Should not have done the math.

I'm watching Desperate Housewives. (for the record, this does not fall into the category of "bad TV". This is actually very GOOD TV. In case you were wondering.)

Susan works at a private school as a teacher's aid so she can afford to send her son to the school. That's great, I'd do the same. Props to her for being frugal. I mean, according to the show, this school costs nearly $22,000 a year. For elementary school. What is it? College? For real? Who does that???

Um. **blush**
Apparently the HG and I do.

After gasping LOUDLY at that number, I thought, "Hmmmm...how much are we ponying up for day care?" Honestly, I figured that since we pay through the nose for day care, the private school parents in question (ok, ok, I know they're fictional...NOT the point) must be just rolling in it. I mean, $22,000 a year? That's a car. College. The down payment for a house in a small town in upstate NY (VERY upstate). Hell, it's more than I have left on my student loans (I think. This is another number I don't look up....) Ok, so my point is it's a lot of money.

Yeah. We are said parents. Our annual day care bill? Nearly $21,000. No, it's not $22,000. But really, we're going to split hairs over $1,000? Let's just say I suddenly feel very poor. And a smidge stupid. How in the hell did I sign my (still unborn) kid up for a $21,000 day care? DAY CARE?? Not even kindergarten. $21,000 for someone to make sure my son, what, gets cleaned up after he spits up? Oy.

Ok, ok. That is simply not fair. I know that day care is more important than that. I know that it's worth any expense to have my son in a place where I feel comfortable. I would pay twice that to know he's getting as close to the quality of care I'd give him myself. Hey, day care, infant care, preschool, nursery (pick your preferred term and insert here) workers, for the most part, do a fantastic job. Every day millions of women leave their children in the care of these hard working women (yeah, yeah, and men. Whatevs. I'm fine with a stereotype here. Bite me.) and I am sure that, like me, many of them are not happy about having to do it. I'm his mother. I want to be the one to see his first steps. Hear his first words. Decide what his schedule should be. But, alas, I have to come to terms with the fact that this is not an option for us at this time. Even though I carried this little guy around for 9(ish) months. Even though the HG and I wanted this little guy more than anything. And even though we already love him more than anything I can even imagine. I will have to drop him off every morning to be cared for by someone else. So, yes, as hard as they work, as tirelessly as they care for my son, they will never, ever do as good a job as I would.

So, ok. $21,000. Yikes.
But I think it might be worth every penny.

This, however, does not make me feel any better about the cost.
He is SO going to public school after Kindergarten. Momma's gonna need a vacation eventually....

Well, it's offical.

I'm a cluttered mess.
Murpy says so.

And my mother emailed me and "suggested" I hire a maid before the little man arrives. I asked if that was her nice way of saying my house is a mess. She said no, just that I clearly have a lot to be before he gets here and I have a lot on my plate and since I'm so tired........
Hmmmmm...
Is it me or does that sound like mom-speak for you're a hot mess?

Ok, so I'm a hot mess. Fine. I will not go down like that. So I ran to The Walmart (for the record, you have to call it "the walmart". It's more fun. The HG and I actually call it the "W'art". There is a long, quite dull story behind this. But we find ourselves amusing. Nobody else ever really does. We're fine with that. I'm quite certain we'd both be single forever had we never met. We're also fine with that. I'm on quite the parenthetical tangent, aren't I? At some point I thought, "hey, I should just delete the parentheses and start a new paragraph." But I find this more amusing for some reason.) Any.way.

I ran to The Walmart (this is like having "the diabeetus") to get some plastic organizing type baskets for my linen closet. And I am now the proud owner of a very well organized linen closet. I organized all of our over the counter drugs by type: painkillers, tummy stuff, etc and put them all in one basket. Put all the first aid stuff in another. All the beauty supplies in a third. While I was at it, I tossed all the extra lotions, body sprays, and perfumes (um, do I smell? People seem to like to give me this stuff....are they trying to tell me something?) I had kicking around. I also tossed any expired medicines and all that jazz. Amazingly, after I did that, I had plenty of room to add 2 more baskets--one for baby wash clothes and towels, the other for baby bath supplies and lotions and such. This is fantastic because I was actually laying in bed last night tyring to figure out where to store all the baby bath supplies. Problem solved! Huh. It's funny what a little organization will do for you.

I also did all the laundry in the house, which included all the wet, cloth outdoor clothes the HG had to wear TWICE today to clear out all the snow. Yeah. Snow. It's March 2nd and we are once again buried in over a foot of snow. Sigh.

Well, this installment of my life will be cut short. I have to lay on my side. Thanks to too many contractions, I'm ordered to rest on my side after work from now on. And I can't type very well on my side. Good times.

So much for nesting.

Next month

Next month I'll be a mommy.
Unless you believe my friend Melissa. In which case I'll be a mother this month.

After everything, we're finally going to be parents. It's just amazing to me. I still worry constantly. I still pray daily for a healthy baby boy. But with each passing day, it becomes more and more obvious that in a few short weeks, we'll be changing diapers and trying to figure out how, exactly to make this little person stop crying. It's so exciting. And terrifying. And wonderful. Did I mention terrifying?

I'm quite honestly scared out of my mind. I'm not the most organized person. I'd LIKE to be. Disorganization frustrates me. And frankly, clutter makes me straight up angry. And yet, our little house is overwhelmed with disorganized clutter. At least to me it is. I'm sure other people don't always see what I see. We had a cleaning company come 2 weeks ago and they commented on how clean it was (um, yeah. If it WAS, I wouldn't have called YOU) and how well organized. Ok, clearly, I need to find a new cleaning company. Well, I DO need to find a new cleaning company (they used mops--don't get me started. Floors are to be cleaned on your hands and knees. I was clear when I hired them. Sigh. And they didn't move the furniture to clean under and behind it. I mean, really?) but that's a different story.

My problem is that I'm a perfectionist who recognizes that she is NO.WHERE NEAR perfect. So, since I can't make my house as perfect as my mommy's house (for the record, this is my goal. Someday, my house will rival my mom's....someday...), I don't bother doing things I know I should frequently enough. Like laundry. I do laundry like once a week. Which, for now, is just fine. The HG alerts me when he needs underoos and I do laundry. It's a great process. But, this laundry hating genius decided to cloth diaper. Why? What was I thinking? Cloth diapers are not for people who don't do laundry. But I feel so strongly about it, that I don't want to go to disposables. Besides, as I told the HG, this little guy is going to poop, pee, and puke (the 3 P's as I call it) on everything so I'll be doing tons of laundry anyway. What's a few more diapers in the mix? Ok, so perhaps the real question isn't why did I decide to cloth diaper, but why did I decide to have a child?

But beyond diapers and laundry, I hate hate hate being late. Obsessively hate being late. It, along with clutter, makes me angry. But I love love love sleeping. I'm not good at it, but I do enjoy sleeping. I mean, I wake up frequently and rarely sleep more than 2 or 3 hours in a stretch. (This is the one thing I have going for me in the baby arena....) As a result, though, I often sleep through my alarm clock in the morning and am perpetually running late for work. So I dash out the door, usually with wet hair and one arm in my coat. Toast hanging out of my mouth. Sometimes I don't even remember to lock the door behind me. And on cold mornings, I don't even bother letting the car warm up. How, please tell me, am I going to add a child the mix? I can't put a baby in a cold car. I can't take a shower and be out the door in 5 minutes after waking up. I'll have to feed him. Pack his diaper bag. Dress him. I don't even know what else.

Don't even get me started on cooking. I adore cooking. It's one of my most favorite things to do. But I rarely do it. It just seems so...pointless. I'm home alone most nights because the HG works late. So I grab take out. I can't grab take out once I'm a mom. For many reasons. Not the least of which is we won't be able to afford it if I ever want to be a stay at home mom (which will hopefully happen sometime next year). I also have decided to make my own baby food. Again, this is one of those things I feel strongly about, but fear I'm too lazy to follow through on.

Seriously. What was I thinking? How the hell am I going to do this?? How am I going to be the mom I want to be? The wife I want to be? The employee I need to be? A friend, sister, daughter? How does it all fit together? While I'm sure I'll figure it out and it's not like I'll be a single mom, I'm still terrified. I know I can't be perfect at any of it. But I so badly want to be.

And, as always, I worry about him. Will he be early? Late? And it he's either, will he be healthy? Is he kicking enough? Is he REALLY Ok in there? And once he's here, will he be healthy? Will he be HAPPY?

I don't really think I'm all that unusual. I mean, it's not like I sit her obsessing (really, I swear, I don't....no REALLY.). And I'm pretty sure this is how I'll feel for the rest of his life. I wonder if he'll like the bubble we're going to put him in.... (oh, alRIGHT...no bubble. I assume that would scar him for life, huh?)

Anyway, while I still have time, I'm going to have to work on figuring out this whole "mom" thing. I'm sure I'll figure it out. I mean, people have been having babies for thousands of years, right? It's not like I'm the first. If it sucked, people would stop, right?

Besides, even though Melissa thinks I'll be a mommy this month, I'm pretty sure this little guy will make his debut in May. He's just all about keep me on my toes. I'll prepare for him for this month, because that's how I roll. But, like his daddy, I'm sure he'll just show up when he feels like it. So you know, I will have an extra week or two to figure it out.

What a camara hog.

Seriously. Could my kid be ANY cuter? I think not.

What he could be is more cooperative. The only reason I have this lovely shot is because our stubborn little man refused to move for hours on end today, so I had to go in for some extra monitoring at Labor and Delivery.

I hadn’t felt him move in about 6 hours, which is highly unusual for him. Even on days I complain he’s having a slow day, I can generally get him going after an hour or two. And he’s really responsive to cold and sugar. But today, NOTHING worked. So finally after spending hours playing the clock game (“Ok, if he doesn’t move by 8:25, I’m calling….if he doesn’t move by 9:15, I’m calling….”) I finally called the OB. I was fully expecting her to tell me I was crazy and to relax. Because, really, who are we kidding? I AM crazy. And I DO need to relax.

But, alas, she had me head in for a non-stress test. It started off badly…took over 10 minutes to find his HB. In all honesty, though, I never panicked once. But we finally got the heartbeat on the monitor and it was nice and strong. I laid there for about an hour and they were ready to release me when the nurse noticed that I hadn’t had any movement during that time, so she brought out the buzzer to see if we could get him going. No dice. His heart rate perked up some w/ the buzzer, but still no movement. And then he started having some heart decals—it’s scary when you see the heart rate drop under 100. VERY scary. So with that, I was off to ultrasound.

I walked down to ultrasound and they hooked me right up. I had a nice conversation with the ultrasound tech and she spent just a minute or two watching him for movement. And she explained that they needed to get pictures of him moving for my OB to look at. Of course, right then he perked right up and started moving. His heart rate stayed steady at between 140 and 150. Naturally. He scored an 8 out 8 on the ultrasound so he was perfectly healthy and I was sent home. Since then, he’s been a bouncy little boy.

I swear, this little boy would do anything to be on camera. What a drama....king? I don't know, but this kid is killing me. But I was glad that the lack of movement was confirmed in L&D so at least I’m not the crazy mom. And I’m sooooooo happy he’s fine.

He may be a problem child, but at least he's a cute one!

Hello baby!

29 week shot:

Compare to 23 weeks:

Wow!

Also, isn't my hair much better? I like it!

Just a quick pointer

If you're not sure whether you should use "me" or "I", take out the other person and see what makes sense.
For example:
"Here is a picture of DH and I on our honeymoon." WRONG. Why? Because you wouldn't say "Here is a picture of I on our honeymoon."

And for the love of GOD, there is no such word as "I's". So, if you ever feel the need to use that word, try "mine" or "my" instead. I promise, it'll be the right choice. I promise.

And if you follow this simple rule, you keep a pregnant girl's blood pressure from mounting.
That is all.

Wife Swap

"I'm guessing no advanced degrees here."
"Paintball guns! A very primitive way to resolve disputes"
"These are humble houses."
and perhaps my favorite
"I guess they don't have a cleaning lady!"


Just some quotes from the worst offender on my snob-o-meter ever.

We all know I love really bad TV. Reality TV was created exclusively for me, I think. It's brainless and wonderful to have in the background while I'm blogging, emailing, IMing, chatting or otherwise playing on the Internet. Which, sadly, I'm sure I do faarrrr too much. However, I had a bad day and am now required to sit on my couch with my feet up. More on this in a moment.


But right now, I'm watching Wife Swap and one of the women quite honestly thinks she's better than, oh, everyone. I'm not even making this up. I'm pretty sure actually said she thinks she's better than everyone. Her husband said to the "swapping wife" when she accused him of thinking he was better than her: "I probably make more in a week than you make all year." Apparently money is the measure of a man. I actually know someone who truly believes that and lives his life that way. Very very sad.


Here's the thing, I'm a self-professed snob. I really am. I think there are some things that are just no brainers and not that hard to do. Like, clean your house. Have standards for behavior in public (for example, farting at the dinner table? Unacceptable.) Have respect for yourself and others. And if you're not going to do that, I mean, you're kind of asking to be judged.


That last one is key. Yes, oh, wife swap snotty wife, you have to have respect for OTHERS. As far as I'm concerned, your open disdain for this other family shows you have no respect for them. And that is T to the rashy: TRASHY. So there. Someday you'll fall off your high horse.


Also, can I point out that you're on a reality TV show? Not exactly the pinnacle of class. Just sayin.


(If you're interested, check out Long/Stephens-Fowler episode on the Wife Swap website http://abc.go.com/primetime/wifeswap/index?pn=index)


Anyway.
Why am I sitting on the couch with my feet up? I'll 'splain.


Today wasn't the best day ever. I woke up sick. Sore throat and congested chest. After not sleeping well because of the carpal tunnel and sickness, I had to go to a customer meeting. Now, in all fairness, I do happen to really like the customer I had to go visit, but the visits are exhausting. I have to get dressed up, fight traffic, find parking (which, is really quite difficult in the Boston area), navigate snow covered streets in heels while carrying a heavy laptop bag. You see where I'm going with this. After the visit, I had to go into the office where I was confronted with not one, not two, not three, but four, yes FOUR nasty emails. Four wouldn't seem terrible, but I had checked my email only 2 hours before. So that's 4 in 2 hours. Oh, and my blood sugar after lunch was well over the 120 limit. And I had a grilled chicken salad w/ low fat/carb dressing. If that's going to send by blood sugar soaring, why even bother? (I had ice cream for dinner.)


And then to top it all off, I started spotting again.
I don't need this.

I called the doctor and she said that since I have an ultrasound and appointment scheduled for Tuesday, she'd rather just have me keep my feet up and relax this weekend. Since little man is playing punching bags with my bladder and colon, there doesn't appear to be a reason to worry right now. Easier said than done, doc. But I'll give it a whirl. I'm to call if it gets worse or if I have more contractions than usual or any pain. And she'll see me on Tuesday.
Is it Tuesday yet?


I also turned off Wife Swap. I suspect it was going to start to raise my blood pressure.

What Not to Wear is a much happier show. I don't need negativity in my life. What I do need is a new wardrobe (pssst: Stacey, Clinton, call me!).

And in other news...

Double digits!
Only 95 days to go!! :)

Oh! I'm FAMOUS!

http://www.lowellsun.com/health

I'm not sure how long that link will last, so check it out while you can.

The story, I feel, was fair and the woman who wrote it, Christine, is such a sweethart (thank you SO much for the baby stuff--you rock!). However. Please note the third word in the third paragraph. Obese.

I hate that word. Yes, Ok, I'm fat. I know that. People who know me know that. Hell, people who don't know me know that. I mean, it's not like they're blind. But now it's in print. Published. Out there. So it must be true. Somehow truer (is that a word? For the record, according to the OED and my mother, stupider is not a word. My dad won a scrabble game with "stupider" but apparently it's not a word. I digress.) than it was before. And frankly, it's down right depressing.

I'm 3 months (almost exactly! AH!) from having my baby boy. I can't wait. But he's going to be born to a big fat momma. A big fat momma who can't seem to keep her blood sugar under control for him. I'm just setting him up for a lifetime of weight concerns. So what, he'll be a big fat boy, too? So not fair. Why didn't I think about that before I got pregnant? Why didn't I watch my weight more carefully? And more importantly, why, oh why can't I seem to do anything about it now?

My sister is having gastric bypass. I might not be the biggest advocate of this surgery, but it's her choice not mine. But you know, even though it's not something I'd do, I'm somewhat jealous. I'll officially be the only fat one left in my family. Oh joy.

Yeah, I know. The answer is to lose weight, I get it. But hi, if it was that easy in the first place, I WOULDN'T BE FAT NOW. So let's not pretend that it is. Losing weight is hard. Damn hard. And my body doesn't like to give it up very easily. I have to work out--hard and a lot--to lose significant amounts of weight. I am terrified of how I'm going to do that with a newborn. And my hormones (Let's not split hairs. Vegas is currently running odds of 100 to 1 that I'll get postpartum depression. I'm not known for my stable hormones....). And my job, which exhausts me lately (don't even get me started. People from work read this. Hi!). And keeping up on the house. And cooking. And, oh yeah, the whole marriage thing.

Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. Ok, I lied.

It doesn't make me WANT to cry. It actually makes me cry. Of course, The Office makes me cry these days, so I'm pretty sure we can't use my tears as a benchmark of anything.

I don't know. I'm just so mad at myself for not taking better care of myself while pregnant. For not taking better care of myself before getting pregnant. I'm worried about what my poor son is going to think of his big fat momma. And I don't want him to ever know me like this. But I don't know how to fix it.

I've had good intentions in the past. Very good intentions. I've proven to myself time and time again that I can do it. And that I have amazing will power. And that I'm stronger than I give myself credit for. But it never lasts long enough. I always get frustrated and stop. I just want to look good. Be happy. Stay healthy. And wear a size 10. And not in that order. Frankly, I'd almost rather be a size 10 than healthy. Oh, come on. Like I'm alone in that! At least I'm honest! And frankly, with the exception of this current blood sugar issue, I am quite healthy. My doctor says I have the health of a 130 pound woman. Now all I have to do is somehow become that 130 pound woman...

And don't even get me started on that stupid picture. Hormonal women should NOT be photographed. I have customers who saw that. Sigh.

Is it OK to drown my sorrows in a bowl of no sugar added ice cream? No?

Where'd it go?

Please note, the name poll has been removed.
Why?

Drumroll please....
WE HAVE A NAME!

Andrew James H will be making his appearance sometime this spring. We'll call him AJ.

Please don't send monogrammed sheets, though. I reserve the right to decide in the delivery room that he's really a Tom. Or a Josh. Or a Ben. Or one of a thousand other names we haven't even considered.

But for right now, we love his name. And I think so does he. I was actually worried he was going to try to come out and use it last night. Yikes! I had multiple contractions in a row and we were on standby to head to labor and delivery. I had 4 in about 20 minutes. One more and I'd be off. Thank goodness the little man decided to settle down and I made it through the night uneventfully. But that was scary!

Little AJ needs to stay put for at least another 10 weeks. I'd be scared if he makes his debut at 34 weeks, but I know he'd be OK. So let's keep it to a dull roar in there, OK little man?

Happy New Year!

Wow! What a crazy year it has been.

If, at this time last year, you had told me that that in a year I'd be pregnant and a homeowner, I'd have laughed in your face. Then burst into tears.

As many of you know, last December, we did our first (and thus far, only) round of IVF. It was a miserable failure. I POAS on Christmas Eve and got a BFN. But I tried to hold out hope, even though deep down I knew there was none. Then my period started on Christmas. I cried for hours, even as the HG tried to help me remain positive. We knew of lots of women who had similar experiences but were still pregnant. I tried to believe that it could all still be OK. Even to the point where I flew home unmediated again. Nonetheless, I called my RE and insisted on getting a blood test a few days early so I could stop my PIO (Progesterone in Oil shots...they are administered in an unpleasantly large needle....). So, on my 33rd birthday (December 30th), I went in, and received, confirmation that we would not be having a 2008 baby. As prepared as I thought I was for that news, I was devastated.

So, I decided that we needed to start up the process of buying a house again. We had already offered on a house in November and decided to back out of the deal after the worst inspection on record. Seriously. Once the inspector started using words like "Structural engineer" and "move that chimney", we decided to cut our losses. And we talked about waiting till Spring to talk about starting up the process again. On paper, waiting until Spring was the wise move. But emotionally, I needed something. Anything. I needed to focus on what I saw as moving forward with my life. I felt trapped in our tiny apartment and I felt like I was slowly going crazy. (Clearly, this has not changed. But sush. We don't point that out. It's not polite.)

So the house search resumed. Only to end by the first weekend of February in yet another failure discovered at inspection. The HG and I talked about continuing the process and offering on yet another house, but it wasn't right. It didn't feel right, so I said no. We had already met with the RE again and knew that I'd be having surgery in April to improve my fertility and I was feeling a lot more hopeful than I had been just two weeks before. But with the knowledge that I'd be having surgery, came the realization that there was NO way I'd be comfortable recovering in our tiny apartment. We didn't even have a full size couch. And I wanted my mommy to come take care of me. It would have been rude to ask her to sleep on an air mattress. And frankly, the place had years of bachelor dirt. I was not motivated enough to sand blast it away. So, before my mother came, it was time to find a new place to live. Within three days of losing the house, I found us a new apartment. And at the end of February, we moved. And I felt like a new woman. For about 2 weeks.

I had surgery in April and it was a resounding success. I think April 2008 was the turning point in my life. (Our lives. I mean, I do have to include the HG in my life, don't I? He's kind of vital.) When I woke up, my doctor told me that I still had one fallopian tube. And it was healthy enough to try on our own. I was stunned. I never expected such great news. I had braced myself to wake up completely sterile. But I woke up FERTILE. I hadn't been fertile my entire adult life. And I recovered so quickly from surgery...I truly felt like it was miracle. To this day, I believe the Hand of God guided my surgeon that day.

The joy lasted for a few weeks. Until I saw the RE again. And she burst my bubble. She thought IVF would still give us the best chance of a healthy pregnancy (due to the questionable health of my remaining tube and the resulting risk of an ectopic pregnancy) but that I was too fat for IVF. At least that's what I HEARD. I realize now, that's not what she SAID. But it's what I heard. I wanted to lose weight before IVF again because I had heard that being significantly overweight before doing IVF reduced your chances of success. And I wanted it to work this time. So when the topic of my excess weight came up, I heard that she wanted me to lose weight. (I now know that she was in the middle of completing a study which showed that there is NO difference in the rate of success with IVF between obese woman and those of "normal" weight.)

So, once again, I was in fertility limbo. When other people announced their pregnancies, I felt anger. And hopeless. And broken. And nothing was more painful. Somehow, somewhere, I had lost myself and the only thing that mattered to me was having a baby. That's really quite pathetic, actually. But I couldn't see that through the pain I was feeling.

And with that pain came several meltdowns where I turned my frustration on the HG. I blamed him for my unhappiness. I pinned all my sadness on the fact that we never bought a house. I needed a change. I needed to feel forward momentum in my life. I felt trapped and like nothing more than a recent college graduate. In my mind, as long as we lived in an apartment and didn't have children, I'd feel like a failure. Yes, our apartment was beautiful and huge. And everything I could ever have wanted in an apartment. And both the HG and I had received promotions and raises recently. But I simply could not feel successful, grown up, HAPPY without a house and a baby. Sadly, I did blame the HG for both of those things. I knew we could afford a house, the house I always wanted, but we were choosing not to. Or rather, HE was choosing not to. That, at least, is how I saw it. So sometimes, I'd get so frustrated that I'd snap and just yell at him for it. I didn't want to blame him. Deep down, I didn't even really blame him. He was just the easiest outlet. Using him as an outlet always made me feel guilty afterwards. So I'd sulk for days....the anger made me feel guilty which made me feel sad which made me depressed because I simply could not control my emotions.

Through all of this, we (the HG and I) both had some job related scares (gee, I love this economy!). We decided it was time to make a change. For both my sanity and the potential economic security of a less expensive area to live. We were going to move south. We would live out our lease and then make a move in March of 2009. This plan was so set in stone that I had started looking at houses in our chosen area and we told our families.

I felt so much better having a plan. Our lives were finally moving forward. With or without a baby, we'd make progress soon. We started focusing on the move. I looked for jobs, he hooked up with old networking connections and even got a few bites on his resume. I looked for REs and adoption information in our chosen state.

Then I got an email from the realty service I subscribe to. Our house was for sale. I say "our house" because it was the adorable cape I'd always dreamed of. In seemingly good condition. And in our price range. With a big yard and a finished basement. In our first choice town. The HG wanted to look at it. I did not. I was tired of being disappointed by the house buying process and I was not ready to derail our plans to move south. But the HG insisted we just drive by it. We would be passing by the area that day anyway. So we drove by. And the HG decided we'd go look at it the next day. I was hesitant. So afraid of further disappointment and I already loved the idea of living in this house. But I followed his lead. And the next day we looked at the house and negotiated a deal to buy it while we stood in the driveway.

I was cautiously optimistic, but the house sailed through inspection. We sailed through the mortgage application. Home ownership for us was imminent.

And my weight loss was going very well. We were planning for our next round of IVF to start shortly after we closed on our house. OUR house. We were almost homeowners. So imagine my surprise when my period failed to show on time. I was sure I had just counted wrong--we weren't even trying. But I POAS and it was positive. I have never, ever been so surprised in my life. I quite honestly never thought I'd be pregnant again. Secretly, I was working on the idea that I'd never give birth to my child. I had, and still have, actually, no fewer than 10 adoption websites bookmarked on my computer. I thought daily of how we were going to afford both the new house AND adoption. But I was sure we'd figure it out.

Turns out we didn't have to.
It was the craziest year of my life.
And the most wonderful.

I can't wait to see what 2009 brings me. I know it'll bring me my son. The son I never thought I'd have and have never wanted more in my life.
Frankly, as long as our son arrives healthy, I have no other wishes for this year.

23 weeks

So, here I am in all my glory.
I look not so hot because we've been cleaning the house, shoveling, etc. all day. I could look happier, also.
Eh. Here it is. A 23 week belly shot.
Enjoy.

Mom suggets a name

My mother called me to suggest a baby name.
My father's name.

Very interesting. And to suggest my mother and father don't get along is a vast understatement. It would be less of an understatement to suggest that Hitler was a touch cranky and vaguely homicidal.

I'd have suggested the name myself, but I was truly afraid of how my mother would react. I didn't want her to think of my father EVERY time she said my son's name. And all that would come with.

My father and I have a bit of a checkered past. But it's just that: the past. So I'm not even going to get into it. Our bad history was a very brief period of my life and otherwise, I have the most wonderful memories of my father. And since becoming a "real" grown up (you know, out of college, career, etc), my father and I have patched our differences and are very close. I always thought naming my child after him would be a very touching way to honor my father and really, once and for all, put our bad chapter behind us. But how could I do that when I know how my mother feels about him? Who would that hurt more? My mother or my son? It was a no-win situation for me. I suggested my father's middle name as a middle name. It's a family name and one my mother respects. So that would probably have been OK. But the HG is not a fan. And in all fairness, it's not a great name. But it was a compromise. Ultimately, we bagged the idea altogether and settled on a different name. We thought. (Hey, I'm prone to changing my mind and we don't want a bunch of personalized stuff if this kid is going to get a last minute name change in the delivery room.)

Then mom called.
And now I'm torn. Because as much as I love the idea of naming my son after my father, we were really quite set on our other name. I realize we still have a few months to make this decision, but I have grown quite attached to calling my son by his (potential) first name. So what to do? We don't know that we'll have more children. Or even more sons for that matter! We can't very well just "save" one for next time. And we love both names.

So, I'm putting it to vote. Not that we'll absolutely go with the winning name. But hey, it might help us figure it out.
Either that or we'll change our minds completely and name this kid Dweezel in the delivery room.
Hey, it could happen. Epidurals are crazy things.

I have an announcement.

I am pregnant.

Yup, that's right. I'm pregnant.

I realize this may come as a shock to you, but I feel it's time to stop hiding it. The mood swings? It's really not my fault. Trust me, I'd like nothing more than to not be a basket case most of the time. There are times I can see myself from outside myself and I think, "Whoa girl. Simmer." But I swear, it feels like I have the worst case of PMS I've ever had, 24 hours a day 7 days a week. Have I mentioned I married a saint?

On Saturday, I literally collapsed in sobs. Naked. In the middle of the hallway. Why? Because the plow guy didn't do a very good job. I mean, yes, there's more to the story, but that's really the gist of it.

On Sunday, the HG and I were putting together the snow thrower we had to buy after the plow guy screwed up. And I started to panic when I couldn't get the screws in right. The HG said, "Hey, calm down." And I screamed, "You have NO IDEA. JUST NO IDEA." in response. "Um, no idea about what?" Yeah. I have no idea. I think I was annoyed that we were putting the snow thrower together in my kitchen. Still, though. No idea why I lost it like that.

Today, I yelled at the AT&T customer service rep because she wanted the HG's SS number to verify our account. Ok, never mind that I'm on the account as well. And never mind that all I wanted was a replacement phone for the POS they sent me last time my phone broke (hi, it's less than 6 months old and I'm on replacement number 2....). And I think it's a royal load of BS that they need my husband's permission to do that like it's 1952 (Oh, all RIGHT, they need the primary account holder's permission. Don't nit pick.). But regardless. I think it's entirely possible I overreacted a touch when I hung up on her. Twice.

So, I believe it's entirely possible that I'm pregnant. And losing my mind. Why, oh why, is Xanax contraindicated with pregnancy? It would be best for at least my little portion of the free world if I could take something.

Or, absent that, at least get some sleep. I know your body goes through changes in pregnancy to get you ready for parenthood. I do truly believe this. Every pregnant woman I have ever spoken to says she cannot sleep. So I do realize that some of what I'm going through is preparation for the sleepless nights I'll deal with in a few months. But come on. It seems cruel. Nature should work the other way. This is the time you should get your best sleep ever. You know. To stock up.

Also, you should be at your most rational right now. I mean, in a few months my hormones will be running rampant and I'll be exhausted. AND I'll have a new little life to care for. Can't we talk to someone about this? Is this one of those things we get to blame on Eve? You know, like our periods? I'm telling you, that chick and I are gonna TALK when I see her.

In addition to the acid reflux, strange cravings (Peanut butter on eggs, anyone?), weight gain, bloat, and leaky boobs (hot!), I'm sure the the mood swings and exhaustion are irrefutable evidence that I'm pregnant. As if there was any doubt.

But you know, it's not all bad.

Right now, as I type, my little man is throwing a dance party in my belly. I'll take the weight gain, bloat, and leaky boobs for this little guy any day of the week.

I just wonder if the people around me are willing to take the mood swings.

I want a bump!

I have no bump.
I'm just a big fat cow. With no bump.

I see all these pretty pictures of women with the most adorable baby bumps. And I have bump envy. I want one. All I have is a fat belly and then a not fat, but looks like fat, belly. It is decidedly NOT a bump. It's....blob. I have a baby blob.

Pregnancy is not glamorous, and I never really expected it to be, but frankly, I'm just miserable today. I'm hormonal and cranky. And fat and gross.

And I worry about my little man constantly. I just want it to be 16 weeks from now so my little guy can be born safely. There is so much sadness in the world and I wonder why how I'm so lucky. I keep waiting for bad news. And I just love this little man so much, I cannot imagine not having him in my life and the thought of it scares me so much, some days I can't NOT think it.

There is nothing I love more than sitting on my couch and feeling my little man swimming around in there. I love all the punches and jabs he gives me. The other day, I swear he did a full flip. He was kicking down low, then I felt a rolling motion, and then he was kicking up high. It was quite seriously the coolest thing ever. Have I mentioned how much I love this little guy?

And the HG loves him too. He talks to my belly (um...blob....) every night. "Daddy loves you, little man. Grow big and strong so you can come see us!" How does that not just melt your heart? He's going to be the best dad in the world. He already worries about taking the best possible care of him. He's always been very conscious of our finances, but now he's like a Wall Street broker, the way he watches everything like a hawk. Not in an overbearing way--in a cute, doting father kind of a way. And he talks about how he's going to play catch with him and take him to Dunkin Donuts on Saturday mornings before going to the park. It's just so cute.

We just love this little man so much. Can we just please fast forward to April so he's here safe and sound? I want to kiss all his little toes and squeeze his little bum. And I can't wait to cradle him up against my chest with him curled up into my shoulder. I want to know if he has my nose and the HG's eyes. Will he be cursed with the evil toes of his father, or will he have model perfect feet like his mom (hey, something on me should be model perfect!)? Oh....and that lovely baby smell. I can't wait for that.

I know that what I'm feeling is perfectly normal and I'm certainly not the first woman to love her unborn child so much, the thought of NOT having him is overwhelming. It just seems that if I have to be a hormonal basket case, I could at least be blessed with a cute baby bump.
I'm just sayin.

It's Christmas Time!

Thank goodness it's Christmas Time! Because Thanksgiving is not for the faint of heart.

At least mine wasn't.

It started off well. The HG and I went to visit his family in Florida. As I've mentioned on many occasions, flying is not my favorite activity. I've had fillings I enjoyed more. The time I fractured my ankle ranks higher than flying. There are really only a couple of events that are lower on my list of things to do than flying. But fly I must if I want to spend the holidays with my husband. So I suck it up and go. Generally all hopped up on Xanax. One to get to the airport. One to get on the plane. One with every bump of turbulence. And it works well. I don't even draw blood on the HG's hand (anymore).

On the flight TO Florida, I was a champ. I got to the airport and on the plane without even the slightest hesitation. And no Xanax. I "breathed" through the take-off. (Ok, I actually prayed constantly. And repeated "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" and "Let go and let God" and singing various praise songs that popped into my head "God is so good, he's so good to me".) But whatever. I did it. And there was virtually NO turbulence. AND the flight was not full so I even had an empty seat next to. Best flight ever! Our luggage was the first out of the baggage claim! This vacation is going to rock!

And then we went to pick up our rental car.
And it went down hill from there.

Rich, my new anti-BFF started with the attitude. Ok, ok. I know I'm not known for my love of the people on the other side of the counter, but for real. This guy was a piece of work. At this point in my pregnancy, I'm clearly pregnant. Or at least really fat wearing maternity clothes. Either way, there is certainly enough of a question that you shouldn't mess me with. And secondly, it was after midnight. Ok, so I was really, really tired. And HOT. It was 20 degrees when we left Boston...and over 70 when we landed in FL. And I had a sweater and a fleece on. SO I'm hormonal, hot, and tired. And Rich was coping attitude. I didn't understand what he said when he asked for our phone number. So I said, "I'm sorry?" (I said it nicely. I PROMISE! I swear, this is true. The HG will vouch for me.) His reply: "PHONE.NUMBER." (really slowly..like you would to a 2 year old) Um, excuse me? Did you really just say that? Anyway, I let it go. I figured I'd have to fight about not taking the insurance and wanted to save up my sweet customer points. Rich wasn't having it. We had a similar exchange at least 3 times with different questions. I let it all go. I was too tired. I really just was. And then. After giving me a quick look over he said, "Is the Chevy Alero ok or do you want something, um, bigger?" He was very clearly insinuating that I'd be happier in a bigger car. Oh, no you didn't. (Insert finger snaps here) Ok, that's it buddy, we're gonna battle.

But I didn't. I was sweet. (Hi, can I get some karma points, PLEASE?? apparently not. Read on)

We got in the matchbox car Chevy is calling an "economy" car and headed to the family house without further incident. Which is too bad. Because had there been a problem on the way to the house, I would have assumed the trip was doomed and insisted we drive back to the airport and grab the next flight home. But instead, I assumed the rental car guy was an isolated incident and the rest of the trip would be great.

How wrong, how wrong, how wrong I was.
Once we got into the house and ready for bed (ahhhh....BED), I realized that I left my wrist braces at home and would have to sleep without them. That was a mistake. The HG woke up and found me in tears the next morning. Between his snoring (Dear Lord, how does he not wake himself up? Seriously.) and the stabbing pain in my arms, I got no sleep. My arms hurt so badly, that had I not known it was because of my carpal tunnel, I'd have headed to the ER. But Ok. It's fine. I'm in FL, the weather is fantastic, and I can fix the arm pain with some new braces. The worst is behind me, right?

Wrong. I made the mistake of checking my work email. The first one I read said, "I know you're sort of on vacation, but.....". Sort of? SORT OF? There is no sort of. I am ACTUALLY on vacation. Except for the next 2 days apparently, because I spent half of each of the first two days working. Lovely. But really, at this point, there's no place to go but up.

Right? Wrong.

Everything was great right up until Thanksgiving dinner. Or rather, right up until AFTER Thanksgiving dinner. Dinner was wonderful. I am a huge fan of butternut squash and my diabetes nutritionist informed me that I can have a WHOLE CUP of mashed butternut squash versus a lousy half cup of mashed potatoes (For real? 1/2 a cup? What's the point of that?) So for the first time, we had butternut squash for Thanksgiving while in Florida. I made it. And it.was.fantastic. I decided I was so good at dinner (3 slices of turkey, my cup of squash, one roll, and some green beans) that if the HG and I took a nice long walk, I could afford to have some pumpkin pie (mmmm....pie....). So I hit up the bathroom first. Hey, I'm pregnant. You have to prepare for long walks.

And that's where I saw the terrifying sight. Blood. Again. (Come ON, it's Thanksgiving for crying out loud!) But rather than panic, I decided to take the walk and see what happened when we got back. So we took it easy and walked to the lake. It's a nice lake and lots of people in the neighborhood had Christmas lights up. And the weather was beautiful. Mid 60's, low 70's, not a cloud in the sky. Too bad I didn't enjoy any of it. The second we got home, I ran to the bathroom and hoped to see nothing.

It was a futile hope. So the HG and I called my OB, who I have to say, was fantastic. She told me that I was fine, but for peace of mind to head to the nearest ER with an OB department. If I was having cervix problems, she didn't want me on a plane the next day. So we headed back to the family room and said, "Oh hey, so we're gonna take a ride. Um...where's the nearest hospital with an OB department?" We're so subtle. And stealth... nobody suspected a thing. (Ok, that's not true, but it did ease our path to the door....)

Anyway, very long story short, our little Nutter is just fine. A big pudger, measuring 2 weeks ahead by weight and a week ahead by length. So big, but fine. Whew. Once again, it's just my cranky cervix. I over did the walking, cooking, flying...etc. So I'm back on pelvic rest for the duration of this pregnancy. My doc wants me to continue walking and I can swim. But nothing more than light walking. And no sex. Sigh. Poor HG. He's such a trooper.

Ok, so Nutter man is fine. I'm fine. We can head home. 2 hours on a plane and everything will be fine.
Huh.

I had a bad, bad feeling about getting on the flight. But then I ALWAYS have a bad, bad feeling about getting on the plane. So I sucked it up and got on. But this was different. I could not shake the feeling that being on that plane was the worst idea ever.

And while it turns out that it wasn't the worst idea EVER, it wasn't a good idea, either. We hit the worst turbulence I've every felt with in 15 minutes of take off. I woke up the HG (that boy can sleep through ANYTHING) and tearfully told him I wanted off the plane. Immediately. He suggested that perhaps leaving the plane at that moment was not the best plan I'd ever had. Alright, I'll give him that. The turbulence settled down, but I was still very nervous. More nervous than I've been on a plane in about 5 years. I was just terrified and I didn't know why.

It seems that there really is such a thing as women's intuition. Since we fly into Boston, we fly right over Providence, RI. Once we got there, the pilot come on the intercom and said "Due to some heavy wind sheer in Boston, we're in a holding pattern here until they can change up some runways to clear us to land."

Ok, now to a normal person, this is a not a scary announcement. But I am NOT a normal person (Hi, if you think I am, you've clearly not been reading for long.) I read those fear of flying websites. Or rather, I used to read those fear of flying websites. I have since learned that they just scare me more. But I did manage to learn enough to know that wind sheer is actually the only kind of turbulence that can bring a plane down. Oh.freaking.joy.

After about 15 minutes of circling (during which time I prayed they'd just have to land us in Providence. That's cool. I have friends in Providence...I'd get home. No problem. Land the plane...) we were cleared to land in Boston. And land we did. Praise the Lord. After 10 minutes of the plane being pushed from side to side and several nose down drops that caused passengers to scream, babies to cry, and flight attendants to visibly panic, we landed. Dear Lord. I might never get on a plane again. If you've ever seen the movie The Day After Tomorrow, picture the plane scene in that movie and you'll have an idea of what we went through. Terrifying does not even begin to describe the last 10 minutes of that flight. The HG didn't want me to know how scared he was, but later he admitted that he was a bit concerned that he'd die watching "True Life: I'm a Shopaholic" on MTV. (Ok, now that's just funny.)

I shook for a good three hours after the flight. I cried for no reason several times that afternoon. But we were home.
And my Thanksgiving was over.

And now it's time for Christmas! I can't wait! I'm so blessed this year. So happy for everything we have. So happy to be pregnant and having this little man. It is such a change from last Christmas when the baby nazi made her monthly appearance on Christmas day.

I am so happy to be past that.

Best Dressed Class of 2027

I'm starting the little man off right.
Look what I bought him today. I love it. The little bear on the bum is just too cute for words.

http://preview.tinyurl.com/6qs8vo
http://preview.tinyurl.com/5gqlov

That is all.

Well that's.....new.

So, it turns out that Poppy isn't so much a Poppy as a Poppi.
Seems my little girl has an extra part.

And he is NOT shy about showing it off! If I didn't want to know what I was having, I would now, regardless. there was simply no mistaking what was on the ultrasound screen. The little man, who will thus forth be known as "Nutter" (I will explain later), was happy to show us the goods whenever the wand was anywhere near his legs. Whenever the ultrasound wand was near his face, he covered his face with his hands. Apparently he's only partially camera shy. I love him already!

Everything looks great, according to the U/S tech. Unfortunately, the doctor wasn't there so we don't know everything yet, but she did say that she'd tell me if there appeared to be a problem. So, I'm going with the idea what everything is OK. Except for one minor setback....
Our little Nutter was NOT very cooperative when it was time to get a good look at his heart. The good news is that because we couldn't get all the views we needed, I get to see my little man on December 10th again.

The bad news is that crazy girl (Hi! That would be me!) is going to obsess over it for the next two weeks. Maybe there was a problem and she didn't want to tell me. Maybe there is a problem she couldn't see. Who knows? Rational girl (um, anyone see her? Bueller?) knows that everything is probably fine. We've had a million ultrasounds and a lot tests all pointing to the fact that our little Nutter is just fine. So do I still worry over every little thing?

But I'm trying to put that out of my mind. Because if I start, the list of crazy gets longer and longer.
And longer.
As an example. I hate to fly. Hate it. And we're going to Florida on Sunday. And if I let my imagination run crazy, I can come up with at least 15 reasons the plane will crash and I'll meet a fiery death after spending 10 agonizing minutes knowing the plane is going down.
See? This is not rational. Whenever something good happens, I'm convinced that on the other side of that coin is something terrible. So terrible the bad is worse than the best good.

So really, it's best not to even get going there. Instead, let's talk about how Nutter got his name.

A few years ago (this is so funny, given all we've been through), the HG and I had a condom malfunction (Dear Trojan, can we get a refund on all the money we spent on condoms??). We decided we'd just let nature take it's course and if I ended up pregnant, that would be fine. Bad timing, but fine. Good times. Anyway, I asked him what he thought we should name the baby, if one should appear. "Fluffy". Leave it to a man.

Clearly we didn't end up with a Fluffy, but Fluffy became the name we used when we discussed all of our future children. After a while, it occurred to me that Fluffy, sort of like Poppy, was a rather girly name. We needed a boy name as well. And what goes better with Fluff than peanut butter? But "Peanut" and "Butter" seemed sort of silly. Besides, Fluff + Peanut Butter on bread=Fluffer Nutter. And thus, Nutter was born. We're not normal. I'm fine with that.

But for the past three years, we have been discussing Nutter at length. Sometimes Nutter ends up as a Pro Baseball player. And sadly, sometimes poor Nutter ends up on the short bus. Hey, you have to be realistic. But now that Nutter is a reality, I'm quite certain he'll be an All Star catcher. You should see this kids thighs. He's well prepared for squatting all day.

In addition to his already beefy thighs, our little man weighs just over half a pound. I'm so proud of our little man! Average for the end of 17 weeks is between 5 and 7 ounces. Our little Nutter is a beefy 8 ounces. Sadly, I think most of that weight is coming from his larger than average head. Yeah. That'll be fun. Thanks HG for passing THAT lovely trait to your son.

But all in all, the little Nutter looks good. His heartbeat was nice and strong and he has 10 fingers, 10 toes, 2 arms, and 2 legs. We saw his little kidneys, bladder, and liver. He has all his parts! Not to mention the cutest little baby bum ever. He had the hiccups and was practicing his swallowing. **Swoon** I just can't wait to meet my little man.
(Um, Nutter, just so I'm clear, I can't wait to meet you in APRIL. Feel free to hang out in there for a few more months.)

I'm not sure I'll ever be over the shock that my "little girl" has an extra part, though! I'm THRILLED he's a boy. But just flat out shocked! I can't wait to tell him his first name was Molly. His therapist will love that.

I'm so old.

I hope I'm just old.
If not, I'm an idiot.

I think I'm the last person on earth who cannot figure out Facebook. I just spent the last45 minutes searching for people I know. Or rather, knew. I suppose if I still knew them, I wouldn't have to spend 45 minutes looking for them on Facebook. But let's not nitpick. You'd think that in 45 minutes, I'd find someone. Or at least figure out how to narrow a search down from, oh say the 5000 hits I got on one name, to something usable. But you'd be wrong.

In the interests of not embarrassing myself for the person I was looking up, let's just say that some names are entirely too common. How the heck does anyone find anyone on Facebook? You hear stories all the time (um, perhaps I'm the only one who hears them...I also hear voices...so maybe don't judge this by me) of how people connected with old friends on Facebook. HOW? I just want to know. I mean, perhaps if your best friend from elementary school was Penelope Dorothy Nicademous you'd be able to find her. But say her name is Sarah Smith. Don't hold your breath. Unless you're not me. In which case, please send Sarah my love. Because you will certainly find her.

Ok, so while I was searching for people who don't want to be found by me (I hate you all. And don't need you. So there.) I decided to try to figure out how my wall works. And what, exactly are the gifts I keep getting. Frankly, I can't figure it out. I really can't. I do, however know why high school kids all over the place aren't getting their homework done. They're busy planting facebook trees (or whatever) and cropping out shots of beer cans in their profile pictures. And it's fine. Really, it doesn't often bother me that I can't figure these things out.

But, um. Just like high school I haven't been nominated for any superlatives. And I'm still hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And in other news, Poppy and I had a doctor's appointment today. Where there has been further proof that the Poppy is doing whatever she can to give me a run for my money for the next 5 months.

We'll start with the good news. Poppy has a strong heartbeat of 150ish BPM. At 16 weeks, they expect the heartbeat to be anywhere between 120 and 180 BPM. I love that Poppy managed to find the number smack in the middle. Average in pregnancy makes me very happy. How can you complain about that?

Also, despite being a bottomless pit for the past 4 weeks, and bracing myself to be yelled at for my weight gain, I only gained ONE pound since my last appointment. Turns out I can't button anything because I'm pregnant. Not just because I'm fat. Who knew?

And finally, my uterus is right where it should be right now. And in the best news EVER, it's right where I've been feeling some flutteries. I'm not sure if it's wishful thinking or if it's real, but how exciting that it could be my little poppy moving around in there! She's really making herself at home. Which is what we're going for. Move on in Poppy. Hang some pictures. Get to know your neighbors (please don't get too friendly with Mr. Bladder....mommy spends too much time in the bathroom as it is). I'll eat more pizza as a welcome to the neighborhood gift if it makes you happy. In a few months, you can come out and play. When it's warmer. Just skip the winter. Spring is a lovely time to born.

So that's the good news. The not so good news is that I have the worst carpel tunnel known to man. My OB said "Oh, that's not good!" She seemed very, very concerned about it. Enough to briefly panic me until she said "Oh, not that it's a problem for the baby! It'll just get worse and you have 24 weeks to go. Your third trimester is going to be difficult." Gee. Thanks for the pep talk. So I'm off to see my PCP on Wednesday for a referral to a specialist. Apparently it is not normal to have to sleep sitting up with your arms propped up on pillows so your arms don't feel like someone is stabbing them with a hot knife. Who knew?

And she geared me up for the really bad news. She is pretty sure that at some point, I'll end up on insulin. I'm hoping that'll be later, rather than sooner. But at 16w, that is NOT a conversation you want to have with your doctor. I want to keep Poppy as safe as possible for as long as possible. And I hate the idea that my body might betray me. Again. But at least we know early and can keep an eye on everything. And hey, I'm really good at giving myself shots.

Oh oh! And my blood pressure was superfly low! The lowest it's been all pregnancy! Whoo hooo!!! Pre-Eclampsia scares me so every week my BP stays low is a happy week indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And quickly. One more thing I don't understand. If the secret service is going to give someone a code name, and that code name is made public, doesn't it kind of defeat the purpose of using a code name in the first place? Just wondering.
I wonder if Renegade has a Facebook page. Probably. Such a "man of the people" (insert gag here)

Alright. That's IT!

I love Private Practice. Love it. It's probably one of my favorite shows.

But I have HAD IT with inaccurate medical procedures on that show. Specifically the inaccurate infertility treatments they show.

Last year one of the episodes showed 2 of the doctors doing an egg retrieval, sperm retrieval, ICSI, and embryo transfer all in one day. The woman did not have any fertility drugs to stimulate her ovaries, thicken her lining, nothing. Then they pronounced her "pregnant".
Sigh.

Tonight, they are attempting to get a 17 year old girl pregnant. She was awake during the egg retrieval. Her mother was present and her husband joined them part way through the procedure. And now the entire family is watching the ICSI procedure. And according to Naomi, she'll be pregnant in 24 hours.
Bigger sigh.

Let me explain the finer points of IVF. It starts with a month of Birth Control pills and lupron (or some other drug) to stop your body from ovulating so your doctor can control when you ovulate the following month. Then, if blood tests confirm you are sufficiently "suppressed", you take a cocktail of drugs (all injected--none of these are oral drugs) to stimulate your ovaries. After weeks of ultrasounds to confirm you are producing enough eggs, you have an egg retrieval. Under twilight. A very long needle is jammed into your private parts and you cannot be awake during that procedure. You can't have any perfumes, hair spray, lotions, etc on your body that day because the eggs are so fragile. While you are having the egg retrieval, your husband is busy providing his half of the DNA. And you can be darn sure he won't be in the same room with you. Nor would your mother. 17 or not.

Once your eggs have been successfully harvested, they are generally mixed in a petri dish with your partner's contribution to this blessed event. It is NOT common, as TV shows would have you believe, to do an ICSI procedure. ICSI is when the sperm is inserted directly into the egg. It's a procedure that is only done in certain instances. Anyway.

The embryos need to three to five, sometimes six days to mature. To split. To grow. This makes perfect sense. During a "natural" pregnancy, the egg is fertilized in the fallopian tube not the uterus. The environment is different in the two places. You cannot place a recently fertilized egg directly into the uterus, it needs time to mature in an environment that more closely matches the fallopian tube. So no, it's not going to go right into the uterus the second it's fertilized.

And finally, just because and embryo has been transferred, it does NOT mean you are pregnant. You have a 40-60% chance of success on any one round of IVF. I know many, many wonderful women who were not successful during IVF. I was one of them. (yes, i realize I just called myself wonderful. What can I say? I call 'em like I see 'em)

Ok, so I realize I'm nitpicking and it's just a TV show. And the sciecne behind the procedure isn't really the point. But I think it's important that people understand infertility. So many couples struggle with it. It's so very common. And so very misunderstood. And the more bad information that's out there, the worse the perceptions get.

For example, yes, I got pregnant naturally. And every time I tell someone my story, I get the same response. "Oh, isn't it great how once you relaxed, you got pregnant" or "They say all you have to do is relax." or "I know so many women who got pregnant when they gave up!".

Let's clear a few things up.
I did not relax.
I did not give up.
and my baby is a miracle 2 years in the making.

2 years, a miscarriage, a failed IVF, surgery and 2 months of weight loss in the making.
Yeah, I was wicked relaxed.

I just hate that shows like this diminish the hard work that goes into advanced reproductive therapies. It's emotionally exhausting. It's physically exhausting. It's a lot more than a quick trip to the doctor.

And I think people should know that.

And vent over. Thank you for your attention to this matter.