nursery to watch him while he napped. I snuck down the hall to watch Greg watching him. When Greg caught me watching from the door, he said "he looks like one of those dolls you see in the store. He's just perfect."
I couldn't agree more.

If I could do this thing over...

2011-02-23T16:55:00.002-06:00

If I could go back just two months in time, I would do a few things different. Number one, I would have read a couple of books about parenting strategies. Honestly, I was so concerned about labor and delivery and breastfeeding that I mainly spent my time studying up on these two topics. I figured I knew how to take care of a baby -- I've been around babies all my life!
As it turns out, I didn't even need all that information about labor and delivery or even breastfeeding, for that matter. What I really needed was a guide to how to make sure this new little person in my life was given all that he needs to be a happy, well-rested, well nourished baby so that I could be a happy, well-rested, well nourished mother who didn't absolutely lose her mind.
Granted, I know all new mothers go through the "baby blues" but I think my "blues" have lasted a tad too long. It seems that the waves of self-doubt and inadequacy keep crashing ashore and by the end of each week, they build to a crescendo. I had hoped to have Andrew on some sort of daily schedule by now but we've been working on it and have yet to even come close.
I talked with my doctor about it on Monday when I went for my six-week postpartum visit. He gave me a prescription for an antidepressant. I took it that day and felt nauseas the rest of the day and then was plagued with insomnia that night -- which is probably one of the worst things that can happen to a new mom because she is so tired!
So, I haven't taken it since. I felt fine yesterday. I feel OK today. But I know the end of the week is coming and I'm not sure how I'll feel on Friday.
I used to think post-partum depression was a crock of poop. Then, I had a friend who had it and wound up in the hospital and I realized that maybe there was something to it afterall. Now that I've experienced the waves of emotion and mood swings for myself, I know that it is a real condition. I'm not sure I have PPD. I think I'm suffering from the normal hormonal shifts that all women feel after having a baby -- add that to my unplanned cesarean -- factor in my failure to breasfeed -- and then layer on the "colic" problems -- pile on the lack of sleep --top it with the fact that I don't have a support system here and all my loved ones are far away and you get -- well, you get one crazy Mama.
I remember reading about PPD and the baby blues in my pregnancy books and thinking --that will never happen to me because I've waited so long for this pregnancy and I have wanted to be a mother for so long I will just be happy no matter what. I've learned that's not quite the way it works. Andrew is a miracle. He is the most precious gift I've ever been given and I love him more than I can say. I want to be the best mother I can to him, but many times I feel like I'm failing him.
In an effort to become the mother I want to be, I've busied myself during the past week or so reading books about parenting during any spare moment that I have. What I've learned is that one book will say you can't possibly spoil a newborn baby so rock your baby to sleep if you like and the next book will tell you rocking your bably to sleep is bad because you teach him he can't go to sleep any other way. According to this book, Andrew is suffering from the effects of "accidental" parenting.
What is a parent to do? I don't know. Greg, who rarely ever says a cross word to me, even when I'm at my worst, told me in a very loud voice "stop reading books and let's just figure this out on our own."
And perhaps he is right. I just wish I had entered motherhood a little more prepared to take on such challenges. My newborn care class told me how to meet the physical needs of a baby -- feeding, changing, bathing. It didn't teach me how to deal with some of the less obvious but perhaps more important facets of mothering. Maybe these things can't be learned in a class or by reading a book. Maybe it's just trial by fire.
For now, we are taking it one day at a time. I feed Andrew when he seems hungry. I try to help him go to sleep when I think he's tried. I talk to him, play with him and try to make sure he's getting all that he needs to learn and grow. But somehow it doesn't seem like enough.
It would be easier for me if we had a daily routine. I don't know if babies know anything about that. I've been trying to do things at roughly the same time every day so Andrew and I can know what's coming next, but it isn't easy. One day, he's up at 5 a.m. the next he sleeps til 6:30 a.m. and that first feeding pretty much determines how the rest of the day is going to go.
Meanwhile, I am constantly comparing Andrew to my great-nephew Wyatt who has been on a very regular schedule since he was Andrew's age and has been sleeping through the night -- by that I mean he was sleeping from 9:30 p.m. until 6 a.m. since he was two months old. Now, he's 9 months old and he sleeps from about 7:30 - 8 p.m. until 7 a.m. All his mom has to do is put him in his crib, turn out the light and walk out of the room. While, it's taking us about and hour (or more) to get Andrew down for the night. We are still waking at around 1-2 a.m. for a feeding and then we're up again between 5-6 for another. I keep telling myself that Andrew is not Wyatt and he's going to do things in his own time. I beat myself up for wishing Andrew would sleep like Wyatt or eat and nap on a routine like Wyatt.
My mom says give it time. I hope she's right.

A fine line

2011-02-15T11:13:00.003-06:00

A while back, in the midst of our breastfeeding woes, I mentioned that I would like to write a post about my breakdown in the greeting cards at Walgreens. As a reminder, I had left Andrew with my parents to go to the healthfood store in search of miracle herbs that would increase milk supply. On my way home, I stopped in Walgreens to purchase a card for a friend.
Months ago, I posted about how my work friend had become pregnant almost instantly after having her IUD removed. This is the friend who took me out for dessert when I found out I was pregnant because she knew Greg was away from home and I had no one here to celebrate with. She's very dear to me because she has always been so steadfast in her belief that my attempts to become pregnant would eventually work. She was so excited about my pregnancy and so excited about her own.
Tragically, in the days before my pregnancy culminated in the birth of my precious son, her pregnancy came to an end at 21 weeks. As I labored, she texted me every few hours offering her encouragement and love though she already knew her baby was dying.
In the days that followed, my friend gave birth to her stillborn son -- Chase Matthew. Meanwhile, I plunged into mothering my healthy baby. So I found myself in the sympathy card section of Walgreens that day -- I stood there and was nearly swept away by the two emotions that swirrled in my heart like two gigantic waves. I felt grief so profound and yet I also felt a tidal wave of gratitude that my own pregnancy had a happy ending and that my Andrew was safe and sound.
I cried there in the store as I read sympathy cards -- none of which were appropriate but how could they be? How could mere words and images on a piece of paper ever be adequate when someone is grieving the life of a child?
I found a card that was simply stated and made my way home. My thoughts were all over the place -- a million little things could have gone wrong and Andrew simply wouldn't exist and yet there he was when I got home, perfectly formed and perfectly healthy. I must be the luckiest woman in the world, I remember thinking.
Later, my friend texted me a message that basically said "I want to come visit and I want to meet Andrew but I can't right now. It just hurts too bad."
Yesterday, I called her for the first time. As I pushed Andrew in his stroller around our neighborhood enjoying a spring-like day and chatting with my friend, I heard the hurt and pain in her voice but there was also hope. The doctors say a future pregnancy could be successful and in three or four months, my friend says she'll probably try again.
The fact that my friend and I are experiencing the most opposite of emotions is not lost on me -- she is mired in grief over her son's death while I am overjoyed with my son's life. And perhaps even more profound in my mind is how even though these scenarios seem so opposite, it is the fact that life is so precarious that strikes me. There is the finest of lines between the life she's living and the one I'm living. The growth of a fertilized egg into a living breathing baby can be altered in an instant. I could be the one in mourning and I know that just because Andrew is healthy now doesn't mean he always will be. Each moment is so precious for that very reason. That's why each day I look at my son and try to express just how much he is loved, just how grateful we are that he exists and how every little breath he takes is a miracle to me.

Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T14:34:00.001-06:00

Happy Sweetheart's Day from me and my little sweetheart.

Beautiful Day

2011-02-13T08:42:00.002-06:00

On Saturday, I celebrated my 34th birthday. Other than the fact that I am so far away from my family and friends, it was a perfect day.
I remember my birthday last year -- right after our third failed IVF -- when Greg tried his best to make it special for me. We went to Dallas for the weekend and right there in the Stonebriar Center mall, I saw a T-shirt in the window at the Motherhood store and burst into tears.
But this year, I only have tears of joy. I have spent birthdays in London and Paris and Florence. I've seen wonderful shows, gone to fabulous concerts, dined in gourmet restaurants, shopped til I dropped. Over ther years, I've been treated to scrumptous desserts, breathtaking views and been surrounded by family and friends, I've been given thoughtful gifts and spoiled rotten with pampering. Still, this birthday was the best of my life -- though we didn't do anything extravagant or even anything out of the ordinary. We went to breakfast at Cracker Barrel and we did a little shopping. But, it was a great day spent with my loving husband and our precious son.
Greg asked me last week what I wanted for my birthday. I told him I didn't want any gifts, but a full night's sleep would be nice. So, Friday night, after feeding Andrew and settling him in his little bed, Greg tucked me into our bed and went to the guest room down the hall, where he pulled night duty with Andrew.
I would say I slept like a baby, but I've learned that babies tend to be restless sometimes -- making all kinds of noises and movements in their sleep. So, I'll say I slept like a dog -- because Brody can sleep anywhere through anything. I awoke around 7:30 a.m. feeling like a new woman.
Greg had made it through the night relatively unscathed. When I opened the guest bedroom door, Andrew was lying on Greg's chest being a little wiggle worm and poor Greg was trying to keep his eyes open. I took Andrew and got him to sleep and spent the morning dozing in my husband's arms. It was a great way to start my birthday.
The miracle is that last night, after a great day, Greg decided to do the whole thing over again. And I let him. I figure I've got five long nights ahead of me. I should take advantage of Super Dad while I can. So I got another full night's sleep. What a difference!
My birthday was filled with so much love -- phone calls and e-mails and facebook messages from friends and family -- gifts from my family (my sister got me a Nook!), flowers from my dear cousin, a visit from my neighbor Sara, and at the end of the day -- my very first card that said "Mommy" and a sweet gift from Andrew. I told Greg -- I said no gifts! His response was that the gift wasn't from him it was from Andrew.
I had a personality bead necklace and bracelet when we lived in Italy, long before they became so popular here in the states. I filled them with charms that I purchased on our travels -- there's a Union Jack flag for our trip to London, the boot of Italy, a bunch of grapes, the Eiffel tower, a German edelweiss flower, an abstract one that represents the wave in Malta that nearly swallowed Greg and took him out to sea, a lemon representing Sorrento and there are many others -- all special and all reminders of wonderful memories. When Andrew was born, Greg gave me a new charm -- a mother and child -- and last night, Andrew gave me another. It's a heart that says "best mom." Of all the charms on my bracelet, these are the most precious.
Since Andrew was born, I've spent a lot of posts talking about the practical things -- like feeding problems and fussiness. Perhaps I've failed to give voice to the tender small moments that are so filled with joy and love. Everyday, I look at Andrew and something will jump out to me -- the perfect little peaks of his top lip, the two dimples that dance around his mouth or the yummy little folds of skin on his neck.
I held Andrew in my arms last night as he drifted off to sleep. I tried again to memorize his tiny little face. I was paying particular attention to his tiny little eyebrows and eyelashes -- most of the time they are so blonde that you can hardly see them. But last night the light was hitting his face in a way that made his eyebrows and eyelashes look like shiny threads of copper. My Rowan -- literally meaning "little red one" -- lying there in my arms. Complete joy. My cup runneth over.

Colic schmolic

2011-02-11T15:06:00.003-06:00

Nearly had a nervous breakdown earlier this week, when after three horrible no good very bad days, Andrew had slept hardly a wink and neither had I. I started writing down all his symptoms -- dry skin around his eyebrows, baby acne, screaming in apparent tummy pain, redness on his little hiney, infreqent bowel movements and the inability to sleep soundly and I decided that my little guy couldn't take the formula he was on. He would also fall asleep while eating so that he rarely finished a bottle, but then would wake up a few minutes later very hungry and very upset only to repeat the cycle when offered another bottle. So I called his doctor and the nurse I spoke with said to switch him to a different one made for fussiness and gas for a week to see if it would help. If he became unbearable, call her back.
So, on Wednesday morning after another terrible night of Andrew sleeping in fits and starts -- crying out in pain in his sleep and being a very unhappy boy -- I called back in what must have sounded like total desperation, asking if there was anything they could suggest to help my son sleep.
The nurse called back and said it probably wasn't the formula making my boy so cranky -- and told me that he probably had colic and there's not really anything you can do to fix it and that it usually doesn't last past the two or three month mark. Are you freaking kidding me? I was at the end of my rope, exhausted from the previous three days and trying to figure out how in the world I would survive until the two or three month mark when these symptoms are supposed to magically disappear.
Greg came home from work early that day so that he could take care of Andrew and I could try to rest. But I didn't really rest because I was so upset over the prospect of trying to cope with a colic baby and thinking how absolutely miserable Andrew must be. While I was trying to rest, my dear husband fed and changed Andrew and figured out that the new bottles I had bought were simply not working. Andrew was sucking so hard for hardly any reward -- so he would tire and fall asleep before finishing his milk. Greg switched him back to his old bottles and he drank it all down and promptly went to sleep and slept soundly.
So we think the nurse was wrong. Since we changed his formula and went back to the old bottles, Andrew has been relatively happy. He sleeps well without crying out and his other symptoms have disappeared.
So this week, we learned that despite their best intentions, those in the medical profession don't always know best. Mom and Dad know a thing or two as well.
I don't want to speak too soon, but I don't think our boy has colic. Thank goodness!

Reality bites

2011-02-04T15:00:00.002-06:00

Here's Andrew at four weeks. I cannot believe my little guy is a month old already. Sometimes it seems like it's been a very short time since we came home from the hospital, but other times it seems like it's been a very long and difficult four weeks.
There were times in the past four weeks that I felt like I was losing my mind, when I had thoughts that I would not dare give a real voice to by writing them here. Suffice it to say that I have grieved both for the carefree, easy life we left behind. And, I have grieved the loss of the fantasy I had in my mind of what life with baby would really be like.
Because I spent so many years longing and aching to be a mother, I had created a whole picture in my mind of what kind of mother I would be and what my life would be like. It was all warm and fuzzy and I had endless amounts of patience and my wee little one was a perfect baby.
Reality bites.
The reality is -- I'm not as patient as I want to be but I'm working on it. My baby is perfect, but not in the way I'd fantasized and my warm and fuzzy life I'd anticipated has included a lot of frustration, tears and even anger along with all those warm and fuzzy moments. Reality is that the cloth diapers I planned to use leak and disposables are so much easier. Reality is breast might be best but not for every one. The reality is nighttime feedings suck (no pun intended). The reality is showering is now a luxury. The reality is motherhood is mind bendingly difficult and completely foreign from anything I've ever known. The reality is I still sometimes wonder if life will ever feel "normal" again.
Finally, I feel like I'm turning a corner. Since we began to feed Andrew formula, life has become much easier. I am getting more rest. Andrew doesn't cry nearly as often and sleeps more sound. Instead of 12 or more feedings in a day, we're down to about 6 or 8. That makes a huge difference. I can finally see a bit of his personality beginning to emerge. After all those weeks of watching him dissolve into ear piercing screams hour after hour and not wanting to believe it was because he was simply hungry, I continued to try to breastfeed and wore myself down to a nub. And, in the process, I sort of started to wonder if this little red and purple faced screaming being would always be so cranky and irritable.
In the first days after we brought Andrew home, I would stare at him and cry -- overwhelmed by the miracle that he actually existed and was there in my arms. Last week, after feeding and then pumping for 48 hours straight, I looked at him and cried because I felt like I was failing him, because I didn't know how to make him happy and because it was just so damn hard.
Even now, I feel like I'm guessing at this mother thing much of the time. My mom told me that's normal -- it is a guessing game, she said, and it's a lot of trial and error.
I feel like I've made so many errors already. Thankfully, Andrew seems to be a very forgiving little soul. Every morning, I begin again -- determined to do it better than I did yesterday and excited to see what surprises the day might hold. Earlier this week, Andrew laughed out loud in his sleep. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.
I can imagine if I had read a post like this in the midst of our infertility struggle, I would have been angry at the writer. Just be thankful you have a screaming baby, you ungrateful hussy! And, who knows, some of you who read this might feel that way too. But, I think it's important for me to be honest in my writing and this is the reality. I guess no matter how long you waited to meet your baby or how desperately you wanted to be a mother, the reality is that motherhood is difficult and I think that is a truth that is universal -- whether your baby was conceived through an unplanned pregnancy or a modern day medical miracle.

The end

2011-02-01T11:58:00.002-06:00

Sadly, we're nearing the end of our breastfeeding journey. Somewhere between my last post on Saturday and Sunday morning, the thought struck me that Andrew's existence had been reduced to three modes of operation -- eating, sleeping or screaming. My life had warped into a state of such utter and total exhaustion that I cried on the phone with my mom, my sister, my best friend. I was so completely drained that I didn't even brush my teeth on Saturday and the sad thing is I didn't realize it until I fell into bed that night still wearing the same clothes I had on the night before. And, I was simply to tired to get up and brush my teeth.
Somewhere in the night, I decided that I was not being fair to my son. Unless he had some sort of stomach disorder (reflux or colic maybe?) it was not normal for him to cry so much for so long. He should be cooing and staring at lights, not screaming until his face looked purple and his cry morphed from simple crying into something Greg was calling "the goat." So I got out of bed Sunday morning with one goal -- to feed my baby.
I nursed him like normal and then I presented him with a four ounce bottle of formula. He guzzled it down and then the most amazing thing happened. Our babe was content. He wasn't sleeping, eating or crying -- he was just happy to be in my arms, listening to me talk. He even started to coo.
So we started giving him two ounces of supplemental formula not just at three feedings like we'd been doing, but at every feeding. The result is that we got our baby back. Andrew emerged from his hunger a satisfied, happy baby. He is now content to sit in his bouncy seat and stare out the window. He likes to watch his mobile. He stares at my face as I sing or talk to him without a trace of discomfort. He is finally happy.
Today, we saw Dr. S and told her about our choice. She is a very comforting presence. Instead of chastising me for giving up -- she said something like "you have done everything you could possibly do to nurse this baby. There comes a point when it's just not working and you need to take care of yourself so that you can take care of him."
So, that's where we are. I am still breastfeeding and then giving Andrew a bottle, but I can tell already that my milk is dissapearing. And, that makes me sad.
But, it's OK because Andrew is happy and content and finally satisfied.
I remember during my pregnancy, thinking how if only I were determined enough I would be successful at breastfeeding. While determination is certainly a part of the breastfeeding puzzle, there are many other factors that play a role in whether a mother will be successful. They say it's simple supply and demand and I believed every word that I read. I now know that simply isn't always true. I may never know why my body didn't produce enough milk for my son. I do know that even though it brought me to the point of utter exhaustion, I wouldn't trade those tender moments with my son for anything in the world (except maybe the ability to keep breastfeeding). But it's time to move on, however heartbreaking it might be for me.
Each time I nurse my son now, I wonder if it is the last time and I try to fix the picture of him at my breast in my mind -- his little face, his wispy baby hair, his tiny hand on my chest. I try to memorize that feeling because I know that it is unique in this world and I am not likely to ever experience that particular type of joy again.

Small steps

2011-01-29T14:15:00.003-06:00

I can't say no one told me how exhausting having a newborn can be. I guess at some point one of my sisters, cousins or friends must have given me a glimpse into the total and utter exhaustion that has come over me in the past week. But I probably wasn't paying a lot of attention back then. Maybe I should have. Maybe then I would have been more prepared for this new life. Or perhaps you can't prepare for something so absolutely different from what you knew before.
Last night was the worst so far. We woke Andrew to nurse at midnight and despite all my coaxing and a couple of feedings, he did not go back to sleep until 4 a.m. He slept exactly one hour. I am a zombie today. I don't even know what I'm doing writing this post. Disregard anything I write!
We did get some welcome news yesterday when we met once again with Brandy, the lactation consultant, and Andrew weighed in at 8 lbs. 12 oz., his birth weight. We were thrilled.
Yesterday morning, I had decided to give up on breastfeeding. Andrew seems hungry all the time, he eats constantly and I'm exasperated much of the time. I cry when I think of him being hungry. Yet I also cry when I think of giving up breastfeeding. There are no easy answers here. Though I had made my decision and I felt OK with it, we still went to have him weighed because Tuesday, when we go see our pediatrician again, seemed so far away. The weight gain, which was substantial -- 9 ounces from Tuesday to Friday -- was enough to make me continue on with breastfeeding. Next Thursday, Andrew will be one month old and I feel like I can at least make it until then. I'm not sure what I will decide to do at that point, but one month of breast milk is better than none and I feel good about being able to give him that. And, I feel like I've given 110 percent in my attempt.
In other news, Liz brought over our birth pictures on CD yesterday. The photos are so beautiful and tender. I can't describe the emotions they stir in me. So, I thought I'd share one of my favorites here with you. This was taken while I was in recovery and Andrew is at my breast for the first time.

My little monkey

2011-01-25T13:32:00.003-06:00

Here is a picture from our newborn photo session. Isn't it beautiful? But don't let this peaceful sleeping little monkey fool you -- this one was taken at the very end of our three-hour in home photo shoot. Poor Liz did everything she knew to do and I did all the soothing and rocking and nursing I could do and he still refused to go to sleep. And, he peed on every blanket she put him on and then, he pooped! Andrew was awake from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m. that day. I don't know how he was still holding on but he was. Andrew finally gave up and Liz got some beautiful shots. She even took some with my parents.
You can see more pictures from our session on the photographer's blog.
My parents left on Sunday and I think I speak for all of us when I say it was time for them to go home. Not that it wasn't nice having them here, it was. My mom cooked nearly all our meals while they were here and that was a big help. But, at the same time, having two extra people in the house was a little unnerving. Greg is at home with us this week and though we miss Granny and Papa, it is nice to be back to "normal."
I put that word in quotation marks because nothing is normal at our house anymore. Andrew has changed everything. Life as we knew it is over and a new life has started. We are still trying to work out our feeding problems. Andrew has gained up to 8 lbs 3 oz as of today. We were hoping for bigger numbers, but we will take whatever progress we can get. The herbs and tea may have made a slight difference in milk production, but not enough. So, when I went for my check up with Dr. Carter yeseterday, we discussed my options and I've decided to take Reglan to try to get to where I need to be.
My little hungry hungry hippo is still eating very often, but today seems a little better as he's gone for two three-hour spans already. That means I got to take a nap and write this post.
Every morning I wake up (after several night feedings) and feel like I can do this -- I can wait for my milk to catch up. I can continue nursing him every two hours (or less) and I will win this battle! Then, by late in the evening, when only an hour after a feeding my son is hungry again, I feel so defeated and I want nothing more than to wave the white flag in surrender. I feel like I need to set some sort of deadline -- perhaps another week or two and if Andrew is still hungry all the time, and his mommy is still absolutely exhausted, we will have to make the decision to give up on our goal of breast feeding. I hate to do it, but I am so weary and my boy needs more than what I am able to give right now. Here's hoping the medicine works and it won't come to that.
Though exhausting, life with Andrew is a million times better than life without Andrew. Every day I look at his little face, his hands, his feet, his tiny little ears and I marvel at the miracle of it all. He makes us laugh every day with his funny little faces or his funny actions. Just yeseterday he managed to pee over his body and the changing table into the trash can sitting on the floor. Greg was so proud.
It is hard to believe that on Thursday, Andrew will be three weeks old. It seems like we just brought him home from the hospital. I think I am beginning to understand that wistful look my mother sometimes gets when she says to me, "honey, it seems like only yesterday when you were born."

Welcome to the island

2011-01-21T10:14:00.003-06:00

I have so many ideas for posts floating around in my head, but so little time to actually sit down and write them. I barely have time to bathe. Since my last post, things have changed a lot in the breastfeeding department. Andrew went from nursing every three hours to every two and now it seems we're down to one and a half. For those of you who aren't familiar with how this works, it means that from the time a feeding starts until the next one begins is an hour and a half, which might sound like enough time to pound out a brief post or take a shower, but believe me it's not. When a feeding takes 30 minutes at least and then another few minutes to settle Andrew down in his bed for a cat nap, well, I find myself looking at the clock and wanting to cry.
We went back to the pediatrician yesterday. I was hopeful, since Andrew has been in this feeding frenzy mode since last weekend, that he would show a remarkable weight gain. I undressed him and placed him on that scale and waited for my reward -- the weight gain that would show that all my hard work and sleepless nights were paying off. My heart sank when I saw that he still weighed 8 pounds. That means he had not gained even one ounce over the past week.
While last week if Dr. S had told me to start giving Andrew a bottle, I would have probably cried my eyeballs out -- yesterday, her advice to add two bottles a day came as somewhat of a relief. It doesn't get me out of any feedings, mind you. We give him the bottles after a regular feeding. But, it does mean that my baby will finally be satisfied and perhaps he will begin to "thrive."
It's more heartbreaking for me to think that he has been suffering from hunger all this time than it is for me to think of the possibility that I may not be able to continue breastfeeding. I just want him to be full and content and to grow.
Dr. S thinks I have a supply problem. And contrary to all the books I've read, this problem is not related to demand. We have plenty of demand. But, it seems I'm just not making enough milk to meet the demand -- despite my best efforts to guzzle lots of water and eat healthy.
So, she sent me to the health foods store for some herbal supplements which have been known to increase milk supply and told me that if those don't work, Dr. Carter could call in a script for Reglan. But I wanted to try the natural route first.
So after Andrew settled in for a nap yesterday, I left him with my parents and ventured out into the world for the very first time without him.
I was only gone a few minutes -- the health foods store is just outside of our subdivision. And, when I got back home he was sleeping like a rock. But, I felt so lonely out there without him -- like I'd left part of my body at home.
Later, my mother presented Andrew with a bottle of formula and my son guzzled the milk down like a little pig -- a pig who didn't care that the nipple was different. My mother was possibly the happiest grandma on earth at that moment. I, on the other hand, had to leave the room. Last night, Greg fed him another bottle and once again, I couldn't bear to watch. Dad and baby seemed to both enjoy their time together, though, and I know it's a blessing that Andrew took so readily to those Medela bottles. Welcome to the island, Daddy and Granny.
I want to write another post about my outing -- to tell you about the breakdown I had at Walgreens in the greeting cards. But that will have to wait, because the clock is ticking and I need to try to shower at some point today.
If anyone has any advice for how to increase milk supply, I'm all ears.

The magical, maddening island of two

2011-01-16T21:05:00.004-06:00

Our first meeting was far too short. After a few minutes of me talking to him and kissing his face, Greg had to take him away while I was stitched up. The drugs had caused me to tremble all over during surgery and this continued into recovery. In fact, during my surgery, Greg assumed I was trembling out of fear or because I was cold. He kept rubbing my arm, my face telling me it would all be alright.
I was in recovery when Greg and Liz, our birth photographer, came to tell me about our small wonder. Greg was at a loss for words. He just kept saying "he's awesome." Liz, showed me pictures she had taken and repeatedly told me how beautiful Andrew was. Then, my labor and delivery nurse asked if I wanted to nurse.
They brought Andrew to me and even though I was still trembling to the point of my teeth chattering, I held him in my arms and my son began to suckle at my breast. And, in a few moments, the trembling stopped.
Thus began this new relationship that is so different than any I've ever experienced. Inside the womb, Andrew was solely dependent on my body for all his needs and oddly enough this remains true even though he is no longer inside of me. It is a seemingly overwhelming task, but one that I feel like I can achieve. While some women cringe at the thought of their baby nursing, I find breast feeding to be completely natural. When I was pregnant, I would dream of nursing my son. Now that he is here, the reality of being my baby's sole source of nutrition has set in. The responsibility is so great.
The breast feeding is at times magical -- sometimes it seems my son and I are the only two people in the world. It's as if we are on an island of two, floating along on a wave of joy and love and comfort. And, then there are moments when worry takes over, when I fear my body isn't providing what he needs -- when the doubts and the exhaustion seem insurmountable. There are times when I feel like surrendering, days like today, after a sleepless night and a difficult day -- when I feel like giving him a bottle might be better for both of us. But we just try to take these days one feeding at a time. When I look down at my precious boy at my breast I am sometimes moved to tears.
For a woman who has never particularly been fond of her breasts -- they are far too small and lopsided and not particularly special in any way -- I am simply amazed that they are doing what they are supposed to. I feel a sense of pride and deep emotion that my body -- despite it's flaws -- is working as it should.
In those first days in the hospital, I lovingly nursed Andrew until he fell away from my breast or went to sleep. But my nipples became so sore and we started to worry he wasn't being satisfied. On the day he had his circumcision, I could only convince him to take my breast twice and that night, he screamed in hunger. A nurse showed us how to use a tiny syringe to drop formula into his mouth. He lapped it up like a puppy or a small bird. That is when the doubt began to set in. When we left the hospital, Andrew weighed 8 pounds 2 ounces, down from his 8 pound 12 ounce birth weight. We came home that Saturday without having met with a lactation consultant because she wasn't at work on Friday. By Monday, my concern had grown because my milk still hadn't come in. Even though I've read all the books that say colostrum is enough to sustain and satisfy your baby, I wasn't sure. Andrew seemed hungry, his eyes looked weak and perhaps more telling, his last dirty diaper was at 5 a.m. on Sunday.
I called the hospital and the consultant told me to come over so that she could weight Andrew and take a look at our technique. Once we got there, we learned that Andrew weighed even less. I was upset, but Brandy, the lactation consultant, said my technique and his latch were good and the only thing I could do was wait for my milk to come in. She told me it would be like I had gotten implants overnight and that my breasts would be engorged and I would have a great desire to nurse Andrew to relieve the pressure and pain.
I went to bed Monday night praying that I would awaken Tuesday morning to a new and improved bust line. It didn't happen.
I cried that morning because we were heading to the pediatrician and I thought for sure she would tell me to start supplementing with formula or even worse, switch to formula all together.
Andrew was down to 7 pounds 13 ounces when they weighed him at the pediatrician's office. While we waited in the little exam room, I cried again, angry with my body for letting my child down and mourning what I was sure would be the loss of my breast feeding experience.
But our doctor wasn't really phased by the weight loss. She said it was still within range and that in a couple of days we'd come back to have him weighed. If his weight hadn't started to go up by then, we would revisit our plan but for now, she wanted me to continue feeding him. And, then, she told me a most amazing thing -- my milk was in. Relief rushed over me. I felt stupid for not already knowing this, but Dr. S said that some women don't experience engorgement and that I was doing everything right. By Thursday, Andrew was up to 8 pounds and we go back later this week to make sure he is still gaining.
The poopy diapers haven't been as frequent as the books say they should, but our doctor said that sometimes, breast milk is so nutritious it is eliminated from the body as urine because there is so little waste. I am still nervous that I'm not giving him what he needs. My mom is here and she is watching him like a hawk -- trying to keep her thoughts to herself, but not doing such a good job. I know she thinks he is in a constant state of hunger. My sister, on the other hand, is also here and she is the angel on my shoulder telling me to keep going, that my body is providing enough and that Andrew is just fine.
My desire to continue to nurture my son through breast feeding has not waned. At the same time, I want him to thrive. So there is nothing else to do but continue to feed him when he's hungry, eat healthy, drink lots of fluids and wait for the doctor to tell us where we stand on Thursday.
Either way, it has been an honor to nurse my son since his birth. I can't describe the feeling of love that comes over me when I look down at his precious face as he suckles. And, the joy and satisfaction when he falls away and puts his arms over his head like he's just scored a touchdown. These are the moments I will treasure always.

At last we meet

2011-01-15T13:51:00.005-06:00

This is the moment I'd waited for all my life. My earliest memory of wanting to be a mother is from kindergarten when we had to dress up for career day. What did I want to be when I grew up at the tender age of five -- that's right, a mommy. So off I went to school with my hair in a bun and a baby doll in my arms. Twenty-eight years later, I find myself with a real baby in my arms.
This picture doesn't look the way I'd planned it in my mind. In the hundreds of times I imagined what Andrew's birth would look like, this picture never occurred to me. But Andrew is here and nothing else seems to matter.
In this moment, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I want to remember this moment forever, to tuck it away in my heart so that I can always visit it, always cherish it. But it is hard to find the words. Sometimes, there are not enough words, or perhaps the words I have are inadequate. How do you describe the moment when you first see your child -- this little being that has been growing inside of you for all those months -- a baby you've dreamed about, yearned for and hurdled unimaginable obstacles to create.
I remember feeling relief wash over me in that moment -- relief that Andrew was healthy, relief that after what seemed like an eternity to me I was finally getting to see my boy.
More than that, I remember feeling indsecribable joy. It's a happiness I am not likely to experience again in this lifetime. I looked at Greg, tears running down his cheeks and I knew that for us, this was it -- the pinnacle of happiness. Our long awaited child was no longer an abstract idea or a wish or a dream or even a flutter in my belly. He was a real. I remember thinking "he's real. He's real," over and over in my mind.
But the feeling that I want to remember most from that moment was the sense of knowing. For me, when I looked at Andrew for the first time, with his blue eyes looking back at me and his funny little squishy face with his wrinkled forhead and his pink skin, I felt like I was meeting someone I had known all my life. "It's you," my heart said. "Of course, it's you. Who else would it be?"

Andrew Carter Pierce

2011-01-09T14:36:00.003-06:00

Our son, Andrew Carter Pierce, was born Thursday, Jan. 6 at 4:39 p.m. weighing in at a hefty 8 lbs. 12 oz. and measuring 21 inches long.
He is everything I ever dreamed and so much more. I am absolutely head over heels in love.
His birth didn't go as I or anyone else had planned and he was born via c-section after a series of extremely scary episodes where his heart rate plummeted and it seemed nothing could be done to stabilize it. Andrew's little head, which was in the birth canal for so long that he was born with quite the cone, was positioned wrong and the cesarean became the best option for ensuring Andrew had a happy birth day. As disappointed as I was at not being able to push my baby out into the world (and believe me, my heart was broken and I cried and cried) the only important thing now is that he did arrive and he's happy and healthy.
The one thing that did go as planned, our photographer (who I will now refer to as my friend because she certainly acted with the love and kindness of a friend during the heartbreaking and joyous moments of that day) was there to document Andrew's arrival. Her talent amazes me. Here is a link to her blog where you can see some of the photos she took.
We came home yesterday and are as happy as clams.

No news is... no news

2010-12-28T14:57:00.003-06:00

We had our weekly appointment this morning. It was bumped up a day because the office will be closed on Friday for New Year's. And, though I had certainly hoped that all those twinges and practice contractions were actually a sign of progress, I remain at 2 cm dilated with a lot of thinning out left to do. Darn.
The good news -- baby is fine as frog hair, there's no rush because I'm "low risk" (I still can't believe that's how they classify me) and though my doctor said I look like I'm carrying a giant baby because I'm so big up front -- he's actually just an average size. So we wait.
We go back on Monday and my doctor hinted that if I want to be induced next week, he would consider it but only if my cervix is "ideal." If not, being induced can lead to the dreaded C-section, so if the choice is mine, I will certainly choose to wait.
My parents and my sister and my niece all have their plane tickets now. I had hoped to have some time with just me, Greg and the baby before they get here to sort of figure some things out and try to get some breastfeeding experience. But, that might not happen and I have to be OK with whatever happens. This is something that's simply out of my control.
I am slightly more uncomfortable each passing day, but this baby seems utterly content in his home (small as it might be right now). So, we are hoping he will come sooner rather than later, but we are trying to be patient at the same time.
As for the great name debate -- we are still stuck. Today, I offered a compromise -- Daniel Carter. And Greg said -- I'll give you Carter Daniel. And I said, I'll think about it.
Obviously, I am weary and I feel myself inching closer to waving the white flag -- or sock or whatever else I can find within arms reach -- in surrender. Who would have imagined that Greg would have a stronger will than me? Him with his laidback, easy come easy go personality and me with my opinionated, stuborn, have to be right all the time personality. Odd.

38 weeks... just waiting

2010-12-23T08:40:00.002-06:00

Here I am at 38 weeks. Don't you love how Brody poses for the camera? He is well trained in that regard.
Our appointment this week went very well. We had the ultrasound to check the baby's size and other things like the amniotic fluid level. All was well. I was a little disappointed that we didn't really get to see the greatest pictures, but with the baby being so big now, the view is very limited. The technician said the baby weighs about 7 pounds, but Dr. Carter said those estimates are usually a little high so he guessed about 6 lbs. 10 oz.
I haven't really made a lot of progress since last week -- about 2 cm dilated and cervix is still soft but not very thin yet. The baby's head is very low and he's in good position. In fact, Dr. Carter said he could touch the baby's head, which made me a little jealous I have to admit. I had been worried about what would happen if I go into labor over Christmas weekend because I really want my doctor to be there. I found out yesterday that my doctor is on call Christmas Day, which was a relief.
So, we wait and we go back on Tuesday.
I've been having lots of contractions -- nothing regular, but exciting nonetheless. My mom and dad will be coming Jan. 11. I finally won the argument and got them to agree to fly instead of drive. I don't think they have any business on the road for 16 hours at their age -- 72. And, I think riding with my dad (who is a scary driver) for that long might shave some years off my mother's life. I always say, the scariest part of going home is not the flight. It's the hour-long ride from the airport to my parents' house with my dad at the wheel.
Plus, all that driving time would take away from time they could be spending with me and the baby. So, I found a great deal on tickets this week and finally won the battle.
Dr. Carter said he would not let me go past Jan. 10. So, right now the plan is to wait it out, but if we go past our Jan. 6 due date, we can take a look at the situation and determine if we want to induce. I have been opposed to induction because I really wanted my body to do its thing on its own, but I am willing to consider it if I go past my due date or if I'm 3 or 4 cm dilated.
The name debate continues at our house. We joked yesterday that we hoped the baby would be holding a sign with his name on it on the ultrasound. No such luck. Last night we sat down with our lists and our books and had a serious conversation. My favorite is Daniel. Greg's is Carter. I told him it looks like neither of us is going to get our favorite, so we might as well cross those off the list and move on to the names we actually agree on, which right now are Samuel and Andrew. But, Greg wasn't willing to do that. So, as long as Carter stays at the top of his list, Daniel will stay at the top of mine. Who knew this would be so difficult? I really wanted our baby to have a name before he was born. I don't want to feel like we made a decision under pressure. And, I definitely wanted to finish this art project I've been working on for his nursery. But I need a name to do so!
Guess that's all the news for now. The car seat is installed. The bags are packed. And, I guess I'm about as ready as one can be for the adventure that awaits. My desire to hold this little one in my arms grows stronger every day. I hope he doesn't make his Mama wait too long!

Pop?

2010-12-20T16:59:00.003-06:00

Today, when I stopped by the store to give my former co-workers their Christmas goodies, one of them said "you look like you are about to POP!"
That was the first time anyone has said that to me. I just smiled and said "Well, I haven't popped yet!"

37 weeks

2010-12-16T08:05:00.002-06:00

Here I am at 37 weeks. Don't fret, I wore a sweater out in public to cover up that huge badonkadonk. I just took it off to get a good picture of this big ol bump. I wish that we had waited a while longer to get our maternity photos done, now that the bump has finally taken the shape that you expect. But, I am happy with the way that the pics turned out, so I won't complain too much.
We had our first weekly appointment on Wednesday. I'm dialted about 1.5 cm and my cervix is soft but not thinned. The baby has dropped (which I already knew) and is in good position. Best of all -- we get an ultrasound next week to determine just how big this boy is. A couple of months ago, Dr. Carter said we probably would not get another ultrasound unless we wanted to pay for the 4D. No thanks, those things creep me out a little. So we haven't gotten an inside look at our little one since August. I'm pretty excited to see him again!
Dr. Carter said he is guessing the baby is already 7 or 7.5 pounds. Yikes! I told Greg, I hope that doesn't mean that my dream last year is going to come true. In the dream, baby boy Rowan was 9 pounds! While the baby is growing like a weed, I had only gained one pound in the last two weeks, thank you very much! I was so relieved to see that number!
Dr. Carter said he doesn't expect me to have the baby within the next week, but I am making some progress. He said I should start to see some spotting and other unusual stuff in the next week or so as my cervix thins.
I can't believe we are so close already. I woke up in the night scared that we won't be able to find a name for the baby even after he is born. I've asked my husband to please reconsider the name Daniel (after my dear cousin who died) but he has been against that name for several reasons from the start. I am just hoping he'll get into the Christmas giving spirit and surrender.
So on our must do list this weekend -- install the car seat! I've got my stuff and the baby's stuff packed, but I think Greg should probably throw a change of clothes in there for good measure even though the hospital is literally three minutes away from our front door. I have a feeling he isn't going to want to leave to come home after this party starts.
It has been so wonderful to see two BFPs on my reading list this week! I'm praying that your pregnancies are as uneventful and joyous as mine has been. What a miracle!

Peace of Mind

2010-12-09T20:08:00.002-06:00

We met with a prospective pediatrician today. Our prospects were somewhat limited due to our insurance. So, I made a few calls and got an appointment with a doctor that my OB once mentioned in passing. Dr. S conducts prenatal interviews during lunch, while the office is closed, so we visited with her in her office. We had an appointment last week, but it was cancelled after Dr. S had a family emergency. So, I showed up like the books advise, with a list of questions in hand. But, as it turned out, I didn't really need them.
I'm pretty sure Dr. S has read all the books. She answered all our questions before I could even ask them.
Her office is in the same building as the hospital, exactly like Dr. Carter's office. That means, when our baby is born, she or one of her associates if it's on her day off, will be right over to examine our little one. I like that.
I also like the fact that Dr. S is a mother of two and she splits the week up with another doctor. That tells me that family is important to her and that is important to me. Well-baby visits are scheduled on the days she is there. If the baby is sick and you need to be seen on a day that she's off, the doctor she splits her week with will be there. So, that seems very reasonable. The office is open on Saturday and Sunday for sick appointments. Infants are taken back to exam rooms as soon as they arrive in the clinic, even though they have sick and well waiting rooms.
And, the best part of our time with Dr. S -- she is a breastfeeding expert. Not only is she a doctor who supports breastfeeding, she is a doctor who breastfed both of her children until for one year and you have to admire a woman who can do that.
When I told Dr. S that I hope to breastfeed, her entire face lit up and she told me breastfeeding is her passion. Educating women about breastfeeding has been one of her personal missions as a doctor. In fact, she normally conducts the breastfeeding class that we went to (you'll remember the instructor was crass and not exactly tactful) but she was out of town that month. I told her I wish we could have gone to one of her classes and when she found out who our instructor was, she made a face and said something to the effect of "she will not be teaching anymore classes at this hospital." (There are three campuses of this hospital in our area and apparently, the lunch lady is not welcome at our campus anymore.)
She also said that our hospital has three lactation consultants who she adores and they are "absolutely nothing like" the lunch lady. Sweet relief.
So, overall, I was very happy with our visit with Dr. S. I admit I was somewhat nervous going into it, but she put us at ease immediately. And, when I found out how passionate and knowledgeable she is about breastfeeding, well, I was certain we had found the right doctor. I feel so much better now that I've actually met our baby's doctor and I feel like if (maybe I should say when?) I encounter problems with breastfeeding, she'll be there to help guide me through.

Final Vinyl Days

2010-12-08T07:39:00.002-06:00

That's the title of a collection of short stories by Jill McCorkle, who is one of my favorite writers. I got to meet her once. I even had lunch with her (and about 20 other journalists and professors) and I was too chicken to speak. I just sat there with a goofy grin on my face and stared at her.
But I digress. That's not the point of this post, even though one could do much worse than a post about Jill McCorkle.
The reason I titled the post Final Vinyl Days is because that phrase has been popping up in my head over the last couple of days as I think about how soon this pregnancy will be over. We are at 36 weeks today and I have no idea whether this little one is going to make his debut a little early or settle in for a long winter's nap and be overdue.
What I do know is that these final days are so precious -- every movement, every hiccup, every time this baby jabs my ribs or pounds on my bladder or my cervix -- reminds me of how short my time is getting. Though I cannot wait to see my son and hold him and nurture him and start our lives together, there is something so magical about pregnancy that, despite the discomfort I sometimes feel, I am sad to see it go.
Knowing that this very well may be my only pregnancy, I have tried to savor each moment. I've been lucky, I guess. No morning sickness, no strange cravings, no stretch marks (yet), no hemorrhoids, no back pain. My baby has taken it easy on his Mama and that has helped make this pregnancy a remarkably peaceful and happy time.
As much as I am looking forward to this baby's birth, I am not really looking forward to not being pregnant anymore. Does that sound strange? I waited so long for this and the time just passes so quickly. People keep saying to me "I'm sure you are ready," or "I bet you're miserable." But truth be told, I'm not.
I am still simply enjoying the ride. Maybe that will change in the coming weeks and I'll be begging my body to begin the process of getting this baby out of my uterus and into my arms. But for today, at least, I'm perfectly content to watch his little rear end move across my abdomen, to listen to my husband talk to the baby in a very deep voice as if he's channeling James Earl Jones and to rub this giant lumpy bump (which by the way, isn't so lumpy anymore -- where does the fat go exactly?).
So, though I have only a couple of pairs of pants and shirts that actually still fit, and though it's obvious the baby is running out of room in there, I am still loving every minute of this journey.

The Stones were right

2010-12-06T09:29:00.002-06:00

I was reading Trinity's post this morning over at Three is a Magic Number about her annual Lick Off, where she and her hubby invite all their closest friends (and their yummiest dishes) over for a pseudo-Thanksgiving dinner. It sounded so yummy and so beautiful and it made me a little homesick for the traditions we had with our friends back in Italy.
My friend Anna (you might remember I've written about her before -- (bravely battled cancer, stood by me through two failed IVFs and is now pregnant right along with me)recently posted on facebook that she was cooking up a Hanukkah feast and that made me feel sad. Every year when we lived in Italy, Anna invited us over for latkes, brisket and challah and I would do my best to make something that was relevant (even though I am not Jewish) and I finally got it right when I made raspberry jam filled cookie balls. After dinner we'd watch Dorian open one of his Hanukkah presents and play Scrabble. It was simple and intimate and just wonderful.
That special dinner was the first of many little holiday traditions we came to love during our time in Italy. We always visited a Christmas market either in Italy or Austria. We always went to the Christmas tree lighting in our town's piazza where we ate fried dough and drank mulled wine. My spouses group would always have a "girl's night out" party and cookie exchange. We attended Greg's squadron and flight Christmas parties. We spent Christmas Eve with another infertile couple. Michelle would make stuffed pasta shells with her killer secret sauce and then we'd head to the nearest decent sized city where we walked around the Christmas Eve market and watch all the beautiful Italians talk and eat and drink. And, though Christmas Day was always sort of lonely because I missed my family, Greg and I had our own little traditions that made it special. And, then the day after Christmas, all our friends would come over to our house, left overs in tow and we'd feast again and then head up the mountain to ice skate and have hot chocolate so thick you have to eat it with a spoon. It was really a magical time and I miss it.
But this is a magical time as well. Not because of where we live or the friends we have (or don't have). This is magical because of this pregnancy. It makes me think of another miracle pregnancy. Being a Christian, I often think of the story of Jesus' birth. Poor Mary "great with child" riding on a donkey and giving birth in a barn.
Anyway, I'm starting to veer from the point of this post, which is this -- when we lived in Italy, we were surrounded by friends who we considered family. We shared wonderful traditions with these friends and every day was magical and adventurous. Then, we moved here to Shreveport, La. and though we have our beautiful house, we have yet to find any friends who count as family and our Christmas traditions are pretty pitiful. Yet, we have this pregnancy and all the joy that it brings and each day brings us closer to meeting our son and seeing his face and starting our new journey as parents.
Maybe the Stones were right. You can't always get what you want. Sometimes, you get what you need. When we were living in Italy in the lowest points of our infertility journey, we were surrounded by the love and support of dear friends and we were buoyed by them and they helped us maintain our sanity and still enjoy our lives even though our hearts were heavy and lonely for a child.
Then, we moved here and we found Dr. V and we got this against-all-odds FET pregnancy and all the joy it has brought, yet we don't have the friendship we'd hoped to find, but maybe we didn't need those types of friendships anymore.
This Christmas represents the start of new traditions for us. Next year, even though my husband is likely to be deployed in Afghanistan, I'll get to start our own family traditions with our son. And, all those traditions we had in Italy will pale in comparison to the years to come.

Filled with Thanksgiving (and lots of other good stuff)

2010-11-28T08:16:00.002-06:00

Here we are on Thanksgiving Day. We are two very grateful people.

On Friday, after we had blueberry pancakes and before I went to work, we were enjoying some lazy cuddle time. Greg was rubbing my belly, waiting for any baby movements and I was thinking of how blessed we are right now.
"Honey, we're going to have a baby.... Can you believe it?" I said.
"I do now," Greg said, laughing and looking at this giant lumpy bump.

It was another one of those little moments that I treasure.

Nearly 34 weeks, can you believe it?

2010-11-23T09:42:00.003-06:00

Here we are on the eve of 34 weeks and I will say it again, time is passing so quickly. I keep reading that time slows to a crawl near the end of pregnancy, but so far I have not experienced that. In fact, for me it has been the opposite. Maybe that will change when I quit working and have a lot of time on my hands. For now, I'm still waddling around Talbots about 20 hours a week. That changes next week when my hours are trimmed back to about 15 and then after that, well, I'm still undecided. I think I'll be done. Work really wears me out these days!
My nephew Nathan is still hospitalized, still struggling each day with severe pain and most recently, dangerously low levels of sodium. He was moved to the neurology ward and we are waiting to hear if the treatment is working. It is so difficult to be so far from home right now, with Nathan injured and hospitalized and Thanksgiving a couple of days away.
This will not be my first Thanksgiving away from home. At this point, I'm a veteran. The first Thanksgiving dinner I ever cooked was for 22 people. Trial by fire. This year's feast will be relatively easy with only one other couple coming to join us. I had thought about not inviting anyone and just enjoying Turkey Day with Greg since he's not likely to be with us next year during the holidays due to his pending deployment. But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how absolutely lonely that would be. So, in the middle of the night last week after one of my many trips to the bathroom, I told Greg to go ahead and invite our friend Anthony and his wife. We have so much to be thankful for this year and it will be nice to have someone here to share in that.
In pregnancy news, well, I am huge. At least, I feel huge. Everyday it seems the lumpy bump continues to stretch (but no stretch marks yet, knock on wood) as this baby continues to grow. I have gained a total of 27 pounds. Yikes. My goal was to stay under 30 pounds but I think that is a bit unrealistic at this point. Maybe I can stay under 35.
Today, I made an appointment to meet with a pediatrician. I have to admit, I feel a bit uncomfortable "interviewing" a doctor but I want to make sure I make a good choice for our son.
Our nursery is pretty much done, except for a few small finishing touches. I love the way it has turned out. I still feel like I have a lot to do to prepare for our little guy, and sometimes my mind can't seem to stop making lists. But I know it will all get done and if not, that's OK too.
With Christmas fast approaching, I feel like I need to go ahead and get all my shopping done just in case this baby decides to arrive early. Plus, who wants to deal with all the crowds and craziness when they are nine months pregnant? Not me!
The heartburn is getting worse with each passing week. Seems like every night I end up sleeping at least a few hours on the couch where I can get the pillows just right and elevate my upper body enough to help alleviate the burn. It is a sad thing when water gives you heartburn.
And, even in all this happy baby joy, that same old dread still lurks, as evidenced by a horrible nightmare that had me crying and screaming in my sleep with Greg trying his best to wake me and convince me it was just a dream. When I finally realized that I was at home, safe and sound in my bed -- I immedately reached for my belly, somewhat unsure if my baby was still there or if the dream was real.
"You're OK," Greg said. "The baby is OK." And, like he knew Mama needed some reasurrance, our baby started to move right on cue. Such is the life of an infertile pregnant woman, I suppose.

An emotional week

2010-11-18T09:17:00.003-06:00

I don't want to scare you with the title of this post -- all is well with the baby and with me. We had an good visit with our doctor this week and everything looks good, strong heartbeat, continued growth and all that good stuff.
But, it has been a tremendously difficult week for me and Greg as we found out Sunday night that my 18-year-old nephew, Nathan, (that's him in the picture above when he visited us here in Louisiana over the summer)was in a very serious car accident and was life-flighted to Duke University Hospital for treatment. He is recovering now and is showing signs of improvement, despite a few set backs. But he remains a broken boy with a long road ahead of him.
We got the call on Sunday night as we were eating dinner. Greg talked with my niece and she gave him what little information she had. I knew it was bad news from the tone of Greg's voice and the questions he was asking. My first thought was that my mom was sick again, but Greg mouthed to me "Nathan," and my heart just sunk. I asked "is he OK?" and Greg just shook his head, "no." When he hung up the phone and I heard the words "life flight" I just lost it. I immediately went to our room to pray. It's times like these when being so far away from home is most difficult. There is no fast way to get from Northwest Louisiana to central North Carolina at that time of night. You could drive to Dallas to catch a flight, but the drive alone is about 3 hours. You could hit the road headed east on I-20, but you wouldn't even see the NC state line for about 13 hours and then you'd have another three hours to go. It is just too far. Not to mention the fact that I'm too pregnant to do any flying or driving of that sort.
So all I could do is wrap my nephew up in prayer. I thought of my sister. Nathan is her first born. How on earth was she holding herself together on the drive up to Durham while her son was fighting for his life?
In the hours that followed, the reports came in from texts and calls and I learned that Nathan had bleeding in his brain, a bruised lung, a lacerated liver, a broken wrist and a broken femur. He was unconcious and would remain so because doctors were keeping him sedated.
A neurologist studied scans of Nathan's brain and decided he couldn't allow him to have surgery to repair the broken bones until he was certain of the nature of the brain injury. Another scan in the wee hours of the morning on Monday gave surgeons the all clear. On Monday, Nathan uderwent more than six hours of surgery. We got the good news that he was responding to questions by squeezing the doctor's hand and holding up fingers. Almost my entire family was there that evening in hopes that Nathan would wake up. But, after several hours he was still asleep in the ICU and it was time for everyone to head home. My sister left Nathan's side to tell everyone goodbye and wouldn't you know my nephew woke up and in fear and anger (not understanding where he was or what had happened to him) he managed to pull out his breathing tube, stomach tube and all his IVs, despite the fact that he has a broken wrist on one hand and the other had was restrained to the bed.
Now, this was scary and it's a blessing that he didn't cause himself futher injury, but to an aunt who knows exactly how strong-willed and stubborn and defiant this boy has always been, hearing that he pulled those tubes out was a sign that somewhere in the fog, that hard-headed boy remained in tact.
He's off the ventilator now and physical therapists had him standing up and taking baby steps yesterday. During the night, he suffered from severe headaches which prompted doctors to do more scans of his brain. They can't find the cause of the pain. He's still in much pain, still groggy from all the meds and the trauma. But on Tuesday I got to hear his voice as he responded to my message. "I love you, too," he said. What a beautiful sound!
So if you pray, or think positive thoughts or what have you, please keep my nephew in mind. He is such a special person and there is so much life unfinished.

More photos

2010-11-16T10:51:00.003-06:00

You can check out more photos from our maternity session on the photographer's blog here.

Sneak peek

2010-11-14T16:58:00.002-06:00

This is one of the two "sneak peek" photos our photographer posted on Facebook. I am very happy with it and can't wait to see the rest. More "preview" shots should be up on her blog later this week and then in a couple of weeks, she'll have them all ready for viewing.
Until yesterday it had been warm and balmy here in Northwest Louisiana. In fact, temps were still in the 80s on Friday. But, when our picture day rolled around wouldn't you know that it was chilly and rainy. While it wasn't raining while we had our pictures made, it was windy and since we were near the river in downtown Shreveport, that made for a very chilly photo shoot. Our noses were running and my hands were freezing by the time we were done.
Our photographer, who is also pregnant, took a lot of shots in many different locations and we did one wardrobe change. Since she's portfolio building, she was very reasonably priced and will definitely be coming to take our newborn photos. I've already ordered a sweet little hat off Etsy for that specific purpose. And, she is also trying to break into birth photography. So we are going to be talking with our doctor this week about the possibility of having Liz there to capture those first precious moments when we see our son. I wasn't sure about having a relative stranger in there during that time, but Liz has a sweet nature and I think I would be comfortable with her there. Plus, seeing as how no one from my family is likely to be at the birth, it would be wonderful to have someone there taking pictures so that Greg doesn't have to try to do everything himself.
In other news, my dear sweet co-workers gave me a shower after our holiday meeting this morning. They all chipped in together on some great gifts and one lady even crocheted a blanket for the baby. They gave me a bouncy seat that has all the bells and whistles and a storage bin full of all sorts of goodies. I even got these. lol. One of the embroidered burp cloths they gave me says "I'm kind of a big deal," which says so much about how these ladies have been throughout my IVF, my FET and my pregnancy. They genuinely believe this baby is a BIG DEAL! One of the onesies they gave me says "made with love" and when I read it out loud, a co-worker blurted out, "and lots of money." ha ha. We all had a good laugh.
And, of course, they gave the baby a Louisiana State University onesie. That was included specifically for Greg, who is NOT an LSU fan. ha ha.
Though I'm still feeling like I have too much to do and not enough time to do it, I had a nice weekend and I am so grateful to have a faux "family" at work.

Lumpy bump

2010-11-13T07:45:00.003-06:00

I've spent the last week preparing for and looking forward to having our maternity pictures done today. I took the day off from work so that I wouldn't be rushed and have plenty of time to get ready and then I woke up this morning and guess what, it's raining. Our photographer works in natural light so rain is not good. I'm hoping it will clear up but it's looking pretty rotten out there right now.
I had a hard time figuring out what I wanted to wear for the pictures. I have said before that I don't have the cute round belly you think of when you think of pregnant bellies. I have a belly that has always been sort of "segmented" by rolls of fat. Ever since I was in fourth or fifth grade and now these fat layers have merely been pushed up, down and out over the growing belly. So, I spent a large part of the week trying to find some clothes that would make me look like I have a cute round belly not covered in layers of fat. This was a near impossible task and eventually, I decided that this is my body and I'm proud of it for doing as it should -- nurturing this growing baby and preparing to give birth -- and that it is just fine the way it looks. So what if I don't look like everyone else? I look like me and that's that. So I bought or found some clothes in my closet that I like and that I feel good in and so what if the belly looks lumpy. It is lumpy.
I had Greg take a picture of me this week -- 32 weeks -- to send to my family who for some strange reason though they would get weekly pictures of the growing lumpy bump. I think once a month is good enough.

As you can see we painted the stripe in the nursery and I think it turned out really nice. And, the crib is all set up now. There's still a million other things to do before the baby gets here and sometimes it's a little overwhelming to think about.
I am still working and the longer days do really wear me out, but I am hanging in there. Right now, I plan to work through the first couple of weeks of December, but that could change, of course.
Another exciting thing that happened this week is we received our Best Bottom diapering system in the mail from Nicki's Diapers and these diapers are so stinking cute! I probably won't think the same after the little guy gets here and I'm changing and washing a hundred diapers a day but oh my goodness, to see those little diaper shells in all those fun colors -- well, it was just another one of those "can you believe we're actually at this point?" moments.
We had our second class in our child birth prep series and Lunch Lady did a pretty decent job. She didn't say anything too stupid or at least I don't think she did, but then again how would I know? I've never given birth before!
So that's it for this week -- cute diapers, still working, lumpy belly and maternity photos if the sun decides to come out today.
Oh and still no name. But, we're trying out the ones we like by using a different name each day.

Hope for the weary

2010-11-07T11:07:00.003-06:00

I always look forward to Sunday mornings -- that big fat Sunday paper, a cup of coffee (decaf these days of course) and pancakes. Yum.
This morning was no different. We got up early. Greg ventured out into the chil to get the paper from the drive and I made the coffee. We sat down to enjoy our little ritual and like always, I read the lifestyle pages of the paper first while Greg jumped straight to the sports page.
On a page I normally skip over, I found something that I just can't stop thinking about and I thought I'd share it with you, just in case you might be needing a little hope this morning.
Under a title called "Celebrations," was the picture of a sleeping baby, maybe four or five months old. He was wearing an oragne pumpkin hat, an orange Halloween shirt and blue jeans and he was fast asleep on a bale of hay surrounded by pumpkins. The caption read "Hunter S., born to Brian and Kim S. after 16 years of trying, makes his first visit to the pumpkin patch."
Normally, I don't even glance at this page in the paper. It's a hodge podge of submitted photos of school groups, church happenings, celebrity meetings, etc. This morning, the picture of that sleeping baby caught my eye and then I read the caption and I made Greg read it, too.
Sixteen years of trying. Four little words that stopped me right there and made me think about all the pain and heartache they represent and yet, here is this precious boy sleeping on a bale of hay.
I don't know Brian and Kim S., but I admire them for many reasons -- after our 6 years of trying, I'm not sure I would have had the heart to keep going. Obviously, they did for 10 more years until they finally saw their dreams come true. And, obviously, they don't mind sharing their happy news -- even going so far as to submit a picture of their son to the paper for all to see and including those four words "sixteen years of trying." How brave of them.
How many people will see this little photo in the paper and take heart, keep the faith and be reminded that miracles like little Hunter S. do indeed happen?
And then I began to wonder... are these babies (ones born to folks like us who tried fo so long and faced so many obstacles along the way) any more loved than "oops" babies or those who are conceived with ease? I can't say they are. Fertiles are just as enamored with their little miracles as we are with ours. But there is a difference. These babies are special in ways that others aren't. The mere fact that they exist makes them special, for they wouldn't even have exisited if we had lived 20 or 30 years ago. I don't know how Hunter S. was conceived, but I can imagine that after 16 years of trying that my very own Dr. V may have had a hand in his conception.
A photo of a sleeping baby in a pumpkin patch. Four little words that say so much and two very proud parents who wanted to share their joy with their community -- just another simple pleasure found within the pages of a Sunday paper.

A pending goodbye...

2010-11-04T09:43:00.004-05:00

Here we are at 31 weeks. Sometimes I feel like I got caught in some sort of fast-forwarded time warp and poof! here I am.
We got some pretty upsetting news this week that most likely Greg will be deploying to Afghanistan for one year sometime next fall. I couldn't help but cry thinking about all that my husband will miss of our son's life during that year he will be gone. What hit me the hardest is that he'll miss our son's first Christmas and his first birthday.
Of course, we're a military family and we know that there's always a chance that something like this can come up. But, we've been married for eight years now and he's never been gone more than six months. Now that we're finally on the verge of being parents after all these years, the orders come down. I might have known it would happen this way.
I guess the blessing is that our son won't remember that his dad was gone for a year. But, my husband will, and it breaks my heart to think about it. And, of course, the prospect of a year without my husband is very daunting.
And, now there's a whole host of things we have to do to prepare for this deployment and many big decisions have to be made. I can't imagine staying here for a year without Greg, being that I don't have any family or close friends here. So, we will have to sell or rent our house and the baby and I will have to move back to NC. And, then when Greg returns, we'll have to move again.
I don't want to sound like I'm whining about this -- this is part of Greg's job, one that he chose for himself and families go through this all the time. We've been very blessed that we haven't had to do it before. But that really doesn't make it any easier and the timing just stinks.
Physically, I'm starting to feel some of the pregnancy associated misery I've heard about from other women. Specifically, I have heartburn at night that sometimes wakes me up so I keep the Tums on my night table and that does seem to help. I've also had some pretty painful leg cramps. I had one in a muscle I didn't even know existed and I've even had them in my feet. Hate it. It's also more difficult to get comfortable at night even with various configurations of pillows. Another new symptom is my least favorite -- many mornings I have a couple of hours of feeling like my heart is beating too fast and I get sort of short of breath. I've talked with my OB about it and he thinks it's just due to the increased blood volume and the upward progression of the uterus.
While telling Dr. Carter about my episodes, he laughed and said -- "You're really feeling pregnant now! But I think you asked for this. I mean, you wrote a few checks for this."
Yes, yes I did. And, I'm not complaining, just explaining!
My weight gain this visit was back within the normal range and our baby's heartbeat was very strong at about 136 bpm. And, our doctor said the baby is growing like a weed. This was NOT news to me!
I swear somedays I can feel him growing. On Monday for instance, I woke up one size and went to bed much larger. All the materninty pants that my niece gave me are starting to fit quite snug (her prepregnancy weight is much less than mine!) so I'm almost certain I'll have to go buy some things in the near future. I hate to spend money on clothes I'm only going to wear for the next two months, but being comfortable is pretty important these days.
We had our epidural class (mandatory at our hospital) and toured the labor and delivery department on Tuesday night. The same "lunch lady" from our breastfeeding class was our tour guide and once again she said many off the wall things but it was nice to get to see the ins and outs of where we'll have the baby.
We start our birth classes tonight and there's no telling what this crazy woman might say.

The history of a shirt

2010-11-01T13:14:00.005-05:00

Greg and I celebrated our eighth anniversary on Oct. 12 when we were home in NC. We didn't really get a chance to celebrate what with all the hub-bub surrounding my parents' 50th anniversary party, our baby shower and Greg's dad coming down for a visit.
So, on Saturday night, we went out to eat at a restaurant that I'd been wanting to try.
Here's a picture of us at our table:

We had a nice time, even though the food didn't meet my high expectations. Four years of living in Italy sort of ruins anyone on what passes for Italian food here in the states. It was a time for us to reflect a little on these past years and, for me, the shirt I wore was a constant reminder of how far we have come.

You see I wore this very same shirt on another anniversary. Here's the picture from 2007, when we were celebrating our fifth anniversary and just days away from the start of our very first IVF:

I remember writing a blog post then about our struggle to conceive and our pending IVF. It was the first time I'd ever publically talked about our struggles and I remember saying that instead of a romantic trip to Paris or London, I was getting IVF for my fifth anniversary.

I was so hopeful for that first cycle and today when I read back over that old blog post, I remembered how confident Greg was that it would work. He was constantly saying things like "when the baby is born," or "when your belly gets big." I wasn't sure how to take that confidence back then, as all my sentences of that nature began with that hateful two-letter word, "if."

Eventually, Greg stopped with the "whens" and moved into the realm of "ifs," though he was always more optimistic than I when it came to our chances of actually conceiving.

For me, that fifth anniversary, when we gave each other the "gift" of IVF, has always stood out as a turning point in our lives. After more than two years of trying on our own to achieve a pregnancy and then being told by an Italian urologist that there was abosolutely no chance for natural conception (believe me, not everything sounds prettier in Italian) we had decided to take that big leap into the land of ART. Three years and three IVF cycles later, we finally got our miracle with an FET this past spring. As I type this post, I can feel our son's movements in my belly and I am busy trying to prepare myself for labor and motherhood. This eighth anniversary has brought us nearly full circle -- a circle that will be complete when our son is born.

And that brings us back to the shirt. I remember leaving that shirt at my mom's one time after a visit because I'd been dieting and working out and had lost a lot of weight and the shirt was just too big. Mom called me last year and said she's been cleaning out the room we always stay in and she'd found the shirt. She asked if she could give it to one of my cousins and part of me wanted to say go ahead. But, something inside of me said -- "no keep it. If I ever get pregnant I'll probably be able to wear it."

I'm not sure what made me feel that inkling of hope that day as I talked to my mom on the phone. But, I guess hope really does spring eternal even when we think there is no hope left.

During our dinner on Saturday night. We watched a little girl at a nearby table. She had Down's Syndrome. I told Greg about how I've thought about how our baby could be special like this girl (we opted out of testing) and we talked about how no matter what, we are so blessed by this baby and this pregnancy.

Even if it all ends tomorrow, I feel like it has all been worth it -- all the treatments, all the heartache, all the money -- because this pregnancy has been the happiest time of my life.

The lunch lady

2010-10-29T08:43:00.002-05:00

We attended a breastfeeding class this week. We start our child birth classes next week but with our schedules and the specific dates they offer the feeding classes, I decided to go ahead and do it early. I figured, you need all the info you can get when it comes to breastfeeding anyway.
So Greg and I went to the class Tuesday night (husbands or partners are encouraged to attend and my husband is very curious as to how this is all going to work, so he went with me).
First, let me say that I am country. I am as country as the day is long, so I have nothing against country people but then again, I don't really want just any good ol' girl teaching me a breastfeeding class.
My aversion to this woman was instantaneous. I generally know whether I'm going to like someone pretty quickly after meeting them and when I met this woman I was certain I didn't like her. And, I was right.
She was crass, she was not well-spoken, she fumbled and bumbled around. She kept making inappropriate comments toward the four men in the class. She was just horrible, saying things like "If I can stand up here and play with my boobs you can too ladies!"
It was like being taught the ins and outs of breastfeeding by the lunch lady from elementary school. Granted, this woman is educated and certified and all that jazz, but geez Louise couldn't they find someone with a little more.... couth to teach the class?
I tell you the honest truth -- this woman actually spoke these words: "You can smoke while breastfeeding. You should smoke outside so the smell doesn't get stuck in your clothes because the baby uses his sense of smell to feed." Then she said, "You should never smoke in your car with the baby in it (and I thought sure there was a period coming after that but NO) without rolling the windows down."
Dear Lord, help us all. Just another reason I wish I didn't live in Northwest Louisiana, no offense to anyone who calls this place home and doesn't know any better.
And, to top it all off they handed out information sheets about Listeria and in bold it says "Never eat hot dogs or deli meats that haven't been heated to a safe temperature" and what did they serve us for dinner? Cold ham and turkey sandwiches!
Now, I can't lie and say I didn't learn anything from this woman. I did. But, I feel like the hospital should reconsider who they pay to deliver their message.
The worst part? At the end of the class she says she'll probably be seeing some of us again next week for childbirth classes. That's right, friends. This woman is teaching us how to give birth. She is also giving us our prenatal tour and epidural class and teaching the newborn care class.
I am seriously considering calling the hospital to ask if there are any other options.

Still here!

2010-10-24T18:14:00.003-05:00

Here I am at 29.5 weeks. I'm really starting to grow, huh?

I've been a bad blogger, but it's not entirely my fault. We got back home from our trip to NC on Tuesday evening and since then, I've been working like a crazy woman. Between my job at Talbots and my new writing gig, I've been pretty swamped. I would have blogged while I was at my parents' but my Internet access is limited there and I was having too much fun with my family, anyway!

Our trip was wonderful. My parents' 50th anniversary party was great even though my sisters, their husbands and children and Greg and I did all the work! We fed about 80people a dinner of ribeye steaks, baked potatoes and a salad (oh and yeast rolls) and it all went very smoothly. We make a great team even if there are "too many generals and not enough soldiers" as Greg likes to say. Everyone who attended the party couldn't beleive we pulled it off. We even managed to turn an ugly community building into what my Mama called "a fairyland." My parents tried to dance every dance and seemed to me to be far younger than they actually are on that magical night. It was so good to be surrounded by my extended family and to see them all coming together to honor my parents and their exceptional marriage.

Then, the next day, we celebrated again at our baby shower. It was perfect! The theme for the shower was basically "name the baby" and they had decorated the church fellowship hall by hanging these paper circles from the ceiling. Each circle had a name suggestion with meaning written on it. My favorites came from my brother-in-law who is a big fan of the TV movie Lonesome Dove with his suggestion of Woodrow and next would have to be my nephew Nicholas' pick -- Juan. lol The shower hostesses -- my sisters, two of my cousins, my three nieces and my dear friend -- thought of everything! The games were really fun, the food was great and the decorations echoed the bedding we bought for the nursery. They even had all the people who came to the shower to drop a name suggestion into a basket. It was fun to go through the comments after the shower. But, we still haven't decided on a name! We got so many nice gifts, our truck was loaded down on the way home and now it's all in the nursery waiting for me to get in there and organize it.

Everything is going well with my pregnancy. I went to the doctor Wednesday and found out I had a tremendous weight gain since my last appointment five weeks ago. I felt bad about it for a couple of days, but I'm OK with it now. I know that I really strayed from my healthy eating plan while I was in NC and I indulged too much. I tried to blame it all on Mama because she made all my favorite foods and then some, but I know I have no one to blame but me! Dr. Carter said "last month in my notes I wrote 'excellent weight control.' This month, I'm just going to write "NOT!" ha ha he's a funny guy, my doctor. I'm back on track now and working again, which burns lots of calories -- believe me! My glucose test was normal and I get my rhogram shot tomorrow. We go every two weeks for our appointments now. It's so hard to believe that we're actually almost to 30 weeks. Time is flying by.

Back pain, a new job and a shower invite

2010-09-26T11:44:00.005-05:00

Last week was rather eventful, as far as weeks go, at our house. On Monday, Greg was playing his regular pick-up basketball game during lunch with a bunch of guys from work and he somehow managed to move just the wrong way and injure his back. Tuesday morning found us in the ER where the doctor said she suspects a herniated disk is the source of the pain. I had back surgery many years ago for this exact thing and I know very well how bad it hurts. My heart breaks to see Greg in so much pain when I know how badly he just wants to get back to normal. He goes Tuesday to see his regular doctor and we are still planning to leave for our trip to NC on Friday or Saturday, but I think the long drive is going to be difficult for him. He is still in quite a bit of pain and though we were hoping time would make things better, it seems to be getting worse. Hopefully, he will be feeling better by the end of the week.
That's it for bad news. The rest is all good, so bear with me. The first good thing that happened is I got a new job! You probably recall that I used to have a real career as a newspaper reporter and I've been looking for a way to get paid to write since we moved back to the states last year. I haven't really had any luck (though to be quite honest, I haven't put a tremendous amount of effort into the search either). Last week, a former co-worker and friend of mine let me know about a job opportunity with the comapny she works for and I applied. My friend put in a good word for me and lo and behold, I got the job. I'll be working from home writing for the web. I can make my own schedule and work as much or as little as I want. I went through some on-line training this week and though it's a lot to take in, I feel confident that I'll be fairly good at this type of work. This opportunity couldn't have come at a better time for us. With me leaving my job in retail when the baby is born, there will be a shortfall in our income. Now, I'll be able to make up for part or possibly all of that with my new job and Greg will get his raise for his upcoming promotion around the start of the year, so that will work out great.
I'm still considering working at Talbots after the baby is born -- maybe one night a week and one weekend a month -- just to get out of the house and have some adult interaction. I know I'm going to miss my work friends so much, seeing that they are pretty much the only friends I have in this town. Of course, I will make that decision after the baby is born and after I've had time to settle into my new role as Mommy.
And that brings me to the other exciting thing that happened this week. My shower invitation came in the mail. I tell you, ladies, opening that envelope and reading that invitation brought tears to my eyes. A big part of me never thought I'd ever get to this point. Seeing the names of the hostesses -- many of the women I hold most dear in my life -- just choked me up as I thought about how each of those women in small and big ways has helped me through so many hard times and are now here celebrating with me in the happiest time of my life. I see this shower not as just another baby shower but sort of as a celebration that the years of heartache and longing are over. It's like a culmination of all those prayers and wishes that friends and fammily members sent up for us over the years. I think it's going to be a joyous time for us and for all of those people we love so much.
In other news this week, a co-worker called to tell me she's pregnant. This friend has really been a great supporter through my IVF and FET and through this pregnancy. She cried when I found out I was pregnant and always says things like "I have a vested interest in this baby!" I couldn't be happier for her. She had an IUD removed just last month and in no time, she had a positive test. That's the way I wish that it worked for everyone -- the way it should be and this friend, who has a heart of gold, deserves every happiness.

Insight into the male point of view

2010-09-20T11:22:00.003-05:00

I have read Oprah Magazine for years now. And, as someone who dreamed of being a freelance magazine writer at one time, I've always enjoyed the higher quality of writing that O presents to its readers. Several articles stick out in my mind and, not so surprisingly, most of those deal with topics close to my heart -- like infertility.
I was paging through my newest O last night while Greg watched some mindless TV and I ran across this article. It broke my heart, made me cry and left me feeling like I've probably been a little selfish and a lot insensitive to my own husband's feelings as we walked this bumpy road of infertility together.
I just thought I'd share the link in case any of you are interested in getting a little insight into the male perspective on infertility and loss.
I really admire this guy for putting this out there. We expect them to be so stoic but they hurt just like we hurt. I just thank God that my husband has been such a rock for me all these years and at the same time, he has always been my safe place to land. What more could a girl ask for?

What's your name, kid?

2010-09-17T11:11:00.003-05:00

The great name debate at our house has entered a new phase. It's called compromise.
Greg wouldn't even talk about possible baby names until we found out we're having a boy, while I, on the other hand, had lists of possiblities for both sexes. But, that doesn't mean he wasn't thinking about names. Oh no.
I know this because over lunch immediately after the ultrasound revealed that our wee one is a boy Greg says, "how about Carter Alan?" and I said, "I like it." And then I waited for other options.
He had none. He likes this name and no others. I managed for a while to convince him to put Harrison on his ultra-short list of names, but yesterday he said he didn't want our son to be called "Harry," essentially crossing that one off the list and here we are back to Carter. Alan is Greg's middle name and I like that he wants to pass that name down to our son.
Meanwhile, my list has at least a dozen possibilites on it -- and Greg can find fault with each one.
Rowan? Your family won't be able to pronounce it right (and he might be right about that). Winston (my father's middle name)? Sounds too old fashioned. Justin? Too common. Caleb? Isn't that a girl's name? (No, Greg, you're a dummy). Holden? Is that even a real name?
Obviously, my husband was not as enamored with the Snyder brothers on As the World Turns as I was when I was young. Caleb and Holden sound like perfectly good, strong boy names to me. Not to mention they sound very handsome.
For such a laidback guy who usually just goes with the flow, my husband is being pretty hard headed about this name thing.
So, I find myself inching closer to Carter each day. I like the name. It's classic and strong and though it doesn't have a particularly interesting meaning, it is relevant in a couple of ways. My dad had a dear cousin named Carter who died young and said he'd be proud to have a grandson by that name. I've always adored that peanut farmer from Plains, Ga. who served as our 39th presidnet and later won the Nobel Peace Prize. In fact, the baby name book lists Carter under a heading called "future Democrats," which is just fine by me. Frankly, I think this would could use a few more of us. And, lastly, you might recall Carter is the name of our doctor.
Now, I've always cringed when people name their babies after doctors. It just seems silly and if we were to name a baby after a doctor it should probably be the doctor who created this miracle -- Dr. V., whose last name is quite a mouthful and whose first name is David, a name already in use several times over in my extended family.
Our nurse laughed when Greg told her his pick for a name on Wednesday. She said, "you'd be surprised. There are a lot of little Carters running around out there."
Of course, Greg didn't get the name from our real life Dr. John Carter. His inspiration came from the other Dr. John Carter. You know, the one played by Noah Wylie on ER. I'm pretty sure that faithfully watching ER for all those years lodged the name Carter securely in Greg's brain only to surface now when we find ourselves faced with the overwhelming task of choosing a name for our son.
And, it is an overwhelming task. A name is permenant. It has to be just right. There's so much to consider -- will other kids make fun of it? Do the initials spell anything horrible? It it a good adult name and a good child's name? Does it sound masculine enough? Is it too feminine? Will people know how to pronounce it and spell it? The questions go on and on.
Who knows what name this baby will end up with? Sometimes, Greg rests his head on my belly and asks "what's your name?" He then jokingly puts his ear to my belly and looks back at me and says "he says Carter." ha ha.
But, when he gets here, out little guy's face may say something completely different.

24 weeks

2010-09-15T11:05:00.004-05:00

Here I am at 24 weeks! I feel like time is passing more quickly now. We leave for our trip to NC in about two weeks and then when we get back, we'll be at 29 weeks if all goes well. Then, with the holidays beginning and child birth classes, and breastfeeding classes and all the other stuff we will have to do, I think January will be here before we know it.
I had my monthly checkup today and it was a very pleasant visit with Dr. Carter. He even bragged on me a little for my weight gain so far, which was nice to hear. I've gained a total of 11 pounds. He said I should expect to gain about a pound a week from here on out. I will have the glucose test and the Rhogam shot because I am RH Negative at my next appointment.
We also met with the woman who handles all the insurance claims for the office and she gave us a large stack of magazines and brochures and lots of good information. Thankfully, Tricare covers all the cost associated with having a baby. I wish I could say they also cover the cost of making one, but I'm not complaining. Every penney we have spent on infertility treatments and meds got us to this point and it truly is priceless.
This past weekend, Greg painted the nursery. It's very exciting to begin to prepare for the arrival of our son. I chose this bright happy blue for the walls because it coordinates well with the bedding and it just fits the image in my mind of a boy's room.

It's a little plain though, and I'm toying with the idea of painting a horizontal stripe around the room. The edges of the stripe would be white and the inside would be green. The only problem is our walls are textured. I researched how to keep the paint from seeping under the tape on a textured wall and found a couple of suggestions including using caulk and a clear glaze to seal the edges of the tape. Anyone out there have any experience with this?
Greg plans to put the crib and changing table together tonight while I am at work, so I am looking forward to that.
So that's where we are at 24 weeks. I am so thankful for this miracle and I'm loving every minute of this pregnancy.

That old sting

2010-09-12T10:12:00.005-05:00

Friday night was Greg's Senior Non-commissioned Officer Induction Dinner and Ceremony. This is one of the many formalities that can precede a promotion. He told me about this event about two weeks ago and since then, I stressed over what to wear. There are many phrases that can strike fear into the heart of a pregnant woman and I've learned that one of them is "formal attire."
I went to Motherhood and they had two dresses that would have worked, except they make dresses for women with breasts as large as my head and I am still waiting to get those giant pregnancy boobs everyone talks about. It just isn't happening.
So, I tried shopping in the regular dresses, but I ran into all sorts of problems. My middle is just too thick at this point. I even tried to wear something I already own because I have a wide array of sizes in my closet thanks to my weight fluctuations over the years but none of those dresses were right either.
On Thursday, I ventured into more stores before going to work and out of sheer desperation I went in Target -- where I found this plain black maternity dress for $12.50 on clearance. I took it to work and my boss gave it the thumbs up and paired one of the best necklaces we have in our store with it to dress it up.
So, off we went on Friday night -- with me feeling a little self conscious wondering if my dress was formal enough. I looked fine. Some of the ladies there seriously needed to visit me at Talbots for an intervention and others were dressed to the nines.
It's odd, now that I'm pregnant and most people can look at me and tell that I am pregnant, you would think that the stinging comments that go straight to your heart and bring tears to your eyes would be over. But, sadly, that is not the case.
Two examples from this event will explain what I mean. A guy my husband works with asked if he could buy us a drink. Greg said he'd have a beer and then said "of course, my wife isn't drinking." And, the guy looked at me funny and then seemed to suddenly recall that I'm pregnant. "Oh that's right," he said. "Is this your first?" Then after my response, he said to Greg "You're almost 50 years old and you're just having a kid? Did you have to go to the sperm bank?" ha ha ha ha ha
I felt that old familiar sting and I frantically searched for a comeback, but my baby mush brain came up with nothing. Fortunately, Greg is better at this type of thing and he said, "Yea, and I told them to give me the most athletic SOB they had so we'll be rich in about 20 years."
Later, this same guy says. "So, are you guys going to have more kids after this one?" Again, I felt that hurt and I looked to Greg to step in and be my voice. "I think one will be enough if he's anything like his dad," Greg said. And, his co-workers all laughed and chimed in with comments like, "ain't that the truth."
On the way home, I asked Greg if he thought anything of this guy's comments and he said this man is very inappropriate in work and social situations so he wasn't surprised that he would make insensitive comments.
Of course, you can't let people like that get to you, but in the moment it does sting and I guess that will always be true.

Ramblings of an occasional blogger

2010-09-07T08:40:00.003-05:00

It's not that I don't still enjoy writing this blog. I do. It's just that sometimes I wonder what the point is because hardly anyone is reading -- well, hardly anyone commnets. Maybe lots of you are reading??
Oh well, readership is not really important anyway. This blog is just a way for me to put my thoughts and feelings down and it still works very well for that purpose.
I am feeling good these days. We will be 23 weeks tomorrow and that is very exciting.
Greg spent the weekend playing softball in Texas. I worked Friday and Saturday and then had Sunday all to myself. I cleaned the house and walked the dog and read and watched Benjamin Button and cried my eyeballs out. I know, I'm probably the last person on earth who hadn't seen it but I didn't see a lot of movies when we were in Italy.
Last week, we ordered our crib and changing table. My parents bought these as a gift for the baby and we are very thankful for that. We also purchased a travel system with the car seat and the stroller. And, yesterday, we went to the Carter's outlet and they were having an amazing sale. We bought two little outfits and a hat for the wee one. These are the first items of clothing that we've bought. The one I picked says "Bananas over Mommy" and the one Greg chose says "Daddy's Rookie of the Year." The little hat says "Dog Gone Cute," and it is.
I also ordered four prints to frame and put in the baby's room. I got them during Zulily's Labor Day blow out sale. A sale so big, it literally blew out their site for a couple of hours. Luckily, I got my order in early.
So, things are starting to come together albeit very slowly. I am overwhelmed when I think of how much we still need before the baby gets here and how much that is going to cost. But, my sisters are giving us a baby shower in October when we go home to NC, so that should help. Within the next few weeks, we have to register so I've started a list of items that I definitely want to put on the registry.
A lot of Greg's co-workers and softball friends have asked if we'll be having a shower here. It's like they think we should throw ourselves a shower. How tacky is that? We've just told them that we don't really know anyone here very well, so we probably won't be having a shower. Though I was really hoping someone would take that as an invitation to throw us one. Is it selfish to want someone to give us a baby shower? This is just further proof of our lack of true friends here and it really sucks.
Baby Elvis is rocking out in there these days. On Sunday night, he kicked steadily for about 30 minutes --- kicks so hard I could see my belly jumping. I think he must have known I was a little lonely and decided to entertain me.
My next appointment is next Wednesday. Since we're going to be in NC for so long in October, we're planning to do our childbirth classes in November. And that is pretty freaking fantastic.
So that's about it for me. I'm still working about 20 hours a week and enjoying my shortened five-hour shifts (I didn't ask, my boss is just very thoughtful). And, I'm really looking forward to October when I get to see my big ole' crazy family and my dear friends.

Where's my brain?

2010-08-31T08:17:00.002-05:00

I once read a study that said a woman loses brain cells with each pregnancy. I remember giving my sister a hard time, since she has had four children. "That's why you're such a dingbat!" ha ha ha.
But it's no laughing matter. Pregnancy brain is real. The books say that doctors don't have an explanation for the problem but that it's possible that the mommy to be just has a lot on her mind, so she loses focus or it could be the hormones. My coworkers say the baby is eating my brain. Somedays, I'm inclined to agree with them.
Examples of my own case of pregnancy brain include: using the wrong word in a sentence and not realizing it until someone makes fun of me or gives me that look that says 'you're not making any sense;' Putting strange things in the refrigerator -- like the sugar; Missing the turn toward home not once, but twice one day after work; and the most obvious preggo brain episode -- showing up for work at 9:30 a.m. when I wasn't supposed to be there until 1 p.m.
I don't know what to tell you, I just can't think straight and most of the time, I have no idea that I'm doing something completely stupid. Greg thinks it's funny -- well, most of the time. And, my coworkers think it's hilarious. Of course, that could be because I haven't shown up at work three and a half hours late yet. That probably wouldn't be as funny.
A friend on facebook told me that she calls it "mommy mush brain" and that the sad part is that it doesn't get better after the baby is born -- she says it gets worse! She should know -- pregnant with baby No. 4 as I type this.
In any case, if I write something completely incoherent, at least you'll know why.

The infertility files

2010-08-24T11:03:00.004-05:00

Today I am in the process of cleaning out the room that will be our son's nursery and trying desperately to organize and relocate all of the crap that is currently living in that space.
It's a job I haven't been looking forward to and the fact that I'm sitting in my sunny, clean, uncluttered kitchen writing this post could appear to some to be a pathetic attempt at avoiding the giant mess in that bedroom. But, I feel like I have something important to say and I needed a break anyway.
Greg did the easy part last week. He put together the new desk we bought at Ikea and relocated the desktop computer, set up our new monitor and left the rest to me. What remained in the room that we've been using as an office/guest room was pretty scary. Piles of paper, files, junk that somehow landed there and I'm guessing hundreds of magazines filed chronologically just in case I wanted to read them again. Hmmm. Scary.
I've never been a particularly good file keeper. I hem and haw about whether or not to shred a document or keep it and somehow I end up with piles of paper despite my best intentions. So this morning, I entered the room feeling determined, but was soon defeated by the sheer amount of CRAP.
I called Greg for moral support and he cheered me on. Just take one thing at a time. I'll help you figure it out when I get home. Don't worry about the magazines. I'll take them to the recycling center. You can do this! And so on and so on, until I felt somewhat confident that one day that room will be a nursery and not the place where all pieces of mail go to die.
I've worked steadily now for a few hours, reducing the piles into smaller piles. Filling a box for a garage sale I plan to have next month and trying not to be overwhelmed. But then, I found the "infertility" files. You know the ones -- page after page of your entire crappy infertility journey from those first tests to those failed treatments to the pictures of those tiny little embryos that might have been your babies. And, the work stopped and I leafed through the papers that document every step along the way of those infertility journey.
And, I felt so many emotions. First, I guess I was sad, because looking at those medical records always makes me sad -- sad for the babies that might have been, sad for remembering all the heartache those failures brought and sad thinking about how many years all those pages represent.
And, I admit it, I always feel a little angry when I go through our records. Why didn't the doctors at our first clinic design a better protocol for me? Why did they tell me to use donor eggs for future cycles and why on earth did we have to go through all of this anyway? Why us? Why couldn't it have been easy for us?
Yet, for the first time ever I felt a relief. Never have I looked at those files from this perspective. I've pored over them after failures looking for clues that might answer the question "what went wrong?" Or, "what could we do different next time?" But never have I looked at those pages from the perspective that I have today -- almost 21 weeks along with a baby boy growing inside me. Those pages are a very real, tangible reminder of all the hope, all the sacrifice, all the pain and all the loss that led us to this point -- cleaning out a room to make a nursery for our son.
Some of those pages are tear stained -- from the dark days of the past when the loss was so raw and the emotions so big. And, I added some tears today. Tears of sadness, tears of regret, tears of grief and finally, thankfully, tears of joy. I am so blessed to be at this point, crossing this river of infertility and finally able to see the shore ahead. I'm not on the other side yet, but I'm on the bridge and each day brings me a little closer to holding my baby in my arms.
For now, I've put the files away. Maybe one day, I'll be able to put them in the shred pile and say goodbye to all the sadness and pain they represent. Then again, maybe I'll always have them -- if nothing else, they'll serve as a reminder of how much we went through and how badly we wanted this baby and how blessed we are to finally have this pregnancy.

Right on cue

2010-08-20T07:46:00.003-05:00

As if on cue, after I wrote yesterday morning that Greg had not been able to feel the baby's movements -- the little one kicked up a storm last night and Greg was finally able to feel it. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. After feeling several hard kicks (punches?) with his hand, he laid his head on my belly and let baby Elvis (we've been calling him that since that early ultrasound picture that looked like a cartoon mini Elvis) kick him right in the face. Greg would talk in his deepest voice "Hey boy, what's going on in there?" and Elvis would kick. Which made me laugh and that made Greg say "be still!" This went on for about 10 minutes or so. It was one of my favorite moments of my pregnancy so far.

Half way there

2010-08-19T07:22:00.003-05:00

Here I am at 20 weeks. I am not a particularly cute pregnant woman. In fact, some people don't realize I'm pregnant, because, well, I still just look fat. Please ignore the fuzzy hair and lack of makeup. I had the day off from work, so I just took it easy yesterday. I have gained about 8 pounds so far. And I certainly can see and feel big changes in my body. Here's a picture taken exactly two months ago just for comparison.

I'm glad to be at this 20 week milestone. It means we're half way there. The time has gone by fast for me. Sometimes, I'm a little overwhelmed with all that we need to do and buy to get ready for having this baby, but during those times Greg reminds me that we have plenty of time left to do all that has to be done. One way or another, it will all come together.

The baby's movements are very distinct now. He is most active around 9 or 10 p.m. when I am probably at my least active, vegging on the couch. For now, Greg has not been able to feel the movements though his hand has been perfectly positioned over dozens of little kicks and punches. So, that is another little milestone to look forward to.

The name game is not going well. Greg is stuck on one name and won't really entertain other options. Yesterday, I bought a big fat baby name book and told him he has to come up with at least 3 or 4 other names that he likes. I want to have options! The worst part, he hates the name Rowan!

The advantages of peeing in the dark

2010-08-17T08:58:00.003-05:00

Yesterday morning started off relatively normal, but quickly spiraled into one of those horrible days where you think you might be losing your mind. Ever had one of those? Warning: TMI ahead.
I noticed during a trip to the bathroom to pee that the discharge on the toilet paper was tinged a brownish/pink color. I didn't want to panic, but I was worried. I consulted Dr. Google who explained that some spotting in the second or third trimester can be normal, but that you should always call your doctor.
So I called the doc and left a message and headed to work. Of course, I kept going to the bathroom to see what was going on. I told my dear, sweet co-worker about it and she is one of those people who knows what to say in a situation like this, so she made me feel a little better. But I still had that nagging thought -- what if?
A couple of hours later, the nurse called and asked what was going on. I told her I felt fine, I just had this wierd discharge and she asked if I'd had any pain or cramping. I told her that I'd been constipated over the weekend but that was the only abnormal thing I'd noticed.
Apparently, for those who are as ignorant as I am on this subject, you can cause spotting if you strain very hard to have a bowel movement. Obviously, I was less worried after hearing this, but Nurse B said they wanted me to come in for a little look see anyway.
So, yesterday afternoon (when everything was back to normal down there) I went in for Dr. Carter to make sure everything was OK. The baby's heartbeat was just fine at 153 bpm and Dr. Carter couldn't find any trace of bleeding. "Your little cervix is as normal as normal can be," he said.
He explained that during pregnancy the cervix is so engorged with blood that almost anything can cause slight spotting due to a busted capilary -- sex, straining to have a bowel movement, or just overdoing it at work. He said some of his patients are so nervous that he tells them to pee in the dark so they won't see the tissue.
Basically, Dr. Carter said -- "stop worrying. All my IVF patients are the same, they keep watching and waiting for something bad to happen, and that's certainly understandable. But you are a perfectly normal girl. There is nothing high risk about you. You just had trouble getting pregnant. You're not going to have any problems staying pregnant. Everything looked great on your ultrasound. You don't have anything to worry about. Go home and live your life. Be intimate with your husband, go to work, enjoy your life. And, pee in the dark."
I was so relieved to know that a) nothing was wrong and b) I am just as crazy as all the other IVF ladies out there. ha ha.
So, my monthly appointment that was supposed to be next Wednesday was cancelled and I have a new appointment in a month since Dr. C did all the things he would have done next week.
I felt pretty dumb after finding out that I went through all that worrying because of something so silly. But I suppose it is better to be safe in a situation like this because if it had been something serious and I had ignored it, I would never be able to forgive myself. Nervous Nellie strikes again.

In other news: We had a great weekend trip to Dallas for shopping and to see the Red Sox play the Rangers. The Red Sox won on Saturday night, but the Rangers ultimately won the series. We bought a desk so that we can move the computer out of the baby's room and into the kitchen and we found two things for the baby's room -- a shelf that also holds a quilt and a cover for a changing table pad that matches our bedding. Now, we are studying paint colors, which is proving to be almost as difficult as agreeing on a name!

Taking chances

2010-08-11T15:31:00.003-05:00

Here we are at 19 weeks! Almost half way there! It's still surreal to me sometimes and I know it is to Greg as well. I feel like I spent quite a bit of these past 19 weeks in a sort of strange limbo, waiting for the bad news to come but hoping and praying it wouldn't. Overall, though, I have felt blissful. I love being pregnant. Now that I can feel my baby boy moving inside of me, I am in a constant state of awe and joy and gratitude.
I've never been happier in my life. Of course, falling in love with my husband was a very happy time for me, but this is even better.
I dreamed of my son a couple of nights ago. I dreamed I was touching his sweet face and nursing him and when I woke up, I told Greg, "I just dreamed about our baby. He is so cute! I can't wait for you to see him!" Of course, Greg thinks I'm a little nuts at this point, so he just sort of grumbled "that's nice" and went back to sleep. The next day, he asked me if I remembered the dream. Of course, I told him yes. He said "you do realize that you haven't actually seen the baby?" Ummmmmm. I wasn't sure how to answer him. I mean, yes, I am fully aware that I have not looked at my baby. But I feel like we've met, face to face and, ladies, I tell you it was true love.
I've been wary. I still feel wary at times. But, then I wonder what good is it to be scared? What will be, will be whether or not I'm feeling scared or not. As part of that fear of what might happen next, I've only bought books for the baby. It didn't seem to risky to buy a stack of Dr. Seuss books. But, since we found out we're having a boy last week, I've felt the urge to start getting things ready. I've ogled over crib bedding on-line for weeks and on Friday, I happened across a set that I instantly loved. The problem? It was $450 -- a little out of my price range. I even emailed the link to Greg to ask his opinion. Of course, he would rather have sports them for the nursery so we don't exactly see eye to eye on this. When I got to work, I told everyone about this bedding. My new manager told me they sell this brand of bedding at a boutique in town. I happened to remember seeing an add in the paper for a big anniversary tent sale at this store. So, on my way to work on Saturday, I stopped by the sale to see if they had any good deals and lo and behold, there was the very bedding I'd found online the day before. It was marked down from $442 to $199. The catch? All sales were final. No returns, no refunds, no exchanges.
I called Greg for his opinion and like a good husband, he said "whatever you want, honey." Still, I was nervous about buying the bedding. I mean, what if I angered the gods or something and they decided since I was cavalier enough to purchase $200 bedding that couldn't be returned, maybe they'd show me just who is boss. But no, that's not the way it works. So I said a little prayer standing there with the bedding in my arms. Please Lord, let me lay my little boy down on this sheet and cover him with this blanket. I took a deep breath and let it out. And, then I bought the set. It's a leap of faith.
Here's a picture of it from the web. What do you think?

It's a ...

2010-08-04T13:43:00.003-05:00

Boy!

After dreaming last night that the ultrasound tech found a puppy dog tail in there, I was quite relieved to see my precious baby moving around and "waving" to us. You know how that old rhyme goes, boys are made of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails!

Everything looked good. His heartbeat was 144 bpm and he weighed about 8 oz. Here's another picture of his not so private parts.

Joy

2010-08-03T13:05:00.003-05:00

I heard from my friend Anna today (you might remember that we recently visited with Anna and her mom in Dallas). Anna and I met when we first moved to Italy and we became fast friends. We had a lot of good times and a lot of tough times during our four years there. She bravely battled cancer and I limped along this road of infertility. We just sort of leaned on each other through it all. She is one of my dearest and most beloved friends.
And, today, she shared the happiest news I could have imagined for her. She is pregnant!
Her son D. is 8 years old and since the chemo and the other health problems that came after the cancer treatments, she wasn't sure she'd ever have another child. So, you can see why this news is so wonderful.
A few years ago, in the darkest days of Anna's treatment and after our failed IVF, I couldn't have imagined that one day we'd be pregnant at the same time. I said to her today, "I didn't dare dream this!" But, she reminded me that someone did dream it -- her husband. About two years ago, he dreamed that he was in a park with three little girls -- one was his and the twins were mine! I didn't get the twins, but maybe Anna will?!
I remember several times at New Year's or Christmas, we'd talk about the year to come and the one that had passed. For the first couple of years in Italy, we'd say "next year has to be better because it sure can't get any worse." And, then, of course, it would get worse. So we stopped saying that because you have to be careful what you speak because sometimes it comes true. Instead, we'd toast to our friendship and to a new year and all the possibilities it can hold.
So this day -- this day that we didn't even dare dream about -- has finally arrived and my heart just isn't big enough to hold all this joy. My cup runneth over.

Music to my ears

2010-07-28T13:10:00.002-05:00

I thought I'd share a picture of me taken during our recent trip to Florida. I enjoyed spending so much time on the beach, which was beautiful and so relaxing. There was no sign of oil there, thank goodness. While Greg played softball, I just sat out there under a big umbrella watching the waves roll in and out and listening to them crashing on the shore. As always, I was taken aback by the beauty of the ocean. I found myself talking with God, thanking him for all the beauty that surrounded me and for the little life growing inside of me. It was a good time to reflect on all we've been through and how far we've come on this journey. And, it made me think about how unlikely this whole pregnancy seems in the grand scheme of things -- how cells not even as big as grains of sand can be combined and nurtured and frozen and thawed and then take hold and begin to grow and multiply and eventually become a human. Sometimes, it is just more than my mind can hold.
We're at 17 weeks today and we had our second appointment with our OB, Dr. Carter. It was a pretty routine appointment. I declined the quad screen and while our choice seemed to rattle the nurse a little, our doctor was fine with it, saying he and his wife chose not to have it when they had their two kids. Basically, the reason I chose not to have the test (which screens for Downs Syndrome, Spina Bifida and other defects) is because the test is not 100 percent accurate. Sometimes, as in the case of my sister, it indicates there's a potential problem when there isn't. Our nurse explained to us that things have changed since my sister was pregnant and that if the test indicated a potential problem, they would send us to have an ultrasound that can be used to determine if a problem actually exists and then we could decide whether to have an amniocentesis. But, even knowing this, we decided that we would simply forgo the test. My sister worried for her entire pregnancy until Josh was born and I tend to worry enough as it is without having a quad screen to add something else to the list.
We talked with Dr. Carter about Wyatt's diagnosis of Cystic Fibrosis. He didn't seemed very concerned. Since we've both already had the screening, he sees no need to go further.
We heard the baby's heartbeat on the doppler. Such a beautiful sound! And, most exciting, we don't have to wait another month to find out the sex of the baby. Dr. Carter scheduled us for an ultrasound next week. I can't tell you how happy I am to finally find out if this baby is a boy or a girl. Dr. Carter asked me if I had put in my order on the sex of the baby. "Yes, I put in an order, and I've already gotten it. I wasn't very specific!" Boy or girl, we really don't care. We will be absolutely over the moon no matter what the sex is. The difference will be we can finally discuss baby names (Greg won't even talk about it until we know) and I can start getting this baby's room ready.
I have gained a total of five pounds so far during this pregnancy. I feel like I really pigged out this month with my trip home and then our trip to Florida, but my doctor was happy with my weight and told me that next week I will really start to "blossom." lol.
The most significant thing Dr. Carter said today was in response to a question I asked about whether I should be concerned about working long hours on my feet. Basically, he told me to keep working, to wear sensible shoes and to prepare my employer for the possibility that I won't be able to work during the Christmas rush. Of course, they already know that and really, I wouldn't have asked him about it if the girls I work with weren't always asking me if they need to shorten my shifts. Anyway, during this exchange, Dr. Carter says "you're as low risk as they come." I know it might sound odd to some people, but I know you ladies will understand. That simple sentence was like music to my ears.

16 weeks

2010-07-21T08:24:00.002-05:00

I've gotten to the point where I look forward to Wednesdays so that I can mark another week passing and read the e-mail updates I get from babycenter.com about what is going on with the baby. Today marks 16 weeks for us and things are moving right along.
I went back to work yesterday after working only one day in July so far. One of my customers was having a hot flash and in an effort to make her feel like she's not the Lone Ranger, I told her sometimes I get very hot when I'm working back there in the fitting room too. She said, "honey, it looks like you have a good reason to have hot flashes but I'm too old for this!" It was the first time a stranger has said anything to me about my pregnancy, so I guess I'm showing a little more than I thought I was.
In other news, I'm not the only one getting a new body around here. My husband Greg has been running, biking and working out like a madman in an effort to meet the Air Force's new PT standards which went into effect at the beginning of the month. He tests at the end of the month and his waist cannot measure more than 39 inches or he won't pass the test.
Greg has always been a big guy and he had the beer belly when I met him. Even though he rarely drinks beer anymore, the belly has stayed with him. He's a relatively fit guy. He has always played softball, volleyball and basketball on intramural teams and over the past few months he's really gotten back into cycling. Still, he wouldn't have been able to pass this new test at the weight he was so he started this P90X workout and he has been running 2 miles six times a week in addition to cycling and softball. He has lost about 17 pounds now and at least 5 inches in his waist. When I came home from my visit with my parents, I couldn't believe the difference. It's like I'm getting a new and improved version of my husband. One of the good things about Greg's new focus on diet and exercise is that we are constantly eating healthy stuff, which is good for me too. In spite of that fact, I continue to grow and he continues to shirnk -- but that's just fine by me!

A good break

2010-07-18T10:47:00.003-05:00

I've been absent from blogland for a couple of weeks now. I rarely got on when my sister and her family were here visiting and then I was on my own little vacation -- home to North Carolina to see my family.
It was a great visit and unplugging for a while was probably the best thing I could do. There's been a lot of sadness out there lately for some of my blog friends and my heart goes out to them. Still, reading such tragic news had me worrying myself a little too much so stepping back and taking a break and breathing deep and laughing with my family was probably the best medicine.
But it seems you can't get away from sad news and my family had its own trial while I was home. We learned that our sweet little Wyatt, my great-nephew who is about five weeks old now, has Cystic Fibrosis. This really hit home for me since we know that my husband Greg is a CF carrier through some testing we had done in Italy. Of course, my nephew and his wife never even suspected that they were carriers so the news was particuarly hard for them to hear. For now, Wyatt is a healthy, bright-eyed little wonder and we pray that he will stay that way.
I did not test positive for the CF mutation all those years ago but the doctors explained to us that the test can't screen for all mutations. Yet, they tell you that the chance of having one of these uncommon mutations is very rare. Still, my niece-in-law didn't have any of the common mutations either, but obviously, she carried one of the rare mutations. It has just been overwhelming for our family, particuarly for my nephew and his wife. They have a good outlook though and I know they will give Wyatt the best care possible.
I plan to mention Wyatt's diagnosis to my OB at my next visit. I'm not sure if he'll reccommend genetic testing on the baby, but even if he does, I don't want to have any tests that come with a risk of miscarriage like amniocentesis. Besides, we knew the risk of having a baby with CF before we ever stepped into an IVF clinic, and it didn't change our decision to try to make a family.
As for my pregnancy, I'm still feeling good. My belly is starting to poke out there. My niece-in-law gave me all her maternity clothes so I came home with my suitcase full and I'm so grateful to her because this will save me a ton of money. We are heading to Florida for Greg's annual softball tournament later this week and we managed to get a condo right on the beach this time. I'm really looking forward to having some time at the beach.

2010-07-02T19:02:00.002-05:00

I had planned to write a post about how relieved and happy and positive I felt after our first meeting with our OB on Wednesday. I didn't write it sooner because my sister, her husband and their three children were here and we were busy enjoying their company. So, by the time I did sit down to put my thoughts on "paper," I had a lot of catching up to do with all of you out there in blogland. And, that's when I saw Rebecca's post over at The Road Less Traveled. Unspeakable grief and heartache. Lillian Grace born at 22weeks6days.
My mind can't fathom it. My heart is heavy. Rebecca, if you are out there, just know that I'm keeping you in my prayers and my heart goes out to you.
As much as I hate to admit it, this news makes me selfishly focus on my own pregnancy and how perilous it all seems. I don't know that I've ever experienced such highs and lows. On Wednesday, I was on top of the world. We were surprised to have an ultrasound (which we'd been told wouldn't happen until the next appointment since we have already had four) and we were amazed to see our little baby from a different perspective. The baby even appeared to be waving at us. To put it simply, we were over joyed.
We'd been warned by our RE that an OB might be a little freaked out by our means of conception (an FET) but Dr. Carter wasn't freaked out. In fact, he seemed to relish in this miracle of modern medicine. "You're 33 years old and you've never been pregnant before?" he asked. "No sir," I said. "Well, this is just wonderful. This is fantastic!"
And he's right. It is fantastic, but so is tightrope walking and truth be told, that's a little how I feel these days -- like a tight rope walker working without a net.
Dr. Carter said all the right things. He said exactly what we needed to hear. He said that there is nothing I could do barring jumping from a building that would lead to pregnancy loss. He said the statistics show that once a pregnancy reaches this point, only 1 to 2 percent of pregnancies are lost and that includes losses related to car accidents, murders and the like.
He said that the next few weeks will be difficult for me because I won't be getting the ultrasound every two weeks like I've been used to and because I can't yet feel the baby moving (apparently, what I've been feeling is digestion, doh!). Even so, he insisted that I stop worrying and advised me to do all the things I normally would. He told me to get on that plane on Sunday and fly home to N.C. and let my Mama pamper me. He told me everything looks great. The baby is "beautiful," and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my "mama parts."
He said all these things and more and I felt like I could finally exhale. I foolishly drank the Kool-Aid. Even though the pap smear caused some heavy spotting because my cervix was inflamed from the Progesterone, I still felt more peaceful than I have since that positive HPT.
And, then, this heartbreaking news. Now, I feel like the balance pole in my hands has shifted in the opposite direction and it's a long, long way down.

How do you spell relief?

2010-06-23T08:30:00.002-05:00

Well, for me, it certainly isn't Rolaids. For me, relief has come in the form of the 12-week milestone. Today is the day. When I woke up this morning, I felt -- well, I felt very content. I know that 12 weeks isn't some magic number that removes all risks, but for me, the fact that I've made it to this point is very comforting. If I've told you before that I had my doubts that I'd ever be pregnant, you'll just have to hear it again. Even with this most recent FET cycle, after that first HPT was negative, I told my mama "it's just not meant to be."
Yet here I am, noting another milestone along the way. It still seems surreal at times that it actually worked and that there's a tiny little human growing inside of me.
I know they say you can't feel the baby moving at this point, but a few times a day, I feel this fluttering sensation in there and I feel certain it's the baby. It's like nothing I've felt before. I told Greg it feels like a little gold fish swimming around in my uterus. So, the baby has gone from being referred to as "Spaceman" to "Little Fishy" at our house.
Yesterday, I ventured into Motherhood, that store that has taunted me for years. Some of you long time readers might remember that it was outside of a Motherhood store in February that I had a little breakdown. It was just after our third failed IVF and I saw a shirt that said "I love my bump" in the window. I just sat down on a bench and cried. Yesterday, I timidly went into that great unknown. I was the only shopper in the store. The sales woman asked me "have you shopped here before?"
"Nope, this is my first time."
"Well, welcome to Motherhood."
I'm sure that's what they always say, but for me her words held a more significant meaning.
Welcome to motherhood.
I wasn't sure anyone would ever say that to me. For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I made a couple of purchases for the future. Until yesterday, I only allowed myself to buy pregnancy books. It felt like if I made any other purchases I might jinx this stroke of good luck. I bought maternity panties, pajama pants and a pair of denim capris. I don't really need the pants yet, but I have faith that I will very soon.
But I think it's time to embrace this miracle and stop worrying that something will go wrong. I think it's time to start looking ahead.
Tomorrow, I will announce my pregnancy to my social network on facebook. And, I will allow my husband to tell our neighbors the happy news.
Yesterday, my sister told me that an acquaintance from high school was about to start her third cycle of IVF. The news made me sad in many ways. I think about all the people I know in real life who have had to travel this road and I think of all of you out there who are still putting one foot in front of the other all in an effort to hear someone say "welcome to motherhood."
Then, I think of how many people I know who have been in this boat have found a happy ending. For example, my dear friend B, who suffered so many losses and finally moved on to adoption. She just posted pics of her son taken moments after he was born. In the picture, you can only see her eyes because her entire face is covered with a surgical mask. But her eyes say it all. That picture makes me cry with joy for my dear, sweet friend.
I guess, what I'm trying to say is that I'm ever grateful for this pregnancy, which I pray is the beginning of my own happy ending. And, everyday, I pray that my friends (both in the real world and this virtual one) will turn the page and start a new chapter, one that tells the story of their own happy ending.

Tiny dancer

2010-06-18T17:53:00.004-05:00

Here is the latest ultrasound picture of our little one. The baby measures 11weeks2days and Dr. V says everything looks and sounds great. Today was a special day for us -- it was our "graduation" day, our last visit with our RE. The best part was seeing our little one moving around in there, a tiny dancer on the screen. It looked like he/she was having a good ole time just floating around doing water acrobatics. Greg and I agreed that it looked like when you see someone in a zero gravity chamber on TV. The little one was floating and flickering around in there and it seemed to me that if it could make a sound, he or she would be saying "whhhheeeeeee!"
We got our "official" due date, which I had already calculated myself but now since the doc said it we can be more confident -- January 5. We are simply over the moon with joy right now.
We were happy to see Dr. V for our last visit since he was our RE and it was his knowledge and expertise that helped to create this little miracle. But, he is the most humble doctor I've ever met. He kept saying, "you guys worked so hard for this. I'm so happy for you." When I said, "And you worked hard too," he just shook his head.
In the past, it has been hard for me to be thankful that we ended up at this base, where I have few friends and I don't really like the area and I'm so far from home. But, it's easy for me to be thankful today. I am so thankful that chance led us here to Dr. V and his wonderful staff and to this pregnancy.
I used to say that my favorite thing about Shreveport is the midget carhop at Sonic, who I just adore. I can't say that anymore. Dr. V is by far the best aspect of life in Shreveport. To finally get personalized, attentive, expert care was more than we had hoped for. How do you say thank you to the man who has put you on the path to parenthood after such a long and winding and sad road? I just shook his hand and said, "we can't thank you enough."
And, being the man that he is, Dr. V said, "send us a picture in January and that's all the thanks we need."

Feeling better, sort of

2010-06-15T09:19:00.003-05:00

I'm feeling better, I guess. No more stomach problems, which is nice. But a dark cloud of worry has settled in over my head since I had that horrible cramping on Thursday night and I can't seem to shake it.
I'm OK during the day but at night I have these terrible dreams and I wake up certain that something horrible has happened in there. I am counting the days until the ultrasound on Friday. Sometimes, I wonder - would I feel this way if I had conceived naturally with no problems? I don't know. Maybe it's normal for every pregnant woman to worry. Maybe I worry more because I'm always waiting for someone to deliver bad news?
Speaking of bad news, my husband got some news yesterday that I am still trying to digest. At his annual dental checkup, the doctor noted that an old root canal probably needed to be checked. So, yesterday he went to meet with another dentist who does all the root canals at our base. Apparently, during the original root canal in 1994, the dentist noted that he lost the tip of a file during the procedure and couldn't find it. He assumed he irrigated the debris out during the procedure. Well, most likely, that tip has been lodged underneath my husband's tooth for nearly 15 years and on the newest films, the dentist can see two black spots that are either a) pockets of bacteria formed around this debris or 2)cancerous lesions. So, of course, we are pretty scared. Greg will go in at the end of July for the first of several procedures in which the dentist will try to determine what we're dealing with in there and how to best go about remedying the problem.
Just my husband's luck, he has never smoked or used smokeless tobacco and here he is faced with the scary prospect that he could have cancer growing in his jaw. Oh and let me say that this has been there all this time and Greg is required to have an annual dental check up and no one has ever noticed this problem until now. Makes me wonder about the dentists who have treated him in the past.

Ugh

2010-06-12T10:05:00.003-05:00

So maybe I shouldn't have been so happy to move on from the PIO to the progesterone suppositories. I have been pretty sick since Thursday, when I woke up feeling bad and it got progressively worse throughout the day. I couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong until late Thursday night when I started having a lot of stomach/bowel cramping. The bad part about that kind of cramping is that it often feels a lot like uterine cramping and it scared the bejeezus out of me. I haven't had any spotting, so that is quite a relief. I will spare you most of the ugly details but needless to day, I've had diarrhea and terrible gas and stomach cramping ever since. I did manage to make it to work yesterday because I was feeling a little better and had a short shift, made even shorter when the boss let me go half an hour early. But then I spent half the night in the bathroom again and this morning after eating some toast, my stomach is hurting again. I read that these symptoms are all possible side effects from the progesterone suppositories, apparently caused not by the progesterone but by the base they use to form the suppository. If my body does not adjust by tomorrow, I will be calling my doctor for advice. Meanwhile, I've been drinking a lot of water and sports drinks to stay hydrated. Have any of you ever experienced these types of side effects while on progesterone suppositories? And I thought those shots were bad! Silly me!

Goodbye PIO, hello Wyatt!

2010-06-09T09:09:00.003-05:00

Yesterday brought a couple of milestones for me. Last night I got my last pregesterone injection and today I started my suppositories. It was great to know that I don't have to deal with those shots anymore, though they were a small price to pay. Tonight, I get my very last Estrdiol shot and that's it for shots! I can't tell you how glad I am to be at this point. Hopefully, these knots in my back side will go away soon. In two weeks, I'll be off the progesterone completely and I'll be at 12 weeks, another milestone to look forward to.
And, even more exciting and wonderful news -- my great nephew, Wyatt, made his debut yesterday. He is a perfectly healthy, precious boy and my nephew and his wife couldn't be happier or more proud. Being so far away from all the excitement made me even more homesick than normal. I wish so badly that I could be there to hold that little baby. I have seen some pictures and from what I can tell Wyatt looks just like his daddy. My nephew was the most precious, angelic looking little boy ever and I hope I get to see him again (through adult eyes this time around) in Wyatt. What a wonderful thing to be a "great aunt!" I can't wait to get home next month to see my family and to meet my great nephew face to face.
Another milestone today -- I'm at 10 weeks today and doing my best to make sure Wyatt gets a little playmate this winter. I'm feeling great and can't wait to see how things are going in there at our next appointment on June 19.

A little dream

2010-06-07T16:56:00.002-05:00

How much stock do you put into your dreams? I have had some seriously crazy dreams since becoming pregnant. For example, I dreamed that I was in a very, ahem, provocative episode of CSI NY with Gary Sinese (not my ideal man by the way, but hey, I can't help what I dream), then I dreamed that I was drinking a very large, very tasty, very cold German beer out of a giant frosty mug and it was the very best thing I'd ever drank (and I don't even really like beer that much) and I dreamed that my Italian friend Daisy was giving me glass after glass of the most delicious wine I'd ever tasted. Do you see a trend here, people? Sex, beer and wine -- all things I can't (or couldn't have).
But the odd dream that stands out the most is the one where I was in labor and I showed up at the hospital to find that my co-worker Holly was my OB.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her.
"I work here on the weekends. You know, I work Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at Tal.bots, Tuesdays and Thursdays at the flower shop and on the weekends I deliver babies for fun."
"Well you aren't touching me! I want a real doctor!"
And, so it was a big joke when I told everyone at work about this dream. Everyone thought the idea of Holly delivering babies was absolutely absurd.
But then the dream started to make sense. I asked my RE to recommend an OB and he told me about a group of doctors that he respects and thinks I would get along great with. The catch? All the docs in the group, except for one, are women and I prefer a male doctor.
"I want him to be like you, Dr. London -- wise and experienced with gray hair," I said.
Dr. London laughed and said, "well, the little bit of hair Dr. Carter has left is gray but he's not like me -- he's skinny." ha ha. That Dr. London cracks me up.
So, I go to work and tell the girls about the recommendation and, of course, I ask if anyone knows anything about this Dr. Carter? And, Holly is the first to pipe up -- "he's my doctor. I love him! He's wonderful!" And, she goes on and on listing all the reasons Dr. Carter is her favorite doctor ever.
So, I start to think to myself -- maybe if you dream that Holly is your OB, it means you should look into seeing Holly's OB.
Today, I gave his office a call. After explaining my situation the lady on the phone asked the magic question -- what insurance do you have? Well, guess what? Dr. Carter doesn't take that insurance. Oh no! But, sometimes he makes exceptions particularly if a colleague has referred a patient to him. So, this nice lady tells me she'll talk with the doctor and call me back. About 20 minutes later, I have an appoinment for June 30 with Dr. Carter.
I can't tell you how excited I am about this because I have a feeling I'm really going to like this doctor and I feel like all signs were pointing in his direction. Have you ever had a dream that led you to an important decision?

That's alright now, Mama

2010-06-04T10:27:00.002-05:00

Here's a picture from our ultrasound this morning. Our little bean measured 9weeks1day, which is great and had a strong heartbeat of 150 beats per minute. Isn't it amazing how much he/she has changed in two weeks?
The doc is happy with everything and I am happy that I will be able to stop all injections next Wednesday and then two weeks of progesterone suppositories and then I'll be home free, off all meds except the vitamins.
We go back in two weeks to our RE for our last visit and then we graduate to a regular OB. I asked today if this is a high risk pregnancy and my doc said -- not really, but when anyone hears that you conceived this pregnancy through a frozen embryo transfer, they are going to go bonkers. So beware."
Funny guy, that doctor.
Greg said the bean looks like a little space man, but I think it looks more like a cartoon baby Elvis with a little pompador hair do. I imagine he's in there singing "That's alright now, Mama."
I know, I'm a little nuts.

Another reason to celebrate and a question about the telling

2010-06-01T09:15:00.003-05:00

We had another reason to celebrate last week when my husband found out that he made his next rank. It has been a long time coming and I'm very proud of him. He found out Thursday morning so that evening we went out to dinner and then on Sunday we had all of his co-workers over for burgers and dogs and beer. Everyone seemed to have a good time. It was sort of strange to entertain after so many months of near isolation here, but it felt good to have people in our house again.
I'm still feeling pretty good, still no nausea. We can't wait until our next ultrasound appointment on Friday to see how things are going in there. I am happy to be this far along (nine weeks tomorrow) and looking forward to being done with this first trimester because I think getting to that milestone will help me to feel more at ease and more confident in the pregnancy. I have been debating on whether to go ahead and make my big facebook announcement after this next appointment if all goes well or to wait until we're at 12 weeks. I know many people we know are going to be shocked to find out our news. Which brings me to another topic I've been thinking a lot about lately. Do you think it is more difficult to tell infertile friends that you're finally pregnant? I do. We were very good friends with a couple back in Italy and they were never able to have children (though they never pursued ART). When the husband called last week to tell Greg congrats, I told him about our pregnancy. I could sort of hear his voice crack as he said, "that's wonderful. Wow. That is just great news," and then he quickly said his goodbyes. I know that feeling, I've had those same pangs of hurt and jealousy when others have told me about their pregnancies. But, I don't remember feeling that way when my infertile friends found success (only the blissfully ignorant fertiles seem to bother me). I've always felt buoyed by the happy announcements of other infertiles. To me, it has always been reassurance that it can actually happen. But I know everyone doesn't feel that way. There are a few other infertile friends that we haven't told yet and I can't help but wonder how they will react to our news. Any thoughts on this subject?

Decision made

2010-05-25T17:12:00.004-05:00

After contacting the fellowship program and getting some answers to my questions (no, maternity leave would not affect certification and yes, I can apply in the future) and a very long discussion over lunch with Greg, I decided to go with my gut and decline the offer to join the fellowship program.
So it was a little ironic when I received a recognition of excellence certificate in the mail yesterday from ETS that stated my score was in the top 15 percent of test takers this year and in years prior for the English Language Literature and Composition Content exam. Then, this morning, I received notification that I also passed the Pedagogy exam.
But I don't have any regrets about my decision. I spoke with the coordinator today and she expressed her understanding for my situation and said the committee hopes that I will apply for the program next year or in the future. It was really nice to hear someone say such wonderful things about me.
I still think teaching may be my future and I am content with my choice. After all, the opportunity to become a teacher will always be there. For now, though, I'm focused on this pregnancy and doing my very best to take care of myself and enjoy the moment.

A little ironic

2010-05-24T08:24:00.002-05:00

Isn't it a little ironic that the moment I decided to stop waiting around to be pregnant and start pursuring a new career, I became pregnant? Or maybe it's just me?
What I'm talking about, of course, is the fact that I decided to throw my hat in the ring for this teaching fellows position -- where if you agree to teach in a low performing, poor school for a year, they give you the training you need to earn a teaching certificate in one year. I went after it whole heartedly and earnestly because I felt like I was really just sitting in quicksand as far as my life and my career were concerned. I was very excited about the prospect of becoming a teacher. I even found myself telling a co-worker, "if we never have children, I think I'll try to become a DODDS teacher and we'll move back to Italy or maybe Greece or Germany after Greg retires and he can work at the base golf course like he's always wanted."
I don't think I'd ever allowed myself to say those words before "if we never have children" and there I was, putting it at the beginning of a sentence that sounded, well, sort of hopeful for the future. After those words tumbled out of my mouth, I was a little dumbfounded. Was I beginning to be able to move past our infertility?
A little background: I went to school to be a journalist and did that job for a long time, but after we moved to Italy in 2005, I found myself working as a substitute teacher and I really enjoyed it and I assumed I'd be pregnant soon so I wasn't worried about my career. I was looking forward to being a stay at home mom. Of course, that didn't quite work out the way I'd hoped. After moving back to the states last year, I was hopeful that I could find work in my field or a related field like public relations. But this is a "who do you know?" kind of town and I don't know anyone. So, the prospect of a career change began to look better and better to me, especially when I found out that starting teacher pay here is about $40,000 a year. That might not sound like a lot to some people, but it's a lot to me. I never made more than $30,000 a year as a reporter and that was only for a short period of time before I got married.
So, I delved into studying for the PRAXIS exams and I went to an interview event dressed in my best and did a mock lesson on foreshadowing in front of a bunch of strangers and held my ground in a group discussion about teacher quality as it relates to student performance. In the one-on-one interview, I felt like I really connected with the principal and answered all the questions to the best of my ability and lo and behold on Friday, they offered me a chance to become a Louisiana Teaching Fellow.
So here I am on Monday morning, still unsure of what to do. I feel like it would be a great opportunity for me to make a career change and this is the most direct and cheapest way for me to become a teacher, though there are plenty of other programs out there at local colleges and universities. I also feel like I have the potential to be really good at this job. I'm sure that the challenges of working in a poor performing school would prepare me to be able to teach anywhere and I'd probably learn a lot about myself in the process.
But at the same time, I know the work would be intense, stressful, demanding and all-consuming. And that scares me. After all we've been through to achieve a pregnancy, I'm not willing to intenionally put myself in such a high-pressure situation. Plus, part of the program requires the teachers to do a certain amount of hours in the classroom in order to qualify for the teaching certificate at the end of the year. If I go out on maternity leave, would I still qualify? This is a question I really don't have the answer to.
Greg encouraged me to call the fellowhip program and find out, but I felt like I had already made my choice -- that I would decline the offer based on the fact that I'm pregnant. But I woke up this morning (today is my deadline to decide) feeling like I might be making the wrong choice.
I have always wanted to be a stay at home mom, at least until my child starts school. My husband's job provides well for us right now. But I have lots of worries about the cost of raising a child and I think about how that teacher salary would sure help us pay off our debts and buy a lot of cute little baby stuff and maybe help us start saving for our next home.
If I don't take the job, would they ever consider me for the program in the future? I have no idea. And, then, there's always that little voice inside that says, "what if you lose the pregnancy and you've turned down the fellowship?" But I have to err on the side of caution, the side of hope, right?
I guess this just goes to show that a lot of things are certainly out of our control. Who would have guessed that I'd be sitting here today trying to make this decision?

The most beautiful sound in the world

2010-05-21T10:15:00.003-05:00

Just a quick post before I head into work. Our ultrasound appointment went well this morning. We have one little baby in there measuring 7weeks1day, which is right on target and we got to see that beautiful little flikering heart and we got to hear it. It was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. For once, Greg was rendered speechless. We go back in two weeks, since this little miracle is from a frozen transfer we stick with our RE for a bit longer than normal, which is fine by me because to tell the truth, I'm a little nervous about a new doctor since I've never seen an OB/GYN here in Louisiana.
Here is our picture, and though it is not very clear on here, it was perfectly clear on the screen. Dr. London, the other RE in the practice, did the scan and he said this was a picture of "baby with balloon," since the baby is on the left and that little Cheerio looking thing on the right is the yolk sac. The line between the two is the makings of an umbillical cord. Pretty amazing stuff.

Almost there

2010-05-20T10:59:00.002-05:00

Perhaps this has been the longest two weeks of my life. And, I've had a lot of long two weeks, my friends. But the wait between our first and second ultrasounds has proven to be longer than any post-IVF wait, it's been longer than any "my husband will be home in two weeks" wait, it has certainly been longer than the "in two weeks we move to _________" wait and any two-week notice I've ever given. It's just the longest two weeks ever. And yet here we are on the eve of our second ultrasound.
Greg is uber excited. Last night while watching television he looks at me and says "only 35 more hours."
"Huh?" I said, thinking he was referring to something on CSI New York.
"35 more hours until we hear heartbeats," he said.
My husband is the eternal optomist. His glass is always half full -- of beer -- no less. He's a jolly, happy guy and he always sees the best in people and situations. So of course, he thinks that other little sac has had a growth spurt and will show up on the ultrasound tomorrow as a surprise to our doctor, but not to Greg because he knew all along.
And, while I have a sense that things are going well, I'm not willing to make such predictions. I feel good, I haven't had any spotting and though I've had some interesting twinges and pulls in that area, I have read that is completely normal. My pregnancy symptoms that I listed last week are still there, though, thankfully, I have not experienced any nausea. I am hopeful that all is well in there, but terrified that this sense of well-being is premature and that I could be wrong.
Yet I can't wait to get in there and to see(and hear?)what's going on. Though these past two weeks have been long and time has seemed to crawl by, there have been moments when I've found myself happy to be in this prolonged state of ignorance. I've always been one who believes in living in the moment and enjoying each moment. But infertility has taken some of that away from me because it's very difficult to live in the moment when you're always planning what your next move should be or looking ahead to the next cycle or, even worse, reflecting on the last failure. I feel like this pregnancy has given me a little bit of my old self back. I've truly enjoyed each moment of this journey so far, even during the longest two weeks ever.

A day to celebrate

2010-05-13T10:57:00.004-05:00

My husband is coming home today. It's only been 18 days since he left, but it feels like so much longer. We've done deployments and long separations before, but I don't think I have ever been so excited to see him as I am today.
To finally have him here to share the joy and the worry and the host of other emotions is going to be such a relief to me.
Last night, I made Julia Child's coq au vin (chicken in red wine) with braised onions and sauteed mushrooms to have tonight in celebration and this morning I baked a cake. We'll be celebrating Greg's birthday, albeit belatedly, and our good news. We have so much to catch up on, even though Greg hasn't been gone that long.
And, no more giving myself those dreaded PIO shots. My backside looks like someone beat me with a meat tenderizer! In fact, for the last week or so, I've been counting down to his return not in days but in number of shots left to give myself. Last night seemed a small victory when I pushed that last shot in.
My mother said it should only take a couple of days after Greg gets home for the smell to reach the East Coast. "What smell?" I asked. "The stench of one very spoiled rotten pregnant wife!" ha ha ha. My mama knows my husband pretty well, I think.

Sinking in

2010-05-10T10:17:00.002-05:00

The fact that I am actually pregnant is starting to sink in, a little. Three symptoms have appeared (one more recently than the others) and serve as constant little reminders.
Number one: I have to pee all the time. By that, I mean constantly -- four or five times during the night. For a woman who has always prided myself on my ability to "hold it," this new phenomenon has been quite a revelation. It's an annoying yet somehow comforting symptom that reminds me (every 30 mins or so) that this is real.
Number two: I'm sleepy. What I mean by that is I now take naps. I have not napped like this since college when it seemed I was always exhausted. On the days that I work, I do not get to take a nap, so this means I try to hide my yawns from my coworkers (who just laugh and say "you just wait, this is nothing!") and I fall asleep in front of the TV by 8 p.m.
Number three: The most recent symptom developed over the past few days. I am hungry. Often. For example, last night, I had dinner around 7 p.m. By 10 p.m. I was in the bed reading when my stomach began to cry out for more food. I got up, got a snack and went back to reading. Greg called. "Are you in bed?" he asked. "Yes, I'm reading," I said, with my mouth full of granola. "Are you eating?" he said. "Yea, I was hungry... so what," I said. "In BED? You're eating in bed?" and this was followed by my husband's familiar laugh. I have to admit. I was a little embarrassed. Obviously, eating in bed is something I never do.
Like many women who experience infertility, it has been difficult for me to grasp the fact that we actually achieved pregnancy with this last cycle. It feels wrong of me to think past the day at hand, that somehow I might jinx this stroke of good luck and that at any moment the other shoe might fall and it will all be over. I even pause as I write about these symptoms of early pregnancy because somewhere in my craziness, I think that writing about them might make them disappear. I read this post and though it is quite long, parts of it are very insightful. Here's a bit that explains where I am at right now:
"Patients anticipating moving on from the distress of infertility and reveling in the joy of pregnancy, may instead find that they have entered challenging new medical and emotional territory. The anxiety of, “Will this work?” shifts to, “Will this pregnancy last?” Many women say that they feel numb, and do not allow themselves to trust their bodies to work properly, sustain a viable pregnancy and produce a healthy child after so many disappointments. While they go through the motions associated with early pregnancy after infertility, checking blood levels, undergoing sonograms and repeated contacts with the fertility clinic, some women protect themselves against the pain of possible loss by being cautiously optimistic, at best." And, later, a statement that struck a chord in me. "There may be disappointment that infertility has robbed them the blissful ignorance of risks that those who did not experience infertility may enjoy."
I don't have the luxury of blissful ignorance, and because of that, my family and friends have made statements like, "you don't seem very excited," or "why do you always say "if"? (as in "if we hear a heartbeat at our next ultrasound I will feel more comfortable sharing the news with more people.") And I can't really explain it to them because if you haven't been down this crappy road, you probably wouldn't understand anyway.
I guess that's all for today. Just wanted to share some of my thoughts. I know that many of you have or will experience similar feelings so I thought I would share, because it has always been comforting to me to read a blog that makes me say -- "wow, I feel that same way. At least I'm not the only crazy one out there."

One ... or maybe two?

2010-05-07T10:33:00.007-05:00

So my ultrasound this morning went well. Dr. V saw one sac measuring 4.8 mm in diameter. What a relief!! He also saw another sac that is very small and Dr. V said he doesn't expect that one to make it. We go back in two weeks for another ultrasound. I can't help but hope we hear two heartbeats at that next appointment, no matter how unlikely it seems.
Here's a picture of the larger sac.

Trying to avoid the undertow

2010-05-03T10:33:00.003-05:00

It's difficult to put into words the emotions I've been feeling these past few days. Since we got our BFP, I've been calm on the surface but underneath, I'm more like a swirling undercurrent made of equal parts eleation and worry.
Even though I am trying to think positive thoughts and not worry, those dark little thouhts sneak into my head. I try to banish those thoughts and they will go away for a while, but then they regroup and attack again.
I thought of buying some pregnancy tests this weekend for reassurance as I wait for the ultrasound, but decided against it. Instead, I decided to have faith that all is well in there.
It has been a lonely few days here for me with Greg gone and no real friends here. I spent the weekend working, doing a little gardening and a little shopping and consulting with Dr. Google, who doesn't know nearly enough. I did go out to dinner with a coworker on Saturday night, which was a total surprise. She even treated me a piece of Key Lime pie to celebrate my good news.
Yesterday my neighbor offered to mow the grass and that is a relief since I wasn't about to get out there and mow it myself (even though I'm sure it couldn't hurt anything. If something should go wrong in the future, I don't want to have to mentally beat myself up for doing something like mowing grass).
I haven't really experienced any symptoms yet. My breasts are tender, but they have been for a few weeks now. Yesterday, I couldn't think of one thing I wanted to eat even though I was hungry, but I'm not sure if that's a symptom or a result of having to eat every meal (except that one on Saturday night) alone for the past week. I hope that time will pass a little more quickly for me this week as I anticipate the ultrasound on Friday.

Good news

2010-04-30T19:35:00.003-05:00

Beta number two is in: 195

We are relieved and happy to see that we had a 150 percent increase. And, I have a sonogram scheduled in one week. My poor husband who has been present at EVERY sonogram appointment during three fresh IVF cycles and this last frozen cycle will still be out of town, but he said he'll try his best to work something out so that he can be here. It is still very surreal to me and especially to Greg, who feels like he missed the best part. My family is unbelievably excited. I am cautiously optimistic, of course, because I have to be.

I plugged my numbers in the HCG calculator and this is what it looks like.

What IF it never works?

2010-04-29T17:31:00.003-05:00

I’ve been thinking a lot this week about the “what ifs” in my life. I felt inspired to write about the What Ifs in honor of National Infertility Awareness Week April 24-May 1. The idea of hundreds of bloggers sharing their most intimate thoughts and feeling s regarding their own personal “what ifs” makes me a little weepy. I was a newspaper reporter. I know the power of the printed word. And, so in the spirit of unity within this beautiful community of women (and men) who share publically their own personal journeys, I am writing (or rambling, as the case may be) about the “what if” that scares me the most. What if it never works?
The Reader’s Digest version of this past week is this – On Sunday, six days after a final stab at IVF success via a frozen embryo transfer, I took a home pregnancy test and it was negative and I found myself angry that I’d actually gotten my hopes up high enough to experience another devastating let down. On Monday, I talked for a couple of hours to one of my best friends, who had her own harrowing journey through secondary infertility.
“What now?” she asked, because she knows that I’ve always got a plan (more tests or another round of IVF).
“I don’t know,” I said. “I honestly don’t know.”
I felt like I was closing a book that had a very dissatisfying and unhappy ending. It read something like this – girl meets boy, girl laughs, girl loves, boy tells girl he has low sperm count, girl doesn’t care because she knows she can’t live without him and they get married. Boy and girl move to Italy. Girl decides it’s time to try to make a baby. Boy sees urologist. Urologist says natural conception is out of the question. Boy agrees to try one cycle of IVF. Planes, trains and automobiles take boy and girl over the ocean to American doctors. Round One is a gigantic failure. Time passes. Girl talks boy into one more try. Another trip, another heartbreaking failure. Boy and girl move back to the states and promptly find new doctor. IVF Round Three seems so hopeful, new protocol, new doctor and, miraculously, blastocysts. Round Three is a bust, except for a small glimmer of hope --three frozen embryos. Doc transfers two blasts, pats girl on shoulder and says, “you’ve done all you can do.” Girl takes home pregnancy test and gets a negative. Boy and girl are crushed. The end.
But, thankfully, that wasn’t exactly the end. On Tuesday, another test showed a faint positive. On Wednesday I heard the words I was pretty sure I would never hear – “Your pregnancy test was positive.” I got to say words I never thought I’d say, “honey, we’re pregnant.”
Though my heart soared with the news, there is always the worry that something will go wrong. But I keep telling myself that worry is wasteful. What will be, will be.
Yet, the what ifs drift through my mind. What if my number doesn’t double on my next test? What if I miscarry? What if we have to start all over? What if after all this, we’re still not parents?
It would be difficult to give anyone insight into what infertility does to you. It makes you a person that you sometimes don’t recognize. It turns your insides out and your outsides in. It befuddles you, it mocks you, it angers you, it saddens you. It is truly a never ending internal battle. And, unfortunately, for couples like us the only way to fight it is with high-tech treatment that costs so much that if you think about it for too long, it will turn your stomach. How much have we spent? Don’t speak it. Don’t even think it. It’s water under the bridge, there’s no way to go back. We can only go forward.
Infertility is heartbreak. Infertility is not merely a diagnosis; it’s an emotional wrecking ball. It’s a physical disease that metastasizes, spreading from your reproductive organs straight to your brain, your heart, your soul. Then, it starts to infect the people who love you the most – your family, your friends.
My mother wailed when I told her the good news on the phone. It was a messy, loud, old-lady cry. It came from somewhere so deep down inside, a place of so much hope and so much hurt, that it was beyond recognition. You see, along the way, my mother has felt this emotional wrecking ball’s damage, too. Infertility seeps beyond the confines of a marriage, into the lives of others and it affects everyone it comes in contact with. That’s why, when we got positive results this week, my boss took me into her arms and cried with me. Infertility is an equal opportunity offender.
Infertility is not what you see on TV. Infertility is not Jon and Kate Plus 8 or Octomom. Infertility doesn’t look like that in real life. Despite what sensational television programs might have Americans believe, real infertility is usually something experienced between a husband and a wife. In real life, infertility is millions of sad stories, millions of failures, and thousands of miracles. I say that because, according to RESOLVE, more than 7.3 million Americans are infertile and according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, assisted reproductive technologies account for slightly more than 1 percent of total U.S. births. In 2006 about 35 percent of cycles in the U.S. in which women underwent IVF and embryo transfer with their own eggs resulted in the live birth of at least one infant. Those odds are pretty heartbreaking.
Yet here we are, pinning all our hopes and dreams on the chance that this time, the odds might have worked in our favor. The heartbreaks of the past will fall away when we bring home a happy healthy baby. Until then, the “what ifs” will always be there. But, I have hope that someday soon, I’ll be able to lay those awful “what ifs” down and begin to ask myself some new questions, like what if… this is the last time I ever have to think about what infertility is and I can start thinking about what it is not? It is not a baby growing inside of you. It is not a happy, healthy pregnancy; it is not a tiny infant in my arms… what if this is finally it?

Beta results

2010-04-28T18:37:00.003-05:00

We're a little bit pregnant! The magic number was 78.

It seems awfully low to me, but my nurse said it's a good number. Next beta is Friday morning.

This is surreal.

What a difference a day makes

2010-04-27T08:49:00.002-05:00

Maybe I should have digested the BFN on that first test a little longer before I blogged about it. I really didn't mean to come off so negative, but it was just one of those days.
Do not fear, my fellow bloggers. I haven't gone off the deep end... yet. Besides, there is new hope today. The test I took this morning showed a very, very faint second pink line.
Tomorrow, the mystery will be solved and we'll find out whether that faint line is a figment of my grand imagination, or if it actually indicates something. Since I'm all alone here I didn't have anyone to examine the stick with me. I showed it to Brody (my Pug) but he just wanted to lick the stick. Yuk.
I have to work tomorrow until closing. I'm still trying to decide if I want the nurse to call me at work with the results or leave me a voicemail so that if the news is bad, I can at least get through the day without having any sort of meltdown in front of my co-workers or our customers. Of course, if it's good news, I'd love to have someone to share it with in person.

Broken glass

2010-04-26T11:42:00.003-05:00

On Easter Sunday, one of the mirrors in our bathroom fell off the wall, hit the counter and shattered into about a million pieces.
"Well, you know what this means," I said. "Seven years of bad luck."
"No. You didn't break it, it just broke on its own," our friend Anthony said.
But, somehow I doubted that Luck cares about that small detail.
Not that I'm superstitious, mind you.
Fast-forward to Sunday morning, when I carried out my plan to take a home pregnancy test before Greg left for his three-week class. I dreamed that I was waving a test stick in his face and saying -- "two pink lines. I have never had two pink lines!" and, in my dream, my husband gave me a blank look and asked, "do I have a zit on my back?" and turned around so I could inspect. I went bonkers. I was hitting him on his back and saying "you are such an IDIOT! Do you know what two pink lines mean? It means I'm pregnant!"
I'm ashamed to say I took this as some sort of premonition. But that was just a dream. In reality, only one pink line appeared and my husband didn't act like an idiot and say something stupid. He just wrapped me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
I bought a box of three tests, but was too disheartened to try again this morning, though maybe I'll work up the courage to give it a go tomorrow.
Meanwhile, the black space on the wall where the mirror once lived seemed to mock me. Seven more years of this shit? I don't think I can take it.

To pee or not to pee?

2010-04-21T15:46:00.003-05:00

That is the question I've been asking myself all day. It's probably Trinity's fault over at Three is a Magic Number because hers was the first post I read this morning. I was so happy to read that she peed and got a positive result that it got me to thinking, "hey maybe I should do that."
I never even considered the whole POAS question in my first two IVFs. I just knew they hadn't worked. So, the beta results came as no surprise to me.
But our third try had me a little more hopeful (since we had blasts) and I took a home pregnancy test two days before my beta. Negative, of course. By the morning of our Beta, I had started spotting and I knew that it was not to be.
Now, this is my first FET ever and I have to tell you ladies, I am feeling very different than after my fresh cycle transfers. First of all, no cramping. On the day of transfer, I had some slight cramping after peeing. But, yesterday and today -- all clear no cramps.
Second of all, no constipation. In each previous IVF, I suffered from severe constipation. I was so miserable. I can't even really describe it. I was under the impression that it was a result of PIO, but I've been on the PIO for quite some time now and no problems. So, I guess it was the anesthesia alone that made me so miserable.
Third, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to describe this accuratley, but I have an overall sense of well-being. Now, I'm not saying that indicates pregnancy. I'm merely pointing it out because it is the antithesis of what I remember feeling in the past. I remember feeling worried, nervous, anxious, dreadful. But, I don't feel that way today and I didn't feel that way yesterday. In fact, I'd say I'm feeling calm, serene...peaceful even. And it's sort of odd.
Now, back to the question at hand. To pee or not to pee?
Greg leaves for his three-week class in Texas on Sunday. My beta is set for Wednesday and really, I'd like to know either way before he leaves. It's probably better not to be alone when you get the news, for better or for worse.
So I'm considering taking a test on Sunday morning. Dr. Sher, on his IVF Authority blog, says betas for FETs should begin one week after transfer. So, Sunday would be one day shy of a week for me. Any thoughts?
I'll let you know what I decide.

The only road

2010-04-20T10:54:00.002-05:00

Our transfer went well. We lost one of our three embryos in the thaw, but the other two survived and Dr. V said they were good quality. Their grades were 5AB and 3AA. Our transfer was scheduled for 1 p.m. but there were some delays and the actual transfer didn't take place until about 2:30 p.m. The clinic had one egg retrieval and five transfers yesterday, which is very unusual for my small clinic.
I told Greg that the mood somehow seemed different than when we had our transfer after our fresh cycle. Then, Dr. V seemed far more hopeful. I remember, he patted my shoulder on his way out of the room that day and said "you've got a really good chance this time." But yesterday, he patted my shoulder and said "you've done all that you can do." Before, we got a picture of our embryos and yesterday, we didn't get a picture. But we are still hopeful. Just before we went into the OR, Greg took my face in his hands, looked me in my eyes and uttered a most unexpected thing "Here we go again on our own, going down the only road we've ever known," he sang very quietly. Which, just made me burst out laughing. Add that to the list, ladies. You know the one -- the List of Reasons Why I Adore My Husband.
As we waited our turn in our little curtained cubicle, we could hear the other couples nearby and I couldn't help but think about how many people out there are just like us, though most of the time we feel so alone in our infertility.
As I was resting after the transfer, Dr. V consulted with the couple behind the curtain next to us. Their embryos were of such poor quality that Dr. V was planning to transfer all five. He then told the couple, in a very kind but very matter of fact manner, that they should begin to look into egg donation if they wanted to pursue a future IVF. I swear I could hear that woman's heart breaking right there beside me.
I wanted to tell her that I was sorry, that I knew what it felt like to be told that your own eggs aren't good enough (our previous RE had recommended donor eggs for future cycles). I really wanted to go hug this woman and to cry with her. But what could I do? I was still belly down waiting for my hour to be up so I just prayed for her. I prayed for her poor quality embryos, I prayed for her to somehow become a mother.
And I suppose that's the same prayer I've been saying for myself. Last time, I willed my entire body to "welcome" the embryos. This time, I just watched the ultrasound screen and thought about all the times I'd been there before and how I really hope I won't have to be there again.
My BETA is scheduled for next Wednesday.

2010-04-19T08:46:00.002-05:00

We have arrived at our transfer day with little fanfare. My uterine lining has been nicely prepped and measured 12 mm last Monday so that was my last ultrasound, though I did go in for blood work on Friday.
I told Nurse Cindy that every IVF cycle should be as easy as an FET. Sometimes I even forget I'm doing a cycle and that never happens with IVF, as most of you who read this well know.
So, today is the day that we try to salvage something good from our third round of IVF. I had an e-mail message from my friend B this morning wishing us luck and offering her prayers. B can finally see a light at the end of her infertility journey -- she and her husband will be adopting a baby boy when he is born in May. This follows years of infertility, a half dozen IVFs, numerous miscarriages (including the most recent in March) and the tragic death of her still born daughter. She is so hopeful and so happy to have moved on to adoption.
And I can't help but wonder if maybe we shouldn't do the same thing. I feel like if this FET doesn't work, we need to sit down and have a real conversation about whether we're willing to roll these crappy IVF dice again. Or, is it time to consider other options. For so long, we've said we would cross that bridge when we come to it, but the hard part about that is knowing when you've arrived at the foot of that bridge. Who is to say when it is time to throw in the towel on your own genetic material and start looking for other paths to parenthood?
And still that little glimmer of hope remains for this FET to work, for a pregnancy to begin and grow.
Mama called this morning to wish me luck. The last thing she said was that she would send me two guardian angels.
"Make it two really good ones," I said. "I'm going to need all the help I can get."

The charm

2010-04-15T12:58:00.003-05:00

Mel has a fun little game going on her blog and I joined in. You're supposed to tell something in a comment that is either a big lie or a big truth and readers guess which it is. So, I wrote that I am my husband's third wife. And, that's the honest truth.
What on earth would inspire a woman who had never been married to say "I Do" to a man who had said "I Don't" twice already? Well, he made me laugh. He still does. Every day.
Sometimes, I forget that I'm Greg's third wife, that there were two other women who came before me. That's because he rarely says anything about those marriages and he always makes me feel like I'm the only woman in the world.
I've never questioned his devotion to me or our marriage. He has never made me feel like I was being measured against the memory of the first two wives. And he doesn't really speak ill of them. In fact, we were already married before I ever heard him use the word "bitch" in reference to either of those women and that was when he was telling a friend the story of how Wife No. 2 tried to run over him with his own car.
He has also never denied that his own actions, or inaction, as the case may be, played a role in the failure of those marriages. I know from experience that relationships often develop into something you never intended and that's what happened. He married way to young the first time around and the second time around, he married in a rush as he prepared to deploy. It was a hasty decision that he lived to regret.
The prior marriages were never a secret between us, he told me about them on our second date. I remember exactly what I said then, "You've been married twice?" Well, you must not be any good at it."
But I was wrong about that. He is good at being married, at least he's good at being married to me. Sometimes, I'll ask my husband if I'm a good wife and depending on the mood he's in he'll say "you're the best wife I've ever had," and that always makes me laugh.
One year, my father-in-law send us an anniversary card that simply said "Greg, better late than never. Love, Dad." And, I think he's right.
I tend to think that the reason Greg's marriages failed was because he was meant for me. We have a very simple, happy life (other than the sad, complicated IF) and I really couldn't ask for more in a husband. So, I'm happy to be Wife No. 3. The third time is the charm, after all.

The bubble

2010-04-14T10:23:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, it seems like we put ourselves into a little bubble. I think i'm guilty of that. We don't really have any friends here in Louisiana (my co-workers are great, but they don't really count because I don't see them outside of work) and though I have dear friends all over the place, I rarely pick up the phone to call them.
I've been living in my little friendless bubble for so long now that I think I sort of forgot how wonderful it is to have a friend.
I remembered this weekend when we got to visit with our friend Anna. We fell right into our comfortable, familiar friendship and it was such a healing experience for me -- it was like going home.
But, our time was short and now I'm back here in the bubble. I don't like living in the bubble, but right now, I just don't see how in the world I can pop it. It's not like I can go out and buy a friend at Wal-Mart.
So, I guess for now, I'll just have to do a better job of staying in contact with the old friends, like Anna.
As far as our pending FET, things are going as scheduled. I start PIO tonight, oh joy and go for monitoring on Friday. At my last sono on Monday my uterine lining was already looking very good. Transfer is Monday if all goes as planned.
The thought occurred to me today that there is a possiblity that none of our three embryos will survive the thaw. I hadn't considered that until today and the thought is upsetting. So, I just decided to tuck that worry away for now. Worrying won't help anyway, right?

Feeling fabulous

2010-04-09T08:55:00.002-05:00

I am feeling quite fabulous today. Even though yesterday was a bust with mean customers tormenting me all day long.
But they can't get me down. Not even mean old Mrs. Lewis who comes in like all the other mean old white ladies with her fat black woman helper who has to cater to her every whim. Even though she basically said I was stupid.
And, even though one lady said "why don't you have what I need, little girl?"
And, the other lady said "I hate being this size!" And, I said, "don't feel bad, we're the same size." And she said, "I just hate being this fat. It's so gross!"
Gee, thanks.
Not even the one who said, "No kids? Well, aren't you blessed!"
And why can't they get me down? Because I get to see one of my best friends this weekend! And, her mom, too.
We're heading to Dallas to meet up with my friend Anna and her mom, Diane, and I could not be happier.
We've been through so much together, me and Anna. We arrived in Italy a few days apart from the same place, but we didn't know each other there. So we immediately had a connection -- and in our four years in Italy we went through a hell of a lot of shit together -- deaths of friends, her separation and almost divorce from her husband, my first failed IVF, her having cancer, my second failed IVF, my little dog Lola dying unexpectedly and a whole lot of other stuff that I can't even begin to list. We've seen each other at our best and our worst. During her biopsy surgery, where the surgeon went in under her arm, deflated her lung and grabbed a chunk of the massive tumor in her chest, I waited and worried and prayed in her hospital room and when the word came down that it was cancer, we cried together and drank margaritas and tried to make each other laugh. Scary, scary shit. She handled it all with such grace and a big dose of humor. And, eventually, she beat it. We sang, "ding dong the tumor's dead."
On the day Lola died, she got down on the bathroom floor and cried with me. That's the kind of friend she is.
She always tells people that I'm her best friend, that I helped her pee in a bed pan and that that is a sign of true love and devotion. And she's right. But, when it's my turn to tell people about her, I simply say, she is always there. There holding a broken me on the bathroom floor as I grieved. There to drive me all the way across Germany to see a fertility doctor. There to offer a hug, a glass of wine and hope after another failed attempt at conception. She is always, always, always there.
I haven't seen Anna since we said our reluctant goodbyes at the airport on the day we left Italy back in June. I cried that day, already missing my friend, already missing my home, my life back there in that beautiful place.
But life goes on. We moved on to Louisiana. She and her family are living up in North Dakota. But, as fate would have it, this week she's in Texas, fighting with the Air Force powers that be who have decided that she's not physically able to perform her job anymore and that she must get out.
But we won't worry about that fight this weekend. And we won't worry about embryos or sperm counts or tumors or clots. We'll just enjoy being together again and we'll laugh and we'll remember all the reasons why we're friends. Because let me tell you, there were a lot of bad times over there but there were far more good times.

The monkey wrench

2010-04-07T10:10:00.004-05:00

Turns out, I had a pretty great day yesterday. I planted tomatoes and repotted some flowers and then I went to work, where I had some decent sales and some fun customers (a costume designer for a TV show being filmed here was one of them). And, when I got home Greg was raking up the ugly gray mulch in front of the house so we can put down some pretty red mulch in its place.
I needed to run to Walgreens to pick up a prescription for prenatal vitamins and we needed some milk, so we went to the store and and odd thing happened there.
I told the lady at the pharmacy counter my name, she pulled my little white bag from a bin and took it over to this older guy who I assumed was the pharmacist because he had yelled at her while I was waiting in line because apparently, she was doing something wrong.
And, he looks over a me and yells "are you pregnant?"
I sort of looked around, thinking "is he talking to me?" And, I realized he was.
"No," I managed to blurt out.
He gives me a look and says "are you trying to get pregnant?"
"Yes, for about the last five years," I said.
I didn't get a response from Mr. White coat. And he handed the lady the little bag and she comes over to the register.
"I'm so sorry," she said. And, I wasn't sure if she was apologizing for Mr. White Coat or for our inability to conceive.
"My sister just had a baby and they tried for eight years," she said.
"That's wonderful," I said. "There is hope!"
I paid for the script and the milk and we left.
On the way out Greg asks me, "what kind of medicine did we just pick up?"
"Prenatals."
"Oh. WTF? Why did he ask you that?"
I don't know. Maybe people are abusing prenatals these days? The thought had crossed my mind during our exchange to say "no I'm trying to grow out my fingernails."
I mean, why would you need to ask that? Isn't it fairly obvious?
The whole exchange just irked me. I've never been asked any questions when I picked up a prescription for prenatals. And, I've swallowed a whole hell of a lot of prenatals. There's nothing worse than being asked if you're pregnant when you most certainly are not, no matter how bad you would like to be. It's the same feeling you get at the dentist when before they do the x-rays they ask you if there is any remote chance that you might be pregnant and you have to say no. There is no way in hell that I am pregnant.
Geez. Thank you Mr. White Coat for trowing a monkey wrench into my otherwise fantastic day. I went home and comforted myself with chocolate chip cookies and the new episode of LOST.

The fool

2010-04-02T09:11:00.003-05:00

Well, ladies, it's official. I am the April fool. Or, maybe it's my husband? No I think it's me.
We started our estrogen shots last night and being that he's always given me my shots without incident, I didn't even bother to supervise. I just went about my business making dinner and when he said he had everything all ready, I plopped down on the couch and waited for the torture to begin. Lupron, that's nothing. But, this estrogen is an IM like the PIO, so I knew it wouldn't be very pleasant. Hubby mentions something about this needle looking different from the ones in the past, but this particular drug is a new one for us, so I didn't bother to look at the needle or ask any questions. "Just give me the blasted shot so I can get dinner out of the oven before it burns," I said.
So he did. Only when he pulled the needle out, it hurt like hell and he immediately said don't move and began wiping up a stream of blood that was flowing down my butt cheek.
Turns out, my husband injected me with a mixing needle that has a special little scalpel tip on it!!! "Ummm, honey, that doesn't look like a needle for injecting," I said after taking a closer look at the weapon that had sliced me open and made me bleed like a stuck pig. So, I went to the kitchen and found the other torture devices and read the label -- "ADMIX NEEDLE" it says in big pink letters, which lead me to believe it was a needle made for MIXING not injecting.
"Oh, I didn't see that," he said.
I wasn't angry. I really couldn't get too angry with him since I didn't oversee the process and I left it to him to figure out for himself.
That was just the perfect ending to a perfect day -- earlier in the evening, I pulled my car into the garage with the rear hatch still open and busted out the rear window, and before that I injured my big toe while gardening (don't ask) and I'm hobbling around like an old lady. So I certainly hope that today is better.

I've been bad

2010-03-30T08:41:00.003-05:00

Here we are, knocking on April's door and a few weeks away from our upcoming FET and here I am sitting here at my computer drinking a cup of coffee. Not the decaf stuff I usually switch to a month or so before IVF, the regular kind that lures you out of your bed each morning and says, "hey, maybe today won't be so bad. At least you have me."
A friend once described coffee as her dark mistress, which I think is hilarious and true in a strange sort of way. My favorite line from the animated flick Open Season is when Elliott, the character voiced by Aston Kutcher, finds a cup of coffee in the dumpster. He takes a sip, "Yuck. Yuck. Yuck! It's terrible and wonderful at the same time! It's like freedom in a cup!" And, much to my husband's annoyance, I often quote this line after my first sip in the morning. He doesn't get it because he doesn't like coffee. But, whenever I roll that one out in front of a true coffee lover, they always laugh along with me. It's so true.
So, in other words, I do not want to live without my coffee, but I have given it up from time to time when doing IVF. Most of the time I wean myself off of the good stuff and slowly make the switch from half-caf to decaf.
But, this time, well I just haven't had the motivation -- yet. I have set April 1 as the date that I bid my dark mistress adieu.
My other confession: I've been drinking wine. Not lots of wine, mind you. Just a glass here or there after work or with dinner. And a couple of glasses at a friend's house during dinner over the weekend. It's a nice way to relax sometimes.
It's not that I don't care about this upcoming FET. I do. I mean, if it works, well, that would be a fabulous little miracle and I would not let an ounce of caffeine (or wine for that matter) pass my lips until said miracle is delivered. But this FET is different from IVF in that I'm not actively trying to produce a crapload of high-quality eggs. I'm merely trying to show up on transfer day with a nutrient rich uterine lining and most of my sanity in tact. Therefore, I haven't really been thinking a lot about this cycle. I've been more focused on these darn Praxis exams and formulating back up plans in my mind if this teaching thing doesn't work out.
And, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe because I haven't been dwelling on the pending cycle the pregnancy will be able to sneak up on me. ha ha. Maybe my self-sabotaging brain will take the bait and chase after this mid-life career change instead of chasing it's proverbial tail around and around my FET. And, maybe my body will just do what it's supposed to do -- under the influence of caffeine or not.

How do you feel about Turkey?

2010-03-23T16:15:00.002-05:00

That was the question I posed to Greg today over lunch.
"The country or the bird?" he said.
"The country," I responded, knowing full well that he'd pick roast beef or ham over turkey any day of the week.
"I love it. Why?" he said, giving me one of those I-know-you-are-up-to-something-looks. I should explain here that dear husband has been to Turkey more times than I can count and even though he had a nasty bout of what is commonly known in the military as the Turkish Trots during his last visit (the doc had to make a house call to treat him) he holds no grudge. He loves Turkish food, Turkish architecture and apparently, before he met me of course, Turkish women, who he credits with teaching him the Texas two-step. Don't ask.
"Read this," I said, as I pushed the newest edition of Conceive magazine under his nose. I had picked it up at Dr. V's office, though sometimes I get mad when I read it because it seems to focus a lot on pregnancy and all the things that come after conception rather than what comes before, or maybe it's just me. Either way, it was better than reading Parenthood, which is the only other option in Dr. V's office other than a well-worn copy of Essence that I have already read twice. And, by the way, Essence, you could use a few good copy editors.
The story that caught my eye was about medical tourism, specifically for fertility treatments and it highlights a clinic in Istanbul that apparently offers a package of IVF with ICSI, 17 nights at a four-star hotel, medications, airport transfers, transportation to and from all appointments and concierge services for $5,800. Thank you, sweet Jesus, where do I sign up?
According to Conceive, the doctor at this clinic splits his time between Yale, where he is a professor and director of reproductive and endocrinology and infertility at the Yale University School of Medicine, and Anadolu Hospital in Istanbul where he runs another fertility center. The center reports success rates of 64 percent for women under the age of 35 in non-donor IVF cycles.
And, did I mention that the article says the hospital recently opened a wing that features efficiency apartments for couples undergoing treatment?
I'm no stranger to the idea of seeking treatment outside of the US. We met with an Italian RE when we first started this journey because we were living in Italy. But because of restrictive laws there and some other reasons that I won't go into here, we decided to travel back to the states for treatment. And, at one point, I consulted with a German doctor who probably would have had some good results if we had chosen to cycle with him, but logistically it would have been a nightmare with travel and lodging so we stayed put. One of my dear friends cycled in the Czech Republic and was happy with her doctors and the level of care she received, though it ended with a chemical pregnancy. So, for us, the idea of going to Turkey for another round of IVF doesn't seem to far fetched and for the cost, we could almost do two cycles there compared to what we would pay for one here.
I've been doing a little web investigating and it all looks great. So, who knows? If this frozen cycle doesn't work out, we might take a little vacation to Turkey.

Boy was my face red!

2010-03-22T09:20:00.002-05:00

Being a military spouse has its privellages. For one, we don't pay anything for medications if we get them from the base pharmacy and since we spent the past four years living overseas, we rarely had a reason to go off base to a pharmacy for medications. So, I became very accustomed to walking up to the pharmacy window, showing my ID, picking up my little brown bag and leaving. No payment required. Since our IVF meds usually come in the mail, I haven't really had an occasion to pick up any medications from a civilian pharmacy in a while. So, today, after my ultrasound appointment, I went over to a special compounding pharmacy to pick up a prescription that my doctor had called in. The pharmacist came over to explain the shots to me -- dear Lord it's a big needle -- and when she was done, I took the bag, said thank you and walked out the door. Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Without paying! They had to chase me down. Sad but true. Oh the brain of a poor infertile woman. It just doesn't work right sometimes!
Anyway, $67 later, I'm all set to start this frozen cycle. Nurse Cindy said everything was clear, my ovaries looked good, no cysts or anything. Today we begin Lupron injections.
Oh and I found out late last week that my husband will be going to a three-week long class in Texas at the end of the month, leaving a few days after our transfer. Not sure how I'll manage those progesterone shots without him? Have any of you self-injected those? Seems like it would be difficult. Anyway, the worst part is that he won't be here for the beta results (or his birthday or the day they announce whether he made his next rank). Hopefully, it will be all good news for us and we'll have plenty to celebrate when he gets home.

Lil' box o' meds

2010-03-19T08:50:00.002-05:00

Funny, that title reminds me of when I was a rookie reporter working on the crime beat of a small daily paper near my hometown. The newsroom had no computerized archives, only this archaic system of clipiings filed in the basement. So, if you needed to write a story about a murder trial and you wanted to read the original story from when the murder took place, you had to trudge down there and find the clippings. And, you had to deal with the lady in charge of said clippings -- known as "the evil librarian." It was a terrible headache so I bought a little plastic box and began to keep my own files on each new murder that took place in our fair city. I labled it "box o' murderers" and my co-workers thought it was hilarious.

Anyway. I digress. The point of this post is that I got my little box of medications yesterday. I say little because this box was only about a quarter of the size of our last box, as it only contained Lupron and my all time favorite IVF drug -- progesterone in oil, and of course all the needles and syringes needed to inject said drugs. Another med is being compounded at a local pharmacy to meet my doc's specialized request on the dosage.

So, we're all set. Our first ultrasound is scheduled for Monday morning and away we go. Nurse Cindy will be doing it because Dr. V will still be out of town, but I don't mind because it's not like she's going to be counting follies or anything. She's just taking a look to make sure all is quiet on the western front.

In the mean time, I'm working a lot and studying for the upcoming PRAXIS exam, which I'm not that worried about. I'm confident I can pass the reading and writing parts with no problems. It's the math that gives me trouble. So I'm going to study right now! Stupid fractions!

Oh bother!

2010-03-17T22:36:00.002-05:00

Dear Rowan,
One day I will introduce you to my beloved Winnie the Pooh and you will know the significance of Oh Bother!
I preface this post by saying I just had a huge "discussion" with my dear husband who announced tonight after dinner that he doesn't think I should be pursuing a career change (trying to get into this alternative teacher certification program) while we're in the midst of our frozen cycle.
Geez. Here I am trying to do something positive and he's giving me lip. He thinks I'll be so stressed by the pending PRAXIS exams that it might have a negative impact on our cycle. I told him that maybe having something else to think about during a cycle -- other than the cycle -- would be a good thing.
Anyway. That's neither here nor there because I'm not going to back out of the cycle or the tests. I'll do them both and it will be just fine.
My parents left yesterday and I was so sad to see them leave, but they were happy to be going home. They really missed their grandchildren. Brody is a great little dog, but he can't compare to the seven grandchildren that they normally see several times a week.
The most significant event during my little leave of absence was that my RE's office called to say that he would be going out of town for a few weeks and would not be able to meet with us on the 22nd as planned for a cycle review. I nearly lost it! I really felt like I needed to talk with him about our failed January cycle before moving on to the frozen cycle. So, I called Nurse Cindy, who laughed and said the office ladies were nuts and that she'd work us in before Dr. V left town. And, she did. So, on Thursday before we left for New Orleans, we met with Dr. V.
First of all, he was very sympathetic concerning our failed cycle. "I know you're frustrated," he said. And, we are, but it's more than that at this point. We're just tired. We're exhausted.
Next, he told us that proceding with the frozen cycle is the next logical step for us, though he gave us the stats on frozen vs. fresh and how much better fresh is.
Then, he told us that if we do not conceive on this upcoming frozen cycle, that we will have moved from a diagnosis of male factor to the lovely diagnosis of "unexplaiend infertility." Great.
When we first met Dr. V, he told us he was willing to try an IVF cycle with us, but would caution us that if it didn't work, he probably wouldn't be willing to go for a fourth. But, he said that he saw so much improvement in egg quality and quantity that he would advise a fourth fresh cycle -- but before proceding he would require me to go through more extensive genetic testing to see if there is something in there that's causing the "unexplained" part of our infertility.
The good news is that our three frozen embryos -- which are one day older than the ones we transferred (6 day blasts) are good quality. One was even a higher quality than the two we transferred (which was not the case on the day of transfer, obviously, but the extra day allowed this one to progress to a better quality). So that is good news. And, Dr. V talked to us about how a uterus prepared for a frozen cycle can be much better than one prepared during a fresh, because of the high hormone levels and all that jazz. So, with my system all "quiet" and our top notch embryos, maybe this will be the cycle that finally gets us to you, Rowan.

Gearing up

2010-03-10T08:25:00.003-06:00

Dear Rowan,
I've been so busy with my parents here that I've not had time to write lately. But things are progressing nonetheless. I started my bc pills and antibiotics as the prelude to our upcoming frozen cycle.
Nurse Cindy guesses our transfer will be on or around April 19.
With IF treatments, the timing is never very convenient. I've been putting all my efforts into transforming my life -- applying for an alternative teacher certification program that would put me in the classroom in the fall as a first-year teacher -- and applying for a ton of jobs in case that doesn't work out. I told Greg that it will be just my luck to get accepted into the program and then find out I'm pregnant. Of course, I would not complain one bit!!
Anyway, we will probably be heading to New Orleans tomorrow, which is exciting.
I hope all you blog friends out there don't think I've forgotten about you!

2010-03-05T07:21:00.005-06:00

Dear Rowan,
I'm a little late on Show and Tell this week, I guess. But, I'll share anyway. Here's the link to Mel's Show and Tell if anyone out there would like to join the party. This is a picture of Brody when he was just a little pup with all his friends gathered in his bed.

This picture always makes me think of that song, "I get by with a little help from my friends." That certainly is true for me. Even though my friends are far flung and most of them I haven't seen in almost a year -- they still help me get through with their phone calls and e-mails.
And, now, I have several supportive "friends" that follow this blog and they have all been very kind to me.
So, I think Brody was on to something when he surrounded himself with all of his friends. Sometimes, we all need to lean on our friends and family.
My parents are here now. They arrived yesterday and it is so good to see them and have them here. I am so looking forward to coming home from work today because my house won't be empty! I'll have my mom, my dad and Brody here to welcome me. Such a great feeling!

On my mind

2010-03-01T13:36:00.003-06:00

Dear Rowan,
I guess I'm starting to sound a little like Willie Nelson, but it's true that you are always on my mind. The idea of you sort of hangs like a backdrop on the stage of my life. Various scenes play out, some happy, some sad, some mundane, some thrilling and yet, always, there you are.
So, that's where I find myself today as I prepare for my parents to visit. It will be the first time they've visited us here in Louisiana. The trip they had planned in October was cancelled when my mother became very sick and ended up in the hospital.
We all made a last-minute decision for them to fly in on Thursday, after looking at the calendar and agreeing that this would be the best time for everyone. I am so looking forward to having them here.
When we left their house after our Christmas visit, I had high hopes that the next time I saw them, I'd be pregnant. But that was not to be and maybe that's one of the reasons I'm so elated to know that in a few short days (fingers crossed) my Mama and Daddy (yes, that's what I call them) will be here in our home, giving me all the support and love that a girl could ever need.
My parents are the greatest blessing in my life. They're a bright and shining light of love for my entire family. Each day, they show us what enduring love (almost 50 years of marriage!) looks like.
I'm always happiest when I'm surrounded by the people I love most. So, I expect to be very content during their two-week visit. But, you'll be there in the background, Rowan. And, I know I'll be wishing that you were a part of this happy time.
Your grandparents have endured every step along this IF journey with us and they grieve just as we grieve. They hope and they pray and they encourage me to keep the faith. I hope you get to meet them someday soon.

Better angels

2010-02-26T14:33:00.005-06:00

Dear Rowan,
Using my last post as a jumping off point, I will now tell you something else that happened on that trip to Sorrento last year.
I wish that I had written about it when it happened but a couple of days after our trip, I took our dear dog Lola to the vet for a teeth cleaning and she never came home. Such incredible sadness and grief took over and I never got around to telling this part of the story.
We had spent the entire day exploring the ruins of Pompeii and by the time we got back to Villa Oriana, we were tired and hungry. So we consulted our trusty Rick Steves book, which as it turns out, is not so trusty if it was published in 2005 and you're living in 2009.
Rick guided us to a restaurant he promised was laid back, inexpensive and yummy. We walked down from our B&B on the hill and into town, following Rick's map and anticipating a nice meal.
But when we reached the restaurant, it was shuttered and had been for some time. What to do? We backtracked to the center of town and began to bicker a little over what to do. You'll learn, Rowan, if you're ever in a serious relationship that many arguments start with "What do you want to (insert appropriate word here -- do, eat, see)?" and on this night, after a long tiresome day, it seemed we couldn't agree.
Finally, I remembered a restaurant we had passed earlier in the week and after we found it, we stood outside reading the menu and debating whether we should actually go in. Was it a tourist trap or the more authentic place we were seeking? Hard to say, but Greg was ravenous at this point and his stomach prodded him to say "We're going to eat here," and he opened the door.
The entire front dining room was empty, and we were a little worried but the host led us to a back room that was full. Only two open tables remained -- one in the center of the room and one along the back wall. Greg chose the table along the back wall for us, as we'd only be seated near one other table, as opposed to being surrounded by them.
As with most intimate Italian restaurants, the tables in this place were incredibly close together. We could hear the entire dinner conversation of our neighbors. They were an older couple, speaking English, but with an accent I couldn't quite make out. The man had crazy hair and wild eyes and a look that made me think of Grandpa Munster. The woman was petite and pretty and quiet, acquiescing to her husband's big personality.
Before long, we'd struck up a conversation. The man said they were vacationing in Sorrento for a few days before going further south to visit a friend who operated an Olive plantation. They were visiting from Dallas, TX. He told an off color story about an encounter he'd had with the Pope many years ago when visiting Rome. I inferred from this story that the man was a doctor. We told them that Greg is in the Air Force, that we were living in Northern Italy but would soon be moving to Shreveport, La. Well, isn't that something? We'll practically be neighbors!
Our conversation ended and a few minutes later, the man's cell phone rang and I couldn't help but hear his side of this long-distance conversation. "What were her E2 levels today?... I see... How many on the right?... The left? Ah. Well, I think we should proceed with the trigger as planned."
This man was speaking my language -- the language of IVF.
I couldn't help myself. When he hung up the phone, I said "Excuse me, I don't mean to pry, but I couldn't help but overhear your phone call. Are you a fertility doctor?"
"Guilty as charged," he said.
And, so we told him our story. And as I described the protocol used during our two failed cycles of IVF, he put his hand on Greg's shoulder and said, "your wife is breaking my heart."
It's a long story, I know, but it ends with him giving me his card, patting Greg on the back and saying "send me your records and let me worry about this thing from now on. We're going to figure this out."
And, as he shook Greg's hand, he passed him a 50 Euro bill to pay for our dinner. Of course, Greg tried to give it back, but the doctor insisted. "It's to thank you for your service," he said.
I can't tell you what this chance encounter meant to me at that time. It was as if the Lord above had sent me a clear message. I felt like I was on an episode of LOST, where all the characters lives are intertwined by something called "destiny."
How amazing that we would choose the restaurant where this doctor and his wife were having dinner. How odd that we'd choose the table next to theirs or that his phone would ring during dinner so that I could figure out he was an RE.
I had been searching my soul concerning our situation. Our previous RE had recommended donor eggs for any future cycles. I wasn't willing to go there. A second opinion was certainly in order, but was I willing to go through another round of IVF? Could we afford it? I was looking for answers -- for the right path to take -- and all of a sudden it seemed I'd found a map.
For the first time in many many months, I felt excited and optimistic about the potential of future cycles. Was this meeting chance? Or was it fate? Well, I leave that to you to decide. Personally, I believe it was directed by the divine, even though it didn't turn out the way I'd imagined.
I sent this doctor our records, I even scheduled an initial appointment. But, then I hit a wall -- our insurance wouldn't cover any costs associated with seeing this doctor because there is an RE here in Shreveport. Not that Tricare pays a lot regarding infertility -- it doesn't. But it does pay for blood work and ultrasounds and some of the meds (not the stims, of course). So, I gave up on my idea that fate had caused our paths to cross and I went to see Dr. V, who is a wonderful doctor and who used a protocol that gave us our best chance to date -- two blastocysts. The outcome, however, remained the same and here we are.
Maybe our chance meeting with the doctor wasn't a road map, after all. I now think it was meant to encourage us to press on, to have faith and to keep putting one foot in front of the other on this long and winding road.
I tend to think that God winked at us that night in Sorrento. His message, well it's a matter of interpretation I suppose. I think he said, "chin up, you two. Have faith that it's all in my hands. I know your struggles. I know your heartache. I have a plan for you and I'm here with you every step of the way."
And, I suppose this meeting is the best evidence I have that sometimes humans stand in the gap for the divine. On that night, the doctor was an angel, a messenger, if you will, even if he didn't know it.
I'll close with this, a quote from the doctor that night after we shared our infertilty story with him, "well, if this doesn't make you believe in divine intervention, nothing will."

Somewhere over Naples

2010-02-25T08:44:00.016-06:00

Dear Rowan,
It seems these folks out in blog land have something called Show and Tell that they do each Thursday. I have not participated in the past because, well, I don't know why but I decided to participate today. You can find other participants and info at Stirrup Queens.

So, Rowan, what shall we show?
Oh, I know. The rainbow over Napoli. It's sort of a metaphor for this IF journey. The road is long and twisty and sometimes it makes you sick. You experience things along the way you never imagined you'd subject yourself to, but you keep going. If you're lucky, a rainbow appears at the end of your journey. If not, well, you've made the journey nonetheless and you're a different, somehow better person for having made the trip. Here's hoping you're my rainbow.

And, if you're curious about this photo, here's the blog that I wrote that day:

Costiera Amalfitana. The Italians have a way of making everything sound more beautiful.

We were warned about the drive. A friend of Greg’s said he turned back after one too many close calls with tourist buses. He was driving a Mini Cooper.

We are driving our big Buick Rendezvous, the car we bought a few weeks before moving to Italy. Greg liked it because it had reverse assist. A ding warns you when you’re within 10 feet of a car, a wall, a person. When you get within five feet – ding ding ding! I’ve always been terrible in reverse – in driving and in general. I prefer to move forward. Reverse assist seemed a good thing at the time, but in Italy, you’re always within ten feet of backing into something. Now, I’m immune to the dings.

The Amalfi Coast presents a different driving challenge. It’s not what’s behind you that matters. The road winds precariously along the mountains overlooking the sea. If you can stop worrying that you’re going to die (or vomit) the views are unbelievable.

My trusty Rick Steves guide book calls this “one of the world’s greatest white knuckle drives.” Greg laughs when I tell him this because my knuckles are indeed white. There’s a reason it is called the “oh shit handle.”

Greg is a good driver -- defensive, attentive and at times aggressive. He is a master at parallel parking and backing – two things I have never been able to grasp. Even so, I’m worried the Amalfi Coast might be more than he can handle in our big American SUV.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he says, “eighteen years in the service driving tractor trailers in Saudi and Kuwait have prepared me for this.”

He’s almost giddy. He loves a challenge. I try to sit back and enjoy the view.

Before we left Aviano, I considered cancelling this trip. The forecast called for rain. I’ve been on enough sightseeing adventures at this point to know that rain ruins everything. But, after looking at the calendar we quickly realized there won’t be another opportunity.

So we loaded the car and hoped for the best. The day we spent in Naples started out overcast and dreary and ended up sunny and warm. We’re hoping for the same as we drive along the coast. It looks promising at first.

We stop to snap a few pictures and an old Italian man spots our license plate. “Pordenone?” he asks.

“Si, Pordenone,” I respond. He opens the trunk of his car and emerges with a large lemon, with the leaves still attached.

“Benvenuti Napoli!” he says as he hands me the lemon.

I’m humbled. After all those bad things I said about Naples, I feel guilty.

“Grazie. Bella Napoli!” I say and at that moment, I mean it.

Looking out on the sea from our high perch, it’s hard to imagine a more beautiful place.

We wave as the little old man drives out of sight. Greg takes my picture with the lemon.

“That would never have happened up North,” I say as we drive on.

Nearly to the town of Amalfi, I start feeling a little green. The hairpin turns and dizzying views are getting to me. Up ahead, we see a couple thumbing for a ride. I press Greg to stop – they are American. I can tell because he wears a barbecue joint T-shirt and she is a little too round to be Italian.

They thank us as they hop in the back seat. As it turns out, they aren’t American at all. They’re Hungarian.

How about that, Kellie Pickler? I’ve got two Hungarians riding in the back seat of my car -- further proof that Hungary does exist.

We see such strange things along the drive. Houses are so precariously perched on the cliffs that the owners park their cars on the roof. Vespas whizz by at breakneck speeds. Tourist buses make turns that seem impossible. But the strangest sight is four small donkeys being used to carry loads of rocks up a steep hill. Yes, donkeys.

The rest of the day, I think about those poor little donkeys. How is it that in 2009these people are still using donkeys for road construction? It reminds me of seeing men in Cancun trimming weeds with machetes. The world does not work the way we imagine.

By the time we drop off our Hungarian hitchhikers and drive out of Amalfi, I’m experiencing full on bouts of nausea. I never get motion sickness – airplanes, boats, cars, roller coasters – but this drive has done me in.

Besides, the view is gone. The gray sky makes the ocean appear to be the color of asphalt. A light drizzle begins to fall.

“We have got to get off this road,” I tell Greg.

We see a green autostrada sign pointing toward Ravello. Frances says she’s always on honeymoon in Ravello. I don’t take time to consult the map.

“Just go!”

The road toward Ravello winds and winds up up up the mountain. Maybe I should have looked at the map. The rain begins.

We get behind a boxy white van. It’s moving slow. There’s no way to pass. We get close enough to see this van is loaded with bales of hay. After the donkeys, I’m not as surprised as I might have been otherwise.

“Surely, we’ve seen it all,” I say.

Ravello. Supposedly, it’s a beautiful little town high in the mountains with sweeping views of the sea below. I wouldn’t know. We spend our time there looking for an open restaurant and trying to stay dry. No luck on either front. The Italians take their afternoon breaks very seriously, even in tourist towns.

I buy a soda with hopes of settling my stomach. The rain has soaked through my shoes to my socks, making a squishing sound with every step.

I’m completely miserable.

We drive on. Twisting and turning, following the green autostrada signs, sure that straight, four-lane road that leads back toward Naples is just around the next turn. But the road goes on and on and on.

We aren’t exactly sure where we are when we see a sprawling city below us. A rainbow stretches over the city. It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. From our high perch on this twisting mountain road, we’re looking down on the rainbow and the city beneath it. I take a bunch of pictures, but I know they will only tell part of the story.

That sprawling city under the rainbow turns out to be the suburbs of Naples. Finally, we’re back on the road to Sorrento. The relatively straight and narrow drive to Villa Oriana is a welcome change, but I'm already missing the view from that high, winding road along the Amalfi Coast.