Ambergontrail – Trying to get through life without dying of dysentery

As a lot of the readers know, I tried for almost a year to get pregnant. The BFP was on cycle 12. Technically it was possibly a month longer because a lot of my cycles were under 28 days, but whatever. The reason I’m writing is because I know what it’s like to feel jealous, to envy people who got pregnant when you’re not. All those months of unsuccessful tries going by, each one achingly hard, I think I should feel guilty I got pregnant. When telling a friend this, she told me to shut up, that was a foolish thing to say. I’ve done my time, she said. I’ve done mine, and others’ time, it seems. Still, I slightly feel bad.

Then again, I kind of don’t, and perhaps that’s what I feel bad about- the fact that I feel that I’ve earned this pregnancy. I’ve almost literally busted my ass to get pregnant, and as you can see from the one post about sticking my ass in the air post sex to make things get further along. I’ve cried SO MANY tears for the baby that wasn’t, the baby that should have been mine by whatever date, the fact that it was killing my parents to know there was a baby in Australia that is their first grandchild, yet they can’t afford to see her, so I should really provide that local grandchild, right?

So yeah, I’ve done my time. I can honestly say that I felt jealousy of other pregnant women, I did. Still, I didn’t hate them, I didn’t say mean things, I eventually congratulated the ones I knew- meaning once I got that cry out- why can’t we be pregnant together?! Still, I hope there aren’t people out there thinking they deserved this blessing more than I do- I’ve hurt badly over the past year.

Now I think I’ve even been unfriended on Facebook because of this. Because I’m pregnant? Because after a year of trying and hoping, temping, peeing, crying, aching and yearning SOMEHOW, miraculously, it happened for us. There is not ONE second of ANY day that goes by that I take this for granted. I literally knock wood constantly, wish on stars, pull wishbones that this baby will stick, that everything will be okay. So yeah, forgive me for thinking I deserve to be a mother. Paul tells me to stop thinking about it, that whatever problem someone has with our miracle or me, it’s not my fault, and it’s not my issue. I’ve always thought too much about what others think of me, how they perceive me, that yeah, it hurts that someone resents me because we got lucky. Honestly, it’s depressing, but it’s not my problem, right?

As I mentioned in my previous post, when I let the baby news sink in, I freaked out. I started thinking about driving, and who was going to watch the baby, and going back to work, having to do it all alone while Paul was working most of the time. Then I thought about how tired I was in the morning, and with a full night of sleep, no less! How could I possibly take care of a baby when I’m so spastically tired all the time?

I’d lay in bed at night, trying to figure out how we’ll manage on Paul’s salary. We’re going to have to put money aside for a long time. When I’d be lying there awake, I’d whisper, “Aren’t you scared at all?” Paul would reply, “Honestly, I thought I would be, but I’m not. Not one bit.”

You’d think that would placate me, the breadwinner isn’t terrified! Instead I amped up the worrying, because I was worrying for two now! Now it became, “Is this ricotta cheese pasturized?” (Sorry about those text messages, T, I know I was insane. I started worrying about taking my asthma medication, since Google can be your friend AND enemy, you know.

I did everything differently: no sex, sporadic asthma meds, no fancy cheeses, no touching Paul’s lunch meat (ha ha, no pun intended), no more hot showers or nice, hot baths (I seriously have had ONE bath in our nice, new bathroom since we moved in, so sad), I don’t let Woofie stand on my stomach, and I’m super careful with myself. I know the body is tough, and what happens, happens- as long as you follow the basic rules (i.e. GET OFF THAT TRAMPOLINE WITH THAT BONG!), you’re covered- but I at least felt I was being proactive with myself and the baby.

According to the doctors and whatnot, up until 18 days past ovulation, you’re still in danger of a chemical pregnancy (when the egg gets fertilized but doesn’t implant, therefore causing you to have a positive pregnancy test, despite a gestational sac not forming and the egg being shed with menstrual blood). While both good and bad, women know entirely everything about their bodies when they’re temping. We know when we ovulate, know when the period is supposed to come, and in turn, test very early (I tested at exactly four weeks pregnant, only twelve days past conception). Because we test so early, we usually don’t wait for that missed period. An estimated 50/60% of pregnancies end in very early pregnancy, most of the time with the woman being unaware of the pregnancy at all. Of course, since fertilization DID occur, you can still get a positive pregnancy test, which is horrific when you get your period just days later, sometimes late, sometimes not.

So, needless to say, I kept temping until I reached 18dpo, because I HAD to know. My temps stayed up, never dropping by high amounts, and I kept my fingers crossed, and my gatorade cup full of pee for the constant pregnancy tests to keep me sane- I wanted that line to get darker and darker, and not lighter. Finally, I made it past 18dpo, then the milestone of my longest period, no spotting, no cramping, just an unpleasant nausea and super sore boobs.

Even though I’m at 10 weeks, I still freak out if I have no symptoms. I don’t think I’ll ever, ever stop worrying about this fetus (since I know I’ll always worry, no matter what age the child is). I’m so thankful I’ve been able to have ultrasounds every three weeks, since at this moment, seeing that flickering heartbeat inside a blob turn into an actual beating heartbeat we can hear  inside a gummi bear is the only thing that tells me everything is okay in uterus land.

I’m glad I took to heart all the recomendations of my friends to stop temping. Your temps are bound to fall at some point, and why bother making yourself crazy?

Now that the cat’s out of the bag (kind of, we still haven’t told family other than brothers and sisters and our moms- yes, that’s right, I haven’t told Dad), I can finally talk about this pregnancy thing.

Here’s what happened: I’d been temping throughout the month of March, my last period was February 15th. Each day I temped, and my temperature either stayed up or crested a bit higher. What? This is insane. March was my twelfth month of charting, and it appears, my lucky month.

Here is my chart:

The Magic Month

As you can see, we really only managed to have sex once. ONCE. That’s all it took?? Seriously? After speaking with a few of my pregnant friends, it appears that’s all it takes a lot of the time.

I’m sure you can also see the negative pregnancy test on 9dpo, this is because I foolishly thought I could be one of the early testers. Come Friday, at 10 days past ovulation, the gals in my TTC group were telling me to test on Sunday, 12dpo seems to be a good time, since my luteal phase was typically 14 days or so.

Saturday morning, Paul and I went to John O’Groats, a neat place around the corner from us for a tasty breakfast. It appeared I was not going to be able to sleep in until I got that definite answer- yes or no? Paul and I lounged about on Saturday, enjoying the peacefulness that we were immersed in. New place, things to do around the house. I stayed up as late as possible Saturday night, I wanted to be able to sleep in! Of course, at 7:45 am, I woke up, needing to pee and nervous. I temped and saw a slight dip, not more than .5 degrees. I was a little worried, should I take that test? I walked into the kitchen where Paul was making up his breakfast, he seemed surprised to see me. I kissed him good morning and told him I was going to pee on a stick, he wished me luck.

I pulled the First Response Early Result test out of the box I had bought a few days earlier, and grabbed one of our disposable Gatorade cups (drink of champions, ya know) to pee in. I sat there, with shaking hands, thinking about what I was doing right then. If there was a positive result, our lives would change forever. I’d never again be free of worry. I’d be nearly nine months pregnant when we went to Disneyland for my birthday (you bet your sweet ass I’m going on my birthday- it’s FREE!), we’d have a CHILD at Christmas time.

Finally, I dipped the stick in my cup and set it on the counter in the bathroom (that poor counter was defiled by me for days on end). As I stood there, I saw a faint line. A FAINT LINE? A line’s a line, I know the saying. Still… is this a REAL line?

With my non-whiz stick holding hand covering my mouth, I stumbled into the kitchen, saying only, “Do you see this line?” Paul looked at the stick, now contaminating the kitchen counter, and said, “Babe, I see the line. Does this mean…?” My reply? “Oh my god, we’re pregnant.”

After getting a kiss from my husband, I grabbed my phone and prepared to call my online buddy, Bluebell, since months before she had made me promise to call her when I got pregnant, since we speak nearly everyday over text message and GTalk but had never met or spoken over the phone. I was almost more nervous to call her, since it was something else new to me! So, I called her, and when she picked up she said, “Hellooooo?” Being one of many words, I said, “I saw a line.”

We both squealed and talked about it. She calmed me down, without even knowing it. We talked for a bit about random things, and I got off the phone. I took a picture of the stick (what can I say, I’m disgusting, and well, the gals in my TTC group love that kind of stuff) and posted it to my TTC group and sent it via email to Bluebell. After a bit more talking and exclaiming, I felt it all catch up to me, and I took a long nap.

When I woke up a few hours later, I realized. My life was changed. It wasn’t just MY life anymore. And yes, I freaked out.

Hopefully, my children won’t mind embarrassing stories, because it looks like this post here is going to be the story of “How you were made”.
Yes. that post has turned into this:

You can say I didn't believe the first faint line.

Then, a short two weeks later, came this.

According to LMP (last menstrual period), I was at 6w2d, Dragon here measured at 5w6d.

Finally, another three weeks after that came this:

9w1d

So, yes, I am pregnant. Cautiously expecting with an estimated due date of 11.23.2009. When we first met the doctor, our dating ultrasound showed the baby being too tiny to really examine (a mere smidgen), so she requested another scan in three weeks to really get a good look at Dragon (he looked like a Dragon early on). Today, Paul and I got that good look. You could see the little nubs, the big ol’ head, and hear the heart beating at a steady 185 beats per minute.

People, I’m having a baby.

Warning to all TTC and Expecting reading this, the following is not for the faint of heart, nor is it actually GOOD to read, I have heard terrible news about a woman in one of my ttc/pregnancy forums and it was just unbearable, but I needed to talk about it, at least to myself. So PLEASE, know the following is a heart-breaker, and shouldn’t be read if you’re feeling vulnerable or worried for your baby in utero.

Yesterday I was perusing all the forums I like to hang out in, the TTC forum and the Pregnant forum. The day was like any other, the gals were posting their belly pics (they have Belly Pic Friday for the preggos), when one woman came in and said she had sad news. This woman was due for a c-section April 27th, because of a major screw up years ago, when she was given RH positive blood in a blood transfusion. For more information, google RH positive blood and pregnancy. Anyway, she had noticed decreased movement and went to the doctor. They couldn’t locate the baby’s heartbeat, and she had an emergency c-section.

Sadly, oh so sadly, the baby didn’t make it. This news is devastating to me, how just a few hours can change your life forever. How easily something you love more than your own life could be taken away from you. I just don’t understand, really. Is life really this fleeting? I know things “happen for a reason”, if you have faith, but with that thought is the other, “The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away”. Is that supposed to be a warning, a threat? How is it possible for something this utterly shattering to happen, and to still think there is a God?

Over the course of 40 weeks, you’re planning, naming, painting, LOVING, and becoming attached to this person inside of you. Once you get past the 18th day past ovulation, you’re finally out of the chemical pregnancy zone, then it’s day by day until you get in to see your doc for that first ultrasound to date. Once you see that sac and everything looks good, it’s making it to the second trimester, getting past that 13th week. You’d assume you were home free, right? Just having to make it through the rest of your pregnancy without turning into one big stretch mark, and you’re golden. Then, you hear a story like this, and wonder, IS IT EVER SAFE??

I mean this honestly, WHY is everything so difficult? Why does my friend have to go through the agony of a c-section, 35 weeks of pregnancy, the work of setting up a nursery and the heartache of getting so attached, to only have to go home empty handed? HOW is that fair? I can’t comprehend it, I’m just so sad for her. I can’t even imagine her pain, her husband’s pain, her family’s pain. Sadly, nothing can help her. She’s going to have to go home and take down the glorious nursery she created, and possibly give up her hopes of bringing a baby to term, because if this loss was related to her RH Positive standings, she was told she wouldn’t be able to carry another child.

Sometimes life isn’t fair, and there are no words.

The other day, Yahoo! news had an article stating that kids curb marital satisfaction. Then it went on to say, of course, if you lived together pre-marriage, it’s even harder, but if you make a lot of money, it’s easier. I can say honestly that these articles really turn my stomach. How many people out there, while in their currently happy marriages will read that article and say, “Well, that’s good to know! Thanks, Yahoo!” I’m sure more people will read it, file it away until the time to bear children comes along, then… when they begin to hit a wall in their marriage- sleep deprived and lonely for adult companionship, they’ll remember that article and think that they should have known this was coming, “Yahoo! warned me this would happen.” Therefore, they won’t take steps to change the mood of their relationships, they’ll just think that it happens and that’s that.

At this point in my life, I don’t want to read some piece of crap some asshole has written spouting off facts. This article is the reason marriage isn’t held in such high regard. Apparently, you’re screwed, all marriages are going to be miserable- especially if you a.) lived together before b.) had parents who fight and c.) have children. While it may be fact, who do you think you’re helping by spreading this information?

Yes, I lived with the husband before marriage, and yes, my parents fought a lot, so did his. No, we don’t make a lot of money. Does this mean I’m doomed to have an utterly horrible marriage with kids I resent? No, it just means some things will need to be worked on. Did I know that before reading that piece of crap article? Yes, yes I did. In fact… I may have known that BEFORE I actually got married!

We lived together before marriage because we loved each other and knew exactly where this relationship was  heading. Heck, we knew before we even moved in together. I couldn’t be happier we did, as I would never want to move in right after marriage, I can’t imagine the shock of getting married and then all of a sudden having to get used to sharing a bed, cleaning up his socks, having to put away your hairbrush every morning.

So my parents fought, this means I’m going to have a shitty marriage? Shouldn’t this mean that I would work HARDER to avoid having that same marriage I witnessed? For my whole life, I’ve used my parents as an example for what NOT to do when I get married, the same with the husband and his parents. It’s like being an alcoholic’s child, you see what to stay away from, and what to fight against. Easy as that.

Yes, children make marriage harder. So do eight week old puppies and people losing their jobs (not to belittle parents), families that don’t get along and neighbors that drive you crazy. I have a tip for you: MARRIAGE IS NOT EASY. Sometimes LOVE isn’t easy. Still, you made that promise to love and cherish, to be with that person forever. Just as with any good skill or hobby, marriage takes practice. Although love usually comes easily, the Beatles weren’t completely right- love isn’t all you need. No, you need a supportive spouse, a family that loves you, trust and honor, dedication and strength, you need to know that a marriage isn’t made up with just two people in love, it’s about working for what you want, a happy marriage, children that you will love beyond belief, and sometimes, just sometimes, marriage becomes so easy that you’ll forget you guys were ever NOT married.

Yes, things will get harder when you have children, but you’ll have so much more to be thankful for, and as long as you’ve got support and strength from all who surround you- you’re good to go.

It seems we have a stealth pooper in our midst. Yes folks, our new apartment has a handy little dirt patch right beside our patio, which also happens to be next to the stairs. Quite a lovely little plot of land, this dirt patch features a dead stick that I believe used to be a bush of some sort, a foul wet spot of urine (not ours, I can promise you) and a scattering of cat feces, both young and old. Ah, it’s a delightful scent, that of cat pee. The bouquet of ammonia and uric acid comes wafting your way as you enter our building, and each time I smell it, I’m filled with a tiny bit more of something… what is it? Ah yes, hatred. Good old hatred for the neighbor who lets her cat out to do its business in the dirt patch I so lovingly did nothing to.

How do we know it’s her cat? A few reasons, my friends. Exhibit A: a cat with jingling tags constantly prowls our walkway, suspiciously close to the neighbor across from us.  Exhibit B: We’ve seen her open her door to let said cat out (with the jingle-jangly tags), yet when she sees us leaving our apartment at the same time,  closes her door quickly without letting Puddles the Pooper out. Exhibit C: on one occasion, I had to run out to give the husband something, he was waiting in the car. Like your average distracted pet owner, I left the door open a crack. When I returned, Woofie had crept outside and was stalking Puddles the Pooper who was at that moment sniffing his previous work in our dirt patch,  when contact had been made, the cat leapt up in that magical way cats have, and flew over the neighbor’s patio wall. Now, if that kitty wasn’t hers, wouldn’t it have careened down the pathway to someplace not as close?

It’s tough because the smell and the sight is so displeasing. It’s embarrassing to bring friends over, and the first sight they see is a pile of cat poop. I’m not going to pick it up, it’s not MY cat, know what I mean? When we take Woofie out, we clean up after him. It’s the duty of having pets- you pick up after them!

As with that mess, we’re also dealing with an upstairs neighbor who has what I believe to be a taboo washer and dryer! Honestly, it’s to NO interest of mine (other than, “Heeey, I want one!”) what she has in her apartment, but when the washer/dryer is up against a corner in one of her bedrooms, it’s reverberating all throughout our bedroom! The walls literally vibrate for the 45 minutes the clothes are washing. Ah, it’s so fun getting used to a new place.