Say hello to the Peanut

This was taken at 17.5 weeks so they are a little out of date. My favorite is the second one where his hand is raised by his head, as if waving.

One wait ends; another wait begins

I promise pics will be up soon, just trying to get the scanner to cooperate.

As many of you know, the Bagel and I struggled to get pregnant for the last few years. Last August (2009) after trying for over a year and a half with no results, I finally switched to a new OBGYN who was not petulant or dismissive and I started taking a hormone to help me ovulate. Except I didn't, not often enough. Six months later we started another medicine, called Clomid in addition to the first hormone. The scary thing for me was that I could only be on Clomid for six months. If something didn't happen it would be time to look more seriously at other fertility options. Expensive ones. Scary ones.
We went through four cycles. I really started to despair. I also felt like I needed to make a decision, as I had been simultaneously pursuing grad school and pregnancy. I decided that June would be the last time I took the Clomid until after I finished my Masters; it was time to commit to one path. Then Bagel and I went to Madison to visit my top choice for grad school. We fell in love with it. We had fun. And consequently, we got pregnant.
When I took the test I did it at home alone. You have to understand, we have taken a lot of pregnancy tests only to be disappointed. I didn't want to put Jeff through it again. Convinced I would see only one line, I took the test and a few minutes later wandered back in to the bathroom to discover a blazing neon double line. For the next three hours I paced the house like a crazy person. I took Bean on a walk and wanted to be like, "Hey! Hey tree I am pregnant!" Finally, Jeff got home. He saw through the curtains that I was pacing the living room. I pounced as soon as he was in the door. It was a great moment.
The last four months have been hard and amazing and weird. At first I was in disbelief. When we went in for our first ultrasound I stared to hemorrhage at the doctors' office. It was so awful. They quickly did the ultrasound and found the baby's heart still beating. We went back the next week. They discovered then that the week before I had miscarried a twin. It was a shock. We went back the next week and they confirmed that I had lost one of the babies. I didn't know how to feel. I still don't. I can't imagine having twins. But who was that baby that I lost? Who was he/she supposed to be? Outside of this incident my first trimester was uneventful. However, it made me fearful of making a public announcement before we got far enough along that we could have some reassurance I would likely not miscarry. Then I wanted to wait for some of the screening tests. I kept putting it off because I was scared that as soon as I told everyone, something terrible would happen. I am still afraid, but it is getting better. Someone very close to me lost her baby at nearly this exact point. I can't imagine what it must be like. For this reason, I decided to hold off on announcing publicly until we had our important 17 week appointment, this is what we had today. Luckily, the baby looks great and everything seems fine so far. In one of the pictures from the ultrasound, the point of view is from the top down; you can see his head and his arm is next to it. It's almost like he's raised his hand as if to say hello, or in the spirit of his mom, "Look, I know the answer."
I had very mild nausea for most of the first trimester. I thought I had escaped unscathed until thirteen weeks when suddenly I was yarking all the time. It looks like I may have it for the rest of my pregnancy. This part is not fun.
Tomorrow I take a test that will likely confirm that I have gestational diabetes. Though my weight issues haven't helped, genetics and family history also play a major part. Stupid pancreas. I have actually lost weight since I got pregnant (all that yoga this summer plus I have a gym class twice a week and walk every day. Plus the incessant yarking.) I don't eat sweets, I don't ingest High Fructose Corn Syrup and I eat crazy amounts of green vegetables. I am doing everything right and this still happens. It is frustrating, but I am determined to have a healthy pregnancy and to do everything I can to have a natural birth.
This wait to get pregnant seemed endless. Now I have to wait five more months (about) to meet my son. One wait ends, another begins. Well worth it, no doubt. I hope you all continue to wait with me.

PS- I promise that I will still be writing about things other than pregnancy, but, as one can understand, this is going to be a major topic of discussion.

Please, let me have a son like this

"Colors don't have gender!"



Image care of Sociological Images
Story care of Jezebel

There is no self-created replacement for being genuinely loved.

I've been thinking a lot about living in a fantasy world lately, both as thought experiment and while watching some people in my life trudge through ones of their own making.

This, in turn, got me to thinking about how much I want to see Where the Wild Things Are. That book teaches us that the fantasy worlds we create to escape the problems of our lives can't hold a candle to the genuine article, and in the end, it's best to accept our messy, problem filled lives and return to reality, where one can hope to find hot supper waiting for us.

These worlds, however, still live inside all of us, and we remain the kings of our own self-designed kingdoms, that's the beauty part.

I hope I get to watch this with my own kid someday, after having read the book a million times.

This is the new trailer, and man, it makes me cry like crazy.

It's a Man's World

James Brown said it best. Ugh. Completely disgusted with the world today. It seems like everyone I care about is going through something awful.

First I want to let you know that I am going to be using code names for almost everyone on this blog excepting Jeff and maybe some of my family. I got this idea from the amazing Motorboat McKnickers whose blog is an inspiration and a joy to read.

So I'll begin with my Mom, whom I affectionately refer to as Mamala because I'm secretly an old Jewish lady, who underwent surgery today. It was elective surgery for a breast reduction, and she's fine and will be home tomorrow morning, but it got me to thinking about how breasts, when you don't want them, just seem to ruin everything. It makes me sad that my mom has hated her breasts all her life. They inhibited her as an athlete and garnered her unwanted attention. (When you have big breasts, people often make unflattering assumptions about your character. It's fucking annoying.) My mom has wanted a breast reduction for thirty years. I don't blame her for wanting the surgery, as I have struggled my whole life to find clothes that will fit me in the bust, especially dresses, that don't make me look any bigger than I already am. But I think she hates her breasts because of how other people, particularly men, made her feel about them. Even when it's your own body, you still feel like it belongs to other people. The fact that she looked at a part of herself, one of the fundamental parts of her anatomy that connected her to her womanhood and motherhood, and viscerally hated it makes me really sad. I am proud of her for getting the surgery despite what I have to assume was my father's reticence. Also, here's to looking at breast reduction surgery in thirty years.

I have this friend, I'll call her Ditto because we so often feel the same about so many things, who has been going through a lot for the last year. We've grown even closer in the last few months while she basically has had to start her life over. I grew worried when she told me about this guy she was seeing because he was demonstrating some sketchy behavior. I didn't want to see her get hurt, again, and I was afraid that she was putting her own happiness second to pursuing a relationship with this guy. For every sketchy thing that happened there was some explanation for why it wasn't his fault, it was out of his control blah blah blah. The thing about really good liars is that they create enough doubt to where you can't bust them outright but you know something isn't right. This makes you feel like shit too, as you start to doubt your own instincts, and they turn it around on you for not trusting them. Anyway, it turns out he was playing her, as she found out. Oh, and he was cheating with a friend of hers, who confessed last night What an asshat. I'm glad she's getting out of this compromised and clearly damaging relationship, what sucks is that this guy may have permanently affected her ability to trust men.

All this to say, I'm really glad I have a husband who accepts me for who I am and whom I can trust completely. I hope that if we have a daughter, we can instill in her a sense of worth and self esteem enough so she can grow up to love herself enough not to settle for someone who makes her question her own instincts, and who loves her body just the way it is.