Trying to Conceive

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Back In Time Series: The First Post

by Jill
written by Jill

This week, I’m running a very special series where I’m going to repost some old posts many of you may have never read before. It’s all super special, just for you, and not at all because I’m running around like a crazy person right now, preparing for Blogher, or because there’s no way in hell I’ll have time to post from NYC. Nope. That has nothing to do with it.

Today, I’m going to take you all back, way back, to the VERY first post I ever wrote, before I was even pregnant with Kendall.

Back then, I’d been telling EVERYONE that I was still “at least 5 years” away from wanting kids. And it’s not that I was lying, I truly wasn’t ready… until I was. And then, BAM, I was ready, HAD TO MAKE BABY RIGHT THEN.

I’d heard the term “baby rabies” tossed around message boards to describe women who go absolutely flipping crazy trying to have a baby. I mean, they would, like, chart and finger their own cervixes and everything. Dude. Right?

And then I became one of them. So I embraced it. I googled BabyRabies.com and found the domain had yet to be snatched up. I bought it from GoDaddy and posted my first blog post the next day, never EVER thinking I would EVER let anyone read it, especially not people who actually knew me. 

When You Know It’s More Than Baby Fever

As I type this, the only person who knows that the thought has even crossed my mind to begin the whole process of having a baby is my husband. In fact, I think anyone else who knows me well would be SHOCKED to hear of what I’m about to embark on.

Yes, up until a few months ago, I was a baby-phobe. Of course, I loved other people’s babies, relished in spoiling our nieces and nephews, oohed and aahed during trips through Baby GAP, and got the occasional bout of baby fever, but that was always quickly remedied with a brief evening of babysitting. The poopy diapers, projectile milk pukes, and graham cracker encrusted slimy little hands constantly grabbing for any piece of jewelry I had on was enough birth control to get me through a few months, at least.

All that changed in April when a rocking good time at a wine festival lead to a little “oops” moment. I woke up the next morning in my wine hangover haze and it hit me….”Shit! I bet I’m pregnant!”

The stages I went through were very similar to the stages of grief. First there was denial, I refused to believe it could happen. Then there was anger that we weren’t as careful as we should be. Then the bargaining began. “Please God, just let me get my period. I promise we won’t be stupid next time!” I will say there was no real period of depression. I just headed straight into acceptance, and a step you will not find in the grieving process (for most, at least) – EXCITEMENT!

One week before my period was due for her appearance I found myself browsing Gymboree and buying baby clothes. I called one of my best friends in a panic after my purchase. “What the HELL am I doing? I don’t even know if I am pregnant!” I shrieked into the phone. She was beyond supportive and very excited at the prospect of my possible pregnancy. “Maybe you’re just excited,” she said. “Maybe you ARE ready.”

I have to say that this whole time that I was worrying about whether or not I was with child, I had yet to say anything to my husband. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I knew he was as ready as any man could ever be. It wasn’t until after I peed on three sticks that said I was indeed not pregnant that I told him about the close call. I heard the disappointment in his voice, and it all of a sudden hit me how sad I was that I didn’t see two blue lines on those tests.

So, here I am, three months later, and my occasional case of baby fever has turned into full blown BABY RABIES!! I’m afraid the only way to cure it is to have a baby of our own.

I decided to start this blog as a way to document my sure to be ridiculous, hilarious, at times disgusting, and at times painful journey through my first time around at trying to conceive, pregnancy, birth, and whatever I have time to write about after that.

I anticipate that I may share “too much information” at times on here, but that’s the whole reason I started this. I need a place to let it all out. I don’t intend to censor myself too much. So if you are squeamish about the whole pregnancy thing, or don’t like my views…read no further. However, if you want a window into my world, complete with first time ignorance and brutal honesty about what is about to happen to my body, stay tuned!

 

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Pin Of The Week- Not Crafty At All, But I Feel This Way About Pregnancy Tests

by Jill
written by Jill

This one is likely not going to inspire you to craft or create or organize, but it definitely made me think, “That is SO true!”

Source: maniacworld.com via Jill on Pinterest

 

For those reading from a phone who can’t read the text, it says “When faced with two choices, simply toss a coin. It works not because it settles the question for you, but because in that brief moment when the coin is in the air, you suddenly know what you are hoping for.”

And it made me think that’s EXACTLY what pregnancy tests do for me. If you ever want to know if you want to have a baby, take a pregnancy test. In the minutes it will take for that 2nd line to appear or not, you’ll know how you really feel.

At least I did.

Before I got pregnant with Kendall, we had an oops that made me think I could be pregnant. It wasn’t until I was waiting for that test to show the results that I knew that I would actually like the results to be positive. It wasn’t, but that next month we officially started trying.

And then, before Kendall was even 1, I worried one month that I could be pregnant, and there wasn’t an OUNCE OF WISH in my body that that test would be positive. Not one. I think I drank half a bottle of wine that night to celebrate the lone line that showed itself.

Agree? What’s your favorite pin of the week?

Sorry I still haven’t caught up with Pinterest invites from last week. If you are already in, would you mind inviting some folks for me? If you’re not, go ahead and leave your email in the comments section if you’d like an invite. Hopefully I or somebody else will have time to send you one soon.

 

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Leave it to me to plan a trip to wine country…

by Jill
written by Jill

And be pregnant when we arrive!

Remember how I had a chemical pregnancy last month? Well, the nurse advised that maybe we take a cycle off, but, we sort of didn’t. I mean, I really wouldn’t have known all that to be any different from a regular period had I not tested early, and I just didn’t see the point of waiting. That being said, we didn’t “try”, but I can’t say that we prevented, if that makes sense.

I really didn’t think it would happen again right away, but ultimately I’m glad it did, and very thankful. Yes, even if that meant being nearly 6 weeks pregnant when we boarded a plane to the land of all things WINE. (And yes, I did drink a bit while we were there… shared a few tastings, a 1/2 glass a couple nights with dinner… an amount Scott and I were both comfortable with).

I got a positive test a week and a half before we left, and it has been SO HARD to keep it from you all! Sorry for all the pointless posts around here lately and the radio silence on Twitter. Every single thing that’s running through my mind has to do with pregnancy, pregnancy with a toddler, morning sickness, exhaustion, my INSANE sense of smell, and anything else that would blow my cover. Since this blog is now read by just about everyone close to us on this side of the computer screen, I had to make sure some found out from us and not this blog, and I didn’t want to jump the gun with that, either.

It’s still pretty early, but I’m only allowing myself to think positive thoughts and embrace this pregnancy. I’m trying not to worry away the first 1/2 like I did last time around. As of today, I’m 7 weeks and feeling VERY pregnant. This whole first trimester thing with a toddler is going to be really interesting. I thought I would just have the TV babysit him for me while I lay on the couch and nibble on crackers until I read this guilt trip. Guess I need to get to work training the dogs to entertain, or just come to terms with the fact that he might be socially awkward in the future.

I’m due, based on my own calculations, around December 22nd, making this kid doubly prone for therapy at a later date. Not only will he/she have to survive the trauma of having a birthday so close to Christmas, which I’m told can be devastating, but if we have 3 like we plan, he/she will be the middle child. That, according to my sister circa age 16, is just about the worst thing you can ever to do a child ever, ever, ever. (She’s totally normal now. Love you, Kelly!)

WHEW! It feels SO good to get that out.

I promise to work on the Sonoma vacay recap soon, now that you all will understand why we didn’t hit up a hundred wineries and instead pigged out the entire time.

7 weeks pregnant

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Laughing because…what else can I do?

by Jill
written by Jill

So… as many of you know, negotiations for the second kiddo commenced a while back. I’ve received many fabulous bottles of wine out of the deal, and many late Saturday and even Sunday mornings. It took us three solid months of “trying” before I got pregnant with Kendall, so I was expecting as much this time around. Imagine my surprise when last Sunday morning I woke at 6 am, queasy and 2 days late on only our 2nd cycle.

I quietly snuck out of bed, grabbed the lone leftover test from last month’s pee-on-a-stick-a-thon and discovered minutes later my urine produced 2 pink lines. The second wasn’t very dark, but definitely noticeable and not much lighter than the first one I got with Kendall. I hopped back in bed, abruptly woke Scott by shoving the stick in his face while saying, “Turn on the light. Are there TWO lines?” I’ve never been able to pull off the well executed reveal,  complete with pink and blue balloon release and encrypted map that leads to a bun in the oven.

We squealed in bed together, but it was obvious we both kept our level of excitement at bay… guarded a bit. It was really early. I promised myself I wouldn’t think too much about it until the end of the week, but quickly broke that promise by downloading various Iphone apps that tracked out each milestone for me and revealed the due date would be the week before Thanksgiving. I mean, could we have planned it any better?

Scott left for a week long business trip Monday morning. On Tuesday morning I started spotting.  Surprisingly, I wasn’t that alarmed by it. I spotted so much with Kendall in the 1st trimester I figured maybe that’s just my body’s way of dealing with pregnancy. By Wednesday morning it was much worse than I ever experienced with Kendall and I began to come to terms with this pregnancy not ending well. Really, I wasn’t that upset. I mean, I wasn’t happy. I was incredibly irritated and hormonal, but you know, now is SO much better than later.

Never having been through this before, I called the OB/MW office. They insisted I come in. That was at 11:30 on our way home from the bounce house for lunch. They wanted me in at 1:30. It’s a 30 minute drive from  here. It had already been a morning that tested my patience. Kendall, as of late, thinks it’s totally acceptable to hit random kids at the bounce house, which was all SORTS of fun. He was pissy, I was hormonal. I barely had time to make him something to eat while I frantically tried to fill out my insurance information online. Lo and behold, my insurance card was lost. Oh, it was one giant clusterfuck just trying to get out of the house. Then we drove 30 minutes only to end up at the building the office used to be in 4 years ago, thank you very much you DUMBASS GOOGLE. Then it took me another 20 minutes to find the correct location.

We arrived at the (seriously gorgeous) office nearly an hour late at 2:20. Did I mention Kendall normally naps from 1 to 4? And something odd happens to my kid when he skips a nap. He doesn’t become sleepy. He’s never been one to just fall asleep wherever he’s at. No, he becomes some sort of psycho, cracked out, hyperactive animal. This office looked like it could have been a spa, and here’s my kid, tearing the place apart. I was dizzy just trying to keep him from scaling the ornate tables to get to the intricate “wower” arrangements. Did I mention I didn’t have time to eat anything? Did I mention the whole nausea thing was still going strong? Since I was an hour late, they, understandably, had to make me wait so they could work me back into the schedule. It felt like an f-ing eternity. I know I got all kinds of “my kid will NEVER” looks from all the newly pregnant women. 

I had to give a urine sample,which was a whole new level of awkward and challenging with a toddler in the bathroom. I was literally holding the cup of pee over my head while my son pointed and shouted, “Juice!” He was trying to climb on my lap to reach the cup, I was trying to get my underwear back up without getting any bodily fluids on him or me. He played with the stack of clean cups, then reached for the Sharpie just as I was buttoning my pants.

We burst out of the bathroom, visibly unsettled, and the nurse called us back to the room. She went over my history with me, asked some questions, and pretty much told me what I already knew – that this was most likely not a viable pregnancy. Then she left me alone in the room with the table and the stirrups and lots of drawers full of off limits things and a toddler for what seemed like another f-ing eternity. When the nurse practitioner finally made it in, Kendall was playing with/chewing on two giant q-tips they use to swab vaginas. Clean, I promise. She told me she wanted to do an exam. I raised my eyebrows and looked over at Kendall as he chewed on the blown up glove she just handed him while running circles around the table.

“Do you think we could give him a lollipop?” she asked.

“I don’t care if you give him a bowl of sugar. Whatever you’ve got to keep him occupied for a minute. That would be great,” I replied.

Apparently, she took me seriously and came back to the room with two giant frosted sugar cookies.  Luckily, she also brought another nurse to use as a babysitter. At one point soon after, I’m laying there with my feet up in the stirrups, surely bleeding all over the place, and the NP asks the babysitternurse to hand her some stuff. Kendall takes the opportunity to walk over to the side of the table, look up at me, face covered in frosting, smile and say “Momma! Owie? Momma! Cookie?”

Wow… this is so not what I ever, ever thought would ever be a scene from my life.

“At least he has no idea what’s going on,” the nurse said. Yeah, at least. This was totally one of those moments in life that you have to laugh at, or else you’ll just fall apart and go crazy.

We left the room a complete and utter mess. I’m fairly certain they’re going to have to send the plush chair covers off to be dry cleaned to get all the green frosting off of them.

OH, and then I had to get blood drawn… with Kendall… in my lap. Luckily the tech was swift with the needle and he didn’t have any sudden movements at that very moment.

I’m going back in for a second blood draw tomorrow, and am so happy that a friend will be able to watch Kendall for me this time around. I guess we’ll just see where to go from here. Really, I wouldn’t know this to be any different from a late period if I hadn’t known to test as early as I did (just a little past 4 weeks, I think). So it’s not devastating or anything, just a bit annoying, I guess. But, 2 good things came from it. 1. I got to know my new OB/MW office very well, and am SUPER happy with them. They were so amazing with me and with Kendall. and 2. I got a tiny taste of pregnancy boobs for a few days, and momma liked it. Bring back the boobies!

Kendall is 22.5 months old

The hardest part about all of this was  not being able to blog about it! Things are so different this time around with TTC. This blog is no longer the anonymous sanctuary it once was, which leaves me trying to strike a balance between using this as the outlet I intended it for and keeping stuff private long enough for those close to me to find out from me and not my blog. To my friends and family that read this and may not know what happened, please understand. It’s not something I probably would have brought up with you right away anyway, but it does make a hilarious story now, and I’m sure I’d share it with you at some point over a glass of wine.

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Poop- still monopolizing my life

by Jill
written by Jill

Okay, remember how I was going to be all YAY POTTY TRAINING this month? Uhm, yeah… well, that didn’t work out. We tried…sort of. We’ve taken many opportunities to make asses of ourselves, sing silly songs, read the Elmo potty book in an effort to get him pumped about going potty. He’s not buying what we’re trying to sell.

So yeah, yeah, I know. DON’T PUSH IT. I hear you. I’m not trying to traumatize the kid through acts of desperation, though I’ve tried bribing SEVERAL times with no luck. Thing is, if I can get him to go on the potty just once, then I can give him something so magical and off limits any other time, like a big bowl of ice cream… or a lighter, and then he’d understand the power he can wield by going potty. Until then, though, he just doesn’t get it. I can’t give him these magical things *before* he goes potty. This isn’t like a promissory note situation. No. I need actual results to reward first. I feel like this is a very “chicken or the egg” scenario. /excuses

But the kid still doesn’t like poop on his butt. He still likes to undo his diaper whenever he poops instead of doing the logical thing, which would be to use his super secret language that he KNOWS I understand to tell me to change his diaper.

Tonight I chased him around the living room and saw him stop to pick something up. I caught his hand halfway to his mouth and intercepted what I THOUGHT was a pretty big yogurt covered raisin that had the yogurt sucked off of it.

“What is that?” I said as I held it in a pincer grasp and brought it closer to my eyes. As it came in to focus I noticed the texture and color wasn’t so much like that of a raisin but like that of a ball of SHIT.

I shrieked as I threw it down and simultaneously swept Kendall away from it. “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, EWWWWWWW! SCOTT!”

The kid almost ate his own poop tonight. Okay, to be honest I’m not entirely sure that he didn’t. He could have got to another turdlet without me knowing it, although I’m hopeful the dogs took care of the situation before he could, considering they both lunged at the one I threw back on the ground and Scott had to fight them off of it.

So then I change his diaper, and he mangaes to get away from me before I could put his pants on. Oh well, I figured I’d let him run around for a little bit with just a diaper. I was too tired to fight it. Minutes later I hear “Uh oh,” which almost never means something accidental and almost always means he did something he shouldn’t have on purpose.

He’s taken his diaper off and is running around the house naked, with the exception of the diaper liner stuck between his crack, which he eventually catches a glimpse of out the corner of his eye, reaches around and yanks it out, leaving it on the kitchen floor. He proceeds to runs around the house, poop falling out of him at every turn. By the time we navigate our way through the minefield that is our living room to catch him and get him seated on the big boy potty, he’s completely emptied his system, and laughing like a mad man.

So I spend the evening picking up poop, chasing a naked toddler, talking about Elmo and potties, and I wonder just how the hell we will ever even get around to getting pregnant again because NONE OF THIS is 1. putting me in “the mood” or 2. making me think how fun it will be to do this all over again.

Kendall is 5 days shy of 21 months old, and I think this is his genius plot to make sure he’s an only child

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The Power of the Negotiator

by Jill
written by Jill

The conversation  last night went a little something like this…

Me: “You know, we really need to get some better beer,” as I guzzle down the last of a can of Budwieser.

Scott: “What do you mean, you don’t like Bud now?”

Me: “I like it alright, but this is a different time in our lives. If I’m about to give up alcohol for 9 months…well, I want much better between now and then. I demand better beer and better wine, and this Bud is NOT cutting it.”

Scott: “But it’s the best value and-”

Me: “DON’T talk to me about saving money on booze. The amount of money you are going to save over the nine months that I give it up will eclipse the small investment in something nicer in the interim.”

Scott called me on his way home from work today. He was making a beer run solely on my behalf.

Muwahahahahahahahahahahaaa! THE POWER, I LOVE IT. What should I ask for next? I’m digging negotiations.

Kendall is nearly 21 months and I am the MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE

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Negotiations have commenced

by Jill
written by Jill

I’ve had my boobs all to myself for 8 months. The marathon is over. Chick Fil-A is up and running. There are chicken biscuits less than 5 minutes from our house.

Kendall is nearly two (HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN?), and I’m becoming entirely too used to getting 8 hours of sleep on a regular basis again.  In fact, I’m coming closer and closer to regaining a semblance of a sane routine that I fear will shut down the baby factory forever.  My body is in great shape. It’s possible if I keep up this workout regimen, I just might look pretty freaking amazing in a bathing suit this Summer.  I’m getting dangerously close to accepting life with one kid and moving on to getting another dog and running another marathon.

Problem is, we *want* more kids. *I* want more kids, I do. When I envision myself many years from now, I have more than just Kendall. He has brothers and/or sisters.

I know what I have to do to get there. I just shudder to think about it (no, not THAT, the parts that come after THAT). I don’t know if I’m strong enough to deal with chasing a toddler while dealing with a pregnancy. The thought of another colicky newborn makes me want to curl up in a fetal position and cry.  In contrast to my blissful ignorance prior to getting pregnant with Kendall, I KNOW TOO MUCH…and yet I don’t know enough. I don’t know HOW I will do it.

The “planner” part of me knows that now is the time, the window of opportunity is perfect. Though I don’t know how long it will take this time to get pregnant, hopefully I’d end up with the two kids 2.5 to 3 years apart. That’s what I always intended, you know, back before I hit “start” on the clock.  Scott argues that we just need to get all this “baby stuff” out of the way all at once, just throw ourselves into the world of newborns, infants and toddlers. The quicker we get in, the quicker we can get out.  In theory, I totally agree.

Why is it, then, that I just am NOT that into getting pregnant right now? Why is it I not only don’t have Baby Rabies, but I don’t even have a touch of Baby Fever?

I’m trying everything I can to re-ignite that feeling that I had before we got pregnant with Kendall. I’m looking at fancy baby gear and checking out the newborns other parents are toting around. I even requested a 0-6 sized onesie from SpunkyStork.com when they offered to send me one of their adorable “Joint Production” creations. It’s freaking adorable, it is, and sometimes, if I look at it the right way, it sort of tickles my ovaries just enough to make me think, “Well, maybe….”

So, you see, it’s not that I *don’t* want another. I do. It’s not that I want to wait ten years. I don’t. I’m blaming this  hesitation on TOO MUCH INFORMATION and too much experience. I’ll take my blissful ignorance back, please.

Kendall is nearly 21 months old.

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I’m running out of excuses

by Jill
written by Jill

First I told him that I was too tired to even think about it, that I wouldn’t even consider it until Kendall was sleeping through the night. Then he did.

Then I said I wanted my breasts back to myself for a little bit. I didn’t want to share them with any babies, and I didn’t want them blowing up again for a while. They’ve been all mine for over three months.

Then I said that I wanted to train for and run another marathon first. The race is November 15th.

I also told Scott that I absolutely could not consider getting pregnant again with the closest Chick-fil-A being so far away. “You know I NEED Chick-fil-A to grow a baby!” I just drove past an almost finished building less than 5 miles from our house with a “Coming Soon” sign posted next to Chick-fil-A sign.

Shit.

Kendall is 3 days shy of 17 months old.

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Trying to Conceive

Thoughts on Subsequent Mating

by Jill
written by Jill

Check out my newest featured blog post for TheBump.com here (remember to click through the preview for the hyperlink to work).   All about the whens and ifs of having another baby.  Don’t forget to tell me where you stand!  If you already have a baby/toddler/tween are you considering another?  Do you think it’s best to have them close together or take your time? Or is one enough for you?

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Holy Shit! What have we done?!

by Jill
written by Jill

I’m not going to lie…that very thought passed through my mind after I saw those two pink lines.  Not like, What have we done? Can we take it back?…just like, This IS what you wanted, this is very real.  Wow.  So yeah, I’m sure you can gather now that I took the test and it’s POSITIVE!!  I’m excited, but I’m mainly in shock.  I was expecting the battle to be much tougher.  I’m so grateful for how relatively easy it was, and I certainly don’t take that for granted.  I know we are not in the clear though, so I’m remaining cautiously excited.

After I posted my last entry, we left to go to Target and grabbed the tests there.  I laughed my ass off when my husband freaked about the cost of  “just three!!” tests and told me, “you better wait until you’re really sure…like until your period is 5 days late.  That’s a lot of money to waste.”  Ahh…the joys of loving a tightwad 😉  I was too chicken shit to rush home and test right away, and I was actually thinking I’d just put it off until tomorrow so we went to grab some groceries.  That was when I became completely CONVINCED I was pregnant.

Immediately upon stepping into Whole Foods I could smell EVERYTHING.  I asked my husband, “Do you smell those strawberries? What about that pineapple?”  I could smell the tomatoes, the rice in the rice bags, but the perfume on the older lady picking out the potatoes is what killed me.  I thought I would vomit right there in the middle of the aisle.  It’s like all of the sudden, overnight, I awoke to find that I am now living in the body of a Bloodhound.  Hmmm…I am looking for a new job…do you think the search and rescue squad would hire me?

So now on to more waiting.  We have to wait to call the Dr.’s office on Monday to go in for a blood test.  Then we have to wait for the first ultrasound, but the hardest will be waiting to tell close family and friends.  I really would like to hold off until week 12 or so to let everyone know.  Luckily, we pretty much live in seclusion many, many hours away from any of them, so it should be easy to keep the secret – IF my big mouth can hold out.  I think I will allow myself the luxury of telling one friend who lives in Japan.  She’s been my BFF since the first day at my new school in 7th grade – I think I owe it to her ; )

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