Moving In.

We had only been in bed and asleep for  little over an hour.  We sat outside our house till late by the fire pit with some friends and Rebecca fell asleep on the couch.  I had left her there and quickly fell asleep myself, smelling of fire.  Somehow I heard my phone vibrate.  I never leave the ringer on at night.  I ignored it but it was persistent and kept up.  I got up to pee and was no annoyed this unknown number was not only calling again and again but was leaving a voicemail.  I checked it.  It held a sobbing and hysterical friend.  I dialed back the unknown number, the only phone she could get her hands on.  Within five minutes we were up, dressed, tossing Rebecca in the back seat and driving 30 minutes North.

It was 1 am.

My friend had been tossed around by her husband, again.  He took her keys, her phone, her purse and the three kids.  He locked the door and she ran for help.  We arrived and called the cops.  By then her husband was passed out on the couch and we banged on the windows till the oldest child answered the door.  Long story short, 3 little boys were carried to the waiting car, one 3 month old puppy was wrestled in with the kids, statements were taken and my daughter stood outside watching the chaos while making small talk with the neighbors.  An hour after arriving I was driving the friend and three boys, while my husband and daughter followed behind, as we headed back to my place.  Adrenaline was keeping me awake and I rolled down the windows to calm my queasy stomach.  Baby wasn’t thrilled about a middle of the night adventure.

4 am was when we got all dogs and children settled into bed.

4:30 am was when my husbands alarm went off.

4:35 am I finally fell back asleep.

7 am was when the house started to wake up.  A dog had to pee.  A brother rolled on another brother.  Someone was hungry. (Okay, that was me again.)

Breakfast started.  Dogs chased each other.  Kids let the doors slam as they ran in and out.  I sat and watched my friend in my kitchen, looking exhausted, as she retold last nights events.  I had that look once.  The one that says your entire life is about to change.  The one that says this journey is going to suck but man, if you knew how great the ending could be.  After years of hell she is done with this marriage and filing for divorce.  While there have been many nights of escape to my place with the boys, this one is final.  They are moving in until they find a place and can get on their feet.

She was there through my divorce.  She picked me up off the floor.  She watched me cry, scream, stare at the wall and everything in between.  This only seems fair.  I remember that pain all to well.

The oldest looked at me that night as we drove to my place.  I glanced up in the rearview mirror at him when he called my name.  “Thanks for coming and saving us again Aunt Sanibel.  I love you.”  Anytime, kid.  Anytime.


First Look

The past few weeks I have been holding my breath.  Years of trying and you just assume something should go wrong.  They did loads of blood work and gave me a thumbs up.  The tests say positive and then you wait until that first ultrasound.  It doesn’t help we knew earlier than most people do.  When you watch every day and track everything, you tend to know early.

We were waiting for today’s ultrasound.  Six weeks, five days.  I was sitting in the waiting room with my Husband who was talking about work, trying to distract me.  I was trying not to puke my nerves all over the room.

Just call my damn name lady.

We kept telling ourselves to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

She called my name.  We were taken to the room.  I settled into my spot.  A few minutes later there it was…a little nugget on the screen that looked like a million other dots I’ve seen on other friends’ ultrasound pictures.  But this one was really ours and then…heartbeat.  130.  I think you could hear us both exhale which was followed by a fist bump in the silence.  (Aside from saying my wedding vows, we don’t get overly emotional so there were no tears.)  The tech laughed and asked if we had been trying for a long time.  We must have been obvious.

There it was.  Healthy.  Everything looked okay.  She printed up a stream of pictures, gave her congratulations and sent us on our way. Just like that.  Sure, a million things can go wrong but for right now we are going to relax a bit and enjoy the news…..still not telling anyone else though.


Pregnant Vs. Drunk

I’m at week six and I have to say, I’m not feeling too bad.  I’ve heard horror stories so I’m not going to complain when it could be much worse.  Although I’m realizing that being pregnant is quite like having a strong rum or wine drinking night.  Let me explain.

I feel dizzy 90% of the time.  Basically it is the equivalent of having a few glasses of wine and feeling buzzed.

I pee all the time.  It is the same as breaking the seal to early in the night of partying and constantly running to the bathroom.  Just replace the alcohol with water.

Some people feel a large range of emotions when they drink too much or just drink anything at all.  You have your happy drunks, emotional drunks, sloppy drunks, flirty drunks and mean drunks.  You can have the full range of emotions pregnant as well.  The main one for me is anger.  I suddenly have zero patience or ability to calm my irish temper these days.  My filter is gone and stuff flies out of my mouth.

When I have more than enough to drink I am the kind of drunk that eventually gets sleepy and is happy to find my bed to pass out into a blissful slumber.  As a sober, pregnant woman, this growing a baby thing makes me do the same.  I feel the need to leave the party early, crawl in bed, and pass the hell out into the hardest sleep of my life.  Every night.

I’ve had my fair share of drinking nights when I come out of that blissful slumber, roll over in bed, and feel my stomach lurch.  I usually run back through my head to see if I had enough food to match my alcohol intake.  Now I roll over and feel my stomach lurch for who knows what reason.  Hormones, lack of food, or too much food.  Either way I try to take a deep breath and get back to sleep as soon as possible.

Then there is the morning of hangovers.  You know what I mean.  You sit up in bed the next day and feel every inch of that drinking.  The symptom that you must have had way too much to drink, not enough water/food and a damn good time.  There is nothing of the sort attached to my pregnancy hangover.  In fact, this is the hangover that doesn’t go away as the day goes on.  This hangover comes and goes daily.  The food that sounds great to fix the hangover can immediately make you want to barf the second you put it in your mouth.  There is no popping pills to help the headache associated with this hangover.  There is the same dry heaving, queasy stomach and I wake up feeling like I’m coming out of a dark fog, trying to figure out how I got in this situation.

So if you are wondering what being pregnant feels like, just drink a shit load tonight and call me in the morning.  We can compare notes.

Who to Share Our Secret With

The last week has been a roller coaster of emotions and discussions.  We are living in a cautious world with this new pregnancy information.  I have been in for blood work a couple of times to make sure that my hormone levels are continually going up.  So far, so good.  They are right on track to show me at five weeks, two days. (As of today)  It doesn’t look like multiples or an ectopic pregnancy but the reality is, anything can happen.  The next appointment for me is in a week and a half for an ultrasound.  Thus far I have felt fine aside from mild cramps last week and a few moments of feeling gaggy.

We are trying to remain positive and not get too excited which has proven to be much more difficult than what I thought.  I have heard way too many stories of someone finally getting pregnant only to have a miscarriage and quite frankly that scares the shit out of me.

It is easy to want to scream the news from the roof tops but we are realistic.  The Hubs and I made the decision to each pick one person to tell.  I chose a friend of mine who went through infertility as well and is now due in November.  She has been the closest sounding board for me through all of this.  Plus, she knew my schedule for everything so she was going to find out either way.  My Husband chose a friend of his who has been a big supporter as well.  Then there was the one random friend in the state of Wyoming who noticed me on Facebook, in a picture, on a boat with no rum in my hand.  Yep, that screams pregnant to this dear friend, who has also been a supporter on our journey.  Then after a rough yoga class and some tears I informed my yoga instructor.

As far as everyone else goes, they can wait a few weeks.  We are actually aiming for Labor Day weekend.  We like having our own little secret.  We are enjoying this moment on our own before the whole Calvary of Mom’s, Aunts, and so forth catch on to make us crazy.  Some people say to tell your family so they will be there to support you if something does go wrong but not all of them have been real supportive of our infertility in the first place.  It is in fact fairly easy since no one lives close to us.  Unless they notice no rum or wine in my pictures.  Clearly I like liked my rum and wine.

We are also waiting two more weeks to tell Rebecca, which has been pretty tough.  She was getting close to figuring it out over the weekend when she was with us.  Again, noticing my lack of wine.

Otherwise we are living our lives as normal as possible.  We go to work.  I go to yoga.  We boat.  I walk the dog.  We go to the lake.  We sit outside in the evenings grilling and discussing our days.  We just have a secret that we are hiding but as all secrets go, it will eventually come out.



July 23, 2014 – The second half of my day.

If you haven’t read the first half, you should.


I went home from work that day at warp speed.  The dog and I retreated to the bathroom with more tests and I started peeing while she started attacking flying wrappers.  We lined those positive tests up and I was more convinced this was true.  I had math to do.  How the hell did this happen?!  I was clearly in shock.  I pulled out my app, crossed out some nights, figured in when doctor appointments were, what happened when, carried the one, decided that night was laughable sex and that night rocked, so that night was obviously it.  We managed to get pregnant that night.  I did more math, okay I googled, and came up with an approximate due date.  Just like that we have a plan from A to B.  Or more like from today till April 3rd.

I stared at the calendar.  We can manage a third anniversary trip that involves adult drinks and a beach, with friends after this kid comes around.  I made a mental note.  Timing looked good.

The dog stared at me and was clearly feeding off my anxiety so I figured we should remain calm until the Husband came home.  Mostly, remain normal.  I called him with my best “everything is normal” tone.  He said he would be extra late getting home from work.  I burst into tears.  It wasn’t anything near the “normal” I was going for.  He called back five minutes later to make sure I was okay, apparently I was acting irrational.

I took the dog for a long walk, we came home and did yoga, we sat outside and read a book.  I paced.  I watched my DVR.  I paced.  I did more yoga.  I needed a glass of wine.  Oh, wait! Last night was the last time I would drink for 9 months. I hit the panic button.  I watched the clock.  The dog stared at me.

The Husband finally walked in the door a little after 10:30 pm.  Normally my ass would have happily been in bed but I was perched on the couch.  The dog jumped for him and he asked how my day was.  I didn’t give this moment a ton of thought to be honest.  Some do this big, grand, tell their Husband they are going to be a Daddy from Pinterest thing but I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  I had done too much math and peeing for the day.  My brain was full.

I went with the first thing that came out of my mouth “I didn’t know last night was going to be my last glass of wine for nine months!” Apparently I went with my first concern and started tearing up.

He stood there and started smiling.  “Does this mean you are pregnant?”

I pulled out the millions of pee sticks and the dog stood proudly next to them.  Yep, this meant I was pregnant.  We sat on the couch in a bit of shock and talked.  There were tears.  (from me)  There was laughing.  (from him)  We then went to bed and before we went to sleep the last thing we discussed was how nothing would be as we have known it again.

The following night we ceremoniously sat outside on the back deck and I had my official last glass of wine until next April.



July 23, 2014 – The first half of the day.

There is this funny thing that happens when you spend months trying to conceive.  You will spend every month noticing the tiniest symptoms and will try to mentally turn them into pregnancy symptoms.  At least that is what I have been doing.  I would blame this or that and eventually take a pregnancy test which would be followed by my period no less than 5 minutes later.  Or so it seemed.  It was like a horrible running joke.

Last Monday, July 21, I was doing just that.  I wrote off the month of July because basically, my doc said too.  Sure, there was an egg on each side but the viable side was way to small for anything and the good egg was on the broken right side. She wasn’t even bothering with a trigger shot.  We would see what August held for us.  So then Tuesday rolled around and I was telling my Husband that I was having cramps that went on for days and clearly this new fertility drug had some side effects.  It was also making me a bit emotional, which was new, because I’m the least emotional girl.  I don’t get PMS, I don’t get hormonal, nothing.  I know, I’m weird.  But here I was ready to cry in the middle of the furniture store because I couldn’t find chairs I wanted.  My Husband looked at me like I had lost my mind.  He offered me wine.

By Wednesday morning, July 23, I was still having cramps and figured my period would surely come in time to annoy my boating weekend.  Wait, every weekend is boating weekend, so either way it sucks.  I figured I would just get the routine negative pregnancy test out of the way before I left for work.  I peed, the dog sat and stared, I set it on the counter and went to find shoes.  I forgot about the test and came back 15 minutes later.  I stared.  I said “holy shit!”  I got the box out.  I read the directions.  I compared pictures on the box to the picture on the stick.  I sat down.  The dog tried to eat the pregnancy test.  I said “holy shit!” some more.  I walked in circles and went back  to comparepictures again.

That test said I was pregnant.


22 months of nothing and now pregnant.  On the month I shouldn’t get pregnant.  Impossible.


But I had to go to work.

Pregnant, that is what it said, right?!

I don’t think I remember that drive to work.  I don’t think I remember much of what I did that day at work because I spent most of the day on this emotional roller coaster that I did not expect.  I went to Target at lunch to buy a million more tests because surely that test at home was wrong . Surely I need to pee on 50 more to make sure.  I also bought hair ties at Target with my tests because suddenly, buying just those tests, over lunch, seemed weird.  So hair ties and pregnancy tests.  I even bought the kind that are digital that flat-out say “pregnant” or “not pregnant.”  I felt like I needed to make this as simple as possible because suddenly my brain wasn’t functioning.  I couldn’t handle double lines or plus and minus signs.  It all seemed like math and I couldn’t solve for X in a moment like this.

That emotional roller coaster, that was real.  That was unexpected.  I felt like crying.  I felt like laughing.  I felt happy, sad, joy, scared, freaked, confused….you name it, it happened that day.  I didn’t want to talk to the Husband on the phone because I was afraid I would blurt it out.  I called my doctor and they ordered me in for blood tests.  Then my brain started on chances of miscarriage, ectopic pregnancies and everything else my doctor had warned me about.

Like I said, emotional.  And that was just the first half of that day.

But after 22 months of infertility, I was pregnant.




On Turning 32

Last week I slowly slid from the age of 31 to 32.  While my Birthday is July 10th, the celebration usually begins on July 4th and continues until the weekend after my actual date.  I have no idea why this is.  Perhaps it is the awesomeness that is a summer birthday but it happens every year and this was no different.

I celebrated quietly and loudly, depends on what day you ask about.  There were quiet dinners, family, boating, presents, wine and rum.  A few of my favorite things in no particular order.

There were also two trips to the fertility specialist.  One the day prior to my birthday and one the day after…..because that is how everyone should celebrate.  On the first trip Doc mentioned what a great birthday present it would be for me to be ovulating on the working side.

Yes, exactly what I always thought I would be dreaming of for my 32 birthday.

Once again, I’m ovulating on the side that is blocked.

Next month she will up the drugs that I take and try to get the unblocked side (my left side) to ovulate as well.  Her positive outlook is that it has to trigger at some point.  How long do I have to wait for that?  She isn’t sure.

How long do we sit around and do this roller coaster every month waiting for the left side to ovulate?  AND then when it does happen on my left side there are no guarantees. (Obviously)  THEN what happens if I have to wait many more months for that side to trigger again?

Then my brain exploded.

My doctor patted me on the shoulder and said one month at a time.  Yea, like my Husband repeats from AA, one day at a time to keep on a sober path.  But I’m not trying to get sober here, just knocked up.  I suppose sobriety comes with that though.

Ten years ago my 22 year old self wished for many different things on my birthday.  Probably NOT to be pregnant because I had a few of those moments.  I didn’t pay attention to ovulation nor did I care.  I just didn’t want that time of month to come along on the wrong day and fuck with my plans.

Oh, the difference 10 years makes.  Welcome to being an adult.  It is all a trap, I tell ya.