Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Whole Lot of Explainin' To Do

It can now be made official....

I am pregnant. 


Jason and I were going to wait until 12 weeks to announce, but we figured that three days early wouldn't be too presumptuous. 

I guess I have a whole lot of explainin' to do.  Well, about ten weeks ago, the week before my scheduled laparoscopy, I peed on a stick.  I was certain that I wasn't pregnant, since this was actually the first cycle in over a year and a half that we hadn't tried to make a baby.  I just knew that it wasn't gonna happen until something got "fixed" and that was the point of the lap.  So, the month with no charting, temping, Clomid-ingesting, progesterone-inserting, green tea-slurping, vitamen-popping, Robitussin-guzzling, OPK-urinating, pillow-under-the-butt-for-two-hours, caffeine-avoiding...well, that was the month, for some reason.  Getting pregnant was so far out of my mind during this time, I drank a Pina Colada, ate sushi, dyed my hair and had a chest X-ray.  Then...well, something felt weird.  Something started feeling different.

For starters, I didn't start.  Which was very odd to me, considering the no progesterone-inserting that was going on.  I usually spot for about eight days before my period comes (sorry for the information, gentlemen) and no spots.  Yet, I had that approaching period feeling.  And my breasts stayed full.   I kept cupping my hands over them when nobody was looking.  ("Yes.  They still actually fill up my hand.  How odd.")  One night, we went and saw Harry Potter.  Before the movie, I checked.  No period.  The movie ended.  Run to bathroom.  No period.  Very odd.

That night, I laid in bed and decided that, although I was insane for even considering the possibility, I would test in the morning.  I got up and tested, telling myself that it was going to be negative, but knowing in my heart that it was positive.   Sure enough, two lines.  I sat on the toilet for awhile, staring at it.  "Wait a minute," I told myself.  "That's a Dollar Tree crap test."  So I drove to Walmart, still knowing perfectly well that I actually was pregnant (but still telling myself that I wasn't), and bought four more brands of tests.  They were all positive. 

Ten weeks later, here I am.  Despite dread, worry, skepticism, analyzing every twinge and refusing to get my hopes too far up, I am still pregnant.  We saw Cletus's heartbeat about three weeks ago (my mother has named him/her Cletus the Fetus) and for the first time, I felt really joyful.  Not petrified.  I don't know if it was the month after month of disappointment that I experienced beforehand, or my natural inclination to worry, but my first trimester has been extremely guarded.  I haven't felt glowing; I have felt wary.  But thankful.

I have also had a nasty case of Survivor's Guilt for the past few months.  I have people in my life who are still struggling and trying, and I don't want to cause them any pain.  There's a certain amount of guilt involved in feeling excited and happy.  I think that infertility has left it's muddy pawprints on my psyche.   A few weeks after I knew that I was pregnant, another co-worker announced her pregnancy.  Her due date is only a week before mine (which is February 12th, by the way).  Even though I was sitting there pregnant on the other side of the cubicle, I was boiling with jealousy.  It was completely irrational.  I guess that the infertility stink doesn't wash off quite as easily as one would hope. 

So here's what you have missed...puking, puking and more puking.  I have been very nauseous.  Just puked again on my way off to work.  I have probably lost about eight pounds.  My cubicle mate (who I told this weekend in San Diego) told his wife (my good friend) a few weeks ago that he was worried about me.  Apparently my weight loss and exhaustion has been noticable.  (And I thought I was hiding it so well.)

Last week in San Diego, Cletus decided to plant his little tiny butt firmly on my bladder, so I am the PeePee Queen every twenty minutes or so.  And I can finally see the smallest pooch in my stomach.   A little baby pooch.  Which is a very nice pooch to have indeed.


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