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.
