Exhale

Normal, healthy baby.

Bring on the fights about sharing clothes and a bathroom... another GIRL!

I am so relieved. I just about cried. I would have been happy with either gender but I secretly really, really, really wanted two girls.

Let's be really original and call her "Sissy."

Post- (Almost) Everything Update

My most sincere thank-you's to all of y'all sweet gals who left birthday (and Earth Day) wishes for me. It brought me to near tears - all of those wonderful well wishes. I sure needed them. And they did my heart so much good.

The CVS went as well as such a thing can go. I wasn't nervous. Just stoic. There is still a fetus. I don't know if it is measuring on schedule because I just plain forgot to ask. It has all appendages. And apparently likes to wave its left arm around a lot.

Or maybe it was just trying to shoot me the finger for some days giving it more drugs than nutrition. Safely, doctor-perscribed drugs that is. I haven't resorted to medical marijuana (legal here) to quell the nausea. Not really thinking my OB will consider mary jane such a good idea.

The preliminary results will be in on Monday morning. Which - I think - is the third anniversary of That Was The Plan.

I am not an overly religious person but I do converse with God, Buddha and a small cadre of my favorite saints when the going gets tough. I've been praying a lot that this unrelenting nausea and near constant urge to vomit depart soon. My family can only take so much of it. And I want the old me back. So very badly.

My protocol is 8 mg of Z0fran 2x per day. I've developed evil headaches from it - a side effect. Some days I try to get by on one dose. I take 1 Un1som at night, which is about the only thing that works. Though it knocks me clear out so taking it during the day with Missy is a no-go.

They tried Phenegran(sp?) but it didn't work. The Z0fran prevents me - for the most part - from vomiting but it does not help the nausea one bit. Have you ever felt so nervous or scared that you were on the verge of throwing up? That's the feeling I walk around with from about the moment I sit upright in bed until I lay down at night or during Missy's nap.

Hence, I have a lot of trouble eating. I have lost 3 pounds this month. It concerns me because I'm three months pregnant and nearly at what I consider my "fighting weight" for my not-pregnant body.

Nothing glamorous for myself post-CVS or on my birthday. I don't have the energy to plan anything. And surprising the wife with a spa gift certificate is, apparently, in Cowboy's estimation, sooo first pregnancy. (Well, I mean, so first non-miscarried pregnancy).

As for Earth Day, my goal this year was to begin baking our own bread. But since the only thing my oven has seen in the past three months is frozen pizza for Missy and Cowboy, I've failed mightily at that goal.

Stay tuned for Monday. I will post the results as soon as I process them. If all is well, we will find out the gender, too.

Thank you again for your love, support and bearing with me through yet another post about nausea.

Day by day

Sometimes hour by hour. That's how roll these days.

And this week, in particular.

It is week 11. CVS week. On Thursday. I should have the results by this time next Monday.

I am so not connected to this pregnancy. (I know this is a horrible sentence to put on an infertility and miscarriage blog so I write this with much gravity). Perhaps I am staying unconnected so I can control myself through the spectrum of outcomes - one of which is certain to happen - both good or bad - that the CVS will bring.

The sad thing is that I will not even feel relief with a positive outcome. Because it means I will still be so sick for who knows how long. God, what another horrible thing to write. Even to think.

I try to keep the big picture in view. I really do. But it only lasts for about 15 minutes as I lay in bed before Missy wakes up. Then I get up, the nausea kick starts and I try to make it through another day.

The only thing I look forward to is when I take a Un1som tablet and drift to sleep at the end of the day - sleep being my only refuge from the extreme fatigue and nausea.

Which is a third horrible thing to write when I have a life full of things in which to bestowe much gratitude.

Gratitude but precious little joy. Is there such a thing?

5 Years Ago...

We eloped. And went to New Zealand and Australia for three weeks. Then we came home and held a backyard reception replete with hay bales, watermelon and homemade cupcakes. We served BBQ on china. The day after, I rinsed out and recycled every single one of those red plastic beer cups (yuck), which held Shiner Bock Beer from a keg ordered from Texas.

It seemed like such a simple time.

It was.

Before miscarriages and infertility, then a baby, then another on the way and crashing into bed at 8:00 in the evening because you are so sick with nausea.

From where I sit today, five years seems almost like a lifetime ago. A different life entirely.

But with one constant. Cowboy.

Your Feedback Solicited Here

We have a CVS scheduled for April 22 during week 11.

The CVS was originally scheduled for April 19 (Monday) but then my lovely husband asked me to please change it because he has to prepare for his company's annual shareholder meeting also that week. I need him to take the day off to care for Missy post-procedure as I am supposed to rest and not lift anything for 24 hours following.

Changing the CVS by a few days is no big deal. Unless you count my nerves. And that I will now have to wait through an entire weekend to get the early results, instead of getting them a mere 48 hours later. And that April 22 is the day before my birthday.

So what do you think that kind of trade-off warrants?

It is so not like me, but a posh hotel room by my lonesom, room service and in-room facial spring to mind.

Sorry to sound like such a whiner. But I'm sick of feeling sick and so very tired. I just needed to vent.

Several IV Bags Later

Good Lord. I just spent a good spate of time in the L&D ward where I delivered Missy. Hooked up to an IV dripping several bags of delicious hydration into my body. The Z0fran wasn't bad either. Took the edge off.

Nausea hit hard and fast late last week. I managed well for a few days but then it just accelerated. I couldn't keep anything down. Which put me in a downward spiral, dehydrating me further. No energy. Dry heaving the nothingness in my gut. Lying awake at night with gnawing hunger, dry mouth and so much nausea I could barely leave the bed. It was a very desperate feeling.

My OB admitted me right away. And the kind nurses pumped me with fluids. I feel almost human again.

I also had an ultrasound, which showed a measuring-spot-on embryo with a heartbeat of 124 at 6.5 weeks.

The daily Z0fran and the nightly Un1som tablets keep the harshest nausea away. I still have a constant low-grade nausea that hangs about me like a robe but I now I can manage it.

The whole experience has left me feeling like such a hypocrite. Here I try to be all natural-like but when push comes to shove I'm the one begging for the extra 2 ounces of Z0fran and am popping my nightly Un1som like it's Pez.

At least the wee one has cleared another hurdle.

Not so sure about momma.

First Day of the Season

For every parent who loves the mountains, this has got to be one of the most anticipated, most celebrated days on snow. Equal to (or, dare I say, better than) those bluebird powder days.

We'll consider the emphatic "Mo' ski! Mo' ski! Mo' ! Mo' ! Mo' !" as verdict that she loved it as much as we did.

First Hurdle Cleared

Second beta = 783

Up 139% from 48 hours earlier. Well over doubling.

They didn't test my progesterone again. Damn. Sometimes I want my RE back. I begged the nurse for another progesterone test. Told them it dropped with Missy the first few weeks of her gestation. So I am waiting to hear what they say.

They want me to schedule an ultrasound in the next few weeks. I LOVE my OB, but - again - am missing Dr. Stretch, my old RE. With him, I had a very set protocol: (1) initial beta, (2) second beta, (3) beta, (4) u/sound at 6.5 weeks to look for a heart beat, (5) follow-up ultrasound at 9.5 weeks to look for heart beta and fetal movement.

And you know how much I love a good plan.

Now I just feel left to wing it. So I am wondering: should I schedule an u/sound for 2 weeks out, which would put me at 7.5 weeks, where we may see a heart beat (please, please, please!)? Or should I wait (can I wait it out?) another week and hope to see a heart beat and maybe some movement at 8.5 weeks?

Thoughts and suggestions gladly accepted.

I know this all sounds a little bit desperate. Especially in light of my misgivings just a few days ago. Bottom line: I'll take another baby any day over another miscarriage, even though I have very little say in either matter at this point.

On a related night, I finally told Cowboy last night. That man's optimism never fails to inspire me.

"C'mon...aren't you just a little bit excited?" he asked after digesting the news.

"You know, honey, it just doesn't work for me like that anymore," I replied, "I have to take it one day at a time."

We read in silence for a few minutes.

"Okay, but what about some more girl names?"

That man. He never fails to make me smile.

But of course...

So the story goes: Last Sunday it was a gorgeous spring day skiing. Missy was in "ski school" and for the past two weekends has not even cried when I dropped her off. She's like, "See ya, Momma. Gotta go play at the snow table." (Well, she doesn't talk in sentences yet. But if she did, the look on her face indicates that this is what she would most likely say.)

Cowboy and I are taking a break in the deck chairs, facing the late winter sunshine. I think I'm cool with this one kid thing, I thought. My child is in day care. Date day with my husband.

Which means of course that on Monday I get a BFP.

Beta for 12 (?) dpo is 327. Which seems kind of high.

Well, it might be 12 dpo. I wasn't even using CBEFM this month because I ran out of pee sticks and somehow couldn't muster the time or energy to go to the pharmacy across town that carries them.

Progesterone is 37 without prometrium. Bagged that the back half of this cycle, too.

Trying not to be freaked out.
Trying to play it cool.
Trying not to get any hopes up, despite my post from yesterday.

No one knows except for my OB and the few of you still reading this blog. I haven't even told Cowboy yet.

I don’t even know what to title this post as I can’t believe I am posting this on an infertility blog

It is late. Or early. Depending upon how you look at the clock. I should be working or sleeping. But I can do neither. My mind is stuck. It has wrapped itself around a compelling feeling. Something that feels life altering to me – the proverbial fork in the middle of the road, if you will.

The thought is this: What is Missy is my only (live) child?

What if we choose to have her as an only child? Of course, my body may decide that for me. But what if we consciously hold up our hands and say, “That’s it. We’re done”?

Please don’t think this is frustration talking. We’ve been TTC#2 for just a few months.

It may be a little bit of fear talking. I don’t “do” pregnancy well: daily vomiting and extreme tiredness for the first four months; white-knuckled scans; a knee-knocking CVS due to my advanced maternal age and other factors; more daily tiredness for the last 2 months; and the biggest fucking swollen ankles you can imagine, which is not a good look on someone who just barely tops 5’1”. All worth it now that Missy has blessed our lives but…

…that was when I didn’t have a willful, spirited toddler and a growing business that needed constant tending. Just thinking about the prospect of keeping those balls in the air makes me heave a deep sigh of how-the-hell-will-I-manage-it-all-?

Then, it gets even more selfish. The skiing. The mountains. The latent yoga practice I yearn for desperately. The local, off-the-grid food movement that I ascribe to. The will to travel internationally as much as possible to experience different cultures. Could I do it all with two? Do I want to go back to baby-baby mode when my “baby” has already started to potty train?

Granted, my past experience with an infant was with that of a high-maintenance one. Missy is one of the great loves of my life. She has a sparkling personality and a wonderful spirit. But, good Lord, that child is strong willed. “Like her mother,” cowboy - and my parents - would likely say. It is true the apple does not fall far from the tree. But between the sleep – she still takes over an hour to get down and that is after bath, milk & books – and the I-must-be-attached-to-momma-at-all-times first year… I just don’t know if I have it in me.

Yes, I am sure #2 would be quite different from Missy. But I feel like I am still recovering from her babyhood and staring down the barrel of raising a spirited toddler. And my high-needs baby recovery time and biological clock are nearly at an impasse. Trust me on this.

I did a quick survey of my acquaintances & friends who share similar interests: skiing, travel, etc. Having a single child occurs at a pretty high rate. I look at their lives and how we want to live ours. I do the mental math of adding one more seat on an international flight to Portillo or Wanaka and I do a reality check. I KNOW! It’s horrible to quantify a child like that. Really. How fucking cold. But still. I do.

I don’t know what to do or how to tackle this or where this strong feeling even came from.

So, on this one…on this major one. I think I am going to turn to my yoga teachings and my infertility training: I’m just going to sit with it for a little while. Even though it is mightily uncomfortable. I need to sit with it and try to feel it both ways.

It seems like too big a decision not to.

Cougar

Have you ever asked a psychic about your reproductive future?

I haven’t and while I both have a hippie streak and live somewhat close to California, I am not sure I will fork over some hard-earned cash for a glimpse into my future.

But Cowboy did. Kind of.

A few months ago – before AF had even reappeared on the stage – Cowboy ponied up to the bar at the mountain and was lured into conversation with a (in his words) cougar. Who ended up telling him she was a psychic who earned close to 200 G’s telling people around Portland what was coming. She had just bought a ski house nearby with some of the proceeds.

Cowboy – as cowboys are wont to do – played his cards close. He says he alluded that he had a child but didn’t tell cougar-psychic-lady that Missy was a missy. Over the course of their conversation, cougar-psychic-lady gave him a bunch of freebies, including:

1. Your daughter (right) is a fire cracker (right, again).

2. Between ages 16 – 17, she will be hell on wheels. (great. Then again, what girl between the ages of 16 and 17 isn’t?)

3. Then she will right her ship and become very successful. (really?)

4. Between this December and April, you will conceive a boy. (you don’t say?)

5. He will be the opposite of his sister: mellow (thank God).

6. By the way, is there someone close in your life named, Mark? (WTF! Cowboy’s dad with whom he is very close is named Mark).

Maybe I should be obsessing about the kind of trouble my daughter might get into commencing with her Sweet 16, but really the whole son-conceiving-between-December-and-April thing is what sticks in my head. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t pop into my head at some point every damn day.

Why!? Why am I willing to hang on to a thread of bullshit free advice given to my husband by a cougar-psychic-lady at a bar (when, by the way, he should have been out skiing)?????

Is this really how low I’ve sunk of the reproductive confidence scale?

What do you think? Should one ever believe free psychic advice? Have you ever seen a psychic and were his or her prophecies true?

Or am I just fucking nutty cakes?

More patience required

I think that in the past 3-1/2 years of miscarriages and infertility and then a baby who wouldn't sleep, I might have gotten semi-decent at one thing: being patient.

Which was never, ever my strong suit.

Patience rules the day again. Chart Day One again, that is. Sigh.

A Decade of Fun

Last week Cowboy and I celebrated the 10 year anniversary of our first date. A decade of fun, I referred to it.

I remember the day as clear as a bell. We went snowboarding at Mt. Bachelor on a Friday when we didn't have classes. It was a bluebird powder day (there are not many of those in Oregon in January). And he was an incredible rider.

I used to use snowboarding, mountain biking or climbing as my filter for dates. Back in Washington, D.C., from whence I came, I would meet lots of guys at parties who professed to being snowboarders, bikers or climbers. So if asked for a date, I would suggest one of the above. Cowboy was the first guy in a long time who was better than me at one of the aforementioned sports. To this day, he's better than me at most outdoor sports. But I can still kick his ass rock climbing.

We ate a lunch of brought-from-home soup and sandwiches on the tailgate of Old Blue (his pick-up truck). Gus sat between us in the back, begging pets and sandwich crusts. I instantly saw a future with this man.

Just by coincidence, 10 years from that excellent day riding fell on CD14.

Cowboy's New Gig

I have some very big news - well, we think it is big news - about Cowboy that I'd like to document here:

He was accepted as an apprentice patroller on the Mt. Hood Ski Patrol.

For a man who loves to ski and whose favorite show (when we had T.V.) was "Cops," this is truly a dream come true.

He printed out the application for ski patrol every year since before we got married. This was the first year he followed through with the try out. Because they only take 20% of the applicants and because everyone at the try out was - in his words - either a medic or an ex-ski racer, neither of us had much hope he would make it. And then he was drafted to slot #9 in a class of 70 apprentices for the 2010 season!

I am so proud of him.

This means a lot for our family because his being a patroller is truly a family commitment. He has to pledge to patrol 20x per season, which is a lot of Saturdays and Sundays at the mountain for us (yay!). The apprenticeship also means he is gone every Saturday from January 'til June from 5 AM until 9 PM. This is in addition to the dawn-to-dusk hours he keeps at the office during the week. Yikes. Which means momma and Missy have another extra day to adventure together. It's the rainy, snowy season here so we've gone sledding, snowshoeing and to a local indoor pool so far. Other suggestions gladly taken!

We are also hoping that we find a new mountain "family" with the patrol crew. The sports company I used to work for came with a built-in crew of like-minded skiers and snowboarders but we've scattered to the four winds in the three years since my employer moved to Utah. So far, we haven't connected with other families who are dedicated enough to hit the mountain on a frequent basis - and pay the heaping cost of daycare. It's something we miss in our lives.

Speaking of mountain daycare. Missy loves ski school (as we call it because it sounds cooler). She yells "key cool - yeeeee!" with clapping hands when we talk about it. We have her ski boots, skis and goggles out for her to play with and get used to. She will start skiing this spring, just before she turns 2. When we go to the mountain, she MUST play in the snow and skis down in Cowboy's arms to the car from the day care center with a huge grin at the end of the day. Will have to get a picture of it soon. Camera is broken.

Fuck it & Wing it

While perhaps a good strategy for DIY during the holidays and a ski road trip, did not pay off in the end. Sigh.

Today is CD28. I greeted this morning with a sick, whiny toddler and a BFN after hoping, hoping, hoping that actually making it this far meant, well...very good things.

Patience is my mantra today.

Three years ago I would have been devastated about this morning's main event. Today my attitude is more keep-calm-and-carry-on. There was breakfast to be made, doggies to be walked and the cutest nose on earth (hers, not mine) that needed wiping.

I can only hope that I remain this resolute in the coming months.

All You Need to Know about Road Tripping with a Toddler

Sorry not to post while I was on the road. Between all the mountains and friends we wanted to visit across Idaho and Utah, we ran a tight ship. Organizing, hauling, packing and unpacking all that gear was quite the feat. And we didn't even pack that much. Five pairs of baby socks for 10 days of travel, for instance. My secret: Smartwool socks turned inside out and dried by the heater. (No laundry this time. I can only imagine spending a few hours in a laundramat with an active toddler.)

Cowboy ended up being quite the sherpa. That man is amazing. We only lost one snack trap during the entire trip, which included moving into and out of five different temporary residences with the port-a-crib, ski boots, boxes of Annie's bunnies and an assortment of gloves for each of us.

I am so grateful for the mountains, for the fresh air, for the snow. I am grateful we've chosen to have the mountains define our lives as a family. I am grateful that we do this for Christmas instead of presents. Each year has its own memories and learning experiences.

This year we learned to pack more of Missy's favorite music CD's for the long hours on the road. In an effort to bring as little as possible, we only brought TWO.

Both of which will be ceremoniously burned one night after Missy goes to bed.

In an effort to conserve space, I didn't even bring the CBEFM. I got to CD15 without an indication of peak fertility before we left. I considered bringing it briefly but in the end decided to fuck it and wing it old school style. I guess we'll just hope for the best this cycle.

Of course, to ensure a little good luck, I made sure to drink some beer and wine, sit in a few hot tubs and eat shellfish in the back half (I think?) of this cycle. Should make for some good babymaking karma, eh?

Wishing you a yummy holiday

Happy holidays everyone. May all of your wishes come true. May you have a winter filled with many snow angels...

Blah, blah, blah. OK. I just want everyone to get pregnant, stay pregnant, have a healthy baby(ies), sign the official paperwork. Whatever. Whatever it takes to get you where you want to go in this world of motherhood.

I'm feeling a little weird this holiday. Grateful for such a full life. A little embarassed for wanting more. Trying to play it cool on the outside while inwardly desperate for another child in our family.

We leave soon for our annual ski trip. To Utah this time. I'll try to find something funny most days to post from the road. Stay tuned for stories of one horse towns, laundramats and toddler antics as we snake our way through Eastern Oregon, Southern Idaho and Northern Utah.

Above is our holiday card photo of Missy at 1-1/2. Like the good Northwest girl that she is, she loves apples.

Peace, love & powder, Ms. Planner, Cowboy & Missy

My Work Here is Done

Kind of.

During the past 2-1/2 years of keeping a blog, I amassed a small list of other women in the throes of infertility whose blogs I followed. Today is a happy, happy day. Because – with only 2 exceptions – and I don’t know what is going on with those two writers because they haven’t posted in many months (Carrie? Where are you? I miss you.) – every one of the bloggers I follow regularly has made it through to the other side.

Last fall I wondered if I should end my blog as a way of closing the door on infertility for me. I decided, however, that I could not leave all my comrades who hadn’t closed the door themselves.

All are now mothers. Many are on a successful second journey. It makes me exhale a deep sigh of relief. Of contentment.

But a few are still struggling for a second shot at pregnancy. Myself included. So I’m not giving this space up.

Cowboy and I decided that while we are late in the game, we want to give it another shot. My cycles are finally back now that I am nursing only once a day.

So I fired up the CBEFM and set it to CD1.

Holy shit. Here we go again.

$5

There are many, many things I love about living in the West. One of my favorites is that you can buy a Christmas tree permit from the USDA for $5 and cut down your very own tree from one of the nearby national forests.

We head up around Mt Hood for ours every year during the Thanksgiving holiday. This year was especially poignant as it was our pup's first tree hunt and - at 15 years old - most likely our golden retriever's last.

Sweet Jesus! She Sleeps!

"Some women's husbands buy them plastic surgery enhancements," I joked to Missy's Ear, Nose & Throat pediatrician post-op, "Instead, mine gets my daughter's adenoids removed so I get the gift of sleep."

So that's what it was. In the weeks following surgery to remove her ginormous adenoids, waking during the night has become the exception not the rule for sweet little Missy. She regularly goes 11 to 12 hours. Miracle upon miracles.

I won't gloat, because I hated people who gloated that their kid slept through the night when mine was waking every three hours. But, I mean, c'mon. I might be a little bit due. She didn't sleep for more than four hours at a clip for 18 looooong months. Until now.

Sigh. So blissful. Sleep. All six, seven, even eight (!) hours of it. I can remember phone numbers again. I can walk into a room and remember what I came in there for. I can put her to bed and - shocker! - actually go do something without her waking in an hour or two.

To quote the t-shirt: Life is good.

I honestly have to credit my nanny and the book, "The No Cry Sleep Solution," for my good fortune. The book got me seriously thinking that Missy might have sleep apnea. And my nanny galvanized me to act on it.

As for our regular pediatrician... She can suck it. When I brought up the no-sleeping-through-the-night-yet issue at Missy's one year appointment, all I got was 10 pages of cry-it-out and the Ferber Method protocol. As it happens, she could have asked me three basic questions: does she snore? what does it sound like on the monitor just before she wakes up? have you or your husband had your tonsils and/or adenoids removed? And referred me to an ear, nose and throat pediatrician for further review. Sleep apnea in children - and especially in babies - is vastly underdiagnosed. I now know why.

The best part though is Missy when she wakes up. She is all rosy cheeked and bright eyed. Like a baby should look when they wake after a long night's rest. Gone are the dark circles and pale visage.

Yes. Life is good.