Wilson’s Birthday

Leading up to Wilson’s birthday, I thought a scheduled c-section would be less stressful than the emergency c-section I had with Gus almost four years ago.

I was mistaken.

Turns out when you’ve been in active labor for several hours without an epidural, and your baby is suddenly in danger, you don’t have much time to process what’s about to happen as you roll into the OR (and then almost sleep through the whole thing from sheer exhaustion).

This time I was wide awake, over-thinking everything, and walked myself into the OR past tables of terrifying surgical tools before getting my epidural on the operating table.

The actual delivery went well, but caught me a little off guard only because a few minutes before we got started they got word another baby in L&D might be in distress and they warned me they may need to go to the other OR for an emergency delivery (Been there! I’ll wait.)

The next thing I knew: the doors opened, doctors and nurses were everywhere, someone turned on the radio (raise your hand if “Despacito” was playing when your baby was born!) and they were just talking like it was another day at the office.

“Did you see Roberta’s haircut?”
“Who has the medieval torture devices I sterilized?”
“Let’s make the first incision.”

Wait, what was that last thing you said?

No, hello. No, we’re about to get started. No husband (wearing a beard cover) sitting patiently by my side. No, ready, no set.

Just, GO.

Mike was there a few minutes later, but surgery was well underway at that point. And while I definitely didn’t feel pain, the amount of pressure I could feel was so overwhelming that it was extremely uncomfortable.

Ultimately I needed two extra doses of my epidural during surgery, and three doses of additional pain meds while they closed my incision.

Recovery has been going well, and we’ve been home for four days now. Aside from the usual newborn woes (mainly not sleeping) this time has been a lot less stressful for all of us.

I already know how to breastfeed (even though my milk didn’t come in until last night), I’m sleeping as much as I can when I can, I’m staying on top of pain meds and physically I feel really good.

The biggest difference: my mom is living with us this time, so we have an extra set of hands to help with baby and Gus. When I think about one day getting this baby fed and out the door in time to get Gus to preschool on time, it makes my eye twitch but I know we’ll get there eventually.

Wilson is a pretty good baby, and Gus LOVES him. It’s only been a few days so we’ll see how long it lasts, but he loves to help with diaper changes, he kisses him constantly, and whenever he cries, Gus sings him customized lullabies (“Rockabye Wilson” is his go-to, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Wilson” is a close second).

I genuinely still can’t believe this beautiful, healthy baby is here right now, after everything that happened in the last year. And in a few weeks, we’ll celebrate Gus’ fourth birthday as a little family of four!


Shut Your Mouth When You’re Talking to Me.

I realize that a lot of people don’t know what to say with regard to fertility treatments. I’m one of those rare, beautiful creatures, who doesn’t mind talking about it — but it’s one of those things you can’t really understand unless you (or someone close to you) have been through it yourself.

We’re stressed out, we’re pumped full of drugs, we already feel like a failure, and we’re hormonally-fueled balls of emotion — so here’s a list of things, that you should never, ever, say to a woman in the middle of fertility treatments (unless you want to get punched in the throat).

“Just relax! Drink some wine! It’ll happen!”
Um, no. No it won’t. Sure, it does for some people, who don’t have fertility issues — but not us. If it was that simple, and alcohol helped that much, I would have left college with like a dozen babies. We’ve been at this for years, thanks — so, we obviously require medical intervention. I know you’re just throwing in your two cents, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.

“He just looks at me, and I get pregnant!”
Oh, good for you, Fertile Myrtle! You probably just had some wine, and relaxed too, right?! Thanks for pointing out your natural ability to get pregnant without even trying. Your parents must be so proud.

“You’re still young!”
1) Thank you. But, 2) It doesn’t feel that way. Not when people you went to high school with are on babies #3 or 4, and your newsfeed is full of pregnancy announcements. Like I said, we’ve been at this for years, and I’m not getting any younger.

“Oh, I had a friend who had trouble getting pregnant, but they like, had to do it in a petri dish.”
Uhhh, yeah! So did we! What do you think I’ve been talking about this whole time?

“Take some of my kids!”
Oh, how hilarious! You’re kids are annoying, and you don’t want them anymore! Hahaha! You have sooooo many kids, you’re just giving them away!

“Here comes the next Octomom!!”
Octomom is a great example of irresponsible decision making (also, insanity). Any respectable fertility specialist would never transfer more embryos than necessary, and only a crazy person (who is young, has had success with IVF before, and already has six kids) would insist on transferring 12 embryos. TWELVE. She was 32. I’m 32 — you know how many I’m allowed to transfer? Two, max. That’s why that doctor lost his medical license, and she’s a bankrupt lunatic. Please don’t compare me to her.

“You should just adopt — then it’ll happen!”
First of all, this isn’t the 50s. You can’t just stroll down to your neighborhood orphanage and pick up that adorable infant that poor girl in secretarial school left on their doorstep in the dead of night. Adoptions take years, and cost tens of thousands of dollars — and even then it’s not a sure thing! As for magically getting pregnant once you’ve adopted (because, you know — the pressure is off, so you’re… relaxed) please see #1.

Adios, Wheat. Again.

A few months ago, I told you I was giving up wheat.

Bye bye, bread!

See ya, donuts!

Suck on it, crackers! Wait, that sounds racist…

Anyway. I did give up wheat, and a lot of other grains. My Wheat Belly diet slowly morphed into a sort of modified Paleo Diet (modified in that, I occasionally ate beans, brown rice, quinoa, and dairy) because those recipes are a lot easier to find an adapt.

And it was working, people. Right before we started our first round of IVF, I was down about 25 pounds, without lifting a finger. Seriously, I didn’t exercise once. It was allllll diet. I was thrilled. My chronic knee pain was gone, I was sleeping better, my skin looked awesome, and I got to eat bacon pretty regularly.

But then, per my usual, everything fell apart.

The egg retrieval and recovery kept me off my feet for almost a week, and all I wanted was comfort foods. Then I was stuck in bed for a few more days after the embryo transfer. About a week later, I felt like crap (turns out I was pregnant, but at the time, I thought I had food poisoning) and the only thing I could keep down was saltines. A few weeks (and a miscarriage) later, you’d have to pry the junk food out of my cold, dead, hands.

I eat when I’m bored, and happy, and sad — and I managed to cram all three emotions into a four week period. And gluten was along for the ride.

And now I feel terrible. My knees? Killing me. My skin? Gross. Sleeping well? Eh, not really.

So today I pulled it together, and stocked the fridge with plenty of healthy, grain-free, foods. I threw out the rest of those saltines too, while I was at it. (Also, if you follow me on Pinterest, I apologize in advance for all those Paleo recipes. I’m on a roll, and they all sound so good!) I’m also sugar-, caffeine-, and alcohol-free, again. I have a few weeks before we start our next round of IVF, and I want to be as healthy as possible before we get started.

So please, don’t tempt me with your desserts, or your wine, or your diet soda. But I will take whatever breakfast meats you have available.

The Waiting Game

Yes, I’m alive.

I’ve spent the last few weeks doing a variety of things.

Thankfully, most of those things involved staying in bed, or laying on the sofa.

I rewatched True Blood season four to get ready for the start of season five. I got swept up in a Sex and The City marathon too, and ended up watching a few seasons. I cleaned the bathrooms at our old place, and organized an open house so we could get that sucker rented ASAP. I watched entirely too much Dateline while Mike was visiting his family in Kansas for a few days. I discovered American Ninja Warrior, and the sweaty shirtless men who run and jump their way through obstacle courses. I was horrified to discover my DVR erased almost the whole first season of New Girl I had saved. My life is sad and empty without constant access to Nick Miller. My oldest friend is moving all the way across the country next week, so I spent a few days going through some very old pictures for a little project I’m working on for her. Man, the early 90s were not a good time to be photographed.

Additionally, I’ve also been overanalyzing every. little. tiny. sensation in my body.

See, if you’ve 1) have never been through fertility treatments, 2) been pregnant, or 3) are a man — the human body is a mysterious, hormonal nightmare.

All the things they say are a sign of pregnancy? Sore boobs, nausea, being tired, weird dreams. Yeah, those are also side effects of all the hormones I’m currently taking. They’re also basically the same signals you get when you’re decidedly not pregnant.

If that’s not proof God has a sense of humor, I don’t know what is.

And so the waiting game is long, and torturous.

The good news? My best friends are all teachers who are off for the summer, I’m unemployed, and the pool is open — so at least I can be tan and entertained.


Third Time’s a Charm?

Sheesh, I hope so.

I just scheduled our next (and third, and hopefully, last) IUI for this Saturday. While they were at it, they also had me schedule my pregnancy test for a few weeks later.

The first test after our first IUI was on my birthday. (I took a pregnancy test on my birthday, and all I got was a lousy year older, womp womp.)

The second was on Valentine’s Day. (Insert VD joke here.)

The third will be on my BFF/Man of Honor’s 30th birthday.

I hope his birthday is luckier than mine was.

And if it’s not, well, then — lemon-sized ovaries, here we come.

In other news, I spent a little over an hour today with my nemesis — the xacto knife. I’m happy to report all my fingers are still intact, and I didn’t require any stitches (like I did that time I made our wedding invitations.)

What was I doing, you ask? Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it — just a little something for my cousin’s baby shower this weekend (which I’d be happy to share once she’s seen it, so keep your pants on.)

I also stumbled across these two little gems while running other baby shower-related errands this morning:

1) The Harry Potter-shaped hole in my heart desperately wanted these, but the directions were a little intimidating, and so I left them in the International Foods aisle where I found them.

2) I don’t care how old you are, Spotted Dick sounds hilarious.

New Year’s Resolutions

I’m the type of person who has to write things down if they’re ever going to get done.

Sometimes I’m the type of person who writes things down, and then loses the paper, and then never does those things. (Clearly they weren’t that important)

I’m also the sort of person who makes a lot of New Year’s Resolutions, and then does… hmmmm… 40 percent of them. So we’ll see how this goes.

#1. Make Babies. Obviously, this is kind of out of my control at this point. Science has taken over, and all I can do is take my medicine and then lay on an exam table where some doctor I’ve never actually met before get’s all up in my business while Mike holds my hand. But I feel pretty confident that it’ll happen soon. Babies everywhere, 2012.

#2. Don’t Be So Fat. This is both in support of #1, and also sort of laughs in the face of #1. Pregnancy = weight gain, everyone knows that. When the baby wants chocolate cake or french fries, or I don’t know, both at the same time — you eat it, and you like it. But until said baby starts demanding delicious foods (wouldn’t it be great if I just craved apples, and bran muffins?!) I need to lose as much weight as possible so I can have a healthy pregnancy/baby/body.

#3. Floss. I’m a terrible flosser. I always have been. I blame my mother. Smoop actually flosses regularly, but when I was little she had the dentist put some awful-tasting sealer on my teeth, and I never had a cavity. Not one. Until I was 28. So I really need to get on that. Also, I’m actually afraid of my dental hygienist, and don’t want her to reprimand me anymore.

#4. Take More Pictures. My awesome mother-in-law got me these amazing add-on lenses for my camera phone. I also have two SLRs collecting dust in my closet, and a really nice point-and-shoot just laying around, because I use my phone for everything now. But I love being behind a camera, and I have all the time in the world — so I’m going to try to do one of those 30-Day Photo Challenges and try to make my own Bokeh kit.

#5. Make More Things. I have a whole board of DIY projects I’ve been wanting to try, but I’m lazy and haven’t attempted too many. I also think a lot of them require a sewing machine, which I don’t own, or even really know how to use, so I need to learn how to do that too.

Uh… I’m sort of out of resolutions. So, I’m chubby, I can’t sew, and I need to floss more.

I guess that’s not so bad.

I’m sure there are more and I can’t remember them, because I wrote them down, and then lost the paper.