This is Easier/Harder Than Last Time

Having a normal sized baby, after having a teeny tiny one, is much easier than I was prepared for. 

It’s easier to go to the doctor, get NSTs and BPPs, there’s a lot less monitoring and blood work, and none of the medical professionals I see throughout the week come at me with a doom-and-gloom attitude.

My NSTs are over, passed with flying colors, in record time. My BPPs are literally just fluid checks — no dopplers, no practice breaths counts, no constant talk of growth scans. 

I’m not laying awake at night frantically reading about IUGR causes and complications. 

Doctors say things like, “this is all a testament to how well you’re managing your gestational diabetes!” as I stare blankly over their shoulders, thinking about plates of French fries and bowls of ice cream. 

It’s also harder though, physically.

While it’s only the matter of a few extra pounds, I’m feeling the difference between carrying a baby in the 10th percentile versus one in the 50th. 

My belly button is gone, and I’m horrified, and I can’t even look at it (which is difficult since I have to give myself multiple abdominal injections a day). Oh god I hope it goes back to normal. 

And then there are all the regular third trimester wonders like heartburn, and round ligament pain, aching back and ribs, and (new for me this time!) Braxton Hicks, all of which seem intensified this time, but that could just be my pregnancy amnesia talking. 

But of course, like any lucky former infertile (a former infertile with a miracle unicorn accidental pregnancy no less), I’m trying not to complain. 


Now What?

It’s slowly dawning on me that in about five months I’ll be someone’s mother.

We’ve been so focused on getting pregnant, and then staying that way — I haven’t given a lot of thought to what happens when it finally works.

It’s easy to be distracted by all the fun things. Decorating the nursery! Registering for ALL THE THINGS! Buying tiny little outfits! But, then we have to have a baby, and take care of it FOREVER.

I’m not totally unprepared (cue the maniacal laughter of parents everywhere). I’ve been around a lot of babies over the years. Feeding them. Changing the diapers. Unexplained hysterical crying (theirs and mine). But I always just handed them back to whoever was in charge when I was tired, or they wouldn’t stop screaming, or I wanted to eat something.

Now people are going to do that to ME.

I remember being really, really nervous about learning how to drive. Like, just terrified. For the record, it didn’t help that the first time I took the car out with the instructor I killed a squirrel. (I said, “Mr. Klein, there’s a squirrel!” And he said, “Don’t worry, they always move.” Incorrect, Mr. Klein!) Or the first time they took us out at night it was Halloween on dark and windy roads with kids EVERYWHERE, running into the street left and right.

Anyway — I don’t remember who, either my mom or my stepdad, but one of them told me, “Try not to worry. Stupid people learn how to drive all the time.”

The implication, of course, is that I’m a genius, so I’ll figure it out. (Excellent parenting, by the way. Making a note…)

So, I just keep reminding myself that stupid people have babies all the time too (they certainly don’t have any trouble getting pregnant, amiright? Please refer to your Facebook feed for examples), and most of them don’t grow up to be serial killers, hookers or crime bosses.

I’m sure we’ll be fine.

It’s a … BABY?!

1) Surprise, I’m pregnant!*

Like, kind of super pregnant.

As in, I’m halfway to giving birth to a human child.


We’re not the type to take a pregnancy test and start shouting the results from the rooftops. As far as IVF is concerned, I’m a champ when it comes to getting pregnant — I just don’t have the best track record staying that way.

So, in the beginning, we waited for some good bloodwork, and then only told family and close friends. In the past, I’d never made it to the first sonogram, so that was a big deal. Six weeks in, we saw a tiny, flickering blob, and were told it was perfect. Two more weeks, and we could see a little dancing gummy bear with waving arms and legs. (One advantage to fertility treatments AND being high-risk? I get a lot of sonograms.)

Months later, it hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. We’ve had some wonky blood work, and no one can really explain it, and follow up testing has been inconclusive — hence our delayed announcement. But everything seems fine — Mr. Baby is growing on schedule, has a consistently strong heartbeat, dances around like his momma, and is definitely a boy.

It’s hard, given our track record, not to think “well, if we stay pregnant,” or “if we have a baby this time,” but we’re finally to a point where we just said — screw it. Being nervous nellies with twitchy eyes is soooo 2012 — I’m ready to be excited, and buy some damn baby stuff already!

2) Wait, it’s a boy?!

Yes, a male child. This is exceptional news, if we are not related — because the last boy born in my immediate family is almost 27, I think. That’s 27 years of nothing but girl babies. People are already referring to him as “The Little Prince,” which I’m hoping doesn’t stick. My cousin immediately started screaming, “BUT I SAVED YOU ALL THESE SUNDRESSES!” Because that’s just how it is — we make girls… until now, apparently.

Hopefully he has at least some of my personality or that child will never, ever, get a word in edgewise.

3) Pregnancy sort of suits me.

But not really. Like, I didn’t have terrible morning sickness (I don’t think) but I did lose my appetite completely for about three months (and sort of counting, it’s getting a little better). All I wanted was ice water with lemons (Mr. Baby is really well hydrated) and a plain soft pretzels. My first trimester I think I lost 15 pounds, and I’m still a few pounds under where I started in February.

As a result, I’m barely showing. Well, maybe I’m showing? But my boobs are so huge, I think it’s impossible to tell. So I can still wear all my regular clothes, my skin is awesome (thanks, water!), and my love affair with food appears to be over, for good.

In other news, I have heartburn that could stop a grizzly bear in it’s tracks, I haven’t been able to brush my teeth without dry heaving since March, and every fan in our house has been on full blast since February. But you won’t hear me complaining (unless you are my husband).

4) Boo! I’m due on Halloween!

Perfect timing, if you ask me, because October is the best.

And now I get to register for stuff! And be super-duper pregnant during the summer! And there’s a nursery to decorate!


*This is probably not a surprise if we are 1) related, 2) bffs, 3) pinterest friends

Nope. Nada. Zilch.

I’m not pregnant.*

But that’s cool, baby. I’m looking forward to a few more days without all those extra hormones, AND I predicted this first month would be a dud, anyway.

It’s called, “managing expectations.”

Plus it gives me more time to tackle (toxic) projects like repainting our front door, which is about to go from gross and red, to fancy and black.

I like my doors, like I like my men.

But I feel good about October. Everyone think sexy, fertile thoughts in a few weeks.

Also, because I feel like a blog post isn’t complete unless there are some pictures? Here’s a picture of my niece, because she’s adorable, and I’m currently working on the invitations to her First Birthday Party.

*here’s hoping this will save me from having to call everyone who keeps asking me if I have any “news,” or looking at me suspiciously when I don’t drink something alcoholic. 

So It’s Not Just Me, Then?

The first email I saw this morning was from one of my best friends — and the subject was, “I can’t believe it.

And, thanks to iPhones/Gmail email preview — the next thing I read was, “Did you guys know I’m pregnant?

And then I almost pooped my pants.

Turns out, she’s not.  But some moron in an elevator thought she was, and asked her when she was due.  And I can say with some certainty, that she doesn’t even look a little pregnant.  Her theory?  “Maybe it’s because my boobs look huge today? That’s what I’m going with.

The best part though — she said she almost made up a fake due date to spare this woman’s feelings.  But then — because we hate this lady, clearly — she opted not to.  The sad part is, I’ve considered doing the same thing before (and then going home and throwing out that top/dress) but I usually couldn’t do the math fast enough in my head to make it believable.  I’m pretty sure if you’re really pregnant, you know right off the top of your head when you’re scheduled to HAVE A PERSON.

Also, seriously — screw that lady.  Let her be uncomfortable.

And really, people, unless you can see a head starting to crown, I don’t care how pregnant someone looks — don’t ask them when they’re due, or what they’re having.

Speaking of babies, I was invited to attend a PCOS webinar last night, which was really helpful and informative.  And as a result, I think I’m changing my plan of attack on the let’s-make-babies front, and transitioning to a new practice.  Also, all those jokes I make about how I’ll probably have quadruplets?  Apparently incredibly likely.  Holy crap.