Nameless Peanut

Nameless Peanut. That is what we are calling our baby. Nameless Peanut Bailey. We don't know what we are having yet, we can't agree on a name and at last look our little fetus resembled a peanut. So there ya go...

We were 9 weeks and three days pregnant when we met our midwife for the first time. We thought we would get to hear the heartbeat but couldn't so she let us look at NPB instead. We sat in the ultrasound room waiting on our midwife (who is ABSOLUTELY amazing by the way) and were talking and laughing. The midwife came in and we started looking for NPB and there he/she was! Moving around like he/she was doing the Cha Cha Slide and posing for the ultrasound camera.

I looked at Lisa and was reminded how much my life had changed in the last three years. I was reminded with every laugh how blessed I am to have found who I believe to be my souls mate and how incredibly lucky we both are to be experiencing this together. I thought of our friends and family and realized how deeply loved this child will be. I thought of Allyssa and how I would have loved to have had an older sister who will be as great as she will be! I thought of our parents and know that even though they sometimes struggle with our family make up, they'll continue to be the most terrific grandparents a child could ask for. I thought about our house, our cars and our neighborhood. I thought about how much we have to offer this child and how much this child will have to offer us. As the midwife printed off our picture and turned off the ultrasound machine I thought about how in love we are with our little peanut and he / she doesn't even have a name yet!

All is well in pregnancy land.

Pregnant...Again.

So… I’m pregnant. Again. I haven’t been pregnant in almost seventeen years, but this time I’m pregnant on purpose. If you are a reader of my blog or just a friend, you probably know about my first pregnancy so I won’t bore you again with all the details, but will update new readers on the basic facts: I was a relatively responsible teenager, on birth control pills, even took them every day, had sex three times and was pregnant at seventeen. It was shocking, difficult and frightening at times – but sixteen years later I have an incredibly amazing daughter to show for it. There are several past blogs with details about how great she is if you’re interested.

So here I am again… Much older, I hope to be much wiser and 8 weeks pregnant. (By the time you read this blog I am more likely to be 12-14 weeks pregnant.)

It is absolutely mind-boggling how things change in seventeen years! I was speaking to my friend Cerena on the phone last night. She gave birth to her first daughter the day after I gave birth to mine. A few years later she had a son and ten years after that she had another son and now has an additional daughter who is two. We discussed how different our grown up pregnancies were from our teen pregnancies. When I was pregnant with Allyssa I had zero fear of anything other than gaining weight and my skin breaking out. I didn’t fear miscarriage, genetic disorders or SIDS. I didn’t obsess over the size of my fetus, my HcG levels, how fast or slow the heart rate was and whether or not I should eat certain cheeses. With the Internet and age, I’ve learned to obsess (rather well, I might add) about all those things and more. I have visited more pregnancy web sites than I ever would have imagined existed. I have read about the baby’s development from week 4 to week 40 more times than I can count and have the “How Big Is My Baby” chart memorized. For the record, Baby Bailey is about the size of a grape this week! When I was pregnant with my daughter, I threw up daily from week 7 to week 18. When I reached week seven of this pregnancy and wasn’t sick, I was instantly worried (not relieved) that something must be wrong. With every ache, cramp and twinge, I am certain that something could be going wrong and on most occasions I’ll spontaneously burst out in tears.

This brings me to hormones…. When I was pregnant at seventeen, I didn’t notice any changes to my body – other than my jeans were too tight and that throwing up thing. I didn’t recognize the difference in my emotions; I was a seventeen year old girl, I was probably already moody. At 35, things are very different. For instance, Braves player Jeff Francoeur was traded to the Mets last week. The Mets played the Braves at home last night and when Francoeur came up to bat, the Atlanta crowd gave him a standing ovation and the pitcher stepped off the mound to give him a few seconds to take everything in. I wasn’t at the game, didn’t even watch it on TV. I am a Braves fan and I guess Jeff Francoeur is a good guy but don’t know for sure. However, when I heard the sports news on the radio and heard the DJ talk about the crowd and the standing ovation. I literally cried. AND I recognized that it was ridiculous – which I think might make me even crazier! I cry over my Pastors blogs, I cry over movies, television shows and commercials. I cried yesterday after my conversation with Cerena and she told me she loved it that her last two didn’t sleep all night because she wanted to have more time with them. I’ve turned into my own water source!

Other than the obsessing, crying and the need for an 8:00 pm bedtime… my pregnancy is going great and we can’t wait for the next 32 weeks!

Moving on to Plan B

So we've had three more fertility cycles since my last post (Soooooo???? February 2009) my intention was to write and write until I couldn't write anymore and document the entire process. However, the failed cycles cut a lot deeper than I ever thought they would and I was simply tired of talking about it. So I stopped.

We started our Journey To Baby Bailey in May of 2008, so EVERY MONTH for over a year I've been poked, prodded and / or peed on a stick to check my ovulation and in three of the cycles to check for pregnancy and frankly - I was over it. I thought when we started this we would try until we got pregnant. SEVERAL thousand dollars later and countless hours of tears, I was done. I thought I was stronger but I just didn't have it in me.

I went through all of the emotions and with each failed cycle it got worse. I looked around at countless children who are not adequately cared for by their parents and wondered how someone like that could have not one... but two... or three or more children but we couldn't manage to get one. I heard the good news of friends and family members who were adding to their families and wondered why it seemed so easy for the rest of the world but it wasn't happening for us?

After the third failed cycle, I admitted defeat and we talked about ending our fertility treatments. We talked about money, we talked about the emotional aspect and we talked about regret. At that point we decided to give it one more try. I knew for the sake of my amazing family, I should try one more time. We had enough room in the budget for one more round and I felt like Lisa deserved that. I have a child and know that there is nothing better (to me) than being that child's mom but Lisa didn't know what that was like. I felt like I owed it to her, myself and our family to try again... and we did.

I spent the week of the pending insemination irritated and almost angry. I was angry at the money we had spent. I was angry at the results and I was angry that almost a year of my life had been lost to failed fertility treatment. The day of the insemination (one of two – since our doctor inseminates twice per ovulation) I waited in the doctors office and was looking around with the understanding that this would be one of the last times I sat in this office for this procedure. I was relieved. When I was called back and the doctor came in she said, “It’s good to see you.” I said, “It’s good to see you too, but I’m really getting tired of hanging out with you people.” She laughed. I told her I was on my way to Six Flags that morning when I got the Smiley Face indicating ovulation and asked her if it was okay to go forward with our day as planned. She said yes… and we completed the procedure in silence. I was bored. I didn’t lie there staring at the ceiling like before with visions of chubby faced babies and pacifiers running through my head. I stared at the ceiling tiles and wondered how long the line to Superman would be when we finally got to Six Flags. My mind and heart had clearly moved on. It was then I made the decision to move on to Plan B.

Plan B is what a lot of 35 year olds dream of. It’s having raised your child, sent her off to college, having no bills except the mortgage and vacationing at very cool places a couple of times a year with NO KIDS, all before the ripe old age of thirty-six! It's moving in town because you don't care what school district you live in, it's driving a two-door, staying up late and sleeping in until noon. It’s eating where you want and not wondering if the restaurant has a kids menu or a high chair. It’s laughing on the inside when your friends with infants can’t hang out past eleven because the babysitter has a curfew. It’s long motorcycle rides and overnight trips to nowhere, for no reason. It’s wearing your “good” clothes because you know they won’t get spit up on and it’s having a family, a career and a savings account and never again having to clean up a toddlers vomit. The more I thought about Plan B, the more I was getting used to it. If we couldn’t have another child we might as well be young enough to enjoy our empty nest! Separately, if my wonderfully amazing daughter follows the plan I have in mind for her – she’d still make me a Grandma before I hit fifty and I’ve heard that is an even better alternative. You can send those kids home! Yes, I had decided... Plan B was a good way to go.

I finished the first week following insemination and truthfully never really thought of it again. We talked about the new car we were going to be buying now that our sixteen year old had taken over the family sedan and decided where we would go on Allyssa’s graduation cruise. I went to work and shared with the one co-worker and friend who knew we had gone ahead with the fourth and final try that I truly had gotten over it. I was very ready for another negative pregnancy test so that I could move on with my life, so that I could get busy on Plan B! I even continued to use the Espresso machine that I got for Mother’s Day and had adjusted (rather excitedly) to the fact that I will never in my life have to change a diaper unless I just want to. The second week I could feel the elation in knowing that on Monday, June 15th (the day after we got confirmation from the fertility clinic that we were once again negative) my life would continue on, KNOWING not WONDERING that we would continue to be blessed with the one and only child that we already have.

Friday, June 12th at 4:30 AM I got up to get ready for work. I walked into the bathroom and looked at the pregnancy tests staring at me from the cabinet. I decided to take one since we were having dinner with friends the next day and I was more than happy to be able to indulge in a margarita… or three. In less than five minutes, Plan B went out the window with one word…. “Pregnant.” I picked up the Clear Blue Easy and looked at it again. I stared at it for what felt like an hour but I am sure was less than a minute. My eyes filled with tears and I went and woke Lisa with the news. I was physically shaking when I told her and we both agreed that it was a very bizarre feeling to be so completely surprised to be pregnant when we had been trying so hard to become that way.

So… Plan B has now reverted back to what THIS particular 35 year old is now dreaming of. Morning sickness, weight gain, out of control emotions and child birth. Late nights, early mornings, diapers, spit up and sneakers instead of four inch heels. An SUV instead of a two-door and a nursery instead of an office. Chubby cheeks, toothless grins, the smell of baby lotion and the sight of tiny toes. Watching a child grow into an amazing young person like their older sister who is a happy, healthy, extremely well-adjusted sixteen year old who will be seventeen when she FINALLY gets a sibling. Having it all… my family, my career and a baby that will have cost us more to get him / her here than it will cost us in his / her first year of life… all the while I will love every single second of it. Morning sickness and all!

Seniors 2010

Seniors 2010... that is what I heard and saw all weekend long. When my daughter excitedly talked to her friends on the phone about the impending first day of school and the fact that they are now Seniors. More than one of her friends who are on my Facebook friends list commented on the fact in their Facebook status updates. From my faux daughter Allision - "I'm not excited about school tomorrow, but I'm a Senior!!" From someone else that will remain anonymous - "Seniors 2010 - F*@K Yeah!" And my favorite from my would be adopted son Evan - ... "I've already got Senioritis!" Allyssa's update was an inside joke from our Annual Mother / Daughter weekend.... That thankfully did not include the F word.

It's hard to believe that my daughter is a Senior in high school. I remember my Mom telling me that time flies. She wasn't lying. On an almost daily basis it feels like yesterday that we were going to pre-school. For twelve years I've driven Allyssa to school on the first day. Even last year when she had friends that were driving I still drove her and faux daughter Allison to school. I always expect a hug and a kiss and last year, the front of the school was packed with kids and she didn't want to hug and kiss me goodbye. I told her that if she didn't, I would start honking the horn until she did. She laughed (although I wasn't kidding) and promptly gave me a hug and a kiss.

Yesterday on our way home from Mother / Daughter weekend we talked about the upcoming school week and talked about clothes, friends and lunch. Allyssa stopped and said, "Oh! This is the first year I get to drive to school!" I said, "Oh yeah! Did you get your parking permit?" "No, we pick them up in the morning! But this is the first year you won't have to drive me to school!" The very second she finished her sentence I could feel the lump in my throat and my face begin to get red. I knew I was going to cry right then... And I did.

This morning I woke Allyssa up as I was leaving for work. I went in and sat on the side of her bed for a minute. I looked at the child who on her first day of Kindegarten was just over 35 pounds. The child who for five basketball seasons was dwarfed by other girls her age. The child whose first pair of soccer cleats had to be ordered because I couldn't find them to fit her tiny feet. I looked at my child now, standing as tall (or as short) as I am, the child who wears the same size shoe I do and the child who is now old enough to work, drive and date. I touched the side of her face and told her it was time to wake up. She opened one eye and gave me a half smile and closed her eyes again. I kissed her cheek, reminded her of the time and told her to have a great day. I stood up and looked at my child, the child who lives for music, text messaging and chinese food. My child who no longer needs a ride on the first day of school and who will never again be bullied into hugging and kissing her Mom goodbye in the school parking lot. I turned to walk away and she said in a half asleep voice, "Momma... I love you." I looked back and saw my teenager. A kid who doesn't have a mean bone in her body, a kid with a great sense of humor, who loves her friends and even still loves her family. A kid who even though she can't remember to feed the dogs or hang up her towel is still by all accounts (not just that of her Mother) one of the greatest teenagers around!