Wednesday, May 23, 2018


Well, here we are again.  Because Blogger is somehow still a thing.  And because surely I can't deprive the internet of yet another riveting tale of childbirth.  Even though I 100% should be sleeping right now. But who needs sleep, right?

So, quick refresher: I was induced with Eli at 38 weeks because of high blood pressure and Grace randomly came just shy of 36 weeks. Because Grace was technically pre-term, my doctor put me on weekly progesterone butt shots with Lyla to make sure she cooked for long enough. Which, sure, it was nice to know I wouldn't have a scary, way-too-early birth. But I was also didn't want to go all the way to a 39 week induction, because I'm spoiled. And also my babies are enormous. And nothing about a toddler-sized human firing out my baby cannon sounded appealing.

I was supposed to take the shots up until 36 weeks. I pretended that that meant stopping them at 35 weeks, since technically the drug would stay in my system for another 7-10ish days.  Also, I was pretty tired of listening to my doctor tell me to watch my weight and not eat carbs so my baby wouldn't be enormous. So if I could just make it to 36 weeks without giving birth - which is when my baby wouldn't require a mandatory visit to the NICU - that would have been ideal.

My 37 week appointment was on Halloween. (My doctor had asked what we were going to dress up as for Halloween, when I showed her our "Whip Nae Nae" picture, she about died. And then left me, bare-assed on the table, to go show the picture to all the other doctors.) 

I digress. Up until this point, my belly had been measuring 3-4 weeks ahead - even though it totally didn't feel like that. (Or I was just heavily in denial.)  But even my doctor had commented that she never would have guessed I was measuring that far ahead by looking at me. Which made me feel a little better, but mostly didn't. Between my apparently huge belly and my other babies being pretty big for when they were born, I had my doctor just absolutely convinced I was going to give birth to a 13 pound baby. (She was mostly concerned about her getting stuck from being too big, since Eli had had a shoulder dystocia when he was born.) Because of that, she had wanted me to go get a growth scan that same day. The growth scan had estimated that baby girl was about 7 pounds and 9 ounces, which they told me was "above average, but normal." So, basically just like my other kids have been size-wise literally their entire lives.

My doctor got all up in there and let me know that I was 3+ dilated and 60% effaced. I was never that dilated with Eli - probably because he was my first. And I never had gotten that far with Grace. So hearing that I was a 3+ gave me a little unfounded hope that maybe I wouldn't have to go to 39 weeks after all. But also had me a little paranoid that when I did start going into labor, it would be fast. Even though it really basically meant nothing. Other than my cervix was dilated to the size of a banana slice. My doctor decided to do me a solid and strip my membranes to encourage an eviction. She set an induction date of 11/13, if baby hadn't come before then. She made sure to let me know she really hoped that that wouldn't be the case though and that I was welcome to do whatever I wanted to make the baby come out. She sent me out the door with a, "PROTEIN PROTEIN PROTEIN. NO CARBS."

I went home and started having contractions that weren't very timetable, but were strong enough to make me Google all the ridiculous ways women supposedly put themselves into labor. I spent the rest of the night bouncing on a ball, banging, trying to find all the magical pressure points in my feet, and doing step ups while simultaneously rubbing my nipples. It was a sight to behold, I'll tell you what. A sight to behold that resulted in no baby. I'm convinced that all the things the internet tells you to do to go into labor is just a bunch of horse crap. Unless your body is already gearing up for labor anyways. But knowing that still didn't stop me from getting a pedicure, walking on curbs, and stimulating the hell out of my nipples for the next week.

November 7th rolled around. I was 38 weeks and 1 day. Officially more pregnant than I had ever been. And I was done. And I know I'm getting some eye rolls from my homegirls who have been pregnant for a lot longer than that - multiple times, even. But it was a special kind of torture knowing my other two babies had both already been born by that point. And I couldn't help but be nervous that my baby was already 23 pounds.  I felt like I spent the entire day pooping.  Seriously.  I knew it could be a sign of impending labor.  But I also knew that it could just be the glory of pregnancy and probably having eaten something that gave me the poops.  Regardless, I spent a lot of time in the bathroom.

Later that afternoon I finally had my checkup with the doctor. I gave the nurse crap for always weighing me before taking my blood pressure. (I mean, seriously. What the hell is that about? Oh, my blood pressure is high? After the scale just shot way past the number I would have been comfortable with? WEIRD.)  I sat there, pantsless, waiting for my doctor for what felt like 18 pregnancies. I wondered if maybe she could "accidentally" break my water while she was digging around my honey pot. She finally came in and checked me. I was "almost a 4" and 80% effaced. Which was a tiny bit more progressed than where I was a week earlier, but not enough to be remotely satisfied.  She did a membrane sweep again and mentioned that she wouldn't be working the next day. I told her, "We're supposed to close on our house tomorrow, I've said all along that that'll be the day she decides to come. So now that you won't be working, that just seals the deal."

Later that night I started having very light, manageable contractions. But they were timeable.  They averaged about 10ish minutes apart and were about a minute long. I figured they would just subside like they had last week - especially since they weren't super uncomfortable. But just in case, I bounced on my ball, rubbed my feet, and had some sex. Because surely it couldn't hurt to try. Even though giving birth the next day would totally throw a wrench in having to do our final walkthrough and closing on our house.

I woke up early that morning with contractions that were a little more intense than they had been the night before. I sat in bed and timed them and they were about 4-5 minutes apart. I nudged Shawn in bed and told him that there was a solid chance we wouldn't be closing on our house today.  I figured that since I had spent a whole night laboring with Grace with contractions that I remembered being much worse than what I was having now, that we still had plenty of time. I told Shawn he was fine to go drop some ladders off for the guys at work and then he was just planning to come back home so we could go to the final walkthrough of our house that morning.  I figured I had the time to shower and make myself presentable - so this time I wouldn't look like I just rolled out of bed. Vain and unnecessary? Probably. But if I was going to look like a whale in pictures regardless, at the very least I'd look like a whale who hasn't totally given up.

As I was showering, the contractions were getting much closer together and a lot more intense.  Again, I figured that's how they had been with Grace for an entire night, and I was only at a 5 when I had finally gotten to the hospital with her - so, I was probably okay.  I got out of the shower and started getting ready.  That's when the contractions started to stop me in my tracks and make me catch my breath.  Also when I realized my intentions of looking presentable were quickly being shot to crap.  I was going to get Grace out of her crib when my sister-in-law, bless her heart, came downstairs and took Eli and Grace upstairs with her. (Oh, we lived with my brother and sister in law for about a month when we were in between houses. Because, oh, we moved.)  By this point the contractions were straight up painful and right on top of each other, it felt like. I had maybe a minute between each one.  I realized that this was going to go much quicker than Grace's labor had.  Shawn had been on the phone on speaker, to make sure I wasn't having a baby in our kitchen.  He was on his way back home but, of course, was stuck in morning traffic.  He grew more panicked every time I had a contraction and was swearing into the phone and asking how close he was.

He finally got home and we immediately threw all our stuff into the car and left for the hospital. And it was the longest. 25. minute. drive. of. my. entire. life. We still managed to get stuck in morning traffic. So we couldn't even swerve around people or run red lights, because there was no where to go.  I literally have never said so many swear words in my whole entire life.  It was a rated R car ride for sure.  I was sure we were going to have to pull over and give birth on the side of the road.  In the spare minutes I had between contractions, I literally Googled if getting a police escort was a thing, because the traffic was royally pissing me off.  Shawn ran a few red lights and later told me that the roll of roofing felt (which is basically like a long ass tarp) had come unrolled on the freeway and was dragging about 20 feet off the back of our truck and just flapping in the wind like freakin' Batman - but he just left it because he didn't dare stop to fix it.  Because he's smart.  And was probably a little scared for his life.

We finally got to the hospital at around 8:45am, after the most excruciatingly terrible car ride of my life. I managed to get myself into a wheelchair and we went to the front desk. The woman at the desk asked me what was going on, and as I was having a contraction I blurted out, "I NEED TO HAVE A BABY."  She got my information and went to take my picture right as I was having another contraction, a nurse who was standing right there commented how that wasn't cool - and she was correct.  Not that I even gave two flying farts about it at the time, but surely that couldn't have been a cute picture.

We finally got to a room and as I was putting on the hospital gown, I suddenly got the most intense urge to barf. And I do not barf.  I told Shawn that I needed a garbage can and just barely made it to one in time to puke 3 times.  That was new.  They came back in to check my lady down under and let me know that I was dilated to an 8.  I immediately asked if I could still have drugs.  I wanted drugs.  I needed drugs.  GIVE ME DRUGS.  They said yes, and I've never been so relieved.  Well, no.  I take that back.  I've never been more relieved than when the anesthesiologist showed up and I no longer felt the contractions.  Bless that man and his holy modern technology.

I would just like to take this moment to inform everyone that, up until this point, this post has been sitting in my drafts for 5 months and so help me, I'm going to finish it right. now.  I probably won't finish it with quite the detail I would have 5 months ago, because failing memory.  (Sorry, future Lyla.  I know you're bummed about not getting to read more details about mom's crotch adventures.) 

So, anyways.  I get my drugs and relax enough to realize that BALLS, WE FORGOT THE HORSE HEAD.  We had left it in the trunk of our other car.  Shawn and I were talking about it as the nurses were doing their thing. We realized one of the nurses had been there for Eli's birth as well - you know, this:

And when she heard us talking about the horse head she was like, "YES! I REMEMBER THAT! YOU'RE THE HORSE HEAD PEOPLE!" And I felt probably way more proud than I should have. We showed the horse head pictures to the other nurse, and relieved, she said, "Oh my gosh. I thought you guys were talking about like, a stuffed horse head. This makes way more sense." And yeah, we may be weird, but we're not bring a MFing stuffed horse face to our birth weird. Anyways, my little sister cut class to go grab the mask, because priorities.

Things slowed down for a bit once I had my epidural. My mom and dad came to hang out with us and my friend, Julia, was able to make it to take pictures - even though I gave her about 2 seconds notice. We had a chance to FaceTime the kids, who didn't have a clue what was going on.

They came and checked me again and I was at a 9. But, as per usual, she was posterior, so I had to hang out with the peanut ball between my legs to try and get her to flip.  At this point, I could still feel when I was having contractions - they weren't as painful as they were before the drugs, but enough to merit another visit from my knight in shining scrubs.

Guys, I'm trying really hard to remember details, but I'm comin' up blank.  I don't know if that's because this happened forever ago, or because it all really happened pretty quickly.  Except for that 39 year car drive to the hospital.  Anyways, my cervix was finally bagel-sized, and they had the on call doctor come in and suit up.  (And yeah, I was sad my doctor wasn't there, but this doctor was actually really nice and I quite liked her.  My doctor's name is Hebert (ay-bear) and this gal's name was Parrett - so we joke that "a bear" delivered our first two kids, and a parrot delivered Lyla.) They also had some extra people standing by in case her shoulder got stuck and someone needed to jump on top of me like they did with Eli.

She said that Lyla was still posterior but that we could try pushing to see if she'd flip.  I pushed once and like magic, she flipped right around. I pushed a second time (and maybe third time?) and she slid right on out.  I could go back and look at the video to see exactly how it went down, buuuuut, I'm determined to finish this post.  So, sufficeth to say that it all happened pretty quickly and, gratefully, without any issues.  But not so quick that we didn't get a few action shots. (That I'm pretty sure are crotch-shot free.  I made Shawn double check.  So, uh, sorry if we were wrong.)

At 20 inches tall and 8lbs 6oz, she was beautiful and absolutely perfect in every way. 

And good news, the horse head finally showed up.

The kids got to the hospital and were just enamored with Lyla, and it was the sweetest thing ever.  

When Eli saw me, he said, "Mom, what's in your belly? Do you have another baby in there?" 

In the past, I've usually had to stay at the hospital for a few days because of jaundice, the NICU, being on antibiotics and all those fun times.  But with everything going so quickly and so well, and you know, needing to close on our house, I was determined to get out of there the next day.  We got home and had literally 30 minutes to get our crap together and go close on our house.  And then we moved two days later.  I'm going to go on the record and say that I do not recommend moving 3 days after a small human has made its way out your vajeen.  Just a big ol' nope.  Also, staying at the hospital for more than 24 hours is okay.  I don't know if it was because I was used to being able to send my kids to the nursery for the first several days after giving birth or what - but the first few nights with Lyla were rough.  She constantly wanted to suck on my boob, even though my milk hadn't come in yet.  And my nipples were so. raw.  So, between that, the stress of moving, and all my postpartum hormones made for a fairly interesting first week home.

But overall, everything went well.  We got moved in and eventually situated.  Postpartum adventures were about as expected.  Plenty of meltdowns.  First postpartum poop was as terrifying as ever, but was a success. (Wiping, on the other hand, was a different story.  I spent the better part of 10 minutes trying to figure out if I still had a dangling turd.  Hint: Just get in the freakin' shower and hose off.  Also you're welcome for that mental image.)  Breastfeeding was a success - although, between the cramps and Lyla absolutely destroying my nips, hurt like a big ol' fat B word.  The postpartum gushing every time I stood up was just as gross as ever.  Made it through my first postpartum sneeze without ripping my vagina back open.  Man, childbirth is glorious, isn't it?

That said, I still feel so incredibly lucky that we had the chance to bring this darling little angel into our family.  I've felt really strongly with each of my kids that, although they may not have come how or when I wanted them to, they've all come exactly how and when they were supposed to. Lyla is no exception. She may not have picked the most convenient day to make her entrance - but it was the perfect time to join our family and I'm forever grateful to my Heavenly Father for sending me such a beautiful, squishy, perfect little girl.

Six and a half months late, but DONE.  You're welcome, internet and future posterity. 

 (Also, sorry you got gipped on the cheesy birth video compilation, Lyla.  It's okay though, I'll make it up to you by giving you a later curfew than the other kids.)

Monday, July 31, 2017

Threenagers, amiright?

So, because my memory is about as effective as sandpaper toilet paper, I've been keeping track of some of the amusing things that Eli has said in the past year or so on my phone.  Some of them are back from when he was two - but most of them are from more recently.  And because blogs are forever and surely you have enough time and desire to continue reading my blog, I'm putting it here as well for your viewing pleasure. So, if you've ever wanted a glimpse of what it's like to live with my 3 year-old and what a superb mother I am, read on.

Eli: "Mom, will you print me something?"
Mom: "Not right now."
Eli: "Okay, fine. I'll just talk to the printer and ask."
Eli: "Printer, will you please send me a picture?"
Eli: "Printer? Please? I want a picture."

*8 minutes later*



Mom, kissing Eli goodnight: "Love you, buddy."
Eli: "Mom, you have a mustache."


Scene: Literally any time we're in public and Eli senses that he's in trouble.
Eli: "Don't hurt me!"


Scene: Eli has sprayed bathroom cleaner all over his wall and carpet with Grace sleeping in the next room.

Mom, "whisper yelling" to avoid waking Grace up: "Why did you do that? You know that's naughty! 😡"
Eli: "Um, mom? Are you the Hulk?"


Mom: "Johnny Johnny?"
Eli: "Yes, papa?"
Mom: "Eating sugar?"
Eli: "Yep."

(If you haven't had the pleasure of hearing YouTube Kids for hours on end, this one won't click. I mean.  My kids don't watch YouTube.  Cough.)


Anytime a long-haired, bearded man is on the TV:
Eli: "Mom! Mom! Look, IT'S JESUS!"

Example: We were watching the newer Jungle Book, Eli sees the dad and says, "It's Jesus! The tiger ate Jesus!"


Scene: Dad and Eli are kicking a ball outside and dad kicks it clear to the top of a pine tree where it gets stuck.

Dad: "We'll have to say a prayer that Heavenly Father will send some wind and blow your ball down from the tree."
Eli: "Okay!"

Next morning:


And sure enough, the ball blew down from the tree later that day. 


Scene: Eli stole the remote and hid it while we were watching something.

Mom: "Eli, get the remote and bring it back, please."
Eli: "Hehehehehehehehe. I can't!"
Dad: "Just bring back the remote."
Eli: "Nope! 😏"

This exchange repeated for 5 minutes.

Mom: "If you don't bring the remote back, I'm going to spank your butt."
Eli: "Okay, mom! Spank me!"
Eli: "Mom! Spank me! Just spank me!"
Dad: "You want to be spanked?"
Eli: "Yeah!"
Dad: "Then go get the remote."

And he did.


Eli: "Mom, I'm so excited to go on a nice holiday."
Eli: "Let's pack for our nice holiday!"
Eli: "I just really want to go on a nice holiday."

(Shout out to Peppa Pig for teaching my kid to talk like he's British.)


Scene: Eli's taken his pants and underwear off after I've told him 900 million times not to.

Mom: "Go upstairs and get your pants so we can put them back on."
Eli: "No. I don't want to."
Mom: "Please just go get your pants."
Eli: "No. I want to be naked."
Mom: "Do you want to be spanked on your bare bum?"
Eli: "Whatever. I'll just pee on you."


Mom: "Eli, you're going to time out if you keep hurting Grace."
Eli: "Hmmph. My dad will fight you!"


Scene: We're about to walk into my aunt's house, which Eli isn't super familiar with, for Easter.

Eli: "Mom, I'm not sure about this. I think this house is probably haunted."


Eli: "I want Mac & Cheese for lunch!"
Mom: *Makes Mac & Cheese*
Mom: *Hands his Majesty a bowl of M&C*
Eli: *Full blown meltdown*


Scene: Eli going to sit on the toilet, notices he's got a bit of shrinkage going on.

Eli: "Mom! My penis is stuck in my butt!"


Eli, walking over to his kitchen, stopped, heavy sighed, and said, "Damnit."


Eli: "Come catch me!"
Mom: "I can't. I'm too slow."
Eli: "You're fast enough."


Scene: Built a play kitchen for Eli for his 3rd birthday, and he was seeing it for the first time.

Eli: "Wooooooooooooow! It's a cooking machine!"


Scene: Mom had just gotten undressed to get in the shower and was about to step in.

Eli: "Mom! You have a fuzzy, let me get it for you."
Mom: "Dude, I don't have a fuzzy on me. Where?"
Eli, pointing at Mom's crotch: "ON YOUR BUTT!"


Scene: Mom feeling sorry for herself that everyone is effortlessly getting pregnant and she can't.

Eli: "Dad, we need to go get mom some flowers. She's sad."


Scene: We're at church and it's time for the Sacrament. Eli's being a buttmunch and misses the bread. 


Mom & Dad: *Failed attempts to try and get him to be quiet*


Later, during the closing prayer, I'm rubbing his back and Eli yells, "STOP SCRATCHING MY BUTT."

We're in the back, and there's not many little kids in our ward, and as we looked up, we could just see people's shoulders going up and down from laughing.


Eli: "Mom, I pooped hard. I'm super strong."


Few weeks before Halloween ('16):

Eli, knocking on his door after waking up in the morning: "Trick or treat! Trick or treat! Trick or treat!"


Eli: "Mom, I love you so much. You're my princess."


Eli: "Hey Dad, where are the tickets?"
Dad: "What tickets?"
Eli: "The soccer tickets."
Dad: "I don't have any soccer tickets, buddy."
Eli: "Okay, dad. Well how about you go back to work and don't come back until you have soccer tickets."
Dad: "Uh. 😳"


Eli: "Dad, you're my hero."


Eli: "I want to buy some candy."
Dad: "We don't have money to buy candy, bud."
Eli: "Just use the credit card."

Scene: Mom locked herself in the bathroom, because kids.

Eli, through door crack: "Mom, when are you coming out?"
Mom: "In a little bit."
Eli: "But you need to come out now! Because you're my best mom."


Eli: "My sister is sleeping in your tummy?"
Me: "Yep!"
Eli: "Why did you eat her, mom?"


Eli: *Blatantly coughs on mom without covering mouth*
Mom: "Gross, Eli. That's not very polite."
Eli: "Mom, may I please cough on you?"


Scene: Eli's playing on indoor playground while waiting to get his haircut.

Eli, to another kid: "Will you play with me?"
Other kid: "Um, no."
Eli: *Continues harassing kid to play with him*


This kid.

Monday, May 22, 2017

Adventures in Baby Making: Part Three

Well, hello there.

I have to admit, I'm a little surprised Blogger is still a thing. Is blogging even cool anymore? Was it ever? Do I care? I haven't touched this blog for 15 months and it's made me a whopping $30 whole dollars. Cha ching.  So I don't care what the kids say, it's cool.  Anyways, apparently the only thing I ever blog about anymore is tiny humans entering and exiting my body, sprinkled with occasional photo dumps. And this post is definitely one of those things.  I'm going to go ahead and assume you're all here from Facebook and know which thing that is. So, per usual, we'll start from before the beginning.  Because I know you all have the time to kill to read a 900 paragraph blog post about baby making.

*And if you don't, and want the majorly abridged version, scroll to the bottom.  If you don't care how we made our baby, but are curious about how the pregnancy has been, you can make your way to the bottom of this post as well.  Because, seriously, it's long.*

As much as I had hoped that this particular post would simply be, "Once upon a time, Shawn and I boinked and made a baby. The end."  Spoiler Alert: It's not.  That's certainly not for a lack of trying, either.  

Because heaven forbid procreation be simple.  And - gasp - free.  Fortunately the financial repercussions of this particular conception weren't nearly as severe as they were with Eli.  And hey, you get another riveting conception story. Lucky you. 

After I had Grace, I had a lot of anxiety about if I'd ever be able to get pregnant again. We had used our last two frozen embryos with her cycle - and there was no way I was going to be able to convince Shawn to drop another 15 grand on another fresh IVF cycle.  And the thought of having to try for years again to have another baby really stressed me out. I finally just had to accept, for the time being, that I was (and am) extremely lucky to have my two kids and I just needed to focus on them.   While, of course, secretly hoping I'd become one of those, "My infertility is magically cured and now I'm so fertile I got pregnant while I was breastfeeding" success stories.

Well, surprise, that didn't happen. As we got closer to Grace's first birthday, I decided I'd need to start weaning her so I could go talk to my fertility doctor about what she'd suggest - aside from IVF - to try and get pregnant again. Because after plenty of well-intentioned people, including my OB, suggested that pregnancy can sometimes "cure" infertility - I got it into my head that, surely, if my body has already produced two healthy humans, that's plenty of time for it to get its crap together and not need a full blown IVF cycle to get knocked up. Surely.

Somewhere around this time is when I learned that my employer, JetBlue, was going to start offering infertility coverage in the near future. And good coverage.  What?! I had emailed some higher up person back when we were trying for Eli about if they'd ever offer coverage - and they gave me the typical generic "It's something we're looking into, stay tuned" type answer. So after "staying tuned" for years, I never actually expected that it would be something they'd ever offer.  Because there's only a few companies in Utah that do. While I still hoped that it wasn't something I'd need to use, it was relieving to know that I had that as a backup plan.  Although I wouldn't be able to switch to full time to become eligible for the insurance until at least May of this year.

Grace was completely weaned by the time she was about 11 months old.  And although I managed to avoid the final-nurse meltdown I had had with Eli, I still felt the same guilt I did when I weaned Eli so I could try and get pregnant again.  I couldn't think about Grace being done nursing for too long, or I would meltdown.  In the back of my mind, I was terrified it was the last time I'd ever be able to nurse a baby - and I wasn't ready for that.  (Clearly always worst-case scenario-ing over here.)

I still had about 2-3 weeks after weaning Grace before the consult with my fertility doctor. I was eager to see if, now that I had stopped breastfeeding, my period would start on its own. I never got a chance to see if it would start after weaning Eli, because we immediately started the process for Grace's frozen embryo transfer (because we had won the fertility grant that had to be used within a year from winning it).  Well, as many times as I thought my period would start, it never did. I felt pretty defeated already. My body clearly hadn't "cured" itself. And maybe if I had waited a little longer, it would have? But I clearly don't have the patience for that kind of waiting. I was still hopeful that maybe just a boost of Clomid would do the trick this time. Even though it never worked the 8ish times that we had unsuccessfully tried it before Eli came along.

The day of my consult finally rolled around and I was anxious to see if my doctor would give us any hope of getting pregnant outside of IVF.  She scrolled through my history on her computer and shook her head and said, "Wow. You really didn't have great luck before IVF, did you?" 

She went on to say that she probably wouldn't have me try for very long before needing to do IVF again.  She mentioned that when we did IVF with Eli, it was the eggs they had ICSId (injected the sperm directly into the egg - instead of letting them swim around the petri dish and fertilize the eggs the "normal" way) that had went on to become our best (but still not perfect) embryos. The eggs that Shawn's sperm fertilized on their own had arrested before turning into good quality, transferable/freezable embryos.  She said that it really didn't add up - because Shawn's sperm analysis has always had great results - and in theory, PCOS should be treatable with drugs - like Clomid.  Leaving me with the impression that it could possibly be some sort of chemical issue between Shawn's sperm and my eggs - which would explain why nothing had worked until we did IVF.  She continued on to say that that was 3+ years ago, and things could be different now that I've had two kids.  She did an ultrasound with the ever-favorite vag wand to check out my uterine lining and my ovaries. My lining was thickish - but not super thick - which would have indicated that a period was somewhere near.  And, as usual, I had small cysts all over my ovaries.  Thank you, PCOS.

She said that they'd do bloodwork to make sure I hadn't already ovulated on my own and that I wasn't already pregnant.

And if everything came back negative, I wouldn't need to wait for a period and could start Clomid that day.  (Because apparently they've done studies that inducing a period doesn't improve the success at all and yadda yadda - so yay for that.)  She told us she wouldn't have us bother with paying for an IUI - since that's usually used more for sperm issues anyways. But nevertheless, a "timed intercourse" cycle was still going to cost us about $800 when all was said and done. Because WHY WOULDN'T IT? 

I left the appointment feeling really anxious and having some serious PTSD from when we were trying with Eli - because I knew how all those Clomid cycles ended. The nurse finally called and said, "Well, you're not pregnant and you're not anywhere close to ovulating - so you can start Clomid today!" 

The last time I had done Clomid, I didn't have any kids. This time I had two. And that was quite the experience as far as my patience, rage, and hormones were concerned.  The weird flashy vision set in, like usual. I went in for my ultrasound to check my follicles to see if I was ready to "trigger" ovulation with an HCG shot. They like follicles to measure at an 18 to release a mature egg, I had two follicles measuring at 14 and four at 10. I went back three days later to check their growth and had three nice, big juicy follicles that were ready. If I had had any more than that, they would have cancelled my cycle because of the increased risk of multiples.  The nurse told me there was a 5% chance I could end up with higher order multiples - which would be 3 or more. And I assured her that, with my luck, it wouldn't be an issue.  I felt hopeful, and then quickly remembered that I had had three big follicles for at least two of my Clomid IUIs.  And that left me feeling a little deflated.

Let me tell you, there's nothing quite like prescribed sex.  I even tried to make it more exciting by doing the 12 Lays of Christmas - because how fun am I?  I put the pillows under my butt and laid in bed for forever afterwards.  I probably even stood on my head at one point - just for good measure. I had ovulated three eggs.  We had had ALL THE SEX.  Now it was just up to my body and our ingredients to get their shit together.

Fast forward to pee stick time.  I only took about 100.  Apparently the First Response have curved handles now?  What?  If you're not ready to get your own pee on your hand, you're sure as hell not ready to have a baby.  Also, who doesn't use a cupAnyways.  Because I had taken an HCG shot to trigger ovulation - that meant I'd have HCG in my system for a certain amount of time - 10ish days, supposedly - which means it would show up on a pee stick and give me a false positive test for at least that long. So I "tested it out" - basically tested daily to see if/when it would disappear and start getting darker again, which would mean I was pregnant. Well, by day 12 I was still getting reaaaaaaaally faint positives.  I'm talking lines that only a trained pee stick addict could see.  And long, pee stick story short, it was all garbage.  If I was still picking up any HCG, it was from the stupid shot that apparently loves to linger in my body for as long as humanly possible.  I went in for my blood test, knowing that it would be negative, and later that day got the all-too-familiar call with a somber tone telling me I wasn't pregnant.

And this is when you realize you're only maybe halfway through this post.

Fortunately, I'd had my "I'm broken and I'm never going to be able to get pregnant unless we do IVF again" meltdown the weekend prior to my blood test. Initially our plan had been for me to apply to go full time in May, for the insurance - and then just try on our own until then - and if we could get pregnant the good ol' fashioned way, then splendid. I had sobbed to Shawn that I couldn't deal with another 5 months of negative results - especially if they were going to cost us $800+ bucks each time.  And I didn't feel like we could just try solely on our own to save the money - because, with our history, it would just feel like a colossal waste of time.  

There's a specific timeframe at JetBlue that you have to apply to switch from part time to full time and vice versa.  To go full time in January, I would have had to apply to go full time back in August/September, and I didn't - because of our overly optimistic plan to try "on our own".  I had emailed my supervisor and asked if there was any way they'd let me switch to full time outside of that application period.  As luck would have it, our team was a little short staffed at the time - so they okayed me to switch to full time immediately. And as nervous as I was to be working four 10-hour shifts a week with two kids - I was immensely grateful that they had let me switch to full time instead of having to wait until May.  So much for having learned so much patience while we tried to get pregnant with Eli. 

And some of you are probably thinking, "Well you still could have gotten pregnant on your own!" And you know, maybe we could have.  But after trying for close to three years with no success, I wasn't crazy about our chances - especially after talking with our doctor and seeing how hesitant even she was about our chances outside of IVF.  But I know IVF works for us.  It's given us some pretty great spawn.  And I never in a million years thought we'd have the chance to do IVF again - and have it paid for by insurance, no less.  So I felt like I would have been a fool not to take advantage of that while I could. So after we prayed about it and felt confident that was the route we should take, I switched to full time and made the call to my fertility clinic to let them know we wanted and were ready to do IVF.

If you've read Eli's IVF novel, this IVF cycle is pretty similar. We followed about the same protocol as we did last time, since it clearly worked out for us last time. So I may not go into as much detail (*gasp*), just because I already have before, this is already hella long, and when I'm not using up precious nap time to write bits and pieces of this (because seriously, this has been a two week process so far), I'm doing it while my kids run around and squirt applesauce on the walls, empty every drawer in our house, flush medicine bottles down the toilet, and otherwise wreak destruction.  So, you know. Priorities and stuff. (Also, I say this now, but I'll still probably end up making this post entirely too long.  Again.  Oh well.)

Anyways, I got my schedule in the middle-ish of January, and just like Eli's cycle, was scheduled to be on birth control for about six straight weeks before we could even start our cycle in the middle of February. Yeah.  I know.  GOOD TIMES.  So, needless to say I was a little bummed I wouldn't be able to start sooner than that, because clearly I was anxious, but it is what it is.  Birth control was just about as fun as it usually is. Lots of impatience, wanting to curl up in a ball and cry, and more grumpy days than I'd care to admit. 

The day before I was supposed to take my last birth control pill, I started bleeding. So naturally I freak out, because OH MY GOSH THIS DIDN'T HAPPEN WITH ELI'S IVF CYCLE AND NOW OUR ENTIRE IVF CYCLE IS GOING TO FAIL.  Because surely it couldn't be because I was on my second straight pack of active birth control pills and my uterine lining was just brimming at that point.  It ended up tapering off and stopping the next day - but I still called my nurse, because I'm that lady, and she assured me that yes, it was probably just breakthrough bleeding. Something I'm not used to, because I've led more of a "no bleeding ever" type of life. (Which no, isn't lucky.)

A few days after stopping my birth control, I had an appointment for a vag ultrasound to check my lining. Five minutes prior to leaving, one of the kids decided to spill a bottle of perfume all over the floor and then roll around in it. So, instead of being a good mom and changing their clothes, we rolled right into that doctor's office in a cloud of Jessica Simpson, because they could smell like worse things.  Anyways, my lining, as expected, was thick and ready to "shed".  Womanhood is beautiful, but it's also hella gnarly and ew. I was given the okay to go ahead and start my two daily shots the next day. 

Day 1 of shots and I was so. nervous.  Like I had never injected myself with hormones 800 million times before.  But I did it, and I survived.  So anticlimactic.  

Day 2 of shots, nausea and constant headaches joined the party. 

Day 3 of shots I had bloodwork done and they told me that I was "overachieving" with my Estrogen levels, so they were going to reduce one of my drugs a little, so I wouldn't overstimulate my ovaries.  Again, something that didn't happen with Eli's cycle, and even though my nurse told me that it wasn't a bad thing, I immediately spun back into THIS CYCLE IS GOING TO FAIL mode, because it wasn't following Eli's cycle just perfectly.  I had to slowly back away from Google, because Google is the devil.  

Day 5 of shots my ovaries started to get really sore, which was oddly comforting, because it was a familiar feeling from Eli's cycle, and as uncomfortable as it was getting (I'm talking, I could feel my ovaries when I'd sit down), I knew they were doing their job.  Although I'd occasionally get stuck with a looming feeling that this IVF cycle wasn't going to work - because surely we'd used up all our IVF luck already - I was still feeling 100 times more calm with this cycle than I was with Eli's cycle at this point.  Likely because we didn't have 15 grand riding on whether or not my lady parts would decide to cooperate.

Day 6 of shots I had an ultrasound to check out how my ovaries were doing, and sure enough each ovary had at least 20 follicles on it.  The one thing my ovaries can do when I force them to.  I had a few more follicles with Eli's cycle at this point - about 25ish and 30ish at this point - but I also hadn't reduced one of my shots with him, which is probably why I didn't have as many.  But still more than a lot of women get thanks to PCOS.

Day 8 of shots I had another ultrasound, and my follicle count was about the same as before - with maybe a few more.  Still not as many as Eli, which I was trying really hard not to let freak me out.  


Okay, quick pause here to say that my computer died (with 20% battery still left) in the middle of me working on this post randomly throughout the day AND SAVED ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.  And I'm hella grumpy about it because I was close to actually finishing.  Thanks for nothing, BLOGGER "AUTO SAVE".


Okay, now that I have that (mostly) out of my system.  BACK TO DAY 8 OF SHOTS.  Whimper.  They sent me home with the trigger shot instructions, just in case they decided they wanted me to trigger before the next day.  She said it wasn't likely, but "just in case."

This was also my last day for high-impact exercise and sexy time. My nurse was explaining to me that if you jolt your enormous ovaries around too much they can flip upside down because they're so heavy - and if that happens, it's emergency surgery and bye bye to your ovaries. Yeah, you don't have to tell me not to exercise twice.  Not sure who would even want to exercise when they feel like bowling balls are about to drop out their crotch.  Except that she was telling me she had had women ask her if they can still do CrossFit.  Like, what?  Why?  Stop it.  Go eat a donut for hell's sake.

Day 9 of shots I had yet another ultrasound/bloodwork.  The ultrasound showed about the same as it had the last few days, with more of the follicles maturing.  They told me they'd call me later that day about my bloodwork and let me know if I needed to take my trigger shot, or continue my shots the next day and come in for a final ultrasound before my retrieval.

They certainly weren't kidding about the calling "later" part.  They finally decided to give me a jingle around 6 PM (on a Saturday) to let me know that my estrogen levels were "a little high" so I should plan to trigger that night - which was a day earlier than my calendar had said and a day earlier than I had with Eli's cycle.  Not only was I to trigger earlier than expected, they only wanted me using half the dosage that I'd normally use and that I had used with Eli's cycle.  Cue anxiety.  I had mixed emotions, because while, HOLY CRAP IT'S SO DIFFERENT FROM ELI'S CYCLE AND THAT CAN'T POSSIBLY BE GOOD NEWS, only taking half the dosage meant that the HCG wouldn't be in my system for as long as the full dosage.  (Imagine that.)  And that meant more accurate pee stick results SOONER.  And I can't complain about that.  As fun as fake positive lines are.  Full dosage usually hangs out for around 10ish days.  Which means half the dosage...

I had to take my trigger shot at a specific time that night, and we had plans to have dinner with my family at that time - and they had absolutely no idea we were doing IVF.  I had lied out my butt to get them to believe we were doing it in May, "when I'd be able to go full time and get the insurance."  Shawn's family had no idea either.  Fertility treatments sometimes take away some of the fun of being able to surprise people with a pregnancy - which is why we decided to keep it on the DL.  So I had to be sneaky about taking my shot.  Fortunately for me, when someone in my family disappears into the bathroom for 10 minutes, no one really asks questions.  Even so, I made sure that upon my return, I announced that I was totally constipated - you know, just in case anyone was getting suspicious of why I left in the middle of dinner.  Even though people camping out on the toilet in my family is totally not unheard of.  But neither is bowel movement dinnertime talk.  So, eh.

My egg retrieval was 36 hours after the trigger shot and I sat in the waiting room trying to find my zen and not freak out that they'd only manage to get two eggs out of me.  They got me all hooked up to an IV and got the anesthesia flowing and knocked me clean out.  I still think anesthesia is the most bizarre thing ever.  I remember saying in the post about Eli's cycle that they could have paraded me around that office buttarse naked and I would have been none the wiser.  You're just gone for a half hour and wake up to people telling you that you did a good job - because I'm at my most impressive when I'm passed the hell out, apparently.  I joked with the anesthesiologist about sending me home with some for later.  Because surely nothing could go wrong there.

They sent me into the "recovery room" with a nice warm blanket, and I suddenly remembered very clearly how sore my ovaries were after my egg retrieval with Eli's cycle.  Our doctor finally came in and let us know they had retrieved 34 eggs (when they're generally happy with 10-15) - and I was pretty shocked that they had gotten so many - it was only two less than we got with Eli's cycle.  So that was happy news.  She let us know we could expect to get about 3-6 good quality embryos out of the batch.  How's that for crap odds?  Like, seriously?  How the hell does anyone get pregnant ever?

A nurse came in and gave me my post-retrieval instructions - mainly that I was to start a vaginal progesterone suppository three times a day (groan) and that I needed to take it easy and not lift anything heavier than 20 pounds at the most - which, granted, was better than the "nothing heavier than a gallon of milk" I was told a few days earlier.  But still, I couldn't help but laugh as I looked at my 30+ pound children sitting in the room with me.  Surely Grace could just float in and out of her crib and high chair for the next few days.

As the day progressed, my ovaries got a lot more sore - to the point where I couldn't hardly walk like a normal human without waddling.  Not to mention the post-anesthesia constipation that set in. You go ahead and have your huge ass ovaries, that are three times their normal size, get poked 40+ times, then try and poop a poop that will never come and let me know how that feels.  I'd swear to you that I could almost hear my ovaries shrieking in horror.

Not too long after, it started to hurt when I'd take deep breaths - which is something that had happened with Eli's cycle as well. It was likely due to a mild case of OHSS (Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome) - which can happen when you more or less beat the hell out of your ovaries by making them produce way more eggs than is natural.  Basically the crapload of follicles that your ovaries can create when you stimulate them during an IVF cycle fill with fluid - and that fluid can start leaking into your stomach.  OHSS can get severe enough to send you to the hospital and have to cancel your cycle.  And obviously we didn't want that, so I made sure to drink enough Powerade to shave at least 5 years off my life and Saltine crackers for days.  Because that's what I did for Eli's cycle, and it all worked out then.  Oh, and the bloat?  The bloat was unreal.  I don't remember being nearly that bloated with Eli - but who really wants to remember not being able to fit in their pants?  The bloat lasted for weeks.  So that was fun.

They called the next morning with our fertilization report.  Of the 34 eggs they had retrieved, 24 of them were mature, and 21 of those fertilized with ICSI.  For comparison's sake, of the 36 eggs we retrieved during Eli's cycle, 34 of them were mature and 18 (of 24) of them fertilized with ICSI and 5 (of 10) fertilized the "normal" swimming around in a petri dish way.  So our total number of fertilized eggs actually ended up being around the same - but the fact that we injected the sperm into all my eggs this time seemed to help a lot - so that was good news.  They told me they'd call back on day 3 to let me know how everything was looking.

Later that day, my face started burning up.  Like, major hot flash status.  Except it had never happened before - not even during Eli's cycle - so I wasn't sure what the heck was happening.  My cheeks turned so red and my face was super warm to the touch - but I didn't have a fever.

I know.  I'm the prettiest.

I had assumed it was the surge of progesterone I now had thanks to the baby cannon pills I was now taking - but in good ol' crazy lady fashion, I still called and left my nurse a message just to make sure I wasn't dying.  She called back and let me know that, yes, it was normal, as long as I didn't get a fever over 100 - which I didn't.  And it didn't last much longer than that night, but was still random enough for me to include in this post that I'm still ticked about having to retype.

Day 3 after the retrieval rolled around - my birthday - and I sat around anxiously waiting for them to call.  I was sure they would call in the morning, which made my day so much longer when they didn't call until almost 5:30.  They had the cell break down of everything, which I was happy about - except that they hadn't given me cell breakdowns for Eli's cycle so I had nothing to compare it to.  Because clearly that's all I had done this cycle: compare it to Eli's.  They went on to tell me that they liked to have at least 6 cells by this point and nine of them were 6-cells, three were 7-cells, one was an 8-cell and two were 9-cells. (The more cells, the better, in theory.)  So that was 15 of the 21 that we started with that were on track and doing well. They said they'd still keep an eye on the other six which were: one at a 3-cell, three at a 4-cell, and two at a 5-cell - to see if any of them caught up.  So all in all it was great news.  Happy birthday to me!

Day 5 after the retrieval finally came - the day my doctor was going to put a baby in me.  

Also the day I got to take my Valium prescription.  I sat in the waiting room, anxious on about a thousand different levels, counting down the to the time when they'd tell me to take my chill out pill.  Usually they've had me take it right when we get there - a half hour early - and it had been 15 minutes already.  I went to the front desk and said, "So, Valium is fun. Can I take mine now?"  They realized that yes, it was time and I could go ahead and take it.  And if you haven't ever had the pleasure of visiting Valium town, I highly suggest it.

I felt a little more loopy on it this time than I remember being with Eli and Grace. Shawn said I kept giggling at everything.  And I felt like I was 100% moving in slow motion.  But I felt good, so I wasn't complaining. They led us back to the room where the magic happens and our doctor greeted us and let us know that we had four good embryos - and since we had transferred two with both Eli and Grace and ended up with a single baby, we could go ahead and do that again.  She said we could plan on having at least 2 frozen embryos, but that they'd keep an eye on the rest of them until the next day to see if they were freezable.  That was really relieving to know we'd have at least a few backup.  We had two backup embryos with Eli's cycle - and that's where Grace came from.  So hooray!

The top two boxes were our four good embryos and the bottom 
boxes were the rest of them that they were going to keep an eye on.
How's that for baby's first picture?

If you feel so inclined, here's a video of them dropping the two embryos into my uterus.  If you're not familiar with the procedure, it probably won't look like much - especially if you're watching the video on a computer. But you'll see a white catheter show up in between the two dark black spots, my doctor will count down from three and you can just barely see the little embryo bubbles drop in.

And for those of you who are like, um, what?  

See those two barely visible white dots?  Embryos.  Pretty crazy, right?

Anyways, as you can see, that took all of maybe one minute - in true baby making fashion.

Juuuuuuuust kidding. They sent me home with post-transfer instructions that included "Princess Days" for the following two days.  Which is basically what it sounds like - more or less, modified bed rest.  But I don't know if you've ever tried to take a "Princess Day" when you have a one year-old and a three year-old, but it's basically not a thing.  Fortunately the transfer was on a Saturday, so Shawn was able to be home all weekend and keep the kids out my hair.  After I went home, I took the epic post-Valium nap that always knocks me out for a few hours. I'd be lying if I said I didn't check to see if they put any refills on the Valium - which they didn't.  Sigh.

Eli, bless his heart, kept asking about the baby in my tummy and really wanted to see it.  We had told him during the transfer that they were trying to put a baby in there - because he was curious, and even though it would have been easy to make something up, I didn't feel like it.  So we had to be extra careful when he was around people, or he'd start blabbing about how mom has a baby in her belly - even before we knew if the embryo(s) actually implanted.  Fortunately, he always talked about babies in tummies, so I figured it was something we could talk our way out of easily enough.

The day after the transfer, I took a pregnancy test to see if the HCG from the trigger shot I had taken 7.5ish days ago was gone, like it should have been, but naturally there was still a really faint line, which totally annoyed me.

And I know half of you are probably like, um, no.  There's no line.  You're an idiot, woman.  But there is.  So there.  And no, it's impossible to get an actual positive that early after an embryo transfer.  So it was definitely still remnants of the shot that my body refuses to get rid of.

I eagerly awaited the call to hear how many embryos we'd have to freeze while I tried to rest as much as I could to keep the embryos from free falling out my lady.  Just kidding, that's impossible.  But it's crazy how much it feels like they're just going to drop out.  Or maybe I'm the crazy one.  But in any event, they finally called and told us we had five embryos to freeze!  FIVE!  I was so happy with that number, especially because it meant we'd likely never have to do another fresh IVF cycle again.  And frozen transfers are way less expensive than a fresh transfer.  (Still isn't free roll in the hay, but comparatively speaking to a fresh IVF cycle, I'll take it.)  In theory, that could give us at least three more tries in the future - and not knowing yet whether or not this cycle was going to work, it was incredibly comforting to know we had some good backups, just in case.

Two days after the transfer I got a pretty gnarly headache, which is something that had happened with Eli's cycle as well.  So I sat and tried not to overanalyze whether or not I was pregnant.  Can't say that was super successful, because I spent most my time perusing Google.  (Seriously, when I die, can someone please be in charge of deleting my Google history?  Hella embarrassing.)  I had decided that I wouldn't take another pregnancy test until at least 4 days after the transfer - which is when I had got a positive with Grace's cycle.  (I had gotten a positive with Eli's cycle at 5 days after.)  So I figured waiting a few more days would give the stupid trigger shot plenty of time to get the heck out.

Except that day 3 rolled around, and I couldn't help but pee on a stick - not because I thought I'd magically have a positive - even though Google women told me it was possible - I was more curious what the trigger shot was looking like.  Also, I just have a major problem - some might say addiction - with peeing on sticks.  The lines were more or less negative, which was good.  Now I knew anything darker than what I was seeing would be an actual YOU'RE PREGNANT line.

(And now, once again, I'll inundate you with pee sticks.)

Finally, day 4.  I ran to the bathroom to test and got this:

And again, you're probably all thinking that I'm insane and there's totally not a line there.  And if you're not seasoned at peeing on sticks, you probably won't see it.  Especially because the picture washed it out way more than it looked in person.  But it was "darker" than the test I had taken the day before (which is on top), so that had me hopeful.

The next morning I, again, rushed to the bathroom to take another test (on the bottom):

See!  I'M NOT CRAZY.  Also, I was indeed pregnant, and felt like I could cautiously celebrate.  And because I haven't already proven how much of a problem I have, I was peeing on these cheap tests I buy in bulk from Amazon to compare as well - because WHY NOT?  

6 days past transfer:

7 days past:

Okay guys, this is stupid.  We're skipping to the day of my blood test:

And there was much rejoicing.  10 days after my transfer, and I was stiiiiiill pregnant.  (The spaz test was because it didn't look darker than the one before and I'm a paranoid basket case.  So.)

My blood level ended up being 201 and now I felt even more officially pregnant.  I had to wait another 6 days to have a follow-up test to make sure my levels were rising appropriately - and that's the blood test I was most anxious for.  Fast forward to 6 days later, and my levels were at a whopping 3,928, which was perfect.  And although HCG levels aren't really an indication of multiples or not, I couldn't help but notice that my levels were a lot higher than Grace and Eli had been on the same day - and that my level fell within an "average" twin level.

At this point I was still working full time, and although I hadn't had an ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy was all good yet, Shawn and I decided that it was finally time for me to quit my job at JetBlue and be an even more full time mom - something I've dreamed of being able to do my whole life. Leaving my job after 6 years was incredibly hard.  A lot harder than I would have expected.  Mostly because it was an awesome job working with awesome people, and that isn't easy to walk away from.  However, after praying about it, we knew it was the right decision.  So, for the first time in 13 years, I was officially unemployed.  It was incredibly weird at first - especially to be able to freely make plans without having to worry about work getting in the way - but it's all worked out and it's wonderfully exhausting to be able to spend all my time with my family.

I had to wait for almost three weeks to have my first ultrasound, which, sure isn't as long as most women have to wait for their first ultrasound, but it still felt extra brutal.  Especially because I was super curious if one or both had stuck.  We finally arrived at ultrasound day, and the ultrasound tech said she was going to look around for a minute to make sure she found everything, and finally told us that we had one beautiful little baby with a beating heart in there, and a wave of relief instantly washed over me.

Turns out that my cycle didn't have to be identical to Eli's cycle to result in a beautiful little bean with a beating heart.  Imagine that.

It was after this ultrasound that we finally told our parents.  It was Shawn's mom's birthday that day, and, hello, easiest present ever.  We had taken pictures of our kids for "Easter" a little bit after finding out initially that it had worked - and threw in some of these:

So we put all the pictures in albums for our parents and put these at the very end.  It took them a second to figure out, but they were both excited and that was fun for us.

We had our final "graduation" ultrasound with my fertility doctor about 3 weeks later, and everything still looked great.  I'd post pictures, but I'm pretty sure they're on Shawn's phone, and I'm ready for this post to be done.  About a week after that I had my first ultrasound with my OB, who was relieved to hear that it was only one baby.  When we told her we had transferred two embryos with each kid, she gasped and said, "HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT?!"  And honestly, we'll take what we can get.  We feel incredibly fortunate that this worked out for us - financially, and otherwise.  We're incredibly blessed to have had three successful IVF cycles, especially when I know that there are so many women out there who struggle so much more than I ever have to have babies of their own.  Infertility is hard.  IVF is hard.  But I wouldn't take it back, because it's given me some pretty beautiful humans.


And if you're down here because you couldn't be bothered to waste hours of your life reading a long post that's more for more own memory's sake than anything, here's the mega-abridged version:

Once upon a time we wanted to have a third baby.  My job started offering insurance that would cover IVF.  Tried a cycle of Clomid, just in case.  Didn't work.  Cried.  Got over it.  Went full time and got fertility insurance.  Did a whole new IVF cycle and got pregnant.


As far as how the pregnancy is going, and all the typical questions people seem to have, I'll do my best to quickly get it all out there:

How far along are you?
I'm 14 weeks.

When are you due?
November 20th - day after Shawn's birthday. However I fully expect it to be at least a week earlier than that, because - woo woo - inductions.  (My OB told me she's going to have me start progesterone shots at 16 weeks to make sure this one doesn't decide to surprise us a month early a la Grace.)

Do you have any feelings if it's a boy or girl?  What are you hoping for?
Honestly, now that we already have one of each - it's a toss up.  I'd be okay either way, but find myself referring to "it" as a she.  So if I had to choose, I'd probably say that I feel and hope that it's a girl - not for any particular reason other than I think it would be nice for Grace to have a sister close in age to her and we have a girl name picked out.  Boy names are a completely different story.  But I'd be perfectly happy either way.  As long as it's one gender or the other and I don't have to choose.  We should find out in the next few weeks, because I'm certainly not patient enough to wait until the anatomy scan - or birth, for that matter.

How have you been feeling?
The nausea and exhaustion seemed to start pretty early for me - but fortunately it was just nausea, no puking - similar to both Eli and Grace.  The nausea seemed to subside for the most part a few weeks ago.  I still get waves of it here and there, but it's not too bad.  The exhaustion, on the other hand, seems to have gotten intensely worse.  I've been so. damn. tired.  And, sure, I would imagine that a lot of that is because I have two other kids running around.  But it's definitely felt a lot more crippling this time around than I remember it being with the other two.  I'm hoping that within the next few weeks I'll get that second trimester boost of energy.

Have you had any cravings?
Besides naps?  Not particularly.  Certain days at certain times I'll really want something - but it changes day to day.  And sometimes even by the time I get what I've wanted all day.  So that's good times for Shawn.

Okay, that's it, right?  I'm pretty sure this post has covered everything and then some.  We're all crazy excited and grateful for this little nugget - especially Eli, who asks daily for me to take it out so he can see it.  All in good time, kid.