Merry Christmas and Happy Bloggiversary!

Okay, yes, Christmas was yesterday, but I had a wonderfully relaxing day that had only a brief time on the computer to video chat with our families and show off the belly. This is me in front of our Christmas tree wearing my favorite dressy shirt and new earrings that I picked up for myself and handed to Santa so he could put them in my stocking.

We've chosen a name: Brianna Noelle, with Bria as her nickname. I have to remind myself that she won't necessarily have red hair like Andy, but all I can imagine in my head is a little redhead with soft curls and an infectious giggle. This image is, of course, a toddler, but luckily I won't have to give birth to a toddler. A 10 pounder I could handle (or so the midwife said), but toddler, not so much.

Last night as the evening wound down, I couldn't help but think of how much had happened since last year when I took that sad walk alone with my thoughts Christmas night, dwelling on what I had hoped would happen. I had really set myself up for heartache with those expectations, but I was too unsure of what would happen to consider what might happen in the coming year. In the past year, I've had a whirlwind of testing and trying, going back and forth between disappointment and hope, until finally everything worked and now I am blessed to be healthily pregnant with a little girl. My only complaints revolve around a dirth of maternity clothes and morning sickness that left me constantly queasy. Even those aren't really issues any more, though I did have another fabulously weird/gross dream (I'm skilled like that). I know I could be up against gestational diabetes, or bedrest, or worse, knowing something was wrong with Brianna. So going into the next year, I don't think it's too much to hope for a healthy baby and some sanity while I figure out how to be the best mom I can in the life I've got. To everyone who's been part of this journey, thanks for coming along for the ride.

Week 24 - The Eddie Izzard Edition (With an Extra Dose of TMI)

Pregnancy seems to have turned me into a 13 year old in some ways. I have had the joy of going through my voice cracking again. This is particularly fun when I'm presenting a training session at work, and I'm afflicted by Eddie Izzard's plague. I've also had the Tummy of Satan, and Boobs of Death. Okay, that sounded better when I was trying to go with continuous Eddie Izzard references. If you don't know who Eddie Izzard is, then this post will probably be a bit boring. Or you can go watch Dressed to Kill and laugh a lot. And then come back and laugh with/at me.

But they really are *that* bad. My abdomen is now stretched to the limit of extra skin that I already had thanks to a certain amount of flabbiness. I'm getting faint stretch marks, and my torso is relatively firm all over. Or at least, it seems firm, after a lifetime of being a fat girl. The boobs though? They're really just Boobs of Death. [Hoozin and any other men, stop reading now. No, really, you don't want to know. Just go down to the next paragraph.] They're not tender anymore, thank god. No, just my nipples now. Which have also started leaking...something. Not a lot, just something clear in tiny amounts at a time. But these tiny bits of discharge also become tiny bits of dried stuff stuck in my nipple. Which I need to clean out or they become a crust that leaves nastiness in my bra. [I told you to stop reading. No complaints.] Did I mention my nipples are still overly sensitive? Good times, that.

In other pregnancy ailments, my feet have taken to a weird form of swelling, in which they turn red first and then decide to swell over the tops of my shoes. Nothing within the shoes swells quite as badly, which just makes it look like I have frankenfeet. Ooooh yeah, baby. Sexy. Because the only shoes you can find in 10.5WW look even less attractive than my monster appendages. So I keep wearing the cuter shoes. (And lest you think I'm being vain, the shoes I'm wearing ARE bigger than I normally wear. I just seem to have more swelling by the end of the day than I expected when I bought these.)

Little One seems most active when I first wake up in the mornings, around noon, and in the evenings. In fact, she's kicking a lot right now, which probably has to do with the cookie I just had for dessert. She was also kicking and squirming when I had a bit of a freakout yesterday morning thanks to some work shenanigans giving me a major headache and anxiety. So, now I know, anxious momma = unhappy baby. Nothing else she's done has been hard enough for Andy to feel without a hand pressed close to me, but I guess that just means I need to have Tea and Cake before bed. Because Cake or Death isn't hard to figure out.

In a rather squee-inducing moment last Friday, my mom and sister sent me a care package full of adorable baby clothes. Little pajamas with tiny feet on them. Soft sweaters and shirts with rosettes on them. Outfits of pants with coordinating hoodies. But you know what those f*ckers did to me? They included an In-N-Out bag. An empty bag. A bag which didn't even give me the luxury of a quick whiff of a double-double that someone would have eaten a week ago. Why did they include an empty torture bag? So I could torture other people at work who know what In-N-Out is. Mission accomplished, one person has been tortured. Except that person is me, and now I want a double-double animal style with a chocolate shake even more than I already had. If I get really desperate, I can always pay $300 for a ticket to go out to California and get my fix. And I guess I could see them too. Those f*ckers.

Another sweet thing in the package was a pair of books that a family friend got me in Hungary. I had meant to pick up a couple, but couldn't find anything I liked when I went last spring. So now I have a bath time book about a whale, and a board book about a cow. Eventually, I can teach Little One some Hungarian, but instead of phrases like "La chat est sur la chaise, et la singe...ou est le singe?", she'll get "A macska van szekon, es a majom...hol van a majom?"

By now, Little One is over a pound and a quarter. The sicker part of me thinks of that and goes, hey look, that's the same as the packages of ground turkey we get at Costco. Thanks brain. You just had to go there, didn't you? She's also too big to be described in the produce section, but apparently the folks at What to Expect have never heard of eggplant or any of the other 9 inch fruits or vegetables roaming the supermarket. Whatever the actual size, she's big (according to the Tummy of Death). Her face is almost fully formed, and she has a complete set of eyelashes and eyebrows. She might have a bit of hair, but apparently, there's no color right now. Cross your fingers for red hair, everybody! I want a red-headed daughter who looks just like her daddy.

Week 22 - Funky Dreams and Big Kicks

My computer has been on the fritz for the last week since a Trojan horse decided to make my life hell. I thought it was taken care of, but it looks like I get to reformat everything to get it back to a crappiness free existence. And by me, I mean Andy gets to do it. He had some unexpected dental work done this week and we both seemed to be affected by a stomach bug that had been making the rounds at work, so this post is a bit late but there's tons of fun stuff going on.

So, for the past several nights I've been having weird dreams. First, it was a hospital dream with all kinds of what-the-hell-was-that-about details (don't worry, I'll get to that in a moment). The next night I don't remember exactly what the context was, but there was a specific dollar amount that was really important that kept popping up. It was so important that even after waking up, I remembered the exact amount. Why I would need to have $28,245.10 is beyond me (not hospital bills, since our insurance puts a cap on out of pocket expenses, and not a reasonable down payment for a house, since that gets you a broken down shed out here), though if someone wants to give it to me, I will happily take it and start Little One's college fund. The night after that, Andy and I were touring a, um, ahem, adult film studio and critiqueing what we saw (this is what happens when you feel Frisky during Weird Dreams Week). Last night, it was a serial killer. Not a killer after me or anyone I cared about, but he was out there. He was a relatively friendly serial killer, seeing as he didn't want to kill me, but it's never any fun to have murderers running around.

But that hospital dream? One of those epic dreams that seems to go on and on and changes course several times and the details that might have some basis in reality don't really stick. At first we went to the hospital because of an infection I was having or something, which of course means I should be sent up to Labor & Delivery. But this hospital was a zoo. I mean that in a figurative way, but it was really crowded and not exactly clean, which is, well, BAD for a hospital. There were people running around not knowing where to go, and L&D switched to being just a general hospital but with too many people for the LDR (labor, delivery, recovery) rooms they had.

So we're waiting around for a room, and I'm deliriously trying to crawl around the cafeteria (which is in the same area as in-take) when my tray full of broccoli and jello went flying and I turned into a blubbering mess on the floor. At that same moment, my in-laws show up and expect Andy to give them all of his attention, because it's TOTALLY normal for someone to fly across the country when your expectant daughter-in-law goes to the hospital. For an infection. But I was back in L&D at this point, so of course I must be having my baby. (I should mention here that I love my in-laws; they're incredibly generous and understanding about how quickly Andy made me his top priority, so it's really weird that they would be so demanding in my dream).

Not actually being in labor, we leave the hospital (as in, just walk out like we hadn't registered with the in-take nurses, which I'm sure would be fun for them) and go...somewhere. Suddenly I don't have an enormous belly, but I'm still pregnant, and we're walking around deserted construction sites that have giant gaping holes and rotting floors because that's a perfectly safe thing to do. Until a floor gives out from under me and I have to cling to something to keep from falling down 10 feet, but Andy and his dad (who apparently were 10 feet tall) pick me up and carry me off to safety like a bag of potatoes. All that stress actually does put me into labor, so we go back to the hospital.

Remember when I said there were too many people at the hospital? Yeah, they decide to put me in a room which apparently had previously been occupied by a really wealthy woman and hadn't been fully cleared out yet. That, or all rooms come equipped with scary looking stuffed animals for all the newborns that aren't even aware of them and a professional caterer who makes food that would have been more appropriate for a cocktail party for everyone in the delivery room. The nurse keeps sneaking me canapes so I can eat something (seeing as I had a stellar meltdown in the cafeteria), and then they start prepping me for delivery and doing just about everything I've specifically requested to NOT have in my birth plan. I try to tell them "No, I'm only 26 weeks, I'm just here for an infection" and they just tell me to push, despite the fact that I haven't had any contractions, and in reality I was only 22 weeks. The dream kept going on and on with me telling them I was a different number of weeks every time, anywhere from 20 to 28 (apparently you can reverse your pregnancy in dreams). Then I actually started contractions and woke up. How's that for a doozy of a dream?

So yeah, I'm hoping that my dreams get a little less bizarre, or at least don't happen every night. Though it could be worse, I guess. For the past month, I've been waking up to pee between 1 and 3 every single night (like you do when your bladder is losing real estate in your pelvic cavity), which has been stopping most of my dreams. Chances are some of the dreams would have gotten weirder before I woke up. Other fun effects of pregnancy include itching all ove and a constant appetite. The itching is probably half having my skin stretch out and half from the weather, but it's still no fun. But the appetite probably means just one thing: growing baby.

I'm pretty sure Little One has just gone through a growth spurt, what with me being hungry not long after eating and the huge growth of my belly, seemingly overnight. My coat is just about to the point that I can't even button it (you can see the belly even when I have the coat on), so I'll be switching to my fancy-schmancy maternity peacoat tomorrow. I'm also pretty sure that my earliest maternity shirts will be too tight by New Year's. Her movements are getting a lot easier to feel, and a lot of her kicks are pretty strong. Friday morning I thought it might be enough for Andy to feel soon, and that evening he got to feel her for the first time, making several kicks that were actually kind of painful at times. He looked so happy to finally feel it though, and it really made our day. I will have you know though, (TMI alert) it's really distracting to feel her kicking during the previously mentioned Frisky time. Kind of like having the dog watching, but with less noise.

As of last Sunday, Little One was a full pound and about 8 inches long. Her senses are developing, and by now she can feel enough that she grabs her umbilical cord just for fun. She can open and shut her eyes and see enough that if we put a flashlight against my belly (which I'm not quite cruel enough to try...yet), she would turn away and push against me to get it away from her. Her fingernails are completely formed, and her brain is rapidly developing. Her skin is getting thicker and thicker, so she's looking less like a transparent alien and more like a real baby, or a doll as so many books put it. And in just over four months (hopefully not too much more), we'll finally get to meet her.

Week 21 - About My Dad

I've been trying to figure out how to write this all week. There's somthing I've wanted to talk about that I haven't touched on much, but now seems like the right time. Go ahead and grab a box of tissues now.

Today would have been my dad's 50th birthday. He had a heart attack at 44, partially because of genetics, partially because of an enlarged heart that was weakened by working so hard, and partially because of a strong fondness for ice cream and other goodies. I struggled a lot after he died, having left some things unsaid. I wish I had just taken the 20 minutes and gone to see him and tell him I loved him the day before. My father-in-law was one of the last people to talk to him, and had told him that I had been in town the night before but decided to wait until Saturday to come by. It killed me that he died knowing I had decided he could wait.

Eventually I moved past my guilt and anger (he had done some pretty crappy stuff that we found out about afterwards, but I won't get into that here) and have been through some of life's biggest moments without him. Graduation didn't hurt too much, since I walked before actually finishing, having needed another semester after taking incompletes for some courses (one asshat professor felt that 3 weeks was plenty of time to grieve and catch up on missed material before taking the final - I seriously wanted to punch him). My wedding was joyous but still hard at times. Somehow I knew he wouldn't be there, I just had always thought it was because we would end up estranged. But being a parent? I never thought he wouldn't be there when I had my first child.

My dad was the moody-yet-funny one in the family. When he wasn't being grouchy (or downright mean), he was joking and good with all the kids. I had always imagined what a wonderful grandpa he would be, pulling the same jokes and stunts that my cousins and I had seen a thousand times, making our favorite foods when we came by for a visit. I know exactly how he would respond if we could tell him in person that he would be a grandpa: wrap me in the perfect hug and then proclaim "Outstanding!". I don't know why, but that ended up being my dad's phrase of choice for anything that deserved commendation or praise. Any time I hear it, I think of him.

So now I'm grieving again, though not as hard as the first time. And through it all, I'm wondering if I'm ready for all this. Can I handle the stresses of daily life and keeping a career moving and supporting my kids? Will I end up a hard-ass like he could be sometimes, or go too far in the other direction, being too lax because I don't want my kids to ever be afraid of me? I try to keep tabs on my health so I catch any heart disease early, but I think of how much exercise he got in PT with the Guard (he served full time at our local National Guard Armory) and worry that I won't be around long enough for my own daughter. He was so young, and I could just as easily be at risk. And while I may be lucky enough to have not have inherited his dad's genes for major heart disease, that doesn't mean my size isn't an issue. You would think it would just be a bigger motivator to get healthy, but sadly my perfectionist tendencies leave me reluctant to start something that will be too hard for my body (like the prenatal yoga disaster) or that I don't like enough to keep up with. Which would have him lecturing me about being disciplined, blah, blah, blah. Dad's lectures were not one of his most endearing qualities.

But I do know there are a couple things I learned from my dad about what kind of parent I want to be. So many of my fond memories are just simple routines that we had. Mugs of chamomile tea with honey before a long drive early in the morning. Walking the dogs every evening and talking about our days. Learning to make different Hungarian foods that he had growing up. He was someone I could talk to when I was a moody teenager, and I really want that with my kids. To give them a place that they feel listened to and validated. Of course, Murphy's Law says I'll have teenagers who want me to leave them alone because I'm smothering them. Go figure. But I think most people just end up trying to give their kids the things they couldn't have, and it's hard for kids to understand where their parents are coming from because we strive to give them something else. Hence a lot of the tension in adolescent years.

So, onto happier things. Little One is about the size of a large banana. I would make an "are you just happy to see me?" joke, but I'm sort of fresh out of funny right now. She's learning to swallow amniotic fluid right now, and her taste buds have developed enough that she can taste the foods I'm eating. I'm sure she's sick of Thanksgiving leftovers and bananas by now, since that's what we had a lot of this week. Soon, she'll be getting a whole lot of eggnog as we set up our Christmas tree. Yum!

Ultrasound Pictures!

Hey look! Pictures from the ultrasound! And it only happened 10 days ago...

I was going to do a cutesy side-by-side explaining what exactly, these are showing. But if I did that, then you would never see these. So here we go:

Here's a nice profile shot with her nose which she was so damned determined to hide before.

And one of her actual face so you can see her eyes. The creepy looking lips are especially fun.

And this is a side-by-side of her feet. Why the tech got a shot like this, I don't remember, but...yay, toes!

And these two are the ones that need some help explaining. Basically, she was laying face down across my uterus, and then she tucked/crossed her legs sort of "Indian-style" giving us a perfect view of the three lines that say "this is not a scrotum". There are helpful arrows that the tech added for us in case you have no idea what you're looking at. Oh wait, that's everybody.

So there you go, pictures! Look for a full post tomorrow. It'll be kinda long and kinda sad. Sorry about that.

Week 20 - She's Shy Like Mommy and Daddy

Little One is a girl!! My ultrasound this morning was only marginally better than the last one. It still took longer than expected, and the tech still didn't get every shot that she was hoping for because Little One decided to lay face down  instead of being in a position where we could see everything. In the end, we got the few that were really important to me: a perfectly beating little heart, tiny hands, and the top priority between-the-legs. We were also able to see the feet again, the thigh bone, lips and the nose, and one ear. It looks like she won't have the lovely Nemeth ears that stick out a bit which seem to show up on boys in the family more than on girls. Which is kind of duh, since she's a girl. We're incredibly happy, and our parents are thrilled. We would have been happy either way, but it's so much more fun to shop for girl clothes. We picked up tiny socks with a pink lace ruffle and a book to start reading to her, I Love You This Much. Andy and I were looking at it in a children's store, and I started to tear up because it was so sweet.

I got my flu shot the other day, which is good since it is that season, but I really screwed up the timing since I forgot about the flu-like ickiness you get a few days afterwards. Fast forward 72 hours and I've got aches and chills and a mild fever. Then I threw up this morning and I've been nauseous almost all day. Hard to say if it's the shot or morning sickness, but either way it still makes life tough. I'm just hoping that I feel well enough to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. I already had to give up on making homemade rolls or pie crust, and I'm not sure what else to cut at this point. Luckily, Andy is a fantastic sous chef with better knife skills, so he can at least chop onions and celery for the stuffing, take care of the potatoes completely, and prep all the veggies for roasting. Then I just have to get the turkey in the oven and cook the stuffing. Cranberry sauce is from a can (gasp! but it's what I always do when it's just me eating cranberries), and gravy I can practically do in my sleep. Our green salad is just baby greens with goat cheese and a dressing made from bottled champagne dressing mixed with cranberry juice. Spiffy! We might try an alcohol-free wine that a friend gave us back when we were first trying to get pregnant, but there will at least be sparkling cider. And then a pumpkin pie which should be amazing, given how frickin fantastic the batter tasted.

TMI Alert: You know what's also awful about getting the chills? It makes sore boobs hurt even more! They've gained at about two cup sizes and are only going to get bigger, but the process of growing to supply enough milk is just painful. Every time I take my bra off, it feels like I sunburned every inch of my breasts. I've only ever burned the top half of my boobs, not being brave enough to go topless, but yeah, that's what it feel like. My nipples are squished if I try to wear my pre-pregnancy bras, which basically means they point sideways at the end of the day and scream bloody murder. Actually, they're screaming "Get new bras already woman! It's only going to get worse!" but the effect is the same. And now that I've channeled Diana Gabaldon in Drums of Autumn ("Nipples again?!"), I'll move on to other topics.

Little One is supposed to be 10 ounces, but the tech said she weighs about 13 ounces. Not sure if that's good or bad. But given that one book used "small cantaloupe" as a reference, I'm not too worried. I'm pretty sure based on today's ultrasound that she is not spherical in shape. Her senses are developing a lot, and she can hear me now and recognize my voice. This also means she was able to hear the incredibly loud fire alarms that went off Monday morning, and promptly started kicking me to show me her displeasure at the noises. "Make it stop Mommy, it hurts my ears!" Me too, Little One. Me too.

Week 19 - The Rant Smorgasbord

Bear with me as I get into a touchy subject for many a pregnant woman, but particularly for me as a person who started out pregnancy clinically obese and comes from a family where almost everyone can be described that way.

One of the many glorious symptoms that marks the fifth month of pregnancy is an increased appetite. I guess this would be a minimal difference if I had gone from "food? okay, I'll have some at regular intervals so I can nourish my baby" to "hmm, I'm hungry again, I'll have a healthy snack and then eat a normal meal because my body and the baby need it" over a couple of weeks. Instead, I've gone from "I guess I'll eat so I don't get nauseous, but it better have milk or garlic in it, and don't bother with chocolate because I'm 'meh' about it" to full on "I know I ate an hour ago, but my stomach is gurgling and I'll just inhale everything available" kind of hunger.

I'm also really suggestible right now, so watching tv can be dangerous, especially Food Network. It would be really dangerous for me to just throw in the towel and eat anything and everything that appeals to me, because all it takes is a 3-second mention of some food for me to want it, which means I sometimes want foods that just aren't all that good for me (or are really bad for the baby, like Bailey's [note to self, bring mini-bottle of Bailey's to hospital to celebrate with after labor] or sushi).

Luckily, with a full and overboard return of my appetite comes a renewed emphasis on getting the best nutrition I can. I'm back up to the right number on my veggies, and taking time to consider where my shortages are. Last night, for example, I had a mug of warm milk as an evening snack to boost my calcium. Exciting! Occasionally I'm indulging in oh-so-tasty but less-than-nutritious stuff (okay, yesterday I indulged a bit too much because a co-worker brought in some fantastic cookies after I half-joked about her not bringing us goodies anymore), but overall I'm trying to be good.

I want so badly to come out of this gaining exactly the right amount of weight, yet I haven't gotten a scale for at home because I know it's a tough road to take, being constantly obssessed about how much everyone weighs and how you fit into the general pattern and judging everyone's worth by whether they've gained or lost weight lately. Case in point, none of my friends or co-workers have said anything about my weight (other than to encourage me to be careful because they had the hardest time losing weight after the pregnancies in which they gained the most), but a family member brought it up (not to my face, but with my mom and sister). It kind of hurt a bit that someone who I know loves me would make a snide remark, but I know what I need to do and I'm happy with how I'm doing overall. Whether I'll be so happy when I get checked at the doctor's office, we'll see, but I'm not going to torture myself in the meantime because other people are so unhappy with their own weight that they have to judge others to feel justified about their own struggles.

Ahem. Moving on. /rant.

The movements have slowed down a bit but it's still so early that I'm second guessing myself a bit. Plus, it's been just long enough since my last check-in at the midwife's office that I'm starting to get the "what if something is wrong?" jitters. I thought being stressed about when I was ovulating was hard, but this is really tough because it's not just me anymore. It's our baby, a tiny human-in-progress that I'm just beginning to bond with. (I'll take this moment to say that while I understand some people feel life starts the moment the sperm joins the egg, I know this fetus couldn't survive outside my body and still won't be able to for several more weeks. It drives me nuts that because some people think of pregnancy one way, they want to control a woman's body so she must act in a way that's acceptable by their morals. My body, my choice. Period. And that should extend to how I give birth. (See how I brought it back around to the usual subjects. Go me!) /rant again.)

Little One is now large mango sized, so I was wrong before. Whatever. It still was making me want to vomit after the simple act of, you know, EXISTING. or walking. or smelling Old Bay, which makes living in the mid-Atlantic a really crappy place to be pregnant. The all holy books don't have a whole lot to say right now about what Little One is up to, other than the fact that it's coated with vernix, that cheesy looking coating that does....stuff. Yum! Okay, actually it's to protect the sensitive skin from amniotic fluid, but apparently it might still be around by the time I give birth.

Wait, you mean babies don't come out clean and smelling like Johnson & Johnson's baby lotion? I might have to review this whole "where babies come from" thing. And then ask the stork for a refund. Stay tuned for next week. Little One will change from an "it" to he or she!

Week 18 - Flutters of Life

Tuesday morning, I woke up feeling really unsettled. I'd been feeling guilty about not getting any kind of nesting urge, or looking at baby clothes or furniture for the nursery. It was getting to the point of causing some anxiety about what kind of mother I would be, so that morning I just cried it out a bit while Andy held me, putting voice to a lot of my worries. Why am I not more attached to the baby? I wanted this for so long, and I still don't have any urge to look at clothes, does that mean I won't be happy when the baby is here? And why haven't I felt any movements yet? Am I just not paying enough attention? Does that mean I'm a bad mom too? Once I was finally calm again, we talked about what might be going on (we try to not jump to "it's the hormones" every time I get upset, so that if it is an issue that needs to be worked through, we do) and a couple good points came out.

One of the effects of waiting to think about names until we know whether Little One is a boy or a girl is that it hasn't felt like a person. It's hard to bond with something that you only refer to as Little One, "the baby", or it. It's even harder to bond when the only evidence of Little One's presence has been a growing belly and continued morning sickness. So we decided to start talking about names anyway and it quickly became apparent that there aren't a ton of boy's names that A. aren't already given to other family members, B. aren't so overly chic as to be the Jennifer of the 2000's (I'm looking at you, Aiden), or C. don't have some kind of negative connotation because of people we know with the name. We decided to give it some thought and come back to it later, but even that much made me feel immensely better.

So after all my bitching about not feeling anything yet, imagine my surprise later that afternoon to be standing in line at Costco and realize that my stomach has this kind of funny feeling. Not in a bad way, just enough to make me pause and think "What's going on now? I better not be about to get nauseous again. I'm not hungry, I just had a snack 30 minute ago. I'm not nervous, it's Costco for crying out loud. Nothing I ate would make me gassy, so why would it feel like there's bubbles in my...OHHHHHHHH." Then I got this huge smile. I kept feeling little butterfly flutters for the rest of the day and into the next morning, and then things quieted down a bit. Little One seems most active when I'm walking around fast, and after Frisky time, which is actually pretty common for babies. Wouldn't you feel good after getting an endorphin rush and going on a roller coaster?

I'm feeling pretty good myself. I've been outgrowing my everyday shirts pretty steadily, but I still have a few left. I tried to order stuff online, and apparently I'm between sizes because they tell you to to order your pre-pregnancy size, but I was swimming in half the stuff. Unfortunately, I will not be swiming, since the only plus size swimsuit at Motherhood Maternity is no longer available, and I can't find anything from other retailers. I guess it's on to walking and the Wii. I'll probably enjoy walking more now that I know I'll be able to feel the baby a lot afterwards. Perhaps it will even be incentive enough to do it every day.

Little One is about 5.5 ounces now, which is charmingly described in What to Expect When You're Expecting as a cuter version of the chicken breasts I eat for dinner. Seriously? That's all they could come up with? I guess I won't be eating chicken for dinner. Something that is cute: Little One has fingerprints, even though the finger and toe pads are tiny, I'm guessing maybe the size of a grain of rice. Little One is also starting to yawn and hiccup. I have no idea what that will feel like, but at some point, I'll feel that just as well as the little kicks and rolls.

Week 17 - Great News!

More news from the most recent doctor's visit, which I wrote about a bit last week. When Andy and I went in for my 12 week appointment, we were told that I was being tested early for Gestational Diabetes because both my weight and my PCOS history put me at elevated risk, and I should schedule my next appointment so I could stick around for one hour. So last week we had the 16 week appointment, and I got to drink the Fruit Punch glucose stuff (infinitely better than the Orange-flavored crap I've had to take before), meet with the midwife, and sit around until my hour was up. I finally called to get my results since I hadn't heard from them, and I got an all clear. So I don't have to take the 3-hour test, and I don't have to retest until the third trimester. Awesomeness. Good thing they didn't want to test me this week. I've had so much leftover candy because of my co-workers bringing it in that my blood sugar is probably more than a tad off right now.

Another result of the visit is that we're waiting a bit longer than we expected to find out if Little One is a boy or a girl. Until right before Thanksgiving. And if I'm feeling really, really mean, I'll wait until the last appointment of the day, just to drive my mom nuts. Granted, this might not be in my best interest because she will ask every time we talk if I can move up the appointment/find out sooner/buy a sonogram machine so she can fly out and do it herself/etc/etc. (Hi Mom! Thanks for following me. Sorry if I said anything that pissed you off...)  Looking over the order from the doc, I realized that I'll be getting a 3-D ultrasound along with everything else. I once heard someone describe the images as looking like dead aliens...and I kinda agree. Maybe I'll feel diferently when I'm seeing my own child, but fer cryin out loud, the faces look so distorted! Creepy, I tell you.

So I'm almost at the end of my fourth month. Kinda freaky really. Also sad is the realization that I haven't had much wine for the last 6 months. I went to a great wine tasting in May, and some wine tasting in June for my birthday, but that's been it. I had no idea I would miss it so much. Sparkling cider has been nice, but I remember it feeling it much more special when I was a kid. My mom doesn't drink, so we never had wine for holiday meals or champagne at New Year's Eve, always sparkling cider. But I'd gotten used to the joy of picking out just the right wine to match a carefully planned meal, or trying to find the perfect balance of dry and sweetness for toasting at midnight. (Cava is the way to go, in case you're interested). I think my alternative will be to try making mocktails, like cider and pomegranate juice, or eggnog and...eggnog, because the only stuff I like to add to eggnog is Kahlua or Bailey's. Andy does brandy, but that doesn't really do anything for me. I wonder if I can count eggnog as a source of calcium? Probably not, unless it was part of a steamed milk. Mmmmm, steamed milk with peppermint syrup, that's yummy too. I must be hungry, because this all sounds really yummy. Thank heaven for Christmas drinks at Starbucks.

Little One is about the size of my hand. Apparently the pregnancy books can only come up with fruits for the first trimester. Still a mango? I can't even think of fruits near that size. Maybe a zucchini? I know, not a fruit, but it's about right for 5 inches and 5 ounces. Oh the places I can go with that bad line. And I'm still not sure if I'm feeling anything that I can be sure of as movements. But apparently, if there's a sudden noise, Little One might jump. And Little One is figuring out to suck his or her thumb. How precious is that?

Week 16 - Been Busy

Why yes, I have failed to update here. And the reasons aren't that glamorous.

I've been cooking, and travelling, and sightseeing, and trying to not be sick.

The birthday dinner was a success, although I couldn't actually do all the prep work for it, so Andy had to help with his own dinner. And then I forgot to tell him just how small I needed the pieces of squash to be, so they didn't cook down as much as I would like. Overall, pretty tasty though, and the cheesecake was yummy. We also were really good about not eating it all within a couple days, which is less unhealthy. Go us!

Later that week, we went to a classic car show as a special treat for his birthday. Normally we do a surprise outing for each other's birthdays, but I just couldn't handle doing all the planning and the driving by myself, so he knew what we were doing. It was even better than I had hoped, with lots and lots of cars, which is hard to find out here because classic cars don't handle the salt used during winter. Eventually we'll bring out his '57 Chevy BelAir from California, but we'll need a garage first.

Then we had the joys of cooking lots of food. I took on the organizing of a monthly potluck group at work when the original person left, which means I have to cook for it every month while everyone else just brings something every 3 months. And because we are so talented, we had to both bring a dish. And on top of that, we were hosting the weekly poker game the same day as the potluck. So last Tuesday was spent making a double batch of French onion soup, collard greens, and a pan of corn bread. All of it was yummy, but damn was it inconvenient. And to top it all off, the soup eventually made me nauseous and I kept tasting it again with every burb. Lovely. I'm sure you wanted to know about that too.

Last weekend was much better, seeing as we took off Friday and went to New Jersey for Andy's college roommate's wedding. The drive there was lovely with all the fall colors, and we had a blast seeing all his friends from college. The wedding was lovely, though the reception would have been a tad more fun if I had been able to drink. The most entertaining part was probably when our table was given a picture frame mat (presumably to write nice messages to the newlyweds) and told we had to write on it, even it was just dirty pictures. Dirty pictures, you say? Well hand that puppy over to the perverted, Frisky-tastic pregnant lady and I'll draw an entire dirty comic. Twas fantastic.

While I have been feeling better, I'm still sick sometimes. I seemed to really screw myself over this week, when, Murphy's Law, as soon as I told people I was feeling much better, I got sick again. Luckily, I've finally figured out a comfortable way to get exercise. The hotel last weekend had a pool that was the perfect temperature, so I took a dip in the morning when there weren't any kids splashing around and it was nice to just do laps and some of the exercises from my water aerobics days. So I'll be getting the one swimsuit still available in my size (because I'll take a granny-ish swimdress to be able to get good exercise) and hitting up the local rec center which has an AWESOME pool. And then I can look forward to parent-infant swim classes.

I look pregnant now which feels awesome. I've had strangers ask if I'm pregnant, so I'm less anxious about looking badly overweight. Little One is...I dunno, a mango? Slightly bigger than an orange, but I've seen some enormous oranges in my time, so who knows. I do know that babies are not spherical unless you're in theoretical physics (if that makes any sense to you, you should ask me about my horse racing joke). Baby is moving quite a bit, but I have no idea if I'm feeling anything yet. I could be, but unfortunately I'm the type of person that feels whatever I read about, which makes murder mysteries less fun. It's hard to know if I'm having a "bubble bursting" or "butterflies" or "fluttery" sensation when I immediately imagine it and FEEL it just because I think about it. It's a good skill for acting, but not for inexperienced first time moms.

My due date has been changed. Again. It's back to April 10, and apparently, it won't be moved again. My CNM promises. The first ultrasound alone wouldn't be enough to justify changing the date, but combined with the fact that Clomid tends to cause a slight delay in ovulation, it makes sense. I might not be happy about it around April 8th, but it gives me a few more days to escape induction. Other things from my last appointment: I'm allowed to lie on my back for brief periods. Because evolution wouldn't be so stupid as to make something that easy to do in your sleep be a real risk. We also will be getting a Wii Fit. Because she told us to. Sometimes it's awesome to be pregnant.

Week 14 - Surrepticiously Writing at Work

Is it awful if I'm kind of sick of being pregnant? I feel like I'm stuck with some of the first trimester suckiness still, and don't have the fun of second trimester yet. Yes, it's only been a few days, but nausea seriously blows. It's gotten to the point that I feel overwhelmed whenever it comes up. It's not like it's as frequent as a month or two ago, but when it happens, I feel almost... defeated... all over again, because I can't figure out why it's happening and I don't have enough of an appetite to always eat on schedule. Add in a little stress from daily life and I turn into a pile of goo throwing a tantrum like a toddler. "My tummy hurts and I'm hungry and I don't know what I want *pouty face pouty face pouty face*."

I think what makes it so awful is I expected this to be over. Yes I have energy, but it's still uncomfortable to walk at a pace that even qualifies as mild exercise. Old people are passing me in the hallways at work, and my body is getting restless. I'm tempted to try to find a maternity swimsuit and try swimming, since the movements are generally pretty gentle and non-jarring. I haven't taken another shot at yoga either, for fear of hurting my sciatica.

Adding to my generally tantrum-iness is being kind of emotionally charged lately. Things that just might make me slightly annoyed for a second turn into A BIG DEAL, and afterwards I look back and think, "what the hell was that about?". Likewise, anything that makes me happy makes me practically giddy with joy, which is nice sometimes, but seriously, do I need to get so excited seeing commercials that make me smile? Is the Allstate guy pretending to be a hot girl with a pink headband that funny? Apparently it is. This is fine when I'm happy, but I don't want to feel like I'm PMS-ing all the time, tearing up at the commercials with little kids at Disneyworld or getting really offended because I misunderstand what someone means with an off-hand comment. And it will probably be even worse when the Christmas commercials start-up. [Side note #1: I have a really intense love of all things Christmas related which I attribute to my mom singing carols all the time because she didn't speak German and could only listen to the military radio station for so long. I should keep this in mind before getting an addiction to Justin Timberlake, lest my baby be born wanting to bring sexy back.]

Anywho, on the plus side, my hair has been growing like crazy, so much so that it now falls below my bra. So Friday I am going to cut off 8-10 inches and donate it. I will still have enough to do a ponytail, because my hair is just that freakin long. My nails are also growing a lot, except the one that was torn. So now I have nine awesome looking nails and a kind of stubby one that refuses to grow. Actually it doesn't refuse to grow, it just refuses to grow from the shortest edge, so it looks really bizarre, like I try to make the sides of my nails longer than the middle. Does this even make sense? Of course not. Because I am strange. Just like my nails. Also, I'm still feeling Frisky. Perhaps even more so. But now with better boobs! Yes honey, you got a new and improved model with a pending upgrade to "family". Happy birthday! [Side note #2: it really is his birthday today. I'm pleased to note that I had just enough energy to go shopping for gifts on Sunday and make a chocolate cheesecake yesterday. We'll see how I do on the butternut squash risotto tonight. If all else fails, I can just give him extra cheesecake and put some whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top. (Not like that, you sickos. And I thought *I* had a dirty mind.)]

Apparently babies don't grow consistently enough after the first trimester to describe them as fruit anymore. In all likelihood, there's probably something that roughly describes the size, but it's in a range of 3.25 to 4 inches. I'll go with avocado size, which is probably closer in shape than any of the round fruits have been. Hair is starting to grow (I'm hoping red like Daddy), and Little One can start to hear sounds. Whether this means just my heartbeat and stomach gurgles, or my lovely rendition of the entire soundtrack from Avenue Q, I'm not sure, but I should probably be a little careful about too much "The Internet is for Porn" and the aforementioned Mr. Timberlake. Now, who wants to join me for a pre-Halloween round of carols? No takers? Really? Y'all are no fun. *pouty face pouty face pouty face*

Week 13 - I've Almost Made It Out Alive

Sooooo, this is a post that I fell asleep in middle of writing up a couple days ago and didn't get back to until today. Because I am awesome! Enjoy...

Just one more day and I'll be DONE with my first trimester. It's gone by so fast! Though I guess it helps that the first 5 weeks were secret, so really 8 weeks. With 6 Weeks of Nausea. Oh yes, I will certainly be holding that against you, Little One, when you ask why I'm being so mean to you and not letting you do anything. Because you were mean to me first! Luckily that's pretty much done, even when I'm getting hungry. I won't consider it over though until I can be in the car for more than half an hour without getting nauseous. Which is fun when getting to work generally takes 35-45 minutes.

Results of my last doctor's visit: apparently the random pains and twinges I've been having low on my abdomen are Round Ligament Pains. I totally thought that was something I would feel at my sides, rather than on either side of my uterus. Guess we'll see what else I was wrong about... apparently giving birth is not in fact a walk in the park either. I FEEL MISLED PEOPLE. next someone is going to tell me that fireflies are real. (oh wait, that's just what I thought before visiting the east coast. seeing as California is pretty much too cold in the evenings for them, I never saw them and thought they were something like jackelopes. Also, I was pretty gullible as a kid, so this is even more ridiculous than it sounds.) Also, I get to have a flu shot. BOOOO. no fun. and then I get to do my glucose testing at my next appointment (a tad early, I'm at risk because of the PCOS and my mom's history of gestational diabetes with my brother) so I get a day off from work. YAY. despite the nasty stuff I'll have to drink and the blood tests.

I tried Prenatal Yoga today. It was fine until I either pinched my sciatic nerve or put too much pressure on my pelvic bursa trying to do a squat. Pain with yoga generally means STOP NOW, so of course I tried to push through it, which lasted about 2 minutes and left me really frustrated. It was so relaxing when I was just listening to/watching the DVD before trying it out, so I had really high hopes. I might try it again and just skip the parts that cause me pain, but right now I feel like a failure because really, how hard is prenatal yoga supposed to be? That's like struggling with the water aerobics class full of senior citizens (actually, I really enjoyed that class - far superior to having to do gym at my high school). side note - I am far too generous with the parentheses. I wonder what this says about me other than my tendency to get sidetracked on minor detours.

Little One is about the size of a peach now. Though definitely not as round as one. This also explains why I seem to have bulged in the last couple weeks and look quite prego indeed. Vocal chords are developing, and the head is about half the size of it's total body. Apparently it's starting to look more human-ish, which is good considering the ultrasound had me convinced that I was in fact growing an alien (the better to have a John Hurt moment with). Umm right, ultrasound pictures. They'll be up...soon-ish. But I'm going to post this now instead of falling asleep too early. Again.

Birth Plan - The Beginning

This is, at first glance and without much deliberation, the initial form of What I Want When I Give Birth. A lot of this hasn't even been discussed with the main people helping me (as in, my husband, my mother, and my doctor/midwife), so right now, it's literally an uninfluenced contemplation. And a lot of it is probably going to change over time. But I figure I have at least 25 weeks to play around with it.

First and foremost, I don't want a circus. There were about 7 other people in the room when my mom gave birth to my little brother, and it was perfect for her and for our family. But I know from that experience I don't want a lot of people there. I tend to get overwhelmed when I'm in pain and surrounded by a crowd, no matter how supportive everyone is trying to be. Maybe I'll feel differently based on how big the room is, but I think knowing myself and how I handle stress is important.

Knowing that, the only people I want present (for now) are my doctor or midwife (preferably a midwife), my husband, and my mom. Midwife and husband for the obvious reasons, and my mom because she is a nurse. And not just a nurse, but a kick-ass ICU nurse who makes this amazing shift into a thoroughly professional yet still protective and supportive medical goddess even when she is nursing family members. I saw it most when my dad's father was in hospice at the end of his fight with cancer, and it still puts me in total awe how it is so clearly what she is meant to do with her life. Plus, she's my mom, and who doesn't want maternal support in such an amazing moment?

Next biggie: no epidurals. I have no issue with other pain relief, I have no desire to be a martyr. But after being numbed from the waist down and having a ginormous needle in between vertebrae for a spinal tap (bad infection in college that was suspected meningitis, which it wasn't but they never actually figured out what the hell was wrong with me), I have no interest in doing it again. I panicked from the psychological effects of suddenly having no feeling, and I don't need that during labor. I talked this over with one of the OB's, and she tried to tell me that I should keep my options open because "it's easy to say that at 11 weeks". Umm, I was 13 weeks lady, and trust me, this is not just about wanting a natural birth. I half-fainted from having a cortisone shot in the joint where my pelvis meets my spine. I DO NOT LIKE SHOTS IN MY BACK. So I'm kind of hoping she's not on call for deliveries when I'm in the hospital.

Another idea I've been toying with so that I don't have to deal with someone pushing me to do something I'm committed to holding off on is the use of a safeword. As in, a word (more traditionally used in kink situations - TMI?) that is not used unless and until whatever situation I am in has gone beyond the point I can deal with it and I am now deviating from my plan. The reason I want to use this is so I can express whatever pain I'm in (or be unable to express much of anything) while giving my team the confidence that I'm okay and I want to continue as is. It would be far too easy to have someone asking "are you sure she doesn't want an epidural?" and have my mom or Andy unsure whether I do or not, and ending up going a direction I don't want.

As a result of my no epidural plan, I will be looking at as many pain management techniques as possible. Part of this will probably involve meditation with a focus on water. I love water. I feel at ease in water and it really soothes me. If I could have a complete water birth, I would, but my insurance doesn't cover it and it would have to be a home birth since Virginia is lacking in water birth facilities, which isn't necessarily what I'm interested in. If I were in California, this wouldn't even be an issue, since there are plenty out there. Alas, I'm here, where home birth is practically illegal, which is just crazy to wrap my head around since my landlord had a home birth literally above my head (in her bedroom over the studio I rented in Berkeley). Anywho, I still want water involved, even if just comes in the form of one of those table-top waterfall/fountains so I can focus on the flowing water.

Other stuff: I do not want to be kept from eating or drinking. Chances are I will have a long labor, and going more than 12 hours without food is just a recipe for cranky disaster. I sure as hell do not want photographs, or worse, video, until Little One is outside me. It's the same reason I didn't have the photographer in my dressing room when I got married - far too personal of a moment, and I don't want the intrusion of that "other presence" to capture what probably will be one of my most intense experiences.

Those are the biggies for right now. There will definitely be more, but this is already plenty long-winded as is.

Week 12 - Little One is Already Taking After Mommy and Daddy

It's late and I'm fairly tired, so this will be a relatively quick one. We did our ultrasounds this week. Yes plural, as in one on Monday which was scheduled, and then again on Tuesday because Little One just refused to have pictures taken. We tried for an hour and half to get a profile shot to measure the nasal bridge, but Little One refused to do anything but keep its hand in front of its face while facing the right way. The one time the hand came down, Little One turned over so the tech couldn't see anything. Fabulous. Our child will be shy or stubborn or both! But we went again the next day (this time with a Fun Size candy bar so I could pass a little sugar on and make Little One "energetic", aka hyper enough to move around more), and everything went great. Beautiful shots, and the tech thought everything looked healthy, with results in within a week or two. I'll put pictures up tomorrow.

Little One is about the size of a large plum, which is kind of hard for me to imagine because I've seen a huge range in the size of plums. However, considering last week was a lime and next week will be a peach, I'm going to say a kiwi. just because.

I'm finally feeling better, just in the last couple days. The first part of the week was rough though, I missed out getting to hear Diana Gabaldon speak on Saturday because I was so tired and queasy. I had a sinus infection on top of that, and everytime I coughed, it jostled my belly and made me nauseous. Luckily I'm over that and am getting a more regular sense of smell back. I even cooked dinner last night, which was quite a feat on it's own. I still get nauseous from driving into work, but I no longer want to die simply because I woke up in the middle of the night. Hopefully the improvement keeps up and I'll be able to do fun stuff.

I'm considering posting the evolutions of my birth plan over the next 6 months. Would anyone be interested in that, or would that just be more fun for me to look back on?

Week 11 - How I Get Through All Of This

This was going to be a purely positive, upbeat post about all the things that have been great about being pregnant. But then I puked twice today, so my sucky-meter is back on high. But I'll still regale you with the good stuff.

Little One is the size of a lime, about a third of an ounce. With vital organs that just need to mature over the next 6 months. Kind of incredible to think of how much growing a baby does, and how much of it comes out of me. Our next ultrasound is in 10 days, and we'll be able to see Little One moving! The one thing I'm kind of worried about is that I might need to get a flu shot when I go in for my next pre-natal visit. The shot isn't so scary, just the idea of probably getting even lightly sick because of it.

I started the day having had the weirdest dream, which began with watching Nathan Fillion filming an action-y movie in a mall and we kept getting in the shots and pissing off the director, and then transitioned to a creepy unhappy birth factory in a swimming pool with drowing babies, but then I was rescuing a baby and it cuddled up to me and I was breastfeeding it. Thanks to that, I woke up feeling pretty good, despite the weirder/disturbing parts of the dream. Then I puked while brushing my teeth. And since the usual advice is to brush your teeth to freshen up afterwards, it totally threw me for a loop. All I could do was rinse my mouth. Like 10 times.

I'm getting this funny feeling of calm every once in a while. Usually when my stomach is finally settled and I'm not tired and everything just feels right. I'm starting to look forward to preparing for birth, even though I know it's going to be one of the hardest things I've ever gone through (because, duh, it's called labor for a reason). It's probably because I'm such a planner (you should see me plan Thanksgiving with my sister, we approach it with all the fervor of top secret military ops), so I feel like making arrangements and having contingency plans for all the possibilities can give me a sense of control. In theory, at least.

One of my favorite things about pregnancy? It has totally re-affirmed just how wonderful my husband is. He has been so patient with me, through all the mood swings, and the wacky responses to food, and my rather considerable worries about my body and whether I'm still attractive. He's so affectionate, in so many ways, at exactly the right times. Feeling his hand gently rest of my growing belly and seeing his smile fills me with so much joy. He is a font of whatever support I need, whether or not it's convenient for him. Backrubs, reassurances, another bowl of cereal while he's in the middle of cooking. I know I can lean on him, figuratively and literally. So honey, in case I don't say it enough with all my griping lately, I love you and I'm so happy to go through this with you at my side.

Week 10 - So Tired

I'm so tired. Literally fatigued, which is totally normal right now. But also a little bit tired emotionally. I'm feeling so unable to take care of myself, and I'm uncomfortable with being dependent on other people this much. I have to move so slowly to get things done or I get nauseous, which makes everything take forever. It makes me less reliable, both at work and at home. I can't be the one to grab the mail and unlock the door when we get home while Andy grabs our bags because it takes me almost twice as long as it normally would. I can't just run and grab something off the printer because getting up and then sprinting over are just out of the question. When I try to unload the dishwasher or put away groceries, I get maybe halfway through and know that I can finish it but be unable to do anything else for awhile, or I can leave it unfinished (which I tend to equate with personal failure, though less so now) and be able to get other tasks partly done too.

I'm adjusting to it, but not as quickly as I'd like. Something I've started to pick up on is that it really is better for me to do several half-done chores than to do one completely and perfectly and nothing else. Andy can pick up the slack of finishing a few things better than taking on everything plus taking care of me. But it's hard to be a perfectionist procrastinator. [Side note, in case you have never heard this, because it certainly helped me make a lot more sense to myself: Perfectionists are often procrastinators, not because they don't want to do something (because in fact they like being able to say, Ha, I did that too, bitches!), but because they don't want to start it out of a fear of failure. If you don't start something, you can't fail at it by doing a imperfect job or by giving up/not being able to finish. So, put off the things you're scared of, and you'll be successful every time! This isn't exactly a logical position, nor is it helpful to a functioning healthy person, but it's what we do. Why I procrastinate is a whole other post altogether. One which will probably not be posted publicly.] Anywho, I'm learning to decide what's really important (both long-term and short-term), let "good enough" actually be "enough", and know my limits before I've reached them. Otherwise, I would just focus on the things I know I can handle and ignore everything else, whether or not that's the best decision.

I'm also a little tired of having the sucky parts of pregnancy without the "fun" stuff. Like not having nausea. Or having energy. Or being definitely-pregnant-looking, as opposed to, "Is she expecting, or has she hit up Krispy Kreme too often?". Or getting the radiant glow and thick hair. Right now, I look a bit like I've been pulling all nighters and forgetting to bathe often enough. (Not that I stink or have greasies. I would smell myself if I did, and I wash my hair daily. I just have some horrible pimples and sort of dull looking skin. I probably just need a facial or something.) Also, the thick dark hair that I thought couldn't possibly get worse after letting my testosterone levels rise again? Yeah, it's worse. Instead of thick hair on my scalp, I have these terrifyingly dark hairs on my face and neck and belly. So bad that I'm pretty sure I'll be beating Andy in the who-has-more-hair-on-their-upper-lip? competition that my body seems to be intent on winning. See, even my hair follicles are perfectionists! I just can't win. Except as a bearded lady. Sigh.

Little One is a prune, or a strawberry. And it has fingers and toes, and functional elbows. My uterus is a bit bigger than a grapefruit, and I'm pretty much out of my regular clothes, except the ones that were really loose to start. I was so uncomfortable that I went to work in maternity jeans on Friday, despite the no-jeans-even-on-Casual-Fridays rule. I justified it by saying that I probably wouldn't see my boss's boss or the VP of the company (the real stickler about the rule) if I hid out in a secretive office space/vampire lair where the sun don't shine. ie, where we rarely allow clients or subcontractors because we do the prep work for bids for new business opportunities, and we rarely see the higher-ups down there. I'm seriously considering re-naming it the batcave. [I am so distractable right now. Sorry for that tangent...] Anywho, I thought, I'll be hidden away and he'll never even see me. Except he came down to find the leader on this project to discuss some sudden changes, and stopped in the room to ask where The Leader was, and then got chatty. And while trying to smile and be pleasant and natural, all I could think was "please don't make me stand up. please don't make me stand up. please ignore the jeans. please don't make me stand up. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY, IGNORE THE FACT THAT I HAVE BROKEN YOUR SACRED RULE BECAUSE I AM IN THE JOHN HURT WAY AND THERE IS AN ALIEN THREATENING TO MAKE MY STOMACH EXPLODE!" (special Coupling reference. I had to do it at some point.)

okay, last tangent. I am burping a lot, thanks to this whole expanding uterus, decreasing room for GI system. but the dog can surely let one rip to rival all root beer burps, especially for such a small 20 pound beast. She makes me feel so much better about myself.

Week 9 - Mood Swings are Ruining My Life

You might think that title is a bit of a stretch. You'd probably be sort of right. But they certainly did put a damper on what should have been a great weekend. And yes, this post is late. Because of mood swings. And other stuff. Which I will now tell you about.

Last weekend, Andy went away to a Bachelor party for his good friend and college roommate. When the trip was planned, I wasn't having any morning sickness and we had no idea how awful I would end up feeling at times. Plus, when we decided I would go to Hungary, part of the arrangement was that he could go off and enjoy whatever debauchery was planned. Fast forward a couple weeks, and the night before he leaves (which is also our 3rd anniversary), and I have a total freak-out over a minor issue. That should have been the first sign of what was to come.

And the whole "frisky" thing from last week? It's even more frequent now. As in, one pregnancy book lent to me by a friend puts it as "some women describe being in a constant state of arousal," which finally put my mind at ease. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me, like I was an over-sexed nympho because any thought, raised eyebrow, or random body contact took me straight from nauseous to horny. Needless to say, it's sort of inconvenient.

All in all, probably not the best time to be left alone for a long weekend. But it was really important to me that he have this chance to go out, blow off some steam, and get a vacation after taking care of me so much, so I sent him off with a kiss and my blessing to be as debauched as he wanted. Plus I knew I had some fabulous plans with the girls, so I wouldn't be lonely for company. The adventures we had will be a follow-up post, because they're too funny to share space here. Stay tuned, but be warned it may be another week or two, in which case I'll embelish the story and add a dramatic flourish or two, maybe even a unicorn.

So I was having a great time with the girls, but the damn OCD dog... she made any time at home miserable. I couldn't give her the same attention that Andy does because I can't stand the vibrations caused by her licking the couch, sucking on toys, or chewing on bones, so I can't sit with her. I also walk at about 1.5 miles an hour when I'm not feeling in perfect health, so taking her for her daily mile long outing was also out of the question. Her food smells disgusting and I have to bend over to get it out of the bag, so I wasn't exactly rushing to feed her. Eventually she barked at me out of frustration and wouldn't stop, and I lost it. I smacked her on the bottom after yelling at her, and she promptly ran away up the stairs. I felt horrible and sank to the floor and starting crying, which makes her come back down and gently check to see if I'm okay, which involves really delicate little licks, which is just about the sweetest thing a dog can do. Or she liked the salt on my face, but I like to think she was concerned.

That alone wouldn't have concerned me, except that later that weekend, I had her upstairs and she just wouldn't settle down. She kept getting into the trash, and running under the bed with qtips and tissues, so I have to pull her out so she doesn't swallow them. Getting on the floor? Not so easy. And she barely even fits under the bed, so it's not that simple to get here back out from under it. I'm ashamed to say it, but after getting her back out, I hit her again and couldn't stop myself because I had her in a corner and this primal response took over. I sobbed on the floor for about half an hour and was nauseous from not eating and being upset, and then finally talked to Andy. And yes, I know, I could have called people to come help, but at that point, I didn't even know what I needed and I felt I had already leaned on friends too much to ask for one more thing. And really, I was too ashamed and scared of what had happened to tell anyone but Andy.

Why is this so scary to me? To put it gently, there was a period of my life where some things happened that you can classify as physical abuse. To be fair, my mom was alone while my dad was stationed overseas, and it's even more difficult being a single mom while trying to get sober. But I still have that background, and I've always been terrified (while telling myself I'll be different) that I would lash out at my own children in a moment of extreme frustration. I've already worked through all of it for myself so I can be a functioning adult, but now that I'm going to be a parent, I think it's time to get back in for some therapy so I can learn to handle myself better without ever taking it out on my kids. And I know a lot of my reaction has to do with the hormones and mood swings and frustration over morning sickness, but that doesn't excuse what happened, and if I ever do anything to my kids, I will never forgive myself for not taking action when it first came up. Unfortunately, it will probably have to wait until next month when I actually have time of my own after this project for work is over, but that's better than not at all.

So enough of my pity party and on with the show. Little One was about the size of a green olive, and since both books said the exact same thing, I think I'll take it as being right on. We had our first prenatal appointment since the ultrasound, and my doctor said my due date will still be April 7, since the ultrasond date is still within a week of the guesstimate. Which is kind of funny, since the first doctor said April 8. I'm taking this all to mean I will count my weeks as starting on July 1, but that I'm not considering myself due until April 10th. At least that way I won't be quite as crazy if I go into labor after then. This is all theoretical of course. I may be so sick of being pregnant by the first that I just tell them to get it out already and tell me when it's over. Another item from the doctor? Apparently I shouldn't be going for the all-ice-cream diet. This sounds reasonable when I'm able to eat, but when everything but milk and rice and apples and ice cream sound disgusting, I'll take another helping of ice cream, thank you very much. I'll skip eating all those at once too, as that would also be disgusting.

So yeah, a bit late on this one, but I wasn't exactly up to writing this until today. And I'm too lazy to backdate it. I promise the next one will be up tomorrow, and sometime after that, crazy adventures that involve driving around for 2 hours instead of getting the right directions to only take 45 minutes. At least I had my sense of humor for that one. Nobody likes to be lost with a crying prenant lady.

Week 8 - I Think I've Got This Morning Sickness Figured Out

So I got my ultrasound on Monday. There are no aliens, just Little One with a tiny yolk sac and a really fast heartbeat. Holding Andy's hand while watching it flash on the screen was when everything really hit home for me. Yes, this is real, and yes, we are having a baby. The date has been adjusted to April 10th, though I don't really have high hopes for giving birth within a week of then anyway. Knowing my mom's history, I'll probably be 9-11 days late. Unfortunately, this also means my baby could share Hitler's birthday or the anniversary of my dad's death. How's that for morbid thinking? I suspect my doctors will try to move things along before then, which will get a hearty two thumbs up from me.

All this means I'm now officially 8 weeks pregnant, and Little One is the size of a raspberry or a kidney bean, depending on who you ask. Just one Little One, so no Little Too or even a Little Three to make life hectic. Probably best that way, but I'm pretty sure it will be a little while before I entertain the possibility of a second baby, given the way morning sickness made me feel so utterly rotten the last couple weeks. I wouldn't wish this nausea on anyone. The 4 pounds I've lost because I barely ate while my stomach was being ridiculous? I'll take that and be happy. It also gives me a little leeway for later one, which I'll need considering the restrictions the doctors will probably put on me for optimal weight gain. You would never tell that I lost weight though, because I'm totally showing and unfortunately look about 4 months pregnant when I'm bloated instead of two. Sometimes I can get away with my pre-pregnancy clothes, but it's less of an issue now because...

I finally found clothes! In my size! And they're not ugly! Wooo! In fact, Andy managed to find petite plus size pants, so I don't even need to get my jeans hemmed. It's fabulous, and totally comfy. Thank you Susan, your card totally worked and cheered me up for shopping! I even got some only-slightly-granny panty style undies, which is preferable to the "I am asexual now that I am pregnant and must cover every inch of my bottom and then some" version that was also available. Luckily I've pretty well deduced my size and what not, so I can order online instead of driving all the way out to Bethesda or Waldorf (so much further than Pentagon City). Also, are there simply no plus size pregnant women in Virginia?? Because Maryland has at least three malls with plus-size maternity clothes, and the nearest one in Virginia is Fredericksburg. Ain't no way I'm driving down 95 on a Saturday to get clothes with an elastic band sewn in, no way, no how. And now I don't have to, since I got two pairs of jeans and two pairs of work pants, and two shirts and a long-sleeve shirt for when it starts to get cool. But the next time I go shopping, I will definitely take advantage of any "Parking for Expectant Mothers" spaces available. Andy suggested we snag one, but I felt so guilty because what if a woman who's 7 months along needs to go shopping and she has to struggle all the way back to her car because *I* took her spot? Then we had to leave early because I got tired and I realized, oh, I guess this is also useful for those first trimester-exhausted women. Good to know for next time.

In addition to some cute new pants and basic shirts, I have the most comfy shoes I have ever owned, and they're totally cute and feminine and feel like SLIPPERS. Literally, complete with that nice soft sole that's like wearing a terrycloth sock, but with ribbon and a bow. How cool is that? Even my sister who complains about my boring fashion sense thought they were cute. And how can you refuse your doctor when he tells you to get better shoes? He took one look at my sandals with a nice pointed heel while walking out the door after our initial appointment so I could get dressed, and stopped dead, turned to me and said, "You're going to need new shoes. Those will kill your feet really soon." He then kept walking and damn was he right. So Zappo's has another happy customer and I have slippers that I can wear to work.

Also much better is the fact that I'm not sick as badly. Apparently the doctor also wasn't kidding when he told me to eat foods that appeal to me. As someone who has struggled with trying to not eat ice cream every day in a row until it's all gone whenever we buy it, this is a bit of a mindf*ck. I keep arguing with myself about whether I really should have it since I had it every day for the last week, even though I know I need to get extra calories and the calcium isn't a bad addition either. It's just so hard to get past the messages I had finally internalized about keeping everything balanced and indulging only in strict moderation. I hadn't realized until now that my relationship with food isn't as healthy as I assumed. Luckily I've also finally realized that if I snack on something before I get hungry, I won't get nauseous and then I can actually eat tiny portions of whatever Andy is also eating for a meal. Occasionally it gets frustrating that I have to live so much around remembering when I last ate and how much of it, but it's worth the alternative.

And in my final round of "Did you really want to know that?", not having much morning sickness has made me... friskier, shall we say? As in, I feel like a teenager who knows how much fun it can be but isn't getting any. Except that isn't exactly the case, Andy's thoroughly enjoying this. However, there are only so many times I can give him the wink, wink, nudge, nudge before he tells me I'm on my own. And the bastard is going to be gone next weekend at a bachelor party. Doesn't he know you're supposed to indulge pregnant women? (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, honey...)

Week 7 - Should I Really Be Showing Already?

Today marks 7 weeks and one day, and I feel like caca. Morning sickness pretty much all day. I'm still not puking, but I can't help but wonder if I'd feel a bit better if I just forced it. Eventually I would probably bemoan the damage to my esophagus, but for now I just want it to be over. One of my bosses is completely sympathetic, the other doesn't seem to realize that walking around can make me nauseous. Gee, thanks for calling me into your office again. I know it's only 20 feet, but it's pure torture, especially when your question is really not that important.

A coworker guessed that I'm pregnant today. After being out Thursday and still feeling crappy today, and seeing me having a pickle and ginger ale, plus knowing that we had been trying since last fall, she put two and two together, and got really excited for me. I'm hoping it's not obvious to everyone else just yet, because I really wanted to wait another couple of weeks to announce it at work.

Another thing that makes me queasy? Pants that are too tight, because my belly has grown. I really don't think it's because I'm showing yet, but there's definitely a difference that doesn't seem to be weight gain. I'm thinner along my sides, and I just can't see how I gained while barely eating. We don't keep scales around here, so I can't even check to see how I did compared to two weeks ago. But the growth is mostly in my upper belly, so...maybe I'm just "redistributing"?

Either way, I'm just about ready for maternity clothes. Unfortunately, getting pants a size or two too big just won't cut it. I looked, I tried them on, I looked like shit. So onwards to Target to see if I fit into the XXL maternity pants. And now I can joke about having my own line of clothes at Target (Liz Lange for the win!! totally scared the bejeezus out of me in college though...). If even those don't fit, I get to drive an hour or so into Maryland to find the few Motherhood Maternity stores that carry plus sizes.

Please god, let that at least work for me. I went into A Pea in the Pod and asked if their largest size was an extra-large or an extra-extra-large. The woman who worked there sort of looked confused and said they only went up to large. I was mortified. I hate the attitude that plus size women should just go up a size when they get pregnant, as though we aren't deserving of adorable shirts that show off a rounded belly. Oh silly me, don't you know that plus size woman don't get pregnant, who would even want to have sex with someone who's (gasp) overweight? And how can you tell if it's a cute prego belly, or just gross rolls of fat? I'm joking, but only sort of. It's hard not to feel that way when already nothing fits and I'm barely pregnant.

I had my sister with me for moral support and fashion advice while shopping, and that helped a lot. I didn't get hung up on whether something looked unflattering (I have no fashion instinct, whatsoever), because I knew she would tell me if it was, which meant I could just focus on whether I liked it or not. We found some great shirts that would leave me room for a month or two until the weather gets too cold, plus a great dress to wear to our friends' wedding in two months. I'll want some cute satiny ballet flats and a nice wrap, and it'll be totally perfect!! But no pants yet. *insert emo sigh here* The belly bands that everybody raves about as a way to keep wearing your pants longer? Yeah...apparently they only come in S/M or M/L, which I am not. In the slightest sense possible.

Little One is blueberry sized now, so we'll start working our way through the produce department. I can't really think of any fruit that's bigger than a pineapple, but I think if you consider the leaves, that'll be close-ish enough. And thanks to my early followers, you make me feel so special!

Ultrasound is on Monday. We'll find out if we're having twins (which would sort of explain the sudden growth issue) and confirm the due date. I guess this sort of also implicitly covers the unhappy possibility of a molar (which could also explain early growth) or ectopic pregnancy. I'll feel so much better when we've had a chance to see Little One. I think everything will finally seem real in every way, rather than just the tired queasy way.

Week 6 - Explosion is Imminent

I am now 6 weeks and 1 day pregnant (but who's counting?) and well, there's no mistaking the fact that I'm pregnant now. This nausea thing? Yeah, I totally underestimated that. Earlier this week it was just a couple hours in the morning and a bit around 4pm, plus any time that I was too hot. Kind of annoying, though nothing I couldn't handle.

But now? I've been feeling queasy almost the whole time since waking up. I'm sick of eating ginger cookies. I cannot stomach another saltine. I still haven't even figured out what appeals to me, so I can at least get some calories for Little One. Bleh. Even foods that are initially okay-sounding have ended up not being so great. I'm looking at you, popcorn.

I had been walking in the mornings but I'm not getting any exercise because I don't really want to go out in hot humid weather and get even sweatier. If heat makes me nauseous, why on earth would I want to get hot and nasty in the morning when I'm already nauseous? I'm barely even getting in some basic stretches and core strengthening stuff from my days in physical therapy. Perhaps I will try to get out and walk later. You know, when I stop wanting to puke.

Luckily, there has been no puking. YET. Actually that's not true, I puked a little bit when I triggered my gag reflex while brushing my tongue, but that's kind of normal for me already. Doesn't count. I seriously considered making myself puke last night after eating too much pizza. The indigestion was God awful. And after feeling just as bad having a little bit of pizza for lunch (with a huge container of salad), I've decided pizza is off the menu for me for the next few weeks. I'll see how I feel later on, but dear lord, I do NOT want to repeat that one again in the near future.

Little One is about the size of a nail head. Whatever that means, you cryptic pregnancy advice book, you. Clearly they have never been to a hardware store and been lost among all the nails and screws you can get. At least I know it's smaller than a blueberry, since that comes next week.

On a happy note, my boobs don't hate me as much anymore. Don't get me wrong, they're still unhappy, but now I can handle contact without screaming. Most of the time, at least. Also, I love my workplace. I told my managers and they're all totally happy and excited and supportive. It helps that they all have children of their own (or at least enjoy being the super awesome aunt) so they don't look at this as "great, now we have to find someone to do her job for a few months while she takes leave." or something like that.

I am dying to go to my ultrasound in 10 days and see a heartbeat. and see if there are 2 heartbeats. *squeee*

Success!

Sooooo. This past weekend I was having cramps like nobody's business, to the point that my my husband was worried. We decided that it would be best if I took a pregnancy test Monday morning, just to get an idea of whether these were period cramps or not.

Knowing that it's still a little early in the two week wait to get strong results, I decide when I wake up to pee at 3 in the morning that it would be much better to test in the middle of the night instead of waiting like a normal person for when the alarm goes off. So I do the test, and a faint line shows up!! I have the bathroom light on, and wake up my husband to tell him (which he apprarently wasn't fond of me for. then he got over it.) and then I giggle and crawl back into bed and not get back to sleep.

Those cramps? Apparently Braxton-Hicks can make an appearance already. I am not amused, Little One. You had better be awfully damn cute. ;)

Even better my sister is visiting from California in 2 weeks! She's going to come with us to the first ultrasound.

So yes, April 8th. We are thrilled. My mom cried. His mom cried. And now my mom is shopping for baby clothes. Fun! For now we're really keeping it just between us and our parents. I'd love to be able to tell some of the extended family, but, well, let's just say news travels really fast. For anyone reading this that I see on a regular basis (and you know who you are), I'd appreciate keeping it hush-hush for now. I'm not quite ready to make a big announcement just yet and then (God forbid) have something go wrong. I just couldn't handle it.

So, now that we're not facing infertility anymore, I'll probably be transitioning this space to be a record of my pregnancy and make it a little more open to people who know us IRL. Bear with me as I clean some things up a bit. Like the bits about "sex is so much fun" lest my grandmas have simultaneous heart attacks.

Huzzah!

Seeing as I need my beauty rest, this will be quick but:

I OVULATED!! FINALLY!! CAN'T YOU SEE THE STARS AND PUPPIES AND SINGING BIRDS AROUND MY HEAD??!!

no? hmm, must be because I was jumping around more giddy than I have been since I was proposed to. you know, when I squeaked and he had the forethought to make sure my mouth was stuffed with food. thanks honey, for that memory and an embarassing story for all eternity.

also, my nipples are killing me. so sore that my husband has stopped touching my boobs at all. no honey, it's just the nipples, feel free to do anything you want so long as you don't disturb the all holy nipples or look at them or even think about them, because they can tell, you know. see, they got all hard and hurting again and it's all your fault.

stay tuned for august 5th. I will either be really happy or kinda depressed. keeping my fingers crossed though.

Instructions - Apparently They Do Matter

Well, the last cycle was a bust, but luckily (I guess?) it's not so much that the medicine didn't work as that... I didn't take it correctly. How hard can it be, right? Except you have to understand there's a difference between P as Provera and P as period when your doc hands you an annotated diagram complete with lecture about when to have sex, when not to do anything, and when it's up to us. It's a bit like I was back in Upper Division Math Courses, thinking I basically understood the gist of the theorem, only to fail the midterm. Or trying to understand what the IKEA instructions without words and the befuddled-looking androgynous stick-person are really saying.

Overall, I'm pretty pleased with the situation. I didn't have any funky side effects, and I've even gotten back into a regular cycle - how cool is that? There were some really vivid dreams, and I guess the nausea might be a side effect, but really, a bit of a breeze. And who doesn't like being told "have lots of sex"? But I think the best thing has been having my cycle start up again, so I feel a lot more optimistic about my body's ability to do this successfully, with the added benefit of not having to take drugs. And because of that (and my general stupidity), I'm not disappointed. Not a bit. Although the PMS that I haven't had to deal with in about a year is kinda sucky.

Since we knew I wasn't pregnant, we took the opportunity this past weekend to do winetasting at a nearish winery to celebrate my birthday. The wines really don't even compare to California, since the growing season is so utterly opposite. There were Chardonnays, and Cabs, but no Zins or Sauv Blancs, and everything tastes a bit different. But I am getting to explore new varietals, and experience softer, mellower wines. The official Virginia grape I'm not so fond of, but I do love the Vidal Blancs we get out here and Viogner is especially tasty when grown here. And thanks to Virginia's alcohol control laws, we got to have a small, rich lunch before we headed home. Oh Virginia, and your silly requirement to make a substantial portion of sales in food. I think California would just about die under laws like that.

We also went to historic Occoquan, which is a nice little town on the Occoquan river that reminds me a bit of downtown Petaluma. Smaller, but a similar feel, and lots of places to take my sister when she comes out this summer. [Side note - I'm so excited over that I could pee my pants!] Andy found a place we could get breakfast, which is surprisingly hard to do in this area. Not brunch, not a chain, not a bakery that sells breakfast pastries and has coffee. We had real, honest-to-goodness French toast and biscuits and gravy, and we didn't have to wait until 10am to eat. Harder to do around here than I would have expected. We also stopped in at their farmer's market and picked up some awesome looking summer squash (I think it was Zebra and Pattypan - aka, Striped and Flying Saucer), some tiny apricots, and the most delicious bun bread (slightly sweet and buttery). I believe some French toast is in my future. Specifically, for my birthday.

So now we start another cycle. I start the Clomid on Friday, just in time to spread it out over a 3-day weekend, so hopefully if anything does happen, I won't have to deal with it at work. I picked up an ovulation predictor kit, but I'm not really sure if this is the right time to use it. On the one hand, I have pretty clear instructions about when to time trying, and the packaging does say I should follow my doctor's orders if I'm on Clomid. On the other hand, the lab never actually completed my bloodwork to check that I did ovulate. As in, they lost it. And I don't know how much of a difference it will make to me, knowing whether part of the process worked or if I can let go early and not worry about testing because it didn't. I'm currently leaning towards not peeing on the stick every single morning, but I still have at least 3 days to decide. I guess we'll wait and see.

Just a Bit of Bitching and Moaning

I do believe I'm having fake preg symptoms. Because it's not already entirely sucky to have all the emotional upheaval of going through fertility treatment until you think to yourself, at least being nauseous every morning is a good sign, only to get a negative result again. I'm so freaking tired of taking tests with my hopes up and getting them back down again.

And there's probably some anxiety going on, evidenced by the crushing chest pains around/between my boobs. Which happen while I'm trying to sleep. Now that I think about it, I should probably have that checked out. Along with my non-functional reproductive system. And my random nausea. And losing my balance.

Even better with all this? Nausea that gets worse in humidity. Why on earth did I decide to go through clomid cycles at the start of summer in DC of all places?

Round One, Day Four

I finally went to an OBGYN. The current state of my system has led to trying medication, and round one started on Sunday. Just trying to figure out when to start the cycle was crazy enough, so hopefully I won't have crazy mood swings or the dizziness the pharmacy so helpfully warned me about with the biggest label I've ever seen.

So. The OBGYN's office. Scariest building EVER. Like, at first glance, I was like, I am so not coming back here. It really looks like the rundown hospital setting for a horror movie, until you realize it's just an old building desperately in need of a facelift. And maybe a tummy tuck and new hairdo to complete the makeover. The nice thing is they have several other locations, and I can go to any of them because they sync up the records electronically. The staff was pretty nice, aside from the phlebotamist playing political talk radio. That just bugs me, for the same reason that religious radio stations in public spaces make me uncomfortable. But I digress. Mostly I wanted to go there because they have a collaborative practice with midwives AND physicians and treat you as a whole system instead of just a reproductive system attached to a brain.

The doctor gets my history and decides to have my full hormones checked out and an ultrasound ordered just to confirm the extent of my PCOS and rule out anything else keeping me from getting pregnant. The results? Let's just say the technician was like, "Uh, you have a history of PCOS, right?" as though to say, holy crap, those are some serious cysts. And yes, they are serious, and now I have them on both ovaries instead of just one. I also apparently have the beginnings of adenomyosis (similar to endometriosis but not exactly related). Luckily, my testosterone levels aren't off the charts like they used to be, not that I could tell going by the insane amount of extra hair I have to manage on a daily basis. I'm certainly getting my money's worth out of my tweezers.

After getting the results, I have the options laid out for me. Try to let the cycles happen on their own, go back onto birth control to get cycles evened out, or try drugs. Guess which one I chose. The current plan is a couple cycles consisting of Provera (to get my uterus prepared), Clomid (to induce ovulation), and trying every other day (our favorite part). Then checking hormone levels mid-cycle, crossing our fingers, and hoping for two lines on the stick. The Provera may or may not give me anything like a period, and the Clomid can cause wicked mood swings. Also, did I mention twins? And how I'd been having dreams about having twins, and sometimes my dreams turn out to be true in really bizarre, unexpected ways? *Cue the Twilight Zone music, I'll get back to you if I have a deja vu moment*

ALSO. Did I mention my in-laws are coming to visit? In the middle of my cycle? For a week? See above about trying to time things so as to avoid spontaneous combustion. (In all honesty, I love my husband's family. His parents supported me when I was in college, especially when my own family was unable or unwilling to do the same. But still, I don't even like to see my sister/best friend for more than a week or two at a time. Digressing again...) At least they're staying at a hotel instead of with us, and my husband is taking a week off to spend time with them, so I don't have to play hostess 24/7 or even for the 6 hours each weekday that I'm not sleeping or at work.

Thus far, the cycle is...uneventful, though not much else can be expected only four days in. Chances are I won't even have much of a period after the provera, since I sorta had one after coming back all relaxed from Hungary (OMG, that was a LIFE CHANGING EXPERIENCE. and I understand myself and how I relate to my mom/sis even better now, for better or for worse). And I've decided to stop drinking, following a fab wine tasting this past weekend. It's better for my chances, and it became apparent that while nothing I was doing was problematic, my habits/mindsets were making me uncomfortable with myself at times. Technically, a couple glasses of wine this week or next wouldn't hurt a fertilized embryo, but it's not good for the part of me that has a family of alcoholics and is too prone to addiction.

Tomorrow: Clomid. Beware dizziness. Beware twins. Don't operate heavy machinery (no kidding, these are the warnings for my meds). Keep the sperm factory flushed and fresh but not overworked. (my wording, not the doc's. though it's not too far off...) And don't get too invested in this because it's more likely to not happen this cycle than to be successful. This is the stuff mood swings are made of.