If Eating Yellow Cake With Chocolate Frosting Morning, Noon and Night is Wrong, Then I Don’t Want to Be Right

Making a cake right before Nicole leaves for a business trip is very dangerous. Last night, we both had a reasonably-sized slice for dessert. The cake looked so nice on its glass domed pedestal, with those little slivers cut out, looking kind of like a Pac-Man, with the gooey and delicious homemade chocolate frosting oozing out of the middle. So this morning she leaves for Boston and suddenly the cake is no longer a cute Pac-man, it’s more like a half circle, and quickly waning. Cake crumbs are all over the counter. Cake dishes in the dishwasher. And I am desperately trying to restrain for eating another piece tonight. Ha.

I’m happy to report that today was drama-free for a change. The amnio results still weigh over my head, and I am a bit nervous because the doctor who did my amnio did say that results may even be ready by Friday, which is tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then Monday. But I am trying to convince myself that the worst of this particular storm is over and all will be fine. But I am still feeling anxious, and am ready for it to be over.

Today, feeling bravely optimistic, I ventured to Buy Buy Baby to buy something for the babies. Now that we know they are girls, I just wanted to buy something that was for them. Something slightly girlish to celebrate their girl-ness, since the official news is only a few days old.

But I couldn’t really find anything. Why do the girl’s clothes have to be so violently girly? Butterflies AND flowers AND bows AND cap sleeves AND treacly sayings like “Thank Heaven for little girls” all on ONE shirt. But the boy stuff: Adorable. Solid light blue onesie with navy trim and maybe one tiny and cute truck in the center. Crab bathing suits. Light blue pajamas with yellow stars. White pajamas covered with primary-color planes, trains and automobiles. Blue seersucker pants (I don’t care, my girls will wear seersucker, just like Nicole). I ended up with two little short-sleeved onesies: One is pink and white striped and one is white with pink hearts. Girl-ish without being over-the-top. Grand total: $4.99. (Who knew they were so cheap? I figured it would be like $15 for both. I have a lot to learn.) Then I went downstairs and sat in a glider for bout 20 minutes because I am still so exhausted.

I’m getting anxious to begin to babies’ room construction. I need to decorate something. I am excited to pick out paint colors and little rugs and little lamps and all that. Maybe once the room goes up, it will all feel more real to me. Because even with a growing stomach and sonogram proof, I feel like this is all just a dream. And we usually wake up from dreams.

And speaking of feeling real, I am wondering if I am beginning to maybe feel little kicks. Almost everyone describes the first kicks as flutters and butterflies and flopping goldfish (I did read that once). Me, I’m feeling a little tiny bubble-like feeling with a mini pop. It happens in the same place, which is where the bottom baby’s legs and feet are. One and sometimes two mini pops in a row. Could that be kicking? Could it be starting? I’ll be 19 weeks on Sunday, so isn’t it about time? My friend Jen with her twins, she didn’t feel anything till 20 weeks. I’m ready to start having a little physical reassurance. Once they start kicking, I’m sure I’ll be insane: You know I’ll be the one drinking a gallon of orange juice and laying on my left side just to feel reassured. Or eating a lot of cake. Which is what I am going to do right now.

The Case of the Leaking Fluid

I am absolutely spent from all the fretting and worrying and researching since last Thursday. After yesterday’s results, we did feel a burden lift. We are still waiting for the amnio results, but we are very grateful that all of the chromosomes are present and accounted for, with nary and extra. The trisomies were the doctors’ biggest concern, and it looked like we cleared that hurdle. I am still nervous, but I am being optimistic.

Of course, there has to be a little drama in between the test results. I had the amnio last Friday. The doctor said that I could experience cramping, spotting and maybe a little leaking fluid. This, he said, did happen occasionally and is nothing to worry about. If anything seemed out of the ordinary I should call the doctor.

I was lucky. I had absolutely no spotting—which would freak me out, normal or not—and no cramping and nothing unusual. So I went about my business (fretting, worrying, researching) side-effect free.

And then noticed the thin, watery, clear discharge. Apparently, when pregnant, the lower half of your body turns into a veritable faucet of fluids, so I didn’t think much of this. But I had never seen anything watery so far. It occurred to me that this might be unusual. More research and I determined that this is the classic sign of leaking fluids. I don’t now what I was expecting; no one really talks about what amniotic fluid looks like or feels like or smells like. This made me a little panic-y, but I remained surprisingly calm.

By Monday, it was happening too often to ignore. I consulted my friend Jen who is Knower Of All Things Pregnancy (she could open her own fertility office and practice illegally if she wanted. She’d probably get away with it for years before anyone caught on.) and she said when she had a leak, it felt like gushing, like wetting your pants. For me, it wasn’t that obvious. No gushing or wetting of the pants. But it was consistent and it was unusual. I needed to call the doctor.

I called my doctor and left a message with her receptionist today (yes, it took me another two days to really admit that this might be a problem; I still hoped it would go away). The receptionist calls back in three minutes and says my doctor said for me to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked out.

NOT what I was expecting. I was hoping for a “there, there, it’s nothing” or “just lay down and take it easy for a few days.” Not “drop everything and come in now.” So I IM Nicole that I am going into Labor and Delivery, which she interprets as “I am going in labor. And delivering.” She calls me all panicky, but at least I could calm her down. Later at dinner she said if there was an open window in her office she would have jumped out. She is stretched pretty thin too from all this drama—but she has to go off to work every day while I have the luxury of napping, relaxing and generally not worrying about any other responsibilities. I keep trying to pretend that work might be a nice distraction for her, but let’s be honest: It has to absolutely suck. If I were still working, I would have quit by now, probably in a dramatic way.

At the hospital, a doctor examined me (urine sample, sonogram, internal exam with a speculum that had to be inserted without lubricant, swab test) and determined that everything was just fine. Turns out my discharge just took a very watery turn. I was so relieved, because as I was laying there I did of course think this is it. It’s over.

On a happy note, the doctor did a sonogram on one of those rolling portable machines. I didn’t get to see the babies (the girls!) but she said they were both moving around and looked just fine. The baby on top (I think Baby B?) moved in a new position. The doctor said she was in a fetal position, which I thought was so cute. The fetus in the fetal position. Does it get better than that?

Since I wasn’t leaking any fluid or in any immediate danger, that meant I had to pick up dry cleaning, do the laundry and iron Nicole’s shirts after all. No more excuses. I also made a yellow cake with chocolate frosting. And took a nap because all this drama is exhausting me.

If I can turn these stories into 2,000 words, can you imagine how long my delivery story is going to be? (Please let me have a happy-ending delivery story.)

Cake time.

One Awful Chapter Closed

Thank God, it was good news. Both babies are clear of any of the trisomies. This time I cried tears of relief. I am SO happy this initial wait is over and that the news was good for both babies.

Of course, I called my counselor first thing this morning. She said that she hadn’t heard from the lab, so she would call them and get back to me. Thus began a very long 12 minute wait. My stomach roller-coaster dropped when they called me back. But I was so happy to get the good news.

Nicole was in a meeting, as usual, so I texted her the news, and she called me back in a few minutes. Then I called my friend Jen, and we both cried on the phone for a few minutes.

We still have to wait for the amnio results. But I was most afraid of the trisomies, which have a link with the cysts and are often one of those things called “incompatible with life” or some other euphemism for Your Baby Will Die. I feel like we just cleared another huge hurdle. And now we await the amnio results, which we should get by the beginning of next week.

And, it has been officially confirmed: They are BOTH girls. Wow. The most common set of fraternal twins are boy-girl. The second most common are boy-boy. The least common are girl-girl. One again, I defy the odds. But, cliché as it is, all I want now, really want, are two healthy miracle babies.

Thank you all so much for your thoughts, prayers and good vibes. I’m in the camp that believes that all that really makes a difference. Not to mention the comfort it provides to both Nicole and me. It's always good to know you are not alone.

Numbers Game

13
18
21
X
Y

Those are the chromosomes tested in my FISH test. Tomorrow we will know if either or both of our babies have any of these trisomies. And we will know for certain if they are both girls. A clean report tomorrow bodes incredibly well for the amnio, because the doctor is most concerned about the 18th and 21st chromosome, apparently (relation to the cysts).

The FISH test takes a mere 36 hours, which means my results were ready-to-read at about 8 p.m. on Saturday. I am assuming they are sitting in my genetic counselor’s inbox, computer or otherwise. I am calling her at 8:45 a.m. I am hopeful I will get the results right away. I don’t know what I will do if I have to wait. The wait so far has been torture.

I took a benadryl so hopefully I can sleep tonight. Less than 12 hours to go.

Because I Need to Calm Down...

....and remember that I have lots to be grateful already. First, there's Nicole (saving a beached skate fish this past summer on Fire Island), my rock and center, who I can't stand spending even a night away from (and yet she's off to Boston for work for a night on Thursday). Then there is my nephew Leif, who by his mere birth created a ripple effect of change in my life. Almost nothing is beter than hearing him say "I love you so much, Jen-Jen". And then there is my niece Skye, who at four months survived a near-death experience and a two-week stint in the NICU and who is today a perfectly healthly little girl who brings such joy to me. And there is Nicole's homemade boneless Buffalo chicken (which she created because I hate to eat chicken off of a bone but I love Buffalo sauce; a paradox) with bleu cheese/sour cream/buttermilk sauce (ok, so it isn't exactly lo-cal) and corn-tomato-avocado salad. My ultimate comfort food, which she lovingly adapted to accommodate my pregnancy (no bleu cheese) and even made for me Friday night after my amnio, with extra sauce, to boot. And then my amazing friends and complete Internet strangers, who offer unconditional support and sympathy and positive thoughts. Finally, these two babies. Because after all that we have been through to get pregnant, it is not lost on me that pregnancy is a mirace itself and that healthy babies are miracles too. I have to remember all this good because it is so easy to get sucked into the riptide of the bad.

Two more night's sleep till Tuesday's results. I wish I could just hibernate until then.

Waiting, Impatiently

It is beyond frustrating that my FISH results are sitting in some lab, locked away until business returns as usual on Tuesday. The wait is torture, pure torture. I fluctuate between “Everything HAS to be okay” to “This is all doomed.”

The contractor came yesterday to talk about building the babies' room. I had to leave. I couldn't stay and talk so hopefully about where the door would be and where we need electrical outlets. The light brown and mint-ish green walls that I want and Nicole doesn't. The two healthy babies in their little onesies asleep in their new cribs. It is hard enough for me to visaulize all that, and now, it is just too scary.

And I thought I was afraid before. Life once again shows who's boss.

Maybe there is something chromosomally abnormal with me. After all, I had those two m/c’s and the chemicals, and we never were able to determine the cause of those. Maybe I just make some bad eggs. Maybe that ambient I took before my harrowing plane ride caused cysts. Maybe all my worrying did. Who knows? The doctors don’t even know. Which means we can’t rule anything out either.

I am reassured immensely by the fact that no other markers popped up. Yet I still can’t shake the fear that another marker might crop up in week 19. Or week 20, which is typically when the anatomy scan is done.

I am exactly 18 weeks today, and I am to afraid to take my weekly picture. My stomach looks very pregnant. I feel very pregnant. But I am so scared it is all going to be taken away from me.

Two more days till we get the FISH results…and another eight or so till we know the amnio results. Great. I'm sure time is going to just fly.

I Have Green Pee

First of all, I need to thank every single one of you for your thoughts and prayers and research and offers and support. It means so much to me and goes a very long way to making me feel not alone and much better. Your honesty, openness, humor and pure bright light is overwhelming. Thanks you for everything. Plus, I now have a few new blogs to check out while on this post-amnio bedrest.

Not surprisingly, I have more to say. A lot. I’ve never been one to be at a loss for words, and I’m not one for brevity. One of these day’s I’ll master the short-and-sweet update.

We did the amnio early this morning. Before we left, I wrote out five questions that I needed answered. I gave Nicole the list and the responsibility to make sure said questions were answered. She is the calm, patient one and can be a little intimidating when she is all dressed up in her suits and cufflinks. People listen to her and respond in kind. Me, on the other hand, laying on a table with my boobs hanging out and puffy eyes and my stomach sticking up with fear written all over my face, I am not so intimidating. Plus I tend to talk too fast and suddenly lose my grasp on the English language in situations such as this. It’s better to let someone else do the talking.

Anyway, I am sad to report that we had the same Attila the Hun u/s tech today. What are the chances?? I almost walked out. When I got on the table (why can’t we just call it a bed? ‘Table’ makes me feel like a slab of meat), she told me to pull my pants down and I questioned how: All the way down or halfway down or all the way off or what. She snippily replied “Like you did yesterday” and I said “I was NAKED from the waist down yesterday, so tell me what you want.” See, I am not the calm one. And my cup of kindness was running out. I wasn’t even going to try faking it.

Pants settled, the doctor came in. And he was a hundred times better than yesterday’s Dr. Doom and Gloom. Dr. D&G was a bit gruff, matter-of-fact and not terribly good at spreading around optimism. He also seemed to have one foot out the door, so I didn’t get all of my questions answered (hence today’s list). Today’s doctor was much more optimistic. He assured us that everything was probably just fine. He showed us the babies’ hands open and not clenched (clenched is a huge marker for Trisomy). He reported that the heart and everything else looked just fine. I like this fine word a lot.

He waked me through the procedure with full narration. It did hurt, but more in theory than actuality. The idea of it hurts, a lot. I could feel the needle going down down down. I might have cut off circulation in Nicole’s hands at insertion but the pain was over in a few seconds. I didn’t want to look, but Dr. Optimism encouraged me to look at the screen. And there was a little baby, moving around. After the first amnio, they injected blue dye into [her] placenta to make sure that they didn’t take fluid from the same placenta. That’s why I have the green pee. [yellow amniotic fluid + blue dye = green pee]

We left a message with my doctor (her office is in the hospital) and she popped by just after the amnio was over. That made me feel so good, that she would interrupt her day to check in on a hysterical patient. She was also reassuring and said that they see these cysts all the time and it doesn’t always have a bad outcome.

Time will tell. Unfortunately, since Monday is a holiday, we won’t find out till Tuesday. I wish I could pay someone to go I and read the results. Seriously. If you hear about a break-in at a New York City lab, you’ll know who it was.

Four more sleeps till FISH results. And I use the word “sleep” very lightly.

And Now, the Very Long Version

Why can’t something be related to this pregnancy be easy? So it’s like we are back at square one, waiting to see if everything will be ok. Back to the starting line.

I need to write this out to get it out of my head. Skip this entire post if you are easily bored by bitter rantings and too much detail. I'm in no mood to edit.

To start with, our u/s technician had the personality of a troll. A bitter, mean, pissed off troll. She was very cold and impersonal. And her wanding technique sucked so much that it actually hurt for the first time during the trans-vaginal portion of the exam.

Despite the fact that almost every doctor and technician narrate every second of their exams, this one said nothing. I had to ask questions about the fuzzy images we saw: “Is that the head?” “Is the heart beating?” Which baby is that?” She grunted one-word answers and seemed vaguely bored and most definitely disinterested. At one point, Nicole asked her a question. The tech looked right at her, but didn’t answer.

Halfway through, the tech asked me how old I was and I answered. I asked her why…did that have to do with anything? And she said no, even had the gall to act like she was “just asking a question, that’s all.” (The doctor asked the same thing later when he came in…turns out they were asking for a reason.)

I ask continually if everything looks ok and she says continually that it all looks fine. Now I know she can’t really say anything, but I was quite clear with her about how nervous I was and how anxious I was. I don’t expect her to tell me about anything bad, but I am just pointing out that she is a cold-hearted liar. At least she could have said “The doctor needs to look at this” or “I just measure…the doctor explains what the pictures mean.” I know I am being picky here, but whatever.

We asked if we can find out the sexes and she seemed bothered by this. She said it was too early. Nicole asked when you can typically determine sex, and the tech said at 16 weeks. But I am 17 weeks? What the?

So she pokes around, trying to determine the sexes anyway and says “It looks like Baby A is a ….” And then stops. Nicole and I waiting anxiously to hear her answer. She doesn’t answer for about 5 minutes (seriously….five minutes). She stops and starts this sentence stem several times. And leaves us hanging. Finally she pulls that scanner thing off of me and says “looks like it is two girls.” Like it is an after-thought. Such a cold, distant, icy delivery. No “Baby A is and Baby B is,” to build suspense. No warmth. No smile. I turned to Nicole and made some comment like “Two girls…wow.” And the tech suddenly becomes Miss Chatty and says something like “Was that not what you were expecting?” in a kinda rude way. By now I am not easily holding my tongue and I respond something like “We were expecting two girls, or two boys or one of each.”

The tech goes to get the doctor on duty (standard procedure) and leaves Nicole and I alone for a few. I turn to Nicole and whisper that she is mean. I take mean people as a personal affront; they just wash of Nicole’s back. Then we talk gender. I’ll admit, I am a little disappointed there isn’t at least one boy. Someone to carry on Nicole’s last name (no boy babies on her side). Plus we both have a definite boys name picked out that we both love to pieces. And someone needs to watch football with Nicole and play golf with her because it isn’t going to be me (yes, I know girls can do this, too, but what a perfect if stereotypical and bonding mother/son activity).

Then the doctor comes in. He clicks through the pictures at a lightening rate. Like one picture per second. He gets to the picture of one head and stops. He starts saying “see this here” and my stomach just drops. His tone, the way he looked at us, I knew something was wrong. He goes on to describe choroid plexus cysts, and my head is spinning. Am also having a hard time with his (I think) Russian accent. I stop him and ask “which baby?” and he responds “both.”

Search the internet and there is tons of info about these cysts and how they can mean absolutely nothing. But search the internet for instances of BOTH twins having this and you’ll find zip. Nada. Barely a mention. What this means, I don’t know. But I do know that BOTH babies having cysts is bad news. And I did have those two miscarriages already. I may be going out on a limb here but how weird is it that both babies have this random marker? One is hard enough to deal with. But both?? Sounds like I make some bad eggs.

These cysts are, unfortunately, a soft marker for some serious stuff. And my advanced maternal age (all of 34) is another soft marker. We are up to two markers. The wild card here is were there any other markers? The doctor said the heart and organs looked fine. But we didn’t think to ask about the clenched fist. (One of our 15 take-home u/s pictures shows Baby B’s clenched fist. Clenched fists are a very bad sign.) The doctor didn’t talk to us about clenched fists. He just said I should speak with the genetic counselors and sent us over there.

But it’s both babies.

We received the red carpet treatment in the genetic suite. They spoke with us right away. The counselor was so nice, but I hated that I was some textbook anecdote: “If the patient is despondent and hysterical, gently push a box of tissues across your text and repeat how sorry you are to even have to talk about this with her…” and other trite textbook case scenarios that she undoubtedly acted out in the grad classes. I hate crying in front of ANYONE, even Nicole. I asked for a pen and paper and she gives me a pad of paper. One sheet would suffice, I’d like to think. We went over the options. The counselor made it clear that everything could be just fine. But everything could also be all wrong. I guess thsi day wouldn't be complete without discussions of fetocide. But these tests I’ve done are screenings and these finding are only markers. Only amnio tells for sure. Suddenly my 1 in 9,200 screening stat evaporates and we are on the amnio path.

So we are doing amnio with FISH. I know FSH, but not this F.I.SH, and I am too weary to google more. FISH results typically take 36 hours, but since ours will be done on a Friday, we will have to wait till Monday or Tuesday to get the answers. The FISH checks for Trisomy 13 and 21, Downs Syndrome and X and Y. So we will be able to find out for certain the sexes and see if Tech Doom was right about two girls. And we will know for certain if either or both babies have Trisomy or DS. I’m not sure why then we wait for the amnio results 10 to 14 days later, but that’s what we do. I think amnio shows other defects and abnormalities. I’ll have to pay attention better tomorrow.

And here I thought we would celebrate today’s stunning sonogram with icebox cake and dinner, and I would be happily scanning in 4D pictures to share.

So hear I am. It’s almost 11:00 on Thursday night and I haven’t eaten since noon. I am pissed off that we can’t have a normal or easy pregnancy, free of crap like this. I am pissed that Nicole has to rearrange her work schedule yet again to accommodate this stupid stuff. I am scared to have amnio. I am terrified that one or both babies are going to have a serious chromosomal abnormality. I’m scared that amnio is going to kill them. (My first act as a mother? Putting my children in danger’s way to risk amnio. Give me mother-of-the-year-award) I am pissed off that I have to miss the first day of classes for my last semester (over achiever that I am) and that I had to email my professors and explain that I won’t be in class. I am pissed off that I am on bed rest for a day. I am annoyed that we had to cancel a visit from our first-grader nephew because, let’s face it, I am too much of a mess/selfish this weekend to even think about seeing other people and I am not one to ever be distracted in times like these by anyone or anything. I am pissed that if this pregnancy doesn’t make it, then I am fat and have miles and miles to go to get back into shape, without the benefit and solace of having a baby that made me that way. I am annoyed that I am too impatient to wait even three or four days for results. I am pissed that my usually-absent mother actually called for a change, but said after I summed up the day’s finding with “so today wasn’t such a good day,” she responds with “Maybe tomorrow will be a great day.” I doubt that! I'm pissed that this awful news might make other women who are pregnant and scared much more scared. I am annoyed that “amnio” and “Trisomy” aren’t even in my computer’s dictionary. I am annoyed that these cysts appear in 1 to 2 percent of all pregnancies and ONCE AGAIN I hit these odds. I’ve never seem to have met a long shot that I couldn’t ace. And I am mad at the world because I had to see my stronger-than-anyone-I-know girlfriend cry and feel her tears on my arm and not be capable of making HER feel better for once in my freaking life.

Amnio is 8:30 tomorrow morning. The best part was when the counselor said to us that after the amnio, no sex for 24 hours. Because nothing puts me in the mood like amnios and cyst-on-the-brain and potential chromosomal problems. Is she kidding me with that?? Do people really hop into bed and get it on? Did I really need the “nothing in the vagina” speech? At least it made me laugh.

Thank you all so, so much for you encouraging words and personal anecdotes and support. As you all know—most likely from being in some sort of similar horrific situation—it means so much. Like invisible strings helping to keep me up. If you read to the end of this post, you deserve some sort of medal.

I can't take it

Thanks for all the well wishes. We’re going to need some more. I need to decompress, but the very short version is both babies have cysts on their brains. Called choroids plexus cysts. Lots in Baby A, not so much in Baby B. Anyway, these cysts are soft markers for Trisomy 18 and 21 and Downs and all sorts of other chromosomal abnormalities.

I spent most of the time with the genetic counselor trying not to cry, and now I am so fucking angry. We go in for amnio tomorrow morning. We are getting FISH done as well, which apparently will give us a little peace of mind or major panic in about four days. Then amnio results in at most two weeks. I guess I have lots of googling to do.

Bizarre since our stupid nuchal fold was so great and our blood test gave such great results. And I thought this was going to be a better year. Now I am just so scared. And mad. And fucking crying again.

And they are girls.

One Last Sleep

By this time tomorrow, we will know. Are they still in there? Do they have all of their fingers and toes? Do their hearts have all their chambers? Are they boys? Or girls? Or one of both? The past 17 weeks have lead up to tomorrow’s important sonogram. Right now, I feel like I am going to throw up.

Nicole took the day off from work, so at least I have constant companionship until our 2:00 pm appointment.

And even though it is only 10:00 p.m and I am far from sleepy, I will attempt to go to sleep now because I just want to get this long night over with.

That, and I’ll drive myself insane if I google yet another permutation of “When will I feel the babies kick?” and “Abnormalities to look for at an anatomy scan.”

Good Babies/Bad Mommy

The genetics people finally called with my test results and things look good. I did the integrated screening, which includes first trimester blood work, then the nuchal fold scan at 11 weeks, and then second trimester blood work. Before the screening, they based my risk on age alone (I was two months into 34 when the eggs were retrieved from me). So my risk for Downs Syndrome was 1 in 330. After factoring in the blood results and nuchal results, my results are now 1 in 9,200. Wow. That seems pretty great. Yet I can’t shake from my head the fact that the chances of having a heteroetopic pregnancy like I had (one in tube and one in uterus) are 1 in 7,000 or 1 in 30,000, depending in which journal you believe, and I had one of those. So the increased odds are reassuring, but not so much so that I have no worries. Besides, I am me, after al, and worry-free isn’t in my vocabulary.

The second thing they screened for was neural tube defects. Before the screening, my chances were 1 in 1,000. Now my chances are 1 in 1,700. Now this seems great too, but I can’t help but to wonder if the fact that it didn’t jump as much as the other part mean something bad. Even still, 1 in 1,700 or even 1 in 1,000 are still god odds. After all, think of all those failed cycles I had, when my chances were much greater than 1 in 1,000.

So the question remains, to amnio or not to amnio. With these odds, it is clear that I have a higher chance of having a m/c than I do having a baby with one of these chromosomal abnormalities. Yet it goes against my nature (and luck) to assume to All Is Just Fine. This is why the ultrasound on Thursday is so important. I am hoping things look good then too. But I am still a nervous wreck.

When I get like this, I am a firm believer in doing whatever it takes to make me feel better or give me a little solace, whether that means shutting myself in my home or going to see a movie or eating half a pint of caramel cone ice cream or buying a new book. Of course, all these things provide only temporary reliefs at best, but it makes me feel like I am doing something to make myself feel better, even if that means doing nothing at all (get it?). So to distract myself from this Thursday’s adventures, I took myself to a movie (Notes on a Scandal….very good). The Bad Mommy part comes in when I ate an entire popcorn covered in that awful chemical butter (this is the type of theater where you put the butter on yourself….BAD idea for me). I ate the entire thing without stopping, even as little bits slipped done my shirt, getting lodged in my newly huge chest.

Did I stop at that? Nope. Afterwards, I stopped at Starbuck’s for a cinnamon latte (there are only so many times that I can pass by the 700 Starbucks in the square mile of my neighborhood and see that sign advertising this new steamy delicious-looking concoction and not buy one.) And then there was the toffee almond bar. More crap in my stomach, more bad Mommy guilt. While waiting for my cinnamon creation, my hair stylist happened to come in. She hasn’t seem me in about 6 weeks (oh, the gray) and she and she made a few “Look at you!” and “You really popped” comments, which made me feel pregnant. Then she (and this is a first, outside of Nicole, of course) rubbed my stomach. For like 30 seconds. At first thought, this is a little creepy. I wouldn’t normally let people touch my stomach. But then I reminded myself that there are babies in there. And then it sorta made me feel good. I really am pregnant. I really didn’t think it would ever happen (well, I did when we first started trying, but most of you know what I mean). I just still can’t believe I am in my 17th week. It reminded me how lucky am I.

And then, before she left, she told me that if I wore some tighter fitting clothes (I was wearing an oversized button down) then people might be able to really see that I am pregnant and not think that I just look big. Well, then.

Tomorrow night I have dinner plans with one my favorite people on earth. That will be a great distraction.

And two more toss-and-turn nights till the ultrasound…..

The Countdown Continues....

Someone needs to take my computer away.

My computer lives on the coffee table in the living room, but has a permanent spot on my lap when I am on the couch. I can’t just sit down like a normal person and watch TV and r-e-l-a-x (I never could; I must be multi-tasking). So as I glance at a rerun of Law & Order, I google and read and research and list and compare. When should you first feel babies’ movement? What are signs of second trimester m/c? Can second trimester m/c happen without warning? What should I expect to see at the Level II ultrasound? (please don’t let us see little clenched hands.) I even still read Beta boards.

Obviously, too much information can be a bad thing. Hunt for something awful and you are certain to find it. Why can’t I just relax? Why can’t I just look at my growing stomach when I need to be reassured that things are going well? I was reading a blog recently about another woman who was pregnant after years of trying and m/c’s and she was saying how she didn’t really believe it was happening. I read a little more and realized she was 39 weeks. 39 weeks. Is that going to be me?

I’d say that the nesting instinct is really setting in, but to be honest, I am always nesting, so wanting to get everything in order really isn’t anything new. Yet I really have this urge to have everything in place, and we are very far from that. The contractor is coming over on Thursday to meet with us (before the ultrasound) and discuss the plans for the babies’ room. I am excited for this room to be done, because then I feel like we can get the cribs and start buying things. I can start thinking about what colors to paint the walls (I want light brown and apple green; Nicole wants not-light brown and not-apple green). I can pick out a dresser and start acquiring mini things to put into said dresser. Put things on shelves. I can go through that giant bag of clothes that sits in the back of Nicole’s closest, filled with optimistic gifts and hand-me-downs given to us during my other pregnancies. Of course, this is all contingent on everything going well at this ultrasound. Nothing is going to happen if things don’t look promising. The last thing we need to do is dis-assemble a room if things don’t turn out well.

This just isn’t going to be an easy 40 weeks (that is, if I am lucky to go 40 weeks). I guess I just need to accept that.

In happy news, my sleep seems to be regulating. I can make it through the night with just two trips to the bathroom! I still have to flip from side to side, dragging the giant body pillow with me, but I am happy to be sleeping more. My eating seems to have settled back into the range of normal. I have a full box of graham crackers and a bag of salt and vinegar chips in the cabinet and I have no interest in them! And I’m not as dizzy as often, which is thanks to my blood pressure getting back closer to normal for me. So all in all, I can’t really complain too much.

Three more restless sleeps till the Level II….

A Conversation Between Leif and His Cousins

Characters:
Leif: My brilliant, handsome, adorable, loving, perfect four-year old nephew. (Shown in top picture.)
Jen-Jen: That’s what he calls me. (Something to do with no “aunt” equivalent in Japanese.)
The Babies: My uterine guests. (Their heads are shown in bottom picture.)
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Leif: Are the babies still inside?
Jen-Jen: Yes, they are still in there. [Please be true.]
Leif: Why won’t they come out?
Jen-Jen: Because they are too little and need to grow still.
Leif: Yeah? Why?
Jen-Jen: Because…ummm…all babies need to grow before they come out of their mommy’s tummy.
Leif: Why?
Jen-Jen: Ummm…because that’s what babies do in mommy’s tummy. [Changing subjects, because I am never good at answering “why” questions] Do you want to listen to the babies and see if they are talking? [Why oh why did I say this??? What is wrong with me? I tried to teach him once that bones are inside us and he STILL goes around hitting his little chest and proudly proclaiming "Bones inside." Now he will put his head on other people’s stomachs to listen for babies talking and people will think he’s strange.]
Leif: Yeah?
Jen-Jen: Yes. Put your ear here on my tummy. [Leif obliges; I’m already regretting this.]
Leif: All I hear is drip drip.
Jen-Jen: OK, maybe the babies are sleeping.
Leif: I want to give the babies a hug. [Leif wraps his arms around my stomach]
Jen-Jen: Me, too.

And wouldn’t that be a perfect place to end this conversation? Yet it continues.

Leif: I want to share my toys with the babies.
Jen-Jen: You are such a good boy! It's nice to share.
Leif: I have babies in my tummy too!
Jen-Jen: You do?
Leif: Yeah. I have [counts on his fingers] four babies. [rubs his tummy]
Jen-Jen: Boys can’t have babies in their tummys.
Leif: Yeah? Why?
Jen-Jen: [Changing subjects again] Who wants a lolly pop?

Relief …Sweet (Temporary) Relief

Babies are fine, as far as the eye can see. I wanted to see them both moving—last time one was very, very still and that really scared me. So before this appointment I drank one of those sugary coffee drinks for insurance (the only time I have caffeine these days). My thought process: If the sugar didn’t wake them up, the caffeine would. Mission accomplished. They were both squirming around, thank goodness. To celebrate, I almost bought a five-pound bag of gummi bears during my post-doctor trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond, but I came to my senses.

The doctor measured them and pronounced them on target. My cervix is just under 4 centimeters, which is also still good. We did the final blood work for the integrated screen and we should have those results in about a week. All in all, a whirlwind, and my next appointment is in three weeks (technically, 19 days).

However, only eight days till the Level II ultrasound.

[Past] Tense

Insomnia is not as romantic as I would like to think it is. I’ve been up since 3:00 a.m., which is par for the course for me. I seem to wake up every hour and a half or so to pee. This has been going on since Day One of this pregnancy. By 2:00 or 3:00 or 4:00, I can’t get back to sleep. I usually watch shows on my iPod. So far, I have been through five whole seasons of 24 (that’s 120 shows); one season of Top Chef; every episode ever created of The Office and a bunch of miscellaneous random shows of which I didn’t commit to an entire season. I’m officially out of shows, and need to develop an interest in some new ones fast.

And now, I am just tense. A little less than two hours till my next appointment. It’s been 23 days since my last one. I am bracing myself for bad news. I am also bracing myself to have to beg for a sonogram. I am seeing my doctor’s partner for the first time and I have no idea what his protocol is. I know there will be blood work (last part of nuchal) and a blood pressure check and a cervix measurement and the all-humiliating weigh-in, but I don’t know what else. All I know is I am not leaving till I see both babies, hearts beating, hopefully squirming around.

Any sliver of hope I have comes courtesy of the fact that 2006 was last year, and this is the New & Improved 2007. All bad outcomes should have happened and been wrapped up by December 31st of ’06.

One hour and forty-five minutes to go….

2007, New and Improved (hopefully)

I am so happy to see the end of 2006, I really am. We didn’t even bother to say up to usher it out. We were asleep by 10:15 p.m. No fireworks, No ball dropping. I just let it slip away with barely a nod of acknowledgment.

To say this was a difficult year would be an understatement. At times I really didn’t think I would get through it without massive setbacks and significant collateral damage. Obviously, Nicole was my life preserver (and punching bag and shoulder to cry on and support and everything else). And there were a couple of truly special people who kept me afloat too. It took me a year to get to a point where I could say that even without children, my family with Nicole was complete. We were enough; she was enough; and plans were just that: Just one esoteric way my future could work out, with no real guarantees. And then I got pregnant. It’s like I had to learn that lesson first before the universe would acquiesce to my request.

So now it is 2007, and if we are lucky then we will have an amazing spring gift of two babies. When I am not terrified out of my mind, I feel like the luckiest person in the world. I’m four months now (and a day) and beginning to show it a little. I think I still just look bigger, not pregnant. Although Nicole sometimes laugh when she sees my stomach and proclaims me “so pregnant.” I actually bought maternity jeans yesterday (a big step for me) and am reveling in the joys that are elastic waistbands. I have started wearing Nicole’s oversized buttons-downs, which is what we used to say I would wear when I was pregnant and getting big. And now here we are.

In the meantime, I don’t really have any resolutions for this new-has-to-be-better new year. I don’t exactly believe in them. (Why wait till January 1st to make changes?) However, I do have some things to figure out. I am a semester away from finishing my second Masters in a field that I am not sure I will stay in for the long run. How did that happen?! If all goes well, I should graduate a week or two before these babies come. Plans for a doctorate must be put on hold if we are lucky enough to have these babies in the spring. Plans to return to work are on the back burner too now that there are two babies on the way. In light of all that, I need to learn to find some self-worth in being the non-financially contributing partner of this family (and living in the shadow of my superstar successful girlfriend). Making dinner and ironing might be integral to the success of a household and family, but it just seems so…empty sometimes.

I hope this is a better year for everyone who had as awful a 2006 as I did. But I realize that there is potential, of course, for this to be the worst year yet. But I can’t even think about that right now. I am trying to be positive and to be grateful for all that I do have. I have Nicole; I have a home; I have some amazing friends and little people in my life; I have security; and maybe just a little bit of hope. And all I am asking for is two healthy babies this spring. What more could a person want really? It took this past awful year for me to realize that.

Two more sleeps till my next sonogram…..

The Vacation That Was

Symptom Recital

OK, so I am still alive. The flight home was MUCH better then the flight down. There was barely any turbulence and I even lifted up the shade and peeked out the windows somewhere around the Carolina coast. After the plane touched down, I felt a little silly, as usual, for this crazy fear, but I still think our next vacation is still going to be something that we can drive to.

On Sunday, I am 16 weeks. Four months. I can’t believe it. If it weren’t for the fact that I feel pregnant, I would believe I made this all up I my own head. My pants are really tight; tight enough to cause pain when I sit down. And I can’t really sleep on my stomach anymore. I try to, because I absolutely hate sleeping on my side, even with pillows, but it just feels too uncomfortable. It hurts like it does when you eat too much food. My stomach feels hard, and while I can’t exactly feel where my uterus begins and ends (shouldn’t I be able to do this by now?) it seems like it is way over my belly button. I get up every hour and a half to pee so a good night’s sleep is just a fond memory at this point. Bleeding gums. Voracious appetite. Heartburn every now and then. Weight gain. And, last but not least, I have pain in my back, and after ruling out kidney infection, and assuming this was a sign of impending m/c (this almost sent me to the hospital while on vacation), I settled on it just being another pregnancy ailment.

Now that I am safe on the ground, my thoughts return to Constant Fear About Unborn Babies. I am still worried about a m/c. Or is it stillbirth at this point? I know that the chances of this happening drop after the first trimester, but I am still fuzzy on when the second trimester begins. Some say at 13 weeks, other say at 14 weeks. My last ob/gyn appointment was at 13w1d, and at that point everything appeared to be okay. (Though one heart rate looked a little slow, but my doctor says it “seems fine.”)

Needless to say, my next appointment is scary to me, because it is officially full-on in the second trimester and it has been three weeks since my last peek inside. But who am I kidding? I can concoct a reason to fear each appointment on this (hopefully) 40-week track of hurdles. I will still check my toilet paper for blood. I will stil hyper-analyze every twinge. I will still spend most of my awake hours googling for answers to questions that I haven't even formulated yet.

So five more sleeps (ha) till my next ob/gyn appointment and just less than two weeks till the all-important Level II ultrasound, where we will find out if these babies are looking healthy. And if there are still two, if any, babies.

Bumpy Ride

I made it…but it was rough. It was one of the roughest flights I have ever been on. It started with the pilot telling us there was a “maintenance issue” and that we would be airborne soon. That, of course, was enough o scare me into not staying on this flight. I made Nicole check with the flight attendant about turbulence (can you believe this?) and he assured her that the pilot would find a smooth spot for the ride down. Not quite. The turbulence started almost right away and didn’t end till we touched down in torrential rain in tornado-ridden, storm-riddled Florida.

I feel awful because I took an Ambien (on an empty stomach…one of the first times in my pregnancy that I haven’t felt ravenous) to help me relax. (But I will try Sophia’s suggestions for the trip back.) My doctor said it was okay for an emergency situation like this, but not to do it more than once or twice this pregnancy. I realize that another doctor might say something entirely different. Nicole researched it online and determined it was acceptable to take during pregnancy, but not regularly. Even still, I felt awful that I was subjecting these unborn babies to the Ambien-induced amnesia, craziness and lethargy and am haunted by the fact that there is maybe a tiny possibility that I took it at such a critical time that it causes damages to the babies. If the are still alive in there. Yet it seems like the stress I was under was worse than anything Ambien can do.

Seven long days till my next doctor appointment. It seems like forever away. We are going back to Northampton for New Year’s Eve, like we did last year and staying at the Northampton Inn, just like last year. And just like last year, I am pregnant. I was six weeks then, and already I was feeling ectopic pains. I remember hobbling around the hotel room, complaining about this pressure I felt that we chalked up to pregnancy. I was having difficulties sitting down and getting up, but we chalked it up to pregnancy pains as well. Now I look at that hotel and remember all that. Nicole thinks going there will create new and better memories. I hope she’s right. But I wonder…this pregnancy is filled with (pardon the bad analogy) its own turbulence. And sometimes I feel too distracted and too on edge to create new memories.

But first, I need to make it on the flight back to New York City on Friday…

It's All About Me

For the first time, I am not worried about the babies at all. I am worried about me.

I don’t know where this came from, but I have developed a ridiculous, insane fear of flying. Not the garden variety fear, but the full-on pre-flight breakdown, cry during turbulence, what-was-that-noise? variety. Where this came from, I don’t know. Maybe a little 9.11. Maybe just getting older. Maybe it is a control-freak thing. All I know is not five years ago, I flew halfway across the world on my own to join Nicole on a business trip with absolutely no issues. I used to look forward to flying. I’d fly anywhere, with a little trepidation, perhaps, but in general, very content, with my books, magazines, music, and computer to entertain me between bad airline food and trips to the bathroom, where I would wonder if was really true that some woman had her intestines sucked out because she flushed the toilet while sitting on it.

This fear is compounded by the fact that there appears to be a very large storm across Florida and said storm doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. There are thunderstorms and rain expected, which will make for a bumpy ride, I’m afraid. And we all know that weather is unpredictable. So this storm can take a bad turn while we are in it, perhaps. Part of me has actually considered just not going.

And the worst part is I can’t really take anything to take the edge off. During recent flights I have anesthetized myself with ambien or xanax. That really helped to take the edge off (by putting me to sleep!). Now I can take a Benadryl, and I feel guilty even doing that. Maybe I will stay up all night tonight so I will just sleep on the plane.

At least we had a nice day. We had our traditional Christmas Eve lunch at Tea & Sympathy. Then went to my brother’s house for dinner. Dinner was lovely, but sickness was in the air. My niece threw up three times and my nephew appears to have ringworm. My brother told Leif that means he has a little snake in his head and now little Leif is worried about that. (“Where are its eyes?” he asked) So on top of this flying/fear thing, I am googling ringworm and comptemplating my chances of getting whatever awful virus that Skye has, and wondering what long-term psychological damage Leif will suffer from in thinking there are snakes in his head.

Off to bed…so much for staying up all night and sleeping on the plane.

Photo Test!

2006…The Year That Was

My own little breakdown of one of the not-so-good years of my life:

January: Started out pregnant, but quickly slid into Miscarriage No. 2. Had a D&C mid-month. The doctor also turned up some precancerous cells on my cervix, so I had to have a biopsy (luckily, negative).

February: Excruciating pain finally convinces my doctor (who is, for obvious reason, no longer my doctor) to do a few tests and Baby No. 2…the twin to the last pregnancy…is found in my tube. Three months after conception. Not a good day.

March: Cycle returns, but take the month off. Discuss future options; decide on IVF.

April: IVF No. 1. Full of optimism and hope! 3 blasts transferred; chemical pregnancy.

May: Waiting for my cycle to return….Pass due date of Baby No. 1. Misery.

June: IVF No. 2! Full of optimism and hope! 4 blasts transferred; BFN.

July: The Dark Days. Turn 34. Wait for cycle to return. Switch RE practices. Decide that I will be a stay-at-home girlfriend and concentrate on getting pregnant only (not too much pressure…)

August: Start Pill to regulate my cycle.

September: Pass due date for Babies 2&3. More misery. IVF No. 3. Filled with pessimism and dismay. Unbelievably, BFP.

October: The month of weekly sonograms/hurdles

November: More sonograms/hurdles…and release to OB.

December: And here we are. Cautiously optimistic. I was pregnant last December, too. And we know how that turned out.

Teacup and Sympathy

This morning, Nicole and I went downtown to The Pink Teacup for breakfast. We debated going, since I was so tired, as usual, and couldn’t imagine hauling myself all the way down there, even though they have the best scrambled eggs and home fries in the city. But we did.

Part of the charm of the Teacup—and its downfall, perhaps—is that fact that it is very small. The tables are tiny and stacked right on top of each other. You are sitting elbow-to-elbow with complete strangers. Not nearly as bad as Tea and Sympathy—another favorite haunt—but cramped just the same. If you have to sit on the inside row of chairs, you need to suck your stomach in to prevent yourself from knocking over your new neighbor’s coffee cup or orange juice as you oh-so-delicately tuck yourself into your seat.

This morning, the Teacup was busy and seating options for us were limited. There were a couple of tables available, and for some reason, I chose a table right up front, despite the fact that I don’t really like to sit near the door. Nicole kept pushing for the back table, but I insisted on the front one. Then came the tricky part: Now that I am beginning to feel bigger, I am a little apprehensive about putting myself into tight places. Nicole hates squeezing in more than I do, so I figured I might as well take off my coat and suck in my stomach and wedge myself into the seat.

I made some comment about my stomach and tight jeans to Nicole and the woman seated at the table next to us, reading her paper and eating her eggs and grits, asked me how far along I was. Now this took me aback: I am a pretty forward and open person, but I am not one to insinuate myself into other’s conversations nor am I one to boldly ask someone how many weeks they are. How could she know I was pregnant? I could just be gaining weight. This made me feel warm and fuzzy for a minute because I imagined that maybe just maybe I looked pregnant and not fat (which is how I feel).

I told her (14 weeks today), and a whole conversation ensued. So much for the newspaper we brought to peruse! Turns out this woman was a labor and delivery nurse for 30 years. She had lots of good advice and reassuring words for a paranoid pregnant person such as myself. After rattling off another list of complaints, I told her that I was grateful to be feeling all of this, as it has been a long and rocky road and it took a lot to get here. I told her I had the miscarriages and the ectopic and that I knew I was lucky and shouldn’t complain.

She got it. She didn’t brush it aside, or ignore it or gloss over it. I told her how in my journal that I am diligently trying to keep, I couldn’t fill in the blank for the line that said “Is this your first baby?” I couldn’t write it was my first and second, because they aren't. But I couldn’t handle writing it was my fourth and fifth because it is too sad. I don’t like to touch grief.

She told a sad story of how she had to bury her first child, a son. She had tears in her eyes as she explained how she finally came to peace with it. She said when he died, she buried him and all of the feeling about him and this tragedy with him. It took her decades to (metaphorically) unbury him and deal with the feelings and emotions. She reminded me that we all go through such challenges, and come through to the other side, even if it takes us 20 years.

With that, all of us with tears in our eyes, she got her stuff together to leave. Before she left, she leaned over to give me a hug (and a kiss on my neck and shoulder, which made me a tad uncomfortable, though I knew she meant nothing untoward as she asked earlier if Nicole was my girlfriend!). And then she was off into the unseasonally warm winter's day.

At this point, Nicole was upset in her stoic little way. She couldn’t finish her breakfast because she was upset and her eggs were too runny. (I finished the potatoes, though). It was just such a surreal experience. Nicole said that it was clear that I was drawn to that table and that seat next to her. And it’s kinda true, since there were other better seating options. It’s like we were fated to meet this woman. And to hear her story, and for her to hear ours. To remember that we all go through unspeakable horrors that we hide from the world day-to-day. And to remember that we are so lucky to have these two babies. And not to forget those who we lost.

Life is Butter Dream

My nephew is now interpreting lyrics. Leif was belting out at the top of his little lungs “Row Row Row Your Boat” as we walked to the food store to buy him strawberry ice cream for dessert, much to the delight/annoyance of onlookers (the singing also involved a special dance-walk that I think Leif choreographed himself). The sugar anticipation got him in a singing/dancing/chereographing kind of mood. Bt when he got to the end, he just repeated that sweetly-mangled refrain over and over again, in this bizarre little barbershop-quartet-esque voice. It was very cute. But after hearing “Life is butter dream” for the fifth time, I wondered if there was some sort of message in his little song. Perhaps even a double entendre? I’m sure I could take this to existential dimensions, but right now I am too tired to do that.

Today I felt an teensy bit pregnant because my stomach is distended in a not-very-flattering way. I still think it is my constant need to eat (and then eating with wild abandon) that is causing this change. Where does fat end and pregnancy begin?

And I also experienced a moment of pregnancy excitement today when I saw a woman at Borders with a small stack of pregnancy books. I wanted to rush up to her and say “That’s me, too!” and swap war stories (assuming she has one, which chances are she doesn’t) and ask all sorts of Exclusive Pregnant Society questions that I now so amazingly have a right to ask. Is she worried that her baby is dead too? Probably not. Is she concerned that even if she does go full term that the baby will be still born? Doubt it. even after the baby is born and appears healthy, is she worried that some chromosomal abnormality will manifest itself a year down the road? My morbid mutterings might likely cause her to call over a manger and get me barred from the store. Bottom line is I still feel like I don’t fit in with the Exclusive Pregnant Society, and maybe I never will.

This is only the beginning of my pregnancy woes, but I feel like I don’t have the right to complain. This is what I wanted; and I am so grateful to be here. But there is only so much gratefulness I can exude when my clothes are uncomfortably tight, I am exhausted beyond belief, and the nausea that I though was supposed to go away a couple of weeks ago still lingers, and sometimes with a vengeance, and I am constantly worried about the well-being of these tiny beings.

And I am dizzy. At least I have an excuse: low blood pressure. Make that extremely low blood pressure. My blood pressure measured at 80/50 for the second appointment in a row. At first, I thought this was something to be proud of: My faulty logic was high blood pressure is bad, so the lower the blood pressure, the better. Not so. My doctor says that I don’t have to worry unless I am symptomatic. I felt fast relief, as I am not suffering from anything other than typical pregnancy ailments. But I asked her just to be safe what symptoms could she possible mean? Dizzy? Check. Blackouts? Check. Cold? Check check check. Did I mention I also run into walls and even lose my balance while I am sitting sometimes? Turns out I am symptomatic. What does this mean right now? Nothing. Another thing we are going to “keep an eye on.” When do all of these things we are Keeping An Eye On become Something To Be Concerned About?

Today, my body reminded me that it was in charge (most definitely a benevolent dictator). It wanted salt and vinegar chips, so I got them. I think my body craved it because it knew it had to bring up my blood pressure to something on the other end of the near-coma scale and it figured salt was the way to go. I steadily ate through most of the bag (the big bag, not the snack-size, .99 cents bag), even though there were clear “Stop! Enough!” signals being sent to my brain. I even tried to show moderation: I ate one bowlful at a time, making the trek into the kitchen to replenish the bowl instead of just eating it out of the bag (my first instinct). Yet I finished three bowls, which equates to let’s just say a lot of the bag. The result is more nausea and queasiness and a general feeling of yuck. I felt too sick to eat anything else all day, which only made things worse. Hopefully, the babies were able to live off my various fat stores today. At night, I toyed with the idea of making a Billy’s Cupcake run for a dozen delicious cupcakes and a slice of Icebox Cake (more healthy foods). But in the battle of hunger/cravings vs. lethargy, lethargy always wins. I haven’t ruled out a morning run, though.

Right now the babies are about the size of a sign language “C”, which, conveniently, is formed by forming your thumb and pointer finger into the letter “C”. It’s a nice, rounded curve with the fingers (about three inches), not a wide, stretched-out version. I find it hard to believe—almost impossible—that there are two of these little babies inside of me, with hearts beating and teeth forming and intestines pushing through umbilical cords to their tiny tummies. Thinking about it too much almost hurts because I am convinced it will all be taken away from me. As much as you protect yourself and swear that you are not going to get attached, you do. Let’s face it, I fell in love with the embryo picture. It was all downhill from there.

Stolen from Another Blog

This was too good to ignore. I'd post the link only, but I think this is wrth repeating. (Here's the link: http://survivingttc.wordpress.com/)

The difference between fertile women and women who struggle to conceive:

Faint line at 11dpo
Fertile Woman: “I’m pregnant!” (tells friends, family and sticks a pregnancy ticker in her emails)
IF Woman: “It’s probably a false positive….”

Strong line at 15dpo
Fertile Woman: Picking names…
IF Woman: “I’m not pregnant until its official with a beta”

Beta #1 comes back great
Fertile Woman: “I’m sure its twins”
IF Woman: “I won’t consider myself pregnant until I see a doubling beta”

Beta doubles
Fertile Woman: Starts working on designs for the nursery
IF Woman: “I won’t consider myself pregnant until I see a heartbeat”

Heartbeat
Fertile Woman: Starts shopping for martenity clothes…
IF Woman: “I won’t consider myself pregnant until I’m past the first trimester…”

End of First Trimester
Fertile Woman: “I can’t wait to know boy or girl already!”
IF Woman: “I won’t breathe a sigh of relief until my amnio comes back OK….”

End of Second Trimester
Fertile Woman: Has a baby shower
IF Woman: “I won’t breathe a sigh of relief till I’m clear for gestetional diabetes and Rh antibodies…”

Third Trimester
Fertile Woman: “Pregnancy sucks. I can’t wait till he/she is here already”
IF Woman: “Wow.. I actually may be pregnant..!”

Birth of the baby
Fertile Woman: “We have a baby!”
IF Woman: “We have a miracle!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The Sobering Part

I forgot this, but how could I? Nicole’s mother and niece spent the night with us on Sunday, so they were our Special Guests at today’s early morning appointment. As Nicole and I were in the tiny room with the doctor setting up for the sonogram, Nicole asked if it was ok if her mom and niece came in to see too. “Of course,” the friendliest doctor in the universe replied. “But let’s make sure everything is ok before they come in.” See? Maybe it isn’t so crazy to think that awful things might happen at anytime.

It’s a Good Day...But a Long Month

They are still there, kicking their very tiny limbs, with very tiny pumping hearts. Nicole was there to witness this miracle. It is such a feeling of relief to see that they are still alive.

In other news, my cervix is nice and long, which apparently is a good thing. We need it to stay as long as possible for as long as possible. This will help ensure we avoid delivering way too early. I also asked my doctor if it is normal to think that the babies are gone in between all appointments. She smiled and said yes, though I think she was indulging me. After all, very few of my friends have admitted to this fear. Maybe they are putting up a brave front. Maybe they don’t Google as much as I do. Maybe they just don’t realize that there are a million things that can go wrong. Life gets complex (unbearable) when you keep looking up for a storm cloud. I’m trying to look for the sun breaking through, but that is so very hard.

Next appointment is 23 days away. 23. I don’t know how I can wait that long without dipping back into the well of fear. That week is also when we do Part 2 of the nuchal blood work. And 9 very l-o-n-g days after that is the anatomy screen. And that is when we will find out whether we have boys or girls or one of each and if they are developing properly. And we will get to watch the twins on the fancy Level 2 Ultrasound screen for almost a full hour. Must-see TV for us.

I’d like to think that the upcoming holidays will be a nice distraction from all this worry and fret, but I know myself better than that. It’s going to be an interminable 23/32 days.

The Tags Stay On

I am officially 13W today, which means, I guess, that I am in the second trimester? I am still not sure. Perhaps I have to get through this week before it is official? Or maybe I am exactly at the demarcation line. Have I literally just crossed the border into the middle part of pregnancy? I just don’t know.

I can ask the doctor on Monday because I have another appointment, thank goodness. It’s been two weeks since my last, so—of course—I am back on the pessimistic side of the tracks. This pregnancy is like one awful, extended 2ww after another. My stomach is getting bigger for certain, but who can tell if it is nature or nachos? I lean toward the latter because my appetite has been insatiable lately, and I certainly am not going to stand in its way. This hunger can in itself can be either a side effect of being pregnant with twins or just nerves. I lean toward the latter again.

I did have a milestone this week, though. For the first time this pregnancy I made a trip down to Buy Buy Baby and I actually went in. The last time was there I had a breakdown in the furniture department. It was right after a D&C and I had to get someone a baby present. I should have known better than to venture forth alone into that universe of all things baby and nesting pregnant women who are registering, but I thought I could handle it. Ha!

This time, I went with defiance. I am pregnant, dammit, and I have a right to go. I was 12 weeks along, so it was time. As I rounded the corner, I felt a little giddy. I let myself pretend that everything was just fine (it might be) and that this pregnancy will have a happy ending (it could, right?).

I went through the entire store. I realized just how little I know about what we will need to get, and feel very grateful to have a few people to help guide us. Yet there was still a detachment. I can look, but I can’t touch. But I did buy a little present for each baby to put in their optimistically-hung stockings. And I kinda felt like a mother as I left the store. But I kept the receipt, just in case, and the tags stay on until we are out of the woods (when the babies are 18).

Any maternal feelings I had after that experience were ripped away when I realized once again that I am unfit to stay alone in the middle of NYC in a doorman-protected apartment. Nicole was in San Francisco again this week (ridiculously for one night only), which meant I was checking behind the shower curtains, looking in the closets and obsessing all night over the potential of someone climbing up the fire escape and into our apartment. It was a windy, windy night. I heard strange noises coming from upstairs, which was unusual since there is no upstairs, as we are on the top floor. I was convinced I wouldn’t live to morning.

And all through it, I kept thinking what would I do if I had children? (I already do, in a way, right?) I thought about that house with all the windows that we looked at in Northampton, down the long, woodsy country-ish road, under a canopy of trees, with neighbors too far away to hear me scream. How could I ever be there alone? Especially with kids? Where is the old me, who used to sleep alone on a boat in a semi-empty marina or walk through the streets of New York at 4 a.m. and even flew on planes without needing Xanax and Ambien? I used to be fearless, assured and borderline cocky, which is exactly how I wish I were feeling right now. Instead, I have to settle for fearful, unsure and about as far from cocky as one can get.

Bad Math

I am well aware of the significance of making it out of the first trimester. This pregnancy—the first in which it seems getting through the first trimester is even a possibility—I had my mind focused on the magical 12-week target. Once I reach 12 weeks, my chances of m/c drop significantly and my chances of this pregnancy having a happy ending increase significantly.

Today I am exactly 12 weeks, and yet this isn’t the end of the first trimester. Just like that realization that a pregnancy last 10 months and not nine months, the first trimester doesn’t end when you hit 12 weeks. After all, that would imply that pregnancy is only 36 weeks long. And yet 40 weeks isn’t neatly divisible by three (13.333 isn’t neat to me). Pregnancy has its own rule book, and so now I find out I need to get to the 14th week, which means I have all of this week and all of week 13 before I can officially say good-bye to this trimester. And this seems very unfair, like someone moving the finish line just when I had it in sight.

I still haven’t signed up for the weekly email update. The pregnancy books I have are literally gathering dust on the shelf, as I never neither the inclination to read them nor the energy to dust and clean them. I haven’t stepped foot into Buy Buy Baby or any child section of a store. And though I have made a few forays online, I only allow myself a few moments to ponder high chairs before I think, “This can wait.”

I did have a baby moment though, which made me long for the chance to feel those moments all of the time. I was at Columbus Circle, which is bustling with holiday craziness and obnoxious shoppers. And the light show started, which basically consists of giant star-like objects lowering from the ceiling to the tune of Christmas carols. I watched it for about 20 seconds, which is uncharacteristic of me because (1) I don’t like to stop or slow down to smell any roses while I am on a mission and (2) it really is a boring little show, despite the potential and the stunning backdrop of five-story windows. But that day I found myself stopping and watching if only for a moment and then I found my hand touching my stomach, in that I’m Pregnant way, wondering if the babies were kicking around in there or if they were sleeping. It just felt so foreign and familiar at the same time.

And now it is the dreaded wait till the next appointment. I have another ob/gyn appointment on Monday, December 11th, which might as well be a year from now. I think about all the things that are going to happen before that appointment and I am overwhelmed. Nicole’s mom will come into town; I will have a presentation and the last meeting of one of my three classes this semester; Nicole will fly to San Francisco and fly back; I will student teach three days down in Chinatown; I will have my dreaded Fordham observation; I will have to figure out how to complete a rather complex section of my portfolio; Jennie will return from her week-long St. Maarten vacation; and then there is that long weekend before Monday to endure…all of these events must come to pass before I am back on that table in the little room at my doctor’s office. Once again, a test of my patience, faith and strength. I guess I keep getting these lessons thrown at me until I get it right.

We’re Off the See the Scanner….Again

My first Ob/Gyn appointment went well. Sort of. First—most important—I saw the babies. Still alive. I had an abdominal ultrasound, which made me feel pregnant, if only for the moment. Baby A was kicking and moving his/her arms, showing off for the camera. I started to laugh, but that made it harder to see. But it was mesmerizing. Baby B was very still, which scared me to death. But all that poking woke him/her up and then he/she started moving too, mainly the little hands. What a relief. I wish Nicole had seen it too, because words don’t do it justice. It is a miracle, and that is not lost on me.

Baby B’s heart rate seemed slower to my untrained eye, but Dr. B says it “seems” fine. She can’t measure it with her dinky little machine, so I need to go with her instinct. But “seems” is such a wishy-washy word that doesn’t exactly instill confidence. I pushed Dr. B to be more specific but she insisted again that it seemed fine. Almost 12 weeks and I am still terrified of losing one or both.

In other news, my thyroid levels are “off.” I need to repeat blood work to see if it was just a glitch or if there is indeed something wrong. My platelet levels were also higher than normal. I asked Dr. B what this all means, and she launched into a detailed explanation of how the thyroid works, etc. I then asked the bottom line question: Is this going to cause a miscarriage or hurt the babies? The answer was a resounding no. Thank goodness. I can deal with thyroid disease if I have to, but I can’t deal with another negative ending.

The good news is I really like my new doctor, but I don’t like how the practice is run. The appointments were running more than an hour late because the temp receptionist scheduled 12 new patients in one day. And she was flustered and unresponsive. While waiting in the tiny room, I listened to her awful phone manners. She practically berated patients who called in with seemingly innocent questions and was unable to schedule a single appointment for any of the other patients because she couldn’t work the computer, leaving many nervous pregnant women walking out without knowing when they would be in next. I know she has been here for at least three weeks, because she scheduled my appointment (it took almost 15 minutes on the phone!). So she should have the system down by now.

Wednesday is The Big Scan. We are doing the Nuchal Fold scan to test for potential abnormalities. Nicole took the day off, so she is coming in with me, which makes everything seem so much easier to deal with. Everything is better when Nicole is with me. Plus, she will be able to share in seeing the babies, which will make it all seem more real that our family of two is now a family of four.

You would think by now I might start to relax, but I am not relaxed at all. The first trimester is almost over and I am still worried. There are still too many milestones to hit and still too many things that can go wrong.

I used to think that I was having an easy first trimester, but when I think about it, it actually has been hard. My mythical tolerance for pain and discomfort clouds my perception once again. I’m exhausted all the time. I wake up at least 5 times a night to pee, so I never get a good night’s sleep. I get a little queasy if I don’t eat anything. I get dizzy all the time, in that old-fashioned-fainting-pregnant-woman type of way. I get so winded just walking to the bathroom, and I practically hyperventilate when walking up the stairs from the subway. I even have a hard time walking and talking on the phone because of the out-of-breathness.

And then, of course, there’s food. While I enjoy a good meal as much as the next person, I now am officially obsessed with food. I went an hour out of my way to today to get German potato salad, sauerkraut and homemade pretzels on the Upper East Side. Everything tastes delicious. I have so many new taste buds. I don’t crave anything in particular: I crave everything. Sourdough bread with unsalted butter. Sour pickles. Salad with homemade buttermilk dressing. Rice with sour cream. Spicy rice with lime. Pasta with olive oil and shaved Parmesan cheese. Cracklin’ Oat Bran. The aforementioned German potato salad. New England clam chowder. Manhattan clam chowder. Stove Top stuffing. See’s chocolate with brown sugar filling. Salt bagels with melted cheddar. I could go on…. but there’s a toffee almond bar in the fridge with my name on it.

Crack Whores and Roller Coasters

I have heard (and read…mainly read) so many laments of how perfectly good, healthy, sane, stable and loving people can’t get pregnant, but crack whores can.

It’s bizarre how this process makes you look at some people of undeserving of fertility. But understandable: Women dealing with infertility issues are usually the most health conscious people I know. They deserve to be pregnant. Many stop drinking and smoking and drinking caffeine altogether. They watch what they eat. They see therapists and acupuncturists and doctors. They try to get exercise or do yoga or go for long walks. They read and research infertility enough to be able to open their own clinics or, at the very least, field difficult questions. They drink special teas and eat special foods and take special vitamins. They visualize and meditate and pray and vent in journals and blogs. They believe in karma. Thy support other women in the same boat with compassion and kindness, offering support, love and friendship in abundance over the Internet without judgment. They weather relationship storms and trials unlike any other. And they are strong, withstanding the inane questions from others who want to know if they are pregnant yet or watching everyone around them get pregnant and deliver healthy babies. Infertility wasn’t exactly a club I wanted a membership in, but I must say I am proud to be in the ranks of people like this.

Yet since I am pregnant I guess I belong among the ranks of pregnant people. But I don’t relate. I still find more in common with the TTC people, much more so than with the pregnant women. It’s weird. At just over 11 weeks, I still feel like this isn’t happening. I still don’t feel pregnant. My stomach seems larger, but I feel certain that is because I am eating more than I should (after all, last night’s ice cream with caramel and sprinkles and chocolate chips needs to settle somewhere on my body). I still can’t bring myself to read pregnancy books or browse the aisles at Buy Buy Baby or sign up for the dreaded “This Week” emails that detail what is developing in the baby this week in utero. And here I am, almost at the end of my first trimester. I haven’t really enjoyed one day of this so-called special time. It’s hard to, when you are constantly looking over your shoulder.

The roller coaster is another familiar refrain in the infertility world. I too used to view this journey as a roller coaster. But a recent casual conversation with Nicole about Disneyland made me realize that infertility is nothing like roller coasters, really. On a roller coaster, you can see what’s coming up. You can see the big drops, and armed with this knowledge, you can steel yourself for the plunge (a little, at least). Most importantly, you see the end coming ont he horizon. But in reality, with infertility you have no idea what is around the corner. Drops come randomly. Sharp turns come without warning. The good and bad are mixed up in such a manic way. You have no idea when the madness is going to end. Infertility is more like Space Mountain. You are in the dark and have no idea what is going to happen. And you are so grateful when it is over.

Today I have my first OB/GYN appointment and I am scared to death. I can barely concentrate. I haven’t had a sonogram in two and a half weeks, which is quite a while when you are accustomed to weekly check-ins. I’m not supposed to get a sonogram today, but I will refuse to leave until I am wanded. I am convinced the babies are dead. In fact, I had a dream last time about it. Was it a premonition? Instinct? Or just worry? The appointment isn’t until 12:45, but I plan to get there a full hour early just in case there is a chance I can get in. I'd rather wait an hour in a waiting room than sitting home fretting.

There has to be a lesson here. Does the pregnant crack whore worry and fret? Or does she just sail through pregnancy with confidence and security (and denial, in the face of daily drug use), and little to no prenatal care. What does one have to do to achieve an even disposition for pregnancy? Worry, after all, gets me nowhere; that much I know. But that isn’t stopping me from worrying.

Nicole left a note on my orange juice this morning, telling me to say hi to the babies when I saw them today. Such optimism. It made me happy. I wish I had her indefatigable spirit when it comes to the health of these babies. Maybe she should have been the one to carry these babies. I bet she wouldn't even insist on a sonogram today if it were her.

Four more hours till I see if my worry was warranted or not.....

The 40WW

I reached the ten-week mark today and that is quite a milestone for me. How far I have come. Betas and sacs and fetal poles and yolk sacs and sonograms and heartbeats and growth measurements and more blood tests and arm buds. Ten whole, long, baby-growing weeks. I’ve never made it to the seven-week mark before, let alone the double digits. All of my unhappy endings were early, but long enough for me to get attached.

Ten weeks and yet it all still doesn’t feel real. I’m waiting for some seemingly inevitable bad thing to happen. I hyper analyze every twinge, throb and slight pain. I check for “disappearing symptoms” (not that I have many symptoms anyway). I can’t tell if my growing stomach is from the babies inside or from my tendency to eat so very much all day long.

I haven’t had a single sonogram since I was officially released from the RE. I won’t have another sonogram for 10 days. 10 days. Might as well be 10 weeks. I don’t know how I can get through that many days without some sort of scientific proof that these babies are alive and kicking inside me. That forces me to rely on faith and to believe what I can’t see; two things that I have never been very good at. And harder still when you’ve already had babies taken away from you.

I want to buy cribs and cute little outfits and pick out a stroller and settle on names. I want to feel certain that they are coming this spring.

So to pass the time, I am counting down the days. How many days till the next sonogram? How many days till the next doctor’s appointment? How many days till I am out of the first trimester? How many days till the babies are viable outside of me? How many days till the end?

Whatever Happened to Congratulations?

Some recent reactions to our news:

Oh wow! Do twins run in your family?
Why, yes they do, in fact. My mother is a twin. And apparently there are some other twins scattered about on her side. And, when you get down to it, the odds of having twins are 1/89. So that means out of every 89 births, there is one set of twins. Throw me in a room with 89 women and I can imagine someone calling my name. I’ve hit greater odds for lesser things. But our twins are courtesy of IVF.

Oh Wow! Twins! You are going to be so tired!
Well, yes, I probably will. But I would be so tired with one baby as well. Those who I know with one child complain endlessly about how little sleep they got in the beginning. It’s fine. I’ll deal. As a new mother I don’t expect to get much sleep, but I am pretty certain that the sleep issue will work itself out in the end.

Oh Wow! Twins! Twin pregnancies are really hard!
Of course any women pregnant with twins is aware of the risks. Preterm labor, to start with. Fetal death. Vanishing twins. Preemies. Preemies who have to live in the NICU for a week. Preemies who have to live in the NICU for a month. Preemies who never leave the NICU. Yes, I am aware of the potential complications. It scares the shit out of me. So maybe this is not a good thing to discuss with any woman who is pregnant with twins.

Wow! Twins! Just what you need! (without being ironic)
Eight failed IUIs. Two spectacular failures of IVF. Hundreds of doctor’s appointments. At least 30K out-of-pocket expenses (almost 7K on sperm alone). A career postponed because I can’t do IVF and work at the same time. Stress. Fear. Stress. Depression like I have never felt. Stress. Weight gain. Raging hormones. Weight loss. Potential increased cancer risk due to all of the drugs pumped in my body (depends on which research you believe). Months of intramuscular shots in my ass. Three miscarriages, including a horrifically painful ectopic. And now I am pregnant with two babies? Two (so far, knock on wood) perfect little babies? How can anyone see negative in that?!

Wow! Twins! How are you going to fit them in your apartment?
For the life of me I cn't figure out why people worry about these sort of things. We realize that children hog up a lot of space, but we aren’t so worried with where to put them. I wouldn't say it is the least of our worries, but I can say that it is easily the most solve-able issue. By NYC standards, our apartment is the square footage of a typical two-bedroom. We can carve a corner of the living room into a perfectly usable bedroom (with windows). There are plans to renovate the under-utilized entry office area. And plans for a place for weekend getaways so they (and we) can enjoy lawns and trees and nature. Babies will have their own closet and tons of cabinet space. (We still have cabinets in the kitchen that hold One Towel or Nicole’s old Snack Plate.) So no one over here I worried about space.

Wow! Twins! You are going to be huge!
Anyone who knows me knows I gain and lose the same 20 pounds, all my life. That may be a clue that maybe just maybe there are a few small food issues going on with me. Do you really think it is beneficial to discuss how my body is going to change? In giant terms, no less? Right now, what matters most to be is delivering two healthy babies. So if that means I blow up like a blimp, so be it. One thing I know for certain I am dedicated enough to get back into shape. So today I indulged in a Napoleon when I was in Little Italy. I went to a separate restaurant to get an order of French Fries for my take-out dinner. I had a pudding cup for dessert. And I don’t really feel guilty at all. Maybe just a little…..

Wow! Twins! How are you going to manage?
I’m guessing we’ll manage just like anyone with two kids manages. In other words, we will manage just fine.

We wanted two children, maybe three. The way I look at it, we are getting both at once. Considering all that we went through to get to this point, it is a relief. After all, I didn’t want to go through all the stress and challenges of an IVF cycle again. Or the chance of having another m/c. Not to mention the time commitment. And the money….and I could go on.

I look at my niece and my nephew—I love both to the extreme—and I can’t imagine life without either of them. If they came at the same time, would I look at them as a burden? I doubt it. I look at this pregnany for what it is: A gift; a blessing; buy-one-get-one-free; answered prayers times two.

Cheese But No Wine

Today was a special day. It is Nicole’s 5th anniversary, which also means our 5 year anniversary is about five months away. Coincidence? Probably not. If she never made that step 5 years ago (and then me, 9 months later) we would probably never be together. When that part of her life ended, our life together began (again, 5 months later). So we will acknowledge this day (and August 28th) forever.

Another cause to celebrate: I am in the 8th week and I am still pregnant (knock on wood). And today our babies officially graduate from “embryos” to “fetuses.” I am still in shock at have to write all that in the plural form. Shocked, but grateful. How could I not be grateful that my dream was answered twice?

It would have been a better day if I still wasn’t fighting this awful cold. The congestion and sore throat and hacking cough and general ennui I can handle; what scares me is the low-grade fever. Apparently, according to the pregnancy experts, I can have 106 fever at eight months and all will be fine. But ten minutes at 102 at eight weeks and you are pretty much guaranteed a m/c or birth defects. Now, my temperature of 99.4 is nowhere near 102, but I still lived in fear that it will go up and up and up. And still fear that maybe it was already that high, at night, in bed, when I was sweating through another sleepless night.

The good news is my fever is down. I still have a slight temperature, but I no longer feel the need to dunk myself in tepid/cold baths to lower it to a fetus-acceptable range. I took some Tylenol and drank some Gatorade and rested like it was my job. I still feel awful, but fortunately I can convalesce another couple of days.

Another cause for celebration: For the first time in three days I left the apartment. We ventured to the Dorothy Parker play/event/fundraiser on Broadway and it was so worth it, even if it sets my sickness back a couple of days. Two hours felt like 20 minutes. The performances and performers were great. Dorothy Parker proved to be timeless, and, once again, I was reminded why I was so obsessed with her for the past decade. And we even had some celebrities in the audience: Barbara Walters (who blinks a lot when she talks) and Tom Brokaw (who is really tall). Luckily (for my neighbors) I managed to cough and sniff and make all sick noises during the extended interludes of clapping and laughing.

And leaving the theater I experienced one of those rare New York moments that makes me love this city. Maybe it’s good that NYC can be such a big, impersonal place, because it makes those occasional touches of kindness so much more poignant. As we waked through the aisles toward to exit, I struggled with my putting on my jacket. I snaked my arm through one sleeve but struggled with the second. Apparently I can’t walk and put on clothes at the same time. The woman behind me, one with whom I had shared a brief debriefing conversation with (pieces we both lamented that should have been included but weren’t) when we first started our exodus, helped me with the other arm. So random, and maybe it is silly to be so touched, but I almost cried. This city (world) is sorely in need of these types of kindnesses from strangers.

And now I am home on my comfy couch and eating cheese (I think cheese of all kinds is my first true craving…fondue is in my very near future, I can feel it) and even though I am sick and tired, I am very content.

Sinking (In)

I’m afraid to say anything because I don’t want to jinx things. But so far all signs point to things are going just fine.

I tell myself this isn’t like my first pregnancy, when the sac was measuring a week behind and my HCG levels suddenly stopped rising, after perfectly good beta levels. This isn’t like my second pregnancy, where my betas were low the entire time (but the sac measured fine) and I was told from the get-go that it might not be a viable pregnancy (not that that numbed the pain of losing later on). And it certainly is not like my third pregnancy (call it what you like: the heterotopic baby or twin-baby-in-the-tube) discovered a month after my D/C only after going through a horrifically painful experience.

This pregnancy, so far, is progressing exactly as it should. This pregnancy seems strong and viable. Each weekly appointment has gone well, and the doctors confirm this. At the last appointment the doctor turned the sound up and we heard the beating little hearts. Both of them. The doctors have given me absolutely nothing to worry about, even when I prompt them to or slightly unravel a thread of thought to encourage a negative response.

Nicole flew back from SF last night and made it to our sonogram appointment this morning. I am still officially pregnant. 7 weeks and 4 days. We saw the hearts again and heard them, too. The doctor said we graduate next appointment to our ob/gyn (of which we don’ have yet).

Grateful doesn’t even begin to encompass how I feel. I feel so fortunate and so lucky to be at this point, but it’s not like it happened overnight. It did, after all, did take us 10 IUIs and 3 IVFs to get here. I have lost track of how much money we have spent, but it is safe to say at this point that at least a full year’s salary of mine (before taxes). I have watched many of my friends lap me in the baby-making department. I know how it feels to have breakdowns in baby departments of random stores and at baby showers. To take longer walks around bookstores to avoid the baby section filled with books I am not allowed to buy. I have endured the fruitless attempts by others to make me feel better and I have endured the loud silence when others seem to forget the horror I’ve gone through.

And yet I know enough not to get too comfortable. Being pregnant is a whole new set of worms (which I think very much needs a support group). I have seen far too many late trimester disasters brought on for chromosomal reasons. I have heard too many stories of seeing heartbeats and moving along only to have things abruptly stop thriving for no good reason. I know of too much heartache experienced by others. I can’t sit back and r-e-l-a-x and take everything for granted, as so many pregnant women can and do. I haven’t signed up for Your Baby This Week email services and I have kept the receipts for the couple of pregnancy books. I have bought. Color me Cautiously Optimistic.

This Sunday, Nicole and I are going to a Dorothy Parker one-night show on Broadway. When I heard about this show months ago, I told Nicole how badly I wanted to go but how superstitious I was. I now associate Broadway with m/c, since Nicole and I ended up wandering about the city after both m/c and somehow ended up getting tickets for a Broadway show in an al-out attempt to soothe ourselves with anything (interesting, really, because we both pretty much steer clear of the Great White Way or whatever it is called and may even go so far as to mock certain shows). I was afraid that if we got tickets, we’d pretty much seal our fate for a negative ending. Nicole went ahead and got the tickets anyway. And we will be in attendance this Sunday, when I turn exactly 8 weeks pregnant. It seems more like a celebration now than capitulation to the undertow of grief (knock on wood).