Defeat

So, I tested last night at 9 dpiui and it was a big old negative. Tested this morning, negative. Although it's early, I again don't feel like this one is going to work out. I'm feeling fairly un-pregnant. Doctor Superman gave me about a 12-15% chance with each cycle due to my age. Yikes. If I'm really "clogged up" (a phrase I frankly loathe) I don't know that I can even have a hysterosalpingogram (HSG) again to verify - as I've already had three (there's a limit due to the radiation exposure). I'm not really sure what the next step will be - I've already had four rounds of Clomid (one with a former RE). Clomid and an IUI again? I'm frankly sick of it (I know it's only been two times) but I'm not supposed to run for two weeks while we wait which is totally horrendous (and I believe, completely unnecessary but I follow it anyway). And then there's the whole Lovenox fun, too. The progesterone suppositories I don't really care about - it makes me feel more pregnant than not (soreness, etc.) but it's not really that big of a hassle (although I do kind of debate its efficacy in my case - since I used it in three (?) of my failed pregnancies).

In other news, my son's daycare is "concerned" with his "poor" pronunciation. I went to his pediatrician, fully expecting him to be nonplussed by the whole thing but instead he gave me the number for a specialist to have him evaluated. I suppose that is sound, but it worries me to no end and was not what I expected. It also makes me start wondering about dyslexia - which runs in my family. Could he be dyslexic? That's a very real possibility. Although the family members who are dyslexic are all very accomplished and intelligent people, it certainly made things like school more challenging. Plus the stigma alone is terrible . . . . In my experience not being able to understand a two year old all of the time is pretty normal. But perhaps that is not true at all.

Back to the waiting game.

Oh, Clomid

So, even though I was supposed to go in for a blood test, I didn't. It seemed, well, silly. So, I didn't. And then I called on "day three" because I couldn't bring myself to call before that. I've been finding myself resisting a lot - in fact, we first started discussing having a second one LAST YEAR. It took me this long to get the courage to start trying again. If I'm completely honest as to why I've been gun shy, there are two reasons: 1) I don't want to have another miscarriage and 2) I don't want to have another miscarriage. If I never get pregnant again, GUESS WHAT? No miscarriage. But I do want a second child. I see babies and I sigh a great sigh. When we were discussing whether or not to have another - and I voiced my opinion that maybe I was fine with just one, my husband said, "If we don't have a second, we could get rid of all our little one's old clothes!" Sometimes the husband boggles my mind. Boggles. Yep, that sounds like as good a reason as any to NOT have a second child - less stuff. Sigh. The Husband is going a bit crazy lately with our living situation. Honestly I am completely fine with it. We live in a large one bedroom and if he would let me do the things that I would like to do (which he won't without a huge battle royale) we could live quite happily. I don't understand this obsession with bigger, bigger, bigger, mcmansions, etc. I lived in Europe in high school (exchange student) and was completely blown away by my host family: they had one small, beautiful apartment in the city and one country house. They only had what they needed, nothing more, nothing less. And what they had was beautiful and cherished. My problem is that I haven't quite gotten that equation down - I have a lot of stuff, which as I mentioned, is driving the Husband batty. Which is driving me batty and so on (which by the way, means that if we are lucky enough to have a second bambino, I will relent and agree to move). Anyway, so, back to the point: I'm on 100mg of Clomid. ONE HUNDRED. WHAT?!?! This would scare me, except that last time I had three really good size-y follicles and then . . . nothing. NOTHING. I'm shocked, frankly. And a little worried about what this means. All three eggs were duds? Duds! THREE! Three duds? This makes me a tad concerned about the quality of my eggs - which I would imagine has a lot to do with my now advanced maternal age. ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE. Or could it mean that the eggs weren't even released at all? I mean, I had to be cleaned out in November. Could it be clogged up again? Anyway, I go in to see Doctor Superman on Tuesday and I imagine I'll have IUI #3 this Saturday. It's very strange and also very different, to be back here again. Until then.

Negatory

So, I tested (because I couldn't wait) on 10 days post IUI (10DPIUI) and it was negative. Tested again this morning, 11DPIUI, and again, negative. And wow, when it's negative IT REALLY IS NEGATIVE. No matter how many times I flipped that thing in different light it was still COMPLETELY, UTTERLY, NEGATIVE. I know that it's early, but I'm not feeling too positive - except for the soreness in that one area, you know the one, (which is likely from the progesterone supplementation) I'm not feeling it. On the other hand, the Husband found a sweet kitty on our doorstep yesterday evening. On the other hand, he took him to a shelter this morning. Sigh. He seemed like a really sweet kitty. And no, we don't need another pet but after losing our dog it was nice to spend some time with such a sweet animal.

Now I'm in the doom and gloom phase - it's never going to happen, etc., etc.

The One in Which We Wait . . . and Wait

So, trying to move on. Miss my dog. Made some horrible misjudgments, etc. But as I’ve been told a thousand times now (yes, I’ve been talking crying about this with everyone I know . . . ) we did what we thought was OK at the time.

So, Saturday. We had to be there at 8:15 AM. Which is a herculean feat in and of itself but even more so when you have, you know, a wee one to contend with as well (oh, who are we kidding? It’s me, I’m the one who is terrible about getting places on time). What to do with the Boy? Every time I see Doctor Superman he asks when are we bringing in the Boy. And really, he SHOULD meet him since he’s pretty much the why, the how, the etc. . . . So, for an appointment the other day I brought him . . . and was met with a few icy stairs in the reception area. I felt completely weird having him there – and he was, of course, completely disruptive as well (he flipped out, FLIPPED OUT when I put the car seat behind the reception desk – he loves that thing. We took a cab there. It’s strange, the City Boy’s attachment to a car seat. He’s crying, carrying on, saying mournfully, “Car seat. Car seat. MY car seat.”). I felt weird bringing him and then it was even more weird when I got an ultrasound because the Boy insisted on sitting on my lap – so, you can only imagine how graceful that was, not to mention the future therapy needed for the Boy. But it was wonderful for him to meet Doctor Superman. It was really great to see them together. Anyhoo, so, right. We check in. We go upstairs so that the Husband can deposit his, er, "sample". That was also weird. But we had the upstairs waiting room all to ourselves for awhile – which was great. I actually READ A MAGAZINE while the Boy flipped the light switch on a lamp on and off multiple times all while “reading” his own books. It was a glorious few moments. And then many other couples arrived so letting the Boy run free like a madman was no longer an option. Then we walked a few blocks away to get a breakfast of mediocre bagels and mediocre danishes and mediocre coffee and while away the hour or so that we had to wait. Upon our return we were whisked into a room, I threw my legs into the stirrups and Bada Bing! Done. And now, we wait.

It's 3 AM

It's 3 AM and I can't sleep. My mind keeps going through every possible scenario about what I should have done for my dog. I wish I hadn't put him to sleep - I wish I'd just had them repair the wound and done the ultrasound. I said OK to putting him to sleep because I felt like repairing the wound, which would have been painful and awful for him, was not something he should go through for my own selfish needs to keep him alive. Now, however, I wish I'd just done it because I can never right the wrongs. I can never make it up to him. In my crazy-it's-3am-in-the-morning-mind I keep thinking the vet didn't think we deserved to have him live so recommended that we put him to sleep - because we are awful people and deserved to live with the guilt and the terrible loss of our beloved dog. I was being told by three separate people to put him to sleep: my husband, the doctor and my sister (who is a nurse). I was told I had to make the decision RIGHT THEN. I've never believed in putting dogs to sleep - I never understood it. It goes against my fundamental belief system and now I am completely tortured by it. He was a large dog and at age 13 1/2, I realize he was near the end of his life. But he was the greatest dog I've ever known and he shouldn't have gone out this way. I don't understand why I took such a backseat to his care. I don't understand why I never even looked a the wound - my husband told me not to and so I didn't. I wish I had just looked - I would (hopefully) had insisted on taking him in earlier. Why didn't I just do the ultrasound? I used money as an issue - but I think I just couldn't face any of it. I was so overwhelmed by catheterizing him, by him peeing all over the carpet, all of the time. I really didn't know what to do. He'd had inklings of this problem twice before but it had gone away - we took him to two different vets before this one and they couldn't figure out what was wrong. I don't know. I really didn't believe that this would be the outcome. I didn't think when we took him in that we would be leaving without him.

I miss my dog. I really miss my dog. It wasn't time for him to go. I can't believe I agreed to put him to sleep. It was not the right decision for me.

IUI #2

So, here we go again. Saw Dr. Superman today. Have three follicles in the good range (I honestly can't remember what they were - something like 20, 21 and 21?). I was a bit surprised that there are three - when I was in on Tuesday Dr. Superman pretty much wrote off the follicle on the left side - somehow, miraculously, it caught up. I'm not sure how to feel - I want to believe, I want to be optimistic, I want to be excited, I want to think good things (because, as we all know, even if it's complete bullsh*t we all succumb to the stupid notion that somehow "positive thinking" will make or break you) but at the same time I want to hold back, because, you know, these things don't always work out . . . there are no guarantees. Even with three, fertilization could not happen. I mean, that's the one thing Dr. Superman talked about with me when I first saw him - how no matter what they do, the actual act of fertilization, why it happens sometimes and why it doesn't other times, is still largely a mystery. Last time I firmly believed it wouldn't work out and, well, now I have a kid, so I think, hey, maybe I need to believe that it won't work in order for it to work. It's annoying, frankly. It would be nice to have something good come out of this truly horrific, horrible week. Would it be weird to name my kid after my dog? You know, if it works out.

Hello, Rabbit

So in the midst of grieving for my beloved dog, I'll be going to the clinic tomorrow to check out how things are going on the fertility front (I was put on clomid last week - which is probably the world's worst drug (or one of, at least) to be on when you are having to decide end of life issues for your dog). I'm not sure how to feel about it right now. I'm overwhelmed with guilt and sadness about my dog and can't really get my head around the whole clomid-iui-heparin-folbic-baby aspirin life ahead of me for the next two weeks.

When I was making the appointment for Friday, I was told that the office would be closing early for the Chinese New Year. My doc's assistant told me that the Year of the Rabbit is a pretty good thing, especially, apparently, after the Year of the Tiger.

So, here's hoping that the old Rabbit brings us all good things. Also, Delinquent Eggs is knocked up . That's a very, very good thing.

Saying Goodbye

We lost our dog over the weekend. He was the most wonderful dog I've ever known. He was 13 1/2 years old, gentle, patient, stoic and handsome. He started having problems urinating - his bladder wouldn't empty completely and he was unable to control when and where he urinated. The vet could not figure out why. He was losing a tremendous amount of weight. When pressed, the vet said that it could be tumors in the spine but they really had no idea - and that we could do an ultrasound but the ultrasound may show nothing. They were not incredibly encouraging. We opted not to do it - partly because I was angry that they couldn't figure out what was wrong and we kept doing test after test without any results and partly because, I think, I was afraid of what they'd find out - would they find tumors? Would they recommend we put him to sleep? In retrospect, I wish I'd just done the test - although it may have not given us any answers it would have given me peace of mind now that we'd tried everything. The vet showed me how to catheterize him at home. We talked about end of life issues - about when is the best time - before they get really bad? When they get really bad? I was overwhelmed by the very idea of catheterizing my dog and scared. I did it, however. I then decided to keep him in diapers in our apartment (he was not able to control where he voided anymore) - which I'm sure was completely humiliating for him and something my husband hated. He was such a beautiful dog. My husband would get so irate when he'd pee on the floor that I thought it was a good solution. I was completely, utterly, horribly wrong and it led to his ultimate demise. I did not realize that diapering your dog can lead to urine burn (why didn't I know? I've heard of diaper rash for gawd's sakes). I feel horrible that I didn't know. The urine burn became infected (also something that I didn't know because I never actually saw it because I left all the diapering to the Husband) and we were advised to put him to sleep because the burns would just keep happening. They could dress the wound and then sew it up after five days of pretty horrible dressing changes in which they would have to sedate him (it was that bad) but they told me it would just keep happening. And he was still not able to empty his bladder which was also painful for him. I didn't know it was that bad. I actually thought diapering him was this great, genius solution to a problem that was becoming completely overwhelming.

Putting him to "sleep" was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I am filled with regret, with guilt.

I'm so sorry my beautiful dog. The world was a better place with you in it. Thank you so much for coming into my life - I can't believe how incredibly lucky we were. I wish you peace. I miss you terribly.

Post-Op

So amazingly, I felt virtually no pain immediately after the surgery. They must have pumped me up with a lot of the good stuff prior to my coming to . . . I also managed the pain on ibuprofen at home. It was an interesting day after the surgery - I don't know when the last time was that I had that much time alone. Maybe two years? I watched a lot of movies (the Kiddo was at daycare).

I've had a LOT of people commenting lately on our (at this point, imaginary) second child - strangers commenting that we will be having a girl, etc. (hello, I'm not even pregnant yet!). Most people seem to assume we'll be having another. It took us a long time to come to the conclusion that we wanted to try for a second child. I'm a lot older (I got pregnant three years ago!) and well, becoming pregnant for me has never been the difficult part, staying pregnant is another matter entirely. Did I want to go through that again? The possibility is there. It's looming. I try to tell myself that I will be OK if it doesn't work out, because I am deliriously happy and feel incredibly lucky to have one, yet I know the truth: I will feel completely knocked out if we are unable to have a second child. What will we do then? Adopt? I'm not sure. I remember reading a few seasoned bloggers who had gone through multiple miscarriages, finally had a child, and then went through hell in order to have a second (or in some cases, twins). At that point, without even one, I thought they were being, oh, I don't know, greedy? Crazy? But wanting to have a child is such a normal, natural and biological need. If it doesn't work out . . . well, I don't know. For now, onwards.

As far as daycare goes - I sat there with the Kiddo for about 2 1/2 hours and decided that the daycare wasn't for us. It's a good place, but the Kiddo was the youngest one, there were a lot more kids in the class than I was expecting and it was a tad too Lord of the Flies in there. We may try it again in the fall when he's a tad older and I am, er, he is, a tad tougher (I think ultimately he would be fine - I was another matter altogether).

Post-op appointment on Friday.

Is this Thing On?

Testing, testing, 1-2-3. Why, hello there. I realize that I will be writing into the ether here, but here goes anyway. I have a son, a beautiful, funny, smart, charming redheaded (yes, redheaded!) two year old son. Neither The Husband, nor I, have red hair, by the way.

The Husband and I have been discussing whether or not to have a second child (easier said than done, of course). And so, long story short, we made an appointment with Dr. Superman, he did the old HSG and whamo! I have blocked tubes. I go in for a laparoscopy and hysteroscopy on Monday, almost exactly three years from when I had it done before. I'm taking three days off - and having just re-read my post about it from before I am realizing that three days may be incredibly insufficient. ALSO, my mother was going to come into town for the procedure but she fell in the driveway, on the ice, on Thanksgiving and wound up in the ER. She's currently resting and on a lot of pain medications. No broken bones, thankfully, but she's been advised not to fly (she has a very large hematoma and the risk from blood clots is high) and wouldn't be able to help this invalid as she's pretty much an invalid right now as well. I'm sure she's pretty miserable.

So, anyway, I go in on Monday. And then I get to try to take care of the Kid or take him to daycare or I don't know what. We'll figure it out, I keep telling myself. Also, as an aside, we've decided to change daycare - which has been traumatic for me, to put it mildly. I like where he is (mostly), he loves it, but it's outrageously expensive and we are forced to pay for the summer, when we don't actually need it. The new place won't charge us for the summer, so we'll be saving about $5,000 (it's also a tad cheaper per month). The thing is, though, we'll have to change him to ANOTHER place this fall because the rates at the new place go way up. Let me just say this, I am grateful to have to worry about this kind of stuff at all.

See you on the flip side.

THE BIRTH STORY

My intention was to write the birth story immediately after the Boy was born and start writing over at Out of the Rabbit Hole. That didn't happen.

So, now, uhem, almost ten months later, I'm going to write that birth story (damn it!) with little or no editing so I can just get the thing done (sorry!) and move over to Out of the Rabbit Hole. This is an infertility blog, not a mommy blog. It seems appropriate to shut the shop and move over there.

So, here goes (as best as I can remember):

My due date was early October and my parents made the trek out here and were waiting patiently for the Boy to be born. I was afraid, however, that the Parents would have to leave before his arrival. So, we waited. And continued to wait. It was now almost a week past my due date and, fearing that I may never a) give birth or b) give birth but never again be able to go out in the evening (best guess!) I got discounted tickets to go see The Master Builder. The Husband and I arrived before the Parents - I can't actually remember why. We stepped gingerly around a construction site to get there. We milled about the lobby of the theatre – which was dark and cool, with flickering lights. The Husband and I sat in the back row - thankfully, because I was completely uncomfortable throughout the show - getting up periodically to stretch my legs. Forty some odd years earlier, my mother went to see a play when she was pregnant with my sister, was incredibly uncomfortable, and went into labor that night. Anyway, when we got home, I laid down while the Husband took the dogs out on a late night walk. I heard a POP and had a little bit of pain. It was odd. And weird. I waddled to the bathroom and well, I'll spare you the gory details but I was pretty convinced that my water had broken . . . I cried a little (I was scared!) and then called the doc on call and it was Dr. Arrogant Rude – the doctor I had feared delivering me the most. Perfect! Of course he told me to come in immediately. I told him I would – even though I had no intention of coming in. It was kind of liberating, “Ha! I will not come in! I am having no contractions and you can’t make me! Yes, I know all about the infection risk, etc., etc. I’m waiting. I know all about you and your obsession with the horrible pitocin and your mad desire to induce, induce, induce! I will not be fooled!” So, we waited. Once the sun came up and Dr. Arrogant Rude was likely off his shift, the Husband drove us to the hospital. And well, they sent me home. No evidence of contractions (even though I believed at this point that I was having them) nor was there any evidence that my water had broken. Oh, and the person who sent me on my merry way? A twelve year old physician’s assistant. So, we went home and I continued to feel like I was having contractions. Since we were told that I was in fact, not in labor and not having contractions, I tried to just occupy myself (which at times involved laying down, sitting on my exercise ball or showering) and endure the non-labor-labor pains. Then my sister called and told me the same thing had happened to her and she had the same exact contractions for several weeks and so not to worry, nothing was happening. My sister, the nurse (by the way, over the years, I’ve learned to do the exact opposite of her advice, this time, however, I was vulnerable and listened to her. Wrong!). Anyway, this continued to happen throughout the day and I continued to endure the “non-labor-labor pains”, convinced that if this was not in fact labor, when I was in actual labor, I would likely go blind. So I continued to soldier on. The Husband went to the store. The husband watched TV. The Husband asked what was wrong (whatever this is - it doesn’t feel great!), the Husband helped me onto the exercise ball and counted with me through a contraction. Then the Husband went to bed. I took a shower. I tried to watch TV. I tried to play on the Internet. I couldn’t really do anything and the pain at this point was becoming, uh, painful. In fact, at this point, sitting alone in my house, I convinced myself that since it wasn’t labor pains, I was having severe gas pains. So, I began walking rapidly up and down the hall because I thought that it would get rid of it somehow. Then the pain became nearly unbearable so I called the doc on call. She essentially told me that she couldn’t tell if I was in labor or if it was gas pains unless I came in but that that was up to me (wait, really?). I got off the phone and then took a good look at the spacing of the contractions, which I had been noting, on a small piece of paper. Alarmed, I decided that either I needed to go in so that they could relieve this horrific “gas pain” or I was on the verge of giving birth AT ANY MOMENT because the “contractions” were minutes, as in less than four minutes apart. I screwed up the energy to rouse my husband by yelling at him from the living room. There was no response. Again I called out his name. Nothing. Finally, I yelled as loud as I could and I’ve never seen that man move so fast. We’d been arguing about taking a cab versus him driving (he wanted to cab it) but at this point I just said, “You’re driving” and he said, “Yes.” The drive over was dark and quiet. The pain lessened somewhat (I’ve heard that happens when a little adrenalin takes over). We drove up to the valet and the parking lot attendant was sleeping or too involved in his crossword or iPhone to notice us. The Husband about lost his mind yelling at the guy to get our car. Then, not really thinking, the Husband asked me to carry up some of my stuff, which I quietly did. All I could think about was the fact that I would not be able to tolerate hanging out waiting at triage to be admitted. Luckily they got me right in and asked me to give them a urine sample (I think?) and when I came out, I told the nurse, “I can’t stop peeing.” She tried not to look amused and said, “Perhaps your water just broke?” Apparently my water just broke. Then the doctor came in felt around and asked me if I wanted drugs and I asked how far along I was because frankly, if I was 1 cm dilated then I wanted EVERYTHING thank you very much. “8 cm” he said, then quickly, “And now your 10 cm. You’re having a baby!” WHAT???? I couldn’t believe it. I seriously couldn’t get my head around the fact that I was in labor and I was about to have a baby. There were a few snickers about that fact that everyone hoped that when they were in labor they thought it was just gas pain and then there was a lot of hooting and words of encouragement because everyone was excited that I was going to give birth sans drugs. And then I pushed not knowing what the heck I was doing and then the Boy was born. I’m missing a little bit here: an emergency ped doc attended because they feared meconium aspiration but he was OK and I was not expelling the afterbirth (sorry, again, ugh) and was having a bit of a bleeding issue. Oh, and by the way, why doesn’t anyone tell you how much it hurts afterwards? Yikes. Tearing, stitching, etc. And he was beautiful. And I was completely in shock. Totally, utterly shocked. And I still am. And he still is beautiful and wonderful and amazing.

Thank you so much for reading (although at this point, probably no one is reading anymore). The blogosphere kept me from going completely, utterly, mad during the "Troubles." So, again, thank you and I hope you'll visit me at Out of the Rabbit Hole.

Use Your Head, I Say

The husband's folks, sister and nephew were in town. They left, with the exception of the mother, this morning. For us or me, family visits breed chaos - and in the case of the husband's family - I become hugely stressed. There is usually some stupid argument where someone says something I find offensive or I find troubling in some way - and instead of letting it go - we get into a (stupidly) heated argument. I was very good this time - and refrained from "engaging." The mother-in-law is now here for two weeks as our nanny granny. God help us. God help us all.



Today the Husband called because I left half of the breast pump at home (again family visits=chaos) and he was running it over. I assumed he was bringing the Baby. When he got here and no baby, I burst into tears. I'm really mad/sad/hurt. The problem with the Husband is that he can become strangely rigid about many, many things. Like, for example, naps. We've learned that if the Baby doesn't get enough naps he can be a nightmare to put to sleep at night and then wakes up with much more frequency than normal. So, the Husband has become somewhat psychotically rigid about naps -sometimes trying to put the baby to bed when he's clearly not sleepy and then there is a battle of wills where the husband rocks the baby maniacally until he WILL FALL ASLEEP. And it's frankly, annoying (we've also joined ww and he's become fairly psychotic about that as well - even trying to persuade his sister to not have a retirement dinner out for their father and letting him cook at home - it should be noted that his weight loss to date is almost twenty pounds and mine is, um, well, four). However, one little sojourn during the day isn't really enough to do too much damage - especially considering the fact that the Husband takes the Baby out to the Park to see a friend of his at least weekly and sees me once per week as well. I'm really unclear as to why he didn't feel the need to bring the baby - I could have breastfed him, spent time with him, etc. It's better for me and better for the Baby to see me, his mother, upon occasion. As it stands now, I see him for about an hour in the morning and an hour at night. I'm really weepy about this. Sometimes, the Husband is . . . e-x-h-a-l-e.



This is where we went last night to celebrate the Father-in-Laws retirement:




Image via flickr: smaginnis11565

New Milestones

The other night, very late, the Bambino awoke and began crying. I then went searching, half-blind, for his pacifier. I knew it was in his co-sleeper somewhere. When I couldn't find it, I was forced to trudge off to the kitchen. When I returned, the Wee One had found his pacifier himself and had it in his mouth. Now, for some people this may not be such a big deal - for me, however, seeing as I had never seen him do this before, it completely cracked me up. He is also now rolling over - which means that I can't just plop him down in our bed anymore - especially when the other night he lay there sleeping, rolled over and landed in the c0-sleeper. He was not pleased. He's now sitting up as well. This is quite a crazy development. Obviously I know that he will meet these milestones at some point - but it's shocking to me each time it happens. Recently I sat with him in our glider, looked up at the Husband and said, "Is this real? Am I really holding our son?" Sometimes, I really just can't believe it.

Thank you to all who voted on my photography project - if only I'd learned about the contest earlier. At any rate, it's a project I've been thinking about for a long, long time. So, thank you.

As I told all my friends on facebook about the project, many of whom did not know about the recurrent miscarriages, a friend of mine e-mailed that she'd like to get together. She also told me that she wanted to meet because she's just had her second miscarriage and she wanted to talk to someone who understands. I can't tell you how much this killed me. It's so upsetting to think about ANYONE having to go through miscarriage, let alone one of your good friends. I'm so glad, however, that because of my "coming out" that I may be able to be there for her. So, perhaps it's a milestone for me as well - I've come out to a bunch of people and nothing horrible happened. It's a hell of a lot easier to do so, however, when you feel as though you are through it and not in the thick of it.

New Happenings by the Boy

So, the Boy, a few days ago, awoke from a sound sleep, saw his father sleeping, and said, loudly, "Hey!" in order to rouse his father. I know, I know, he's just over five months old, he couldn't possibly have said, "Hey." But there it is. That's what it sounded like, at any rate.

This morning, I was on the far side of the bed - and we'd just put the Boy on the side of the bed where his co-sleeper is - he rolled all the way from one side to the other and landed, quite snugly, against my side. He seemed fairly amused by the whole thing. I think he's been secretly rolling onto his tummy - despite his obvious dislike for it, for sometime now.

I haven't been checking infertility blogs too much lately - but was thrilled to see that wordgirl is knocked up!

I have been having a good time looking at craft and photography blogs. I'll post some links to some of my favorites soon.

Ah, the Boy. He is scrumptious.

Perfect

I remember going out to dinner with my in-laws somewhere downtown, in the middle of a cold winter. My mother-in-law, who was talking about how worried she was about her daughter, announced that she didn't worry about her son, because he was, you know, perfect. Perfect in every way. I couldn't help but to roll my eyes. My husband, as wonderful as he is, is not perfect. And the fact that his mother thinks this is so, is something that I can't help but to find annoying. I really wanted to start listing those things which make her son in fact, not perfect. Which is kind of a strange reaction from one's wife. But I don't believe in perfection. Perfection just doesn't exist. And I think someone who thinks that their son is perfect, is well, not living in reality. Maybe that day or maybe it was another day, she said that I'd understand once I had a child. And perhaps, in a way, I do now. It's not that I believe that my son is perfect - it's that it would pain me greatly for someone else to see flaws in my son. It would really wound me. It's a strange thing. I want to protect him from hurt. And someone thinking he is not perfect, is, well, or would be, hurtful, I suppose. So, in a way, I understand now. Which is annoying because I sure as hell don't want to agree with my mother-in-law. I also understand that the term perfection, in this context, means that he is happy, that he is well, that all is right. And he seems to be - he is great and happy and thriving. He is our greatest reward. I cannot believe how lucky I am. After all this time, after all this want, I finally get to be around this wonderful, wonderful boy.

And since I am most definitely not perfect, I am going to attempt to write that letter to my son, the one that I thought I'd do every month and I've managed once:

Dear son:

You are now five months old! You now wiggle around and flip over from your tummy to your back. We think you learned this because you hate to be on your tummy. However, you are starting to tolerate it for a little longer now. You squeal with delight when Daddy tickles you or says something funny and you laugh politely at Mommy's jokes. You and Mommy fall asleep together most evenings and Daddy has to try about fifty times to wake up Mommy so they can eat dinner. You are adorable when you sleep. You have also started grunting when you are dissatisfied or unhappy about something. You grunt in a most displeased way until we pick you up from whatever terrible predicament you have found yourself, such as sitting in your bouncy seat for too long or laying on that boring old play mat. We love that you are so assertive! You used to love to stand rod straight on your legs - however, now you like to make your legs like jelly and bounce up and down. You are really paying attention to your surroundings now, too. Today you put your hand in Mommy's hair and took a long, curious look at it through your fingers. You do love to talk and you have a wonderful voice. You have a lot to say! We love listening to you.

We love you very, very much.

--Mommy

Happy Valentine's Day

I am now taking Wednesdays off. It's fantastic. I am so glad to have done this. Next issue? Nipple confusion. We're trying to work through it. Stupid bottles.

Onto other news - our beautiful boy rolled over on Friday. We are so incredibly thrilled. And because we're his parents, of course we think our kid is incredibly brilliant and obviously very advanced. I posted about it on our baby blog. Then a friend of ours, whose baby is just about two weeks younger than ours, commented on our blog that their baby rolled over on the same day. The same day? How can this be possible? Should this annoy me? No. Should I find this incredibly irritating? No. But I do. I really, really do. It was this special thing that our kid did and now it's just not. Kind of rained on our parade, so to speak. So now I've decided she rolled over earlier than our baby because she spends all of her time on the floor, being neglected. This is of course, totally untrue but it makes me feel better. Gah. Parenthood and all its petty splendor.

Happy Valentine's Day.

14 Weeks

I spent fourteen weeks home with the bambino. I'm back at work this week and spent most of last week crying thinking about returning. It's been a rough morning. When I try to talk to the Husband about going back home for three more months or at least going part-time he's incredibly resistant. I don't really understand why. He says things like, "We can't afford it" or "What will that do to your career." It's amazing, because I couldn't care less either way. I never thought I would feel that way - but what's more important than the well-being of my kid? And I'm not talking about taking off six years - that would be a serious financial burden - I'm talking about three more months. Three more little months. And we have savings. And we'd have to do things like not get take out quite so much but that's really hardly a sacrifice. Of course, I have know idea how my boss would react and that does concern me but again, in ten years, will I really care what these people think? I'm trying to continue to breastfeed and its incredibly hard. I don't really have a proper ending here because I have to run out and try to scrounge together some items I neglected to bring with me for the breastfeeding extravaganza . . . but mainly, I just really wish I had had the OVARIES to tell my boss and the Husband that I needed to take off three more months. The Husband is home with him and I think that may be the real reason for the resistance - he hates his job and loathes the idea of going back. However, I don't see why he would have to go back - he's on paternity leave earning an income - why does he have to go back? How lucky would our kid be to have two parents home for three months? Sigh. I know the reality is that I am too scared to ask my boss (even though I'm allowed seven months off under the FMLA) so I'll just continue to come to work, continue to be miserable, continue to feed my kid compromised breastmilk (apparently frozen isn't as good as fresh), continue to feel like this is a mistake.

Just Cuz

This is a HAT

That's about all the creativity I could muster for a title. It's on backwards. The hat, that is. I just wrote a whole blog about how annoyed I am with my mother-in-law because I now have to watch exactly what I write on the Baby's blog (created in order to send photos of the Baby to the Fam) lest I offend her. However, I don't want to upset the Husband, since it is his mother, and now I am a mother, of a son, no less, but let's just say that it gets exhausting having to write and re-write posts because you fear you may offend said Mother-in-Law by saying, for example, that a hat she made is on backwards, because, you know, that means she did something wrong with the hat and she's a terrible person and her hat is just awful, etc. It's exhausting. Sigh.

But hey, on another note, I, miss-does-not-cook, made pad thai this evening. Seriously. And I did the dishes! And I went out and got coffee (they were closed). But still! I left the apartment! This is no joke, people!

P.S. I should probably mention here that I actually do love the hat - it took a lot of love and time.

The New Year

About an hour ago, with the lights low, I held my son close to me, trying to rock him to sleep. He was looking up at me and I felt his warm little head and thought about how our time together, just he and I, will soon be ending. In less than a month, I will be back at work, full-time.

When I initially planned this out - three and a half months seemed like a very long time. I felt lucky - 3 1/2 months! As difficult as it was at first, I never realized how fast it would go, or how I would feel about returning to work. I love my job. But I feel like there is more important work to be done - raising my son. I'm afraid of what I will miss - will I be there to see his first steps? His first word? I ache thinking about not having him near.

A year ago tomorrow, I was running through Central Park at midnight. The air was cold and the sky was dark as pitch but the people around me were chattering excitedly, bouncing around to keep warm and wearing crazy costumes. As we set off, fireworks shot out just above us. I didn't run fast. I was still recovering from multiple failed pregnancies, infertility drugs, surgery. But it was truly a glorious run - I cried a little as I thought about the past three years and all we'd been through. Yet, I was feeling relieved and excited about what was coming. Although my doctor and the Husband were trying to convince me to try one more time, I had come to terms with the idea that in order for us to be parents, we would be adopting. It was a relief. No longer would I be dealing with infertility, I could stop researching, consulting, worrying. I could stop having procedure after procedure that always led to the same conclusion, "we just don't know, not for sure." I would never again have to hear, "there's no heartbeat." I would be becoming a mother, we would finally be parents, sometime soon.

How full of wonder I am about this years past. This time, as I run around my favorite park, my son, (my son!), will be sleeping soundly in the Husband's arms as they wait for me at home.

Perhaps now I will be a little less skeptical, a little more forgiving, when people discuss miracles. I can't help but think that I have been touched by one.

My hope is that you had an incredible year - and if not, that 2009 will be full of wonder, hope and dreams fulfilled.

Happy New Year.