I can’t believe I’m at 14 weeks. It’s surreal.
It’s also scary. Because I have yet to *really* feel the baby move (late at night just before bed I can just barely feel him/her fluttering around in there. But it’s fleeting.) so I worry, constantly, that something is wrong.
I thought this worry was supposed to go away when the second baby came along, no?
My next OB appointment isn’t until May 1 when I also have to do my early glucose text because I’m PCOS. And our next ultrasound with the maternal fetal specialists isn’t until May 12, which means there’s entirely too much time in between for me to go crazy and start thinking what if.
In other news, we need name suggestions. Badly. We like names that aren’t popular (nothing in the top 100, hell, top 1,000, please) or traditional so Henry, Hazel, Christopher, Colton, Ava, Ethan, etc. are out. But we also don’t want to go *too* out there. (No offense, but names like Imogen or Cassius scare me.)
So that leaves *something* in between. So if you have any suggestions for boys or girls names, PLEASE pass them along!
I’m here, I swear. I’ve just been the world’s worst blogger … and mommy, (More on the latter in a bit). I was officially 10 weeks on Monday. We saw nugget #2 around 9 weeks and will have another ultrasound this Monday at 11 weeks for the NT scan. I seem to always be nervous for each ultrasound, praying we see he/she move and squirm and praying we hear that wonderfully beautiful noise of a heartbeat.
This whole morning sickness—which is really all-day or evening sickness for me—is the pits. I didn’t have ANYTHING like this with H and because of that I didn’t anticipate having it with nugget #2. I was so wrong. I’m irritable, it seems, from the moment I awake until the moment I go to bed because I feel car sick CONSTANTLY. It’s like the world’s worst hangover that no amount of breakfast egg and cheese sandwiches on a croissant can cure.
Which leads me to why I feel like an awful mom to H lately. Because I am so dreadfully ill 95% of each day, my patience is really, really short. Which becomes most apparent at nap and bed times when H’s stall tactics have expanded and she’s begun pulling out EVERY trick in her magic hat. And I get so irritable because all I want to do is go lie on the couch and try not to vomit. So I get short with her and then I hate myself for being a mean mom and worry that when I’m overtired and breastfeeding nugget #2 this fall I’ll be the same way. And I don’t want to be. I want H to understand that it’s not her, it’s me. And Mommy HATES feeling this way.
But to explain this to a toddler is, well, near impossible. So I pray every night that God gives me patience during this time so that I can be a better mommy.
Anyway, I will update more soon. If you have any tips on nausea remedies, let me know! My doc gave me a prescription that helps … but not always.
We had our first ultrasound on Friday.
And there was one perfect little baby and one really fantastic heartbeat. And he/she was measuring right on target. I swear it will never get old seeing the flicker of that heart pumping away.
I’m feeling MUCH different with this pregnancy. With H I had literally zero symptoms. With this baby, I’m feeling nauseous (beige foods are my friend; green ones are not) and lethargic (I swear I could curl up on the couch with a blanket right now) and a lot more cramping.
I almost forgot how unnerving the first trimester is when you can’t feel the baby move yet and you’re still unsure what’s happening in there, anyway. I truly thought we would go in on Friday and my uterus would be blank, empty. Maybe it’s still that defense mechanism—don’t get too attached … yet.
We are excited. Our families are elated.
Next ultrasound is in two weeks around 9 weeks. Until then, toast and perogies will remain my BFFs.
Is in the 2200s. My RE is really pleased.
So are we.
We’re still in a state of shock. I don’t remember it feeling this way the first time.
Ultrasound is scheduled for the 21st when I *should* be almost 7 weeks. I’m scared. I’m nervous. I’m excited.
This morning I sobbed nearly uncontrollably as I pulled out of my clinic’s parking lot. I was shocked, if I’m being honest. I’ve cried here and there throughout this journey. But nothing like this morning.
I’d been telling myself for 8 months now that I didn’t care if it worked or not, that we had our little miracle and that’s all we ever prayed for … and needed.
But I was so wrong. I wanted this to work so, so much.
And it did.
This journey is far from over. But we cleared the first hurdle.
And we feel so amazingly blessed.
On the day of our first ultrasound with the Nugget back at the end of February 2011, I heard this Sara Evans song on the way to work.
And I cried and cried.
I know this is a break-up song. But the chorus is what got me through those hard times when I was so sure we would never have a baby.
I know my heart will never be the same
but I’m telling myself I’ll be ok.
Even on my weakest days,
I get a little bit stronger.
And then there are the lines at the beginning:
Woke up late today
And I still feel the sting of the pain
But I brush my teeth anyway
I got dressed through the mess
and put a smile on my face.
I got a little bit stronger.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I don’t know how I’m going to feel. Will I feel the devastation I felt with those failed IUIs back in July, August, October, and November of 2010? The days that followed those negatives where I walked around in a daze, in a fog, I could barely cope. I would cry in the bathroom at work and no one ever knew. Or will we get good news and the husband and I will cry as we hold each other again thanking God for the blessings He’s bestowed on our family?
I’m so scared for tomorrow. So scared. I like to think that because we’ve gone through all of this before—the hurt, the pain, the happiness—that I’m just a little bit stronger.
February 7, 2011, post first (and only) fresh IVF cycle:
I had a bout of the weepys yesterday in the car, too. A song came on that made me realize I am so, so happy where I am in life. I have everything I want—an amazing husband, amazing family and inlaws, job I love, fantastic friends, a warm home, food to eat, a lovey puppy. I am so happy. And I realized then, as the tears spilled down my cheeks, that I will be OK if IVF doesn’t work. Not just if this cycle doesn’t work … but if it all never works. I will be OK. We will be OK. And we will live an extremely fulfilled life with or without baby. Not because we want to … but because we have to.
I’m having one of those days where I’m pretty sure … 99.9% sure … this didn’t work. And I know the scenario all too well by now—I’ll cry off and on for three days and then move on. I’ll feel really sorry for myself for a few days and then move on. I’ll cry to God and ask Him why us … and then move on.
I’m feeling quite a bit like this, what I wrote nearly three years ago. I’m feeling so certain this transfer did not work. I have not felt anything. Nothing. I had sworn I was feeling some cramping last night when I was putting H down for bed but truly think it was gas that I was really just hoping, desperately, were cramps.
I’m holding myself together but right now, as I write this, I really just want to cry. I want to crawl under the covers and cry and cry and cry because I just know this did not work.
And I keep thinking that maybe we were just lucky the first time. Extremely lucky and that because we really don’t know why we’re infertile, any other attempts will result in negative results.
Yesterday I took H to get cupcakes after a play date with friends. While I was paying the cashier she grabbed a bar of chocolate from the shelf and opened it (so I had to buy it). I didn’t even look to see what she’d opened until we got home and I pulled it out to show the husband.
It was a chocolate cigar with a wrapper that said, “It’s a Boy!”
I like to believe that God gives us signs sometimes in ways we often miss and sometimes in ways that are so clear and so apparent that we can’t ignore them.
I still don’t feel like this cycle worked. But I think God was just trying to tell me to hold tight, hold on, stay strong. Things have a way of working themselves out.