Motherhood Maternity is a Whore

And not the good kind of whore, like an Infertile Whore.

You'll remember that I am FAT. And I have no pants that fit around my newly massive girth. I have been wearing dresses, loose skirts, and two Banana Republic skirts I have that I can pull up above my belly button (I am short, so it works out). Let's not lie - I've worn the same 10 things in a constant rotation for the past 9 weeks so that I wouldn't have to go out in public with a muffin top.



So today I decided that I would go to Motherhood Maternity and try to find a pair of pants. Yes, it's a bit premature for maternity wear, but since it is the only maternity store in the mall by my office, I figured I'd give it a shot.

Yeah.

The thing about the Motherhood Maternity at the mall by my office is that it smells like cigarette smoke. I think (or hope) it is unique to this particular Motherhood store. But I have stopped there three separate times only to be disgusted with the smoke smell. Me thinks a mall employee takes a few puffbreaks in the building...

Today I battled the smoke smell to still nearly cough up a lung at the sight of their prices.

$40 for khaki pants! Whaaaa? And not nice pants, but Wal-Mart quality pants. Gross, rough feeling, flimsy pants. Pants with a 32 inch inseam that I would need to shell out another $10 for so that they can be tailored to fit my freakishly short legs!

No way, you dirty, smoke smelling, overpriced whore! NO WAY!

A lot of their pants have elastic in the back. Like mom jeans. You know - small pockets, spread far apart, so as to maximize your wideassedness. 12 inch rise so they sit just under your bewbies? Sexy.


And maybe you won't want to read this next part, because it's just rude and mean.

Speaking of Muffin Tops. The girl working at the maternity store had the hugest, most fluffy, freshly baked muffin top I have ever witnessed. I mean, I don't even understand how she buttoned the pants. And of course, there was camel toe to boot, because when you have the hugest muffin top this side of the Mississippi, the two pretty much go hand in hand.

In the absence of safety goggles, which I did not bring with me to the mall, I kept my hand near my face. Just in case the button exploded off of her pants and took out an eyeball.

I suppose you can gather that I did not leave the store with a pair of pants. But! I did get 3 Bella Band knock-offs so that I can keep wearing my regular pants unbuttoned. That is, until my ass gets fat, but that won't be for a few more weeks, hopefully.

A General Plea: Do Not Touch Me

A few weeks ago, I was touched. No, not "show me on the doll where the bad man touched you" touched.

I was a victim of the belly touch.
I was violated.

I will be the first to admit that I was always pissed off at pregnant people for complaining about people touching their stomachs. Whiney bitches, don't know how lucky they are. Right?

Maybe I still hold that opinion to be true. Hopefully I will make it to the point where I am big enough to have random people feeling me up, and I can let you know if it is really that offensive. Remember - I show my vagina to anyone in a white coat (pharmacists are tricky...I'm always tempted).

You see, friends, my problem is that I am kind of fat.
Here is how I deal with fertility treatments:


Except instead of a carrot, I'd be gnawing on a block of Velveeta. And instead of a cute hamster, I'd be a fat infertile whiney pain in the ass.

Yes, I gained 4 pounds during each In Vitro, and two pounds since I found out I was pregnant. I am up 10 pounds. In addition, my ovaries are the size of apples, my uterus is the size of a grapefruit, and my abdomen is filled with fluid from being over stimulated.

Yes, there's a baby in there, too. But it is the size of a grape this week.

I am just FAT.

If you read through my blog these past few months, I do not deny being fat. My pants don't fit. My stomach looks like I've been excessively hitting the keg stands and then enjoying several runs to the border for a nice burrito.

Recently, I went to a party and someone came up to me and said, "Oh, look at you!" and then touched my belly.

Um.

Would this be less annoying if I was, say, 30 weeks pregnant with a giant belly and a pregnant waddle? I believe so.

But since I am barely pregnant, and not showing at all, not so fun.
Would you walk up behind someone at a party and grab their back fat and say, "Oh! Look at you!" I think not. (If you would, you should tape it and put it on You Tube)

I generally don't like people touching me anyway. Hugs from friends and family? Fine. But hugs from strangers? Um, no. Arm around my shoulder? Ack! Die!

In actual pregnant person news, I am 9 weeks today. Since I cancelled my OB appointment with Dr. "Relax" I don't have another appointment until 8/11. This time I am going to a place with midwives, which I've heard are awesome.

OK. It's 7:26 and past my bedtime.
Nighty night.

I Miss My RE

Words I never thought I would mumble…

First OB appointment? More like disappointment.

I have been seeing this doctor for my run of the mill vagina issues (pap, urinary tract infections, etc) for about 5 years now, and I absolutely loved him. He was always very nice, very willing to explain things when I asked questions, blah blah blah. So it was an easy choice for me to stay with him, even though it's 45 minutes from home and about the same from Mark's work.

Our appointment was at 4:00 on Thursday. At 5:00, after we watched 6 people come and go, I went to the desk to make sure I was on the list. "Yes, you're on the list, we are behind. What are we seeing you for, anyway?"

*Bangs head on glass partition; takes tissue out of purse to wipe forehead grease mark off glass*

"Well, this will be my first pregnancy visit." Duh.

"And we're seeing you for….?"

"Um, I am pregnant. After IVF. I've had two blood tests and an ultrasound to confirm viability. So you tell me what you're seeing me for."

"Hmph. OK, well we'll call you back soon."

Another 20 minutes later, we head back to a teeny tiny broom closet with an exam table and a Doppler. Now, I know that I should not be filled with absolute dread at the thought of a Doppler. I know that I should be fine with the fact that at 8 weeks, it's nearly impossible to detect a heartbeat with a Doppler. I should be prepared for the fact that the nurse is going to have to search around and we may or may not find the heartbeat.

I should, but I am TOTALLY NOT OK WITH THAT. Despite my requests for just an ultrasound, we still had to waste 10 minutes with the Doppler. Finding no heartbeat, except the pounding of mine, practically having a heart attack because OMG THEY CAN'T FIND THE HEARTBEAT! WOE! My cupcake hath rotted and died!

So I'm laying on the table, clenching my fists, curling my toes, and trying to breathe while holding in the urge to scream:

JUST GET IN MY VAGINA ALREADY!

Finally, at about 5:30, we meet with the doctor who will do our ultrasound. He is so rude – nothing like he has been for the past 5 years! He came in the room and didn't introduce himself to Mark, and he pretty much talked directly to me the entire time. I asked him questions and got short, bullshit answers. I asked what he generally does during the entire pregnancy as far as visits go; he says he doesn't get into that on the first visit and he will tell me in two weeks! WTF? We were rushed through the entire appointment, not to mention that nobody apologized for the hour and 20 minute wait! Assholes.

We did get our ultrasound, but it was not internal so we couldn't really hear the heartbeat. He did find it though, and instead of being a baby embryo Mommy and forgetting, I did manage to get the heart rate: 162. No measurement – he just asked me what my due date was and wrote it down.

I don't know. I was so excited for my first OB appointment, and I left there completely disappointed. I wanted to run back to the safety of the RE office, where they understand everything we've been through to get here. It should have been a happy visit, and I just left there all pissed off and nauseous because I hadn't eaten in about 4 hours by the time we got home.

We're looking at other OBs right now.

The morning sickness? It continues. About 15 minutes after my post saying it was all better, it was back with a vengeance. This is now how I picture my little Cupcake:

GAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Feed me – but don't try to eat meat, or I will eat your left lung….mwahahah!

Am now vegetarian. Had mashed potatoes for dinner last night. Carbs. All carbs, all the time.

Send Boca Burgers and a case of Tums ASAP.

Adventures in Baby Making: A Timeline

October 2005: Quit birth control pill. It was giving me migraines, and we want to start trying to conceive right away.

March 2006: Married! (No more condoms!)

September 2006: OBGYN swears I will conceive by spring and says to come back in 6 months if not pregnant.

December 2006: Maybe we are timing it wrong? Start charting basal body temperature.

March 2007: Enough is enough. Much panic ensues. Call to schedule appointment with reproductive endocrinologist.

May 2007: Consult with Dr. Condescending.

June 2007: Hysterosalpingogram: uterus normal, no blockages in tubes. Semen analysis counts look good, but there is a high white blood cell count in the sample.

July 2007: Urologist says no prostate infection. Mark starts 4 months of Cipro and Motrin, for 7 days starting on my cycle day 5.

September 2007: Consult with Dr. Fabulous. Internal ultrasound shows small cyst on right ovary. Will monitor.

October 2007: Cycle Day 3 blood work and repeat semen analysis. Hormones normal. Semen analysis shows low morphology - will look at strict morphology to assess. 10/29 Laparoscopic surgery - no endometriosis. Just a badass uterus and ovaries.

November 2007: IUI #1 - Big Fat Negative. Find out that strict morphology is LOW (1.5). Need IVF but have no coverage. Shitsky.

December 2007: Learn that we have IVF coverage, but not with Dr. Fabulous. Taking a break because beating my head against the wall is starting to hurt.

January 2008: Submitted application to the Cleveland Clinic IVF program to work with the alternate Dr. Fabulous. Narrowly avoid poking my eye out with a fondue-style fork. *whew*

February 2008: Consider buying a baby doll and pretending it is real (no poopy diapers, no actual responsibility, disability pay for being bat shit crazy...). Instead, schedule a consultation at Cleveland Clinic since our application was approved.
100mg Clomid and bloodwork.

March 2008: IVF #1, starting early March. Start Lupron 3/4, suppression check 3/21.
Find new talent - would make an excellent druggie because I can give myself an injection like it's nobody's damn business.
Start Stims 3/21: 5 units Lupron, 225 Follistim
3/25: Reduce Follistim to 150, Lupron stays at 5.

April 2008: Retrieval 4/1. Transfer 4/4. Beta 4/18.
2 embroys frozen in clevage stage, 1 frozen blast. Crazy since 1980. Beta Negative - IVF #1 = Big Fat Negative (BFN)

May 2008: Bring on the science, part deux! IVF #2 on like Donkey Kong.

June 2008: BFP at home on 6/10 @ 9dp3dt!! Beta #1, 6/16 @ 15dp3dt: 964!!! Beta #2, 6/23: 27,820!

July 2008: 1st Ultrasound, 7/8: 1 healthy, 7 week heartbeat! Due date 2-24-09

August 2008: Into the second trimester! NT scan came back perfect (Downs, 1/greater than 10,000; Trisomy same). Countdown to gender determination (read: SHOPPING).

8 Weeks 1 Day: Still Mental

This week, our baby is the size of a lima bean. Or, as I saw on one website, a gummy bear.

 

It is really weird to have your growing embryo constantly compared to food in relation to size. How can you ever eat that food again without kind of thinking that it's like eating your baby when it was XWeeks and XDays old?

 

A friend of ours said that at the first ultrasound for his daughter, she looked just like a gummy bear, and now he can't eat them anymore. I totally sympathize!

 

And I also feel like a freak. Because when I eat gummy bears (or any other food shaped like an animal), I methodically eat one body part at a time.

Arm. Arm. Leg. Leg. Head. Head. Body. (If chocolate bunny? Insert tail between 2^nd leg and head.)

 

I'm like some sort of demented candy cannibal. And now I will always have to think about it in terms of baby body parts?

Dammit.

 

My all-fucking-day sickness seems to have subsided. Sort of. I am still exhausted, but I don't feel sick all the time. I only feel like I am going to vomit about three times a day for about 15-20 minutes at a time. It's worse in the car. It's an improvement, right?

 

Of course, I wouldn't be a stellar infertile if I didn't start to freak out a little at the abrupt disappearance of the all-fucking-day sickness. I am really nervous now to go to my first OB appointment tomorrow. Because I have this fear that the pretty little embryo I saw in my ute just last week will be replaced with an image of a big hand flipping me the bird with a message underneath: SUCK IT, FAILURE! And the heartbeat being replaced with a repeating, "Wah, wah, wahhhhhh."

 

Hopefully, we will go tomorrow and get another great view of our sweet, little cupcake.

And then on Sunday? I'm meeting a friend for cupcakes at this awesome cupcake place: Main Street Cupcakes.

I'll try to block out the vision of eating my embryo.

Fear: It's Kind of Like Herpes...

...or so I would imagine.

I've had herpes before. You probably have, too. Maybe you never knew that you had herpes, because someone gave it a really nice name, like Chicken Pox.

I got the chicken pox when I was 18 - three days before prom my senior year. Yes, I managed to avoid the chicken pox my entire childhood when most people just get it overwith. Hell! Despite touching a friend's pox, sharing writing utensils, sleepovers, and basically licking live sores!

The doctor gave me an excuse to miss the last week of school. That was really nice of her, right?

Except that on the excuse, she wrote that my illness was "Herpes: Varicella." Thanks a lot, asshole.

So after I went to the doctor to get the shiny brand new Chicken Pox vaccine, my mom took me to school to turn in my excuse. She handed it over to the secretary, that typcial, nosy bitch secretary who knows everyone's business and made it her business to make it everyone else's business? Yeah. That one. She is the one who got my Herpes excuse.

Her eyes got big.
She wrinkles up her nose.
She gagged back a giggle.
She looked at my mom.
She looked at me.
She looked at my mom.
Then we left.

Time goes on, I still go to prom but can't go to after prom because it was at Cedar Point and there was no way I was riding roller coasters with the Pox. Or the Herp, whatever you prefer.

About a week later, at breakfast at Bob Evans, we run into the secretary.

Secretary: How was the after prom guys?

Boyfriend: Oh, we didn't get to go.

Secretary: No? Why not?

Me: Well, since I had the chicken pox, the doctor said I should stay home.

Secretary: That's what you had? Chicken Pox?? OOOOHHHH.

Me: Are you using your fork? Or can I stab myself in the heart with it?


The thing about Herpes is that Herpes is an asshole.
Herpes pretends to go away, then kind of lingers around until a most inconvenient time (like prom, or new boyfriend sex, if your herpes is of the genital variety).

Herpes is a lot like fear.

First Ultrasound Pic

On Wednesday when I did my update post, I was delirious with exhaustion and decided to post so that people would stop sending me subtle threats and singing The Song That Doesn't End.* I didn't have time to get my ultrasound pic up.

And also? I put that my due date was 2/24/08. So clearly I had this baby 5 months ago and gave it away to someone else during the cry all night period. Because who wants to put up with that shit?

My due date is 2/24/2009.

So here it is - the little cupcake in my easy bake uterus:





It's a picture of a picture, since we are hillbillies with no scanner. But I think it does the job. You can see the little cupcake floating around, wreaking havoc on my digestive system and making me so tired that I can't remember how to spell words like wreaking and delirious without looking them up on Dictionary.com.

Since I'm on week 7, the baby has arms (with elbows!) and legs (with knees!) and a pointy head. Oh? And a tail. And an appendix! I bet its the cutest appedix evah!

All Day Sickness is interesting. This morning, I woke up and thought maybe I was dreaming. I felt so fucking awesome! I didn't feel like puking in the sink! Hot damn! I even felt good enough to eat a bowl of Crunch Berries (yummmm) before I left for work.

It was going to be a bright, bright, bright sunshiny day.

Until about half way to work, when I thought that I might need to pull over on the side of the turnpike and take a nap because holding the steering wheel was making my arms so goddamned tired. Just, like, a 10 minute nap, to ease my nausea and make it so that I could steer without pain. Unfortunately, there are no places to pull over, so I had to hold out.

And I don't actually throw up. No. I think I am going to throw up. I KNOW I am going to throw up. So I go in the work bathroom and pick the cleanest stall, and risk catching the plague to sit on the skanky floor and hold back my hair.

I get spit mouth.
I gag.
I heave a little just smelling the toilet water.
I do not vomit.
Sonofabitch.

I must have really looked shiteous, too, because two of my coworkers were all, "Oh, Jen, are you not feeling well?" Yes, I am glad that I look disgusting enough for people to notice.

I am so pretty.

It is also really hard to plan meals. Yesterday for dinner, I made a chicken and rice bake that was delicious. I enjoyed it thoroughly. I packed the leftovers for lunch today thinking that it would be equally delicious tomorrow.

No dice.
I had to pick out the chicken because it smelled like rotten raccoon in 90 degree weather to me. Arby's sounded delicious, so we got that. One day at a time, I guess.

You know what's crazy about the whole thing? I love my all day sickness. I appreciate the bigger purpose of it. I wouldn't trade it for the world.


*Very hilarious, by the way.

Graduation Day!!

Or: I'm sorry I'm behind on posts (violence is not the answer).

So, I graduated from an infertility patient to a certified OB patient. (Cards, money and gifts will be accepted).

After a sleepless night of worry that I was carrying an entire sports team in my ute, we made it to our appointment on time, legs ready to be spread, vag ready to be violated.

The appointment went well, with some laughs over a possible threat of vaginal violence...

Nurse: I'm just going to turn on the fan, it gets hot in here.

*Fan makes metal on metal crazy crashing noise*

Nurse: Don't worry, I won't hurt you or anything, I know that noise sounds scary.

Me: Hey, as long as you keep that fan away from my Lady Business, we'll be fine.


While she lubed up the magic wand, she made small talk. "How many embryos did you transfer?" "Oh, just two..."

So in goes the wand, and for a minute we're not really sure what we're looking at. And after she worked her way all around my innards she said the magic words:

There it is - One baby!

ONE BABY! OUR BABY!

Let's admit one thing right now: it looks like a blur of nothing at this point. But still, it felt so much more real right then. That is a baby, growing inside of me!

I've waited so long for that very moment - confirmation that yes, I'm pregnant. Finally. And I didn't know how I would react...tears? Sobs? Screams? I just didn't know.

I wanted to laugh out loud.
I can't remember being that happy. Ever.

We saw the heart flicker, then we briefly heard the heartbeat. I could listen to that ALL DAY LONG. It was the coolest thing. My first failure as a mother - I forgot to ask what the heart rate was. (Luckily, I don't think this fuck up will require future therapy for the baby...)

I measured exactly 7 weeks, which was 5 days behind what I thought, but she said it will probably change at some point. The baby looked healthy!

Official Due Date: 2/24/08

So I am now a graduate, and my first task is to find an OB. Or decide if I want to use my regular gynecologist.

Here's a vacation picture...since I will probably never do a vacation post because I am a tired, barfy whore.

Back to Reality

We are back from our cruise! Actually, we've been back since Friday, but I've been sleeping since we got back.

Our vacation was so much fun. I am going to post more about that later, with pictures and maybe a few stories. I haven't gotten my pictures from the camera to the computer just yet, but hopefully later this week. I know you'll be chewing your fingernails to nubs just waiting. Please, try to relax and maybe get some sleep.

Anyway, the major thing that happened on our cruise is this: MORNING SICKNESS.

Yes, we've all heard the pregos bitching and moaning about morning sickness, and how awful it is, and how it should be called all day sickness because it lasts morning, noon and night. Whatever, bitches.

But seriously? This shit lasts morning, noon, and night.

I was feeling pretty smug from Sunday until Wednesday of the cruise. I felt great! I could walk around all day, lay out and swim, eat whatever I wanted, and even, *ahem*, have non-babymaking relations with my hot, hot husband.

Then it was Wednesday. 6 weeks, 6 days. Which is the day that the proverbial shitteth hitteth the faneth. Wow.

I felt OK when I got up, but then I ate breakfast and decided that I was growing not an embryo, but a fire breathing dragon.

And just in case you were wondering, heartburn is not more beautiful or fulfilling by the Caribbean moonlight.

So the first problem was heartburn, and I thought it was just something I ate. But then I ate lunch and dinner, and had to run to the room afterward and lay down so that I didn't hurl on my fellow cruisers.

And you know how sometimes, when you're sick, all you want to do is throw up so that you'll just feel better already? Yes. That is what I'm having, except I cannot throw up. I just feel all burpy and gaggy and dry heavey, but no barfage.

This continued a from Wednesday until we got home Friday. On Saturday and today, I was sick all day, regardless of eating or not. Sick. As. A. Dog.


Now that I'm through complaining, I do have to say:
I HAVE MORNING SICKNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Look, I'm not going to lie. It is nice to have a pregnancy symptom that doesn't feel like my period is going to come.


Now that I've got a package of Tums and a case of Ginger Ale, things are feeling a little better. Still sick, but the small comforts help. I am worried about going back to work tomorrow for fear that I will dry heave at my boss, or fall asleep on the bathroom floor.


My ultrasound is Tuesday at 8 a.m.
Two more sleeps till then.


I tried to catch up on my blog reading, but I had almost 400 unread items on my Google Reader. So I have to admit that I had to mark a lot of things as read for my sanity.

So...what's going on with you? Gimme an update!