May 23, 2005
Last week, as I recounted one mysterious gift that I thought would never come my way (think Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret), I failed to mention another.
Marriage. My husband Tom. As someone who dreamt of spending the rest of my life with a great love-- and wouldn't have dreamed of marrying someone who wasn't that-- I often wondered whether I'd ever meet The One.
I did. During this two-week-wait fell the second anniversary of Tom's and my engagement. We celebrated by returning to the scene of the crime: a rock overlooking a waterfall on a small mountain.
"I even brought a centerpiece," I told Tom, as we spread out our picnic. "See?" I lay between us the ring box with which he surprised me two years ago. Tom looked at me strangely, then picked up the box. He opened it and found a plastic baby inside.
He looked at me. I looked at him. We sat in silence for a moment. "You're pregnant!"
It's True!
Yep, I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant.
Last Tuesday, several days before our picnic, I realized that it was the exact date of our engagement. While I'd been planning to wait several more days before taking a test, the day was too special not to give it a try. That pile of home pregnancy tests was calling my name from their corner in the bathroom closet. In a trance, with Tom still at work, I answered the call.
After taking the test, I wasn't sure if it was positive or not. Was that the hint of a line I saw, or was I simply trying to see one? I pulled out the magnifying glass but still couldn't tell.
The next morning, I waited anxiously for Tom to leave, then tested again with three sticks. Within two minutes, faint lines were visible on all three. By four minutes, there was no room for doubt. Don't ask me why I still took a fourth.
Reality Sets In
So there I was, shaking one minute, feeling oddly calm the next, and wondering whether or not I could keep the news a secret until our anniversary picnic! It was surreal. Could something so wonderful truly happen to me?
But it did! And I did keep the secret!
Since sharing the news withTom, it seems all the more real. Sitting on the rock together, we discussed who to tell, when to tell, my fear of miscarriage, and due dates.
Then Tom picked up the ring box again to look at the baby. When he did, the baby rolled out of the box off the side of our rock, landing on a rock just beneath us. A rooked vine saved it from a precipitous fall to the falls below. Laughter and panic gripped Tom and I both as we were so comically reminded of our new responsibility. Oh, and the symbolism was just too much for me not to rescue that plastic fetus. Tom held anchored my leg as I reached below to save it. Whew.
Later that night, Tom confess some of his fear. "Our lives are going to change forever," he said. "I mean, one of us will be with the baby all the time. Sometimes we'll be tired. It's not going to be easy."
Yet we realize the gift, the privilege, we've been allowed to experience. By bedtime, Tom was patting, kissing and talking to my belly.
Showing posts with label trying to conceive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trying to conceive. Show all posts
Saturday, April 7, 2007
On the Brink of Belief (Wk 11: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
May 17, 2005
During my two-week waits on the Pill, wondering (let's be honest, hoping), that things like an upset tummy might wash away a day's hormone supply leading to my getting pregnant, I'd spend hours on the internet.
My first few searches were fairly straightforward: "Pregnancy -symptoms -early" or "first -symptoms -conception." Then they'd get more specific: "Hiccups -pregnancy" or "Sneezing -pregnancy." Eventually they'd get pretty pitiful: "Spotting -pregnancy" and "pregnancy -with -menstruation."
A girl can hope. The mind is a powerful thing.
During these pseudo waits, I'd watch every twitch and twitter of my body. "I'm so fatigued! That's a sign!" Nevermind that I'd been up for 16 hours. "I keep having to pee! That's a sign!" Nevermind the pitcher of water I'd finished off. "My toe hurts! That's a sign!" Nevermind that I'd stubbed it. You get the idea.
Then there's the infamous Tootsie Pop Symptom. A friend of mine was convinced that her sudden craving for a tootsie pop that had been in the house for months was the craving of her would-be embryo. She at it, of course. But alas, it was for her own enjoyment.
Cynic's Guide to the 2-Week-Wait
It's taken several waits, both real and imagined, to gain a little patience and realism.
My intellectual knowledge that early pregnancy symptoms are easily attributed to PMS is finally starting to sink in. Sore boobies, changes in appetite, fatigued... While being hyper-tuned to my body makes me aware of every twitch in my abdomen, I've now come to find that I have these all cycle long.
What's to be gained by the constant obsessing? Will it change whether or not I'm pregnant? Will I know definitively any sooner?
No. So I've given it up, cold turkey. My boobs are sore. Well? They were sore last month and, if I'm not pregnant, they'll be sore again next month.
This has been my easiest wait yet!
I do have my moments, now and then. Like last Sunday, when my temperature dropped 1/10th of a degree. "I can't take it if I'm not pregnant this month!" I sobbed to Tom. "I just can't. I want it so badly. All these people who aren't even trying get pregnant, why can't we? Things I used to enjoy, I don't enjoy them as much. Because what I really want more than anything is a baby."
Tom's response, "Gosh, I didn't realize how strongly you felt. I wish we'd started sooner." What, Mr. Patient Logical?
Still, emotional outbursts aside (c'mon, you've got to have at least one per wait), I'm doing well. Really well.
An Optimist's Guide to the 2-Week-Wait
Meanwhile, a memory has brought much comfort.
From the time I learned what a period was, I wanted it to happen to me. (No, I wasn't smoking crack.) With the biggest boobs in the 5th grade, I began to watch eagerly for her arrival.
No luck that year. A vigilant wait continued through 6th grade. I began to worry that it would never happen, that perhaps something was wrong with me. "I'll never be so lucky! Getting your period is something that happens to other people, not me!"
Well, as I sit here and write, I can assure you, she came. By the end of 6th grade, no less! The mysterious gift, so out of reach, arrived.
So now, as I so often think that getting pregnant is something that happens to other people, that it will never happen to me, I have evidence to the contrary.
I'm beginning to believe.
During my two-week waits on the Pill, wondering (let's be honest, hoping), that things like an upset tummy might wash away a day's hormone supply leading to my getting pregnant, I'd spend hours on the internet.
My first few searches were fairly straightforward: "Pregnancy -symptoms -early" or "first -symptoms -conception." Then they'd get more specific: "Hiccups -pregnancy" or "Sneezing -pregnancy." Eventually they'd get pretty pitiful: "Spotting -pregnancy" and "pregnancy -with -menstruation."
A girl can hope. The mind is a powerful thing.
During these pseudo waits, I'd watch every twitch and twitter of my body. "I'm so fatigued! That's a sign!" Nevermind that I'd been up for 16 hours. "I keep having to pee! That's a sign!" Nevermind the pitcher of water I'd finished off. "My toe hurts! That's a sign!" Nevermind that I'd stubbed it. You get the idea.
Then there's the infamous Tootsie Pop Symptom. A friend of mine was convinced that her sudden craving for a tootsie pop that had been in the house for months was the craving of her would-be embryo. She at it, of course. But alas, it was for her own enjoyment.
Cynic's Guide to the 2-Week-Wait
It's taken several waits, both real and imagined, to gain a little patience and realism.
My intellectual knowledge that early pregnancy symptoms are easily attributed to PMS is finally starting to sink in. Sore boobies, changes in appetite, fatigued... While being hyper-tuned to my body makes me aware of every twitch in my abdomen, I've now come to find that I have these all cycle long.
What's to be gained by the constant obsessing? Will it change whether or not I'm pregnant? Will I know definitively any sooner?
No. So I've given it up, cold turkey. My boobs are sore. Well? They were sore last month and, if I'm not pregnant, they'll be sore again next month.
This has been my easiest wait yet!
I do have my moments, now and then. Like last Sunday, when my temperature dropped 1/10th of a degree. "I can't take it if I'm not pregnant this month!" I sobbed to Tom. "I just can't. I want it so badly. All these people who aren't even trying get pregnant, why can't we? Things I used to enjoy, I don't enjoy them as much. Because what I really want more than anything is a baby."
Tom's response, "Gosh, I didn't realize how strongly you felt. I wish we'd started sooner." What, Mr. Patient Logical?
Still, emotional outbursts aside (c'mon, you've got to have at least one per wait), I'm doing well. Really well.
An Optimist's Guide to the 2-Week-Wait
Meanwhile, a memory has brought much comfort.
From the time I learned what a period was, I wanted it to happen to me. (No, I wasn't smoking crack.) With the biggest boobs in the 5th grade, I began to watch eagerly for her arrival.
No luck that year. A vigilant wait continued through 6th grade. I began to worry that it would never happen, that perhaps something was wrong with me. "I'll never be so lucky! Getting your period is something that happens to other people, not me!"
Well, as I sit here and write, I can assure you, she came. By the end of 6th grade, no less! The mysterious gift, so out of reach, arrived.
So now, as I so often think that getting pregnant is something that happens to other people, that it will never happen to me, I have evidence to the contrary.
I'm beginning to believe.
Count Me In (Wk 10: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
May 10, 2005
"Pardon me, ma'am. I don't know you, but I was noticing you and your kids, and I wonder if you could tell me about their conceptions. Were they planned? Did you try for a long time? Did you want to be a mother very badly?"
No, I haven't done it yet, but it's all I can do to keep duct tape over my lips.
It's the same scene every time: the first child, boogers encrusted on her upper lip; the second child, whining in a stained t-shirt; the mom, looking more annoyed than enthralled with her offspring. After vowing that my child and I will always clean-up before leaving the house (yeah, right), I wonder how the stranger's children came to be. I wonder how the mother found out she was pregnant, if she had worried beforehand that she had fertility problems.
It stuns me that nearly half of the pregnancies in the United States weren't planned. It suns me that all three of my sisters-in-law had at least one surprise baby.
How? Don't they know the complexity of creating life? Is it their thoughtlessness to the process that frees sperm to meet egg in the quietness of unwatched performance? What I really want to know is whether I'm slowing the process by watching for my pot to boil!
But Half Were Planned
Okay, so nearly half of all pregnancies aren't planned. But that means that over half were waited, watched, and prayed for!
Since 10,000 babies are born daily in this country, that means roughly 10,000 women find out they are pregnant every day. And over 5000 of them were yearning just like me! Why should't I be in their number? Here's to my joining that count in eleven days!
Two-Week Wait, Round 2
Yep, eleven days until testing time. That means that I did (drum roll please) ovulate in a timely fashion this month.
In fact, when I got my first real, non-evaporation line, positive on the OPK kit, you'd have though it was a pregnancy test. "Tom! Tom! Come quick! Look at this! TWO LINES. See? See how dark? I can't believe it. Finally."
After Tom peeled me off the ceiling, we sealed the deal. For several days.
All my body's signals converged to match the OPK, giving me confidence that, for once, we've timed things right. This makes for an easier wait, knowing we've done all we can. I find myself regressing to some old habits. Fake baby registries, planning how to break the news, brainstorming themes for late January birthday parties...
Well, if we didn't make a baby this month, I'm going to be devastated no matter how I spend these two weeks. May as well enjoy the daydreams!
"Pardon me, ma'am. I don't know you, but I was noticing you and your kids, and I wonder if you could tell me about their conceptions. Were they planned? Did you try for a long time? Did you want to be a mother very badly?"
No, I haven't done it yet, but it's all I can do to keep duct tape over my lips.
It's the same scene every time: the first child, boogers encrusted on her upper lip; the second child, whining in a stained t-shirt; the mom, looking more annoyed than enthralled with her offspring. After vowing that my child and I will always clean-up before leaving the house (yeah, right), I wonder how the stranger's children came to be. I wonder how the mother found out she was pregnant, if she had worried beforehand that she had fertility problems.
It stuns me that nearly half of the pregnancies in the United States weren't planned. It suns me that all three of my sisters-in-law had at least one surprise baby.
How? Don't they know the complexity of creating life? Is it their thoughtlessness to the process that frees sperm to meet egg in the quietness of unwatched performance? What I really want to know is whether I'm slowing the process by watching for my pot to boil!
But Half Were Planned
Okay, so nearly half of all pregnancies aren't planned. But that means that over half were waited, watched, and prayed for!
Since 10,000 babies are born daily in this country, that means roughly 10,000 women find out they are pregnant every day. And over 5000 of them were yearning just like me! Why should't I be in their number? Here's to my joining that count in eleven days!
Two-Week Wait, Round 2
Yep, eleven days until testing time. That means that I did (drum roll please) ovulate in a timely fashion this month.
In fact, when I got my first real, non-evaporation line, positive on the OPK kit, you'd have though it was a pregnancy test. "Tom! Tom! Come quick! Look at this! TWO LINES. See? See how dark? I can't believe it. Finally."
After Tom peeled me off the ceiling, we sealed the deal. For several days.
All my body's signals converged to match the OPK, giving me confidence that, for once, we've timed things right. This makes for an easier wait, knowing we've done all we can. I find myself regressing to some old habits. Fake baby registries, planning how to break the news, brainstorming themes for late January birthday parties...
Well, if we didn't make a baby this month, I'm going to be devastated no matter how I spend these two weeks. May as well enjoy the daydreams!
Here We Go Again (Wk 9: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
May 3, 2005
I got my first thin pink line on Sunday.
Okay, okay. It was an evaporation line. On an ovulation predictor kit. But still, after so many blank pregnancy tests and, just recently, OPKs, I was thrilled to see the faint, barely visible hint of a mark next to the control line.
It showed me that a second line actually can appear. I had begun to wonder whether second lines weren't something that people made up, "like unicorns, leprechauns, and eskimos", as Homer Simpson puts it.
Mission Possible
So, yes, I've hopped on the OPK bandwagon. During my annual visit to Dr. Cold Speculum, we discussed my conception woes. He suggested adding these to my arsenal, with the tip that the Dollar Store brands work as well as the expensive grocery store ones.
Since I can't count on an egg every 28 days, least of all at the same time each month, I figure everything I can do to catch one when it does appear is a good investment. I can test every day for $30 a month.
Meanwhile, I'll keep in touch with the nether regions of my body, noting every indication of fertility.
That's the easy part.
The Hard Part
The hard part is what to do with my mind. As I watch and wait for ovulation, how do I control the inevitable baby thoughts?
I've become more realistic about things. That helps. Instead of fantasizing due dates nine months from now, I try to picture them a year from now or even later. I even think about how I'll spend the time between now and then!
Just yesterday my mind raced with all kinds of projects and new purposes. I felt almost manic as the ideas flowed. I blabbered incessantly to Tom about what I would do to end all the suffering of the world...
But last night, it hit me that whatever my plans, I wouldn't solve all the ills of the world. I started to feel a little depressed. As I stood at my dresser getting ready for bed, I even got a little teary.
At first I thought I was teary over my lack of ability to save the world. Then came the truth: I was teary for one reason alone: I want a baby, and I don't have one. No matter what I do over the next nine months, however noble my causes, whatever good I accomplish, the truth is that what I really want, above all else, is to be a mother.
I got my first thin pink line on Sunday.
Okay, okay. It was an evaporation line. On an ovulation predictor kit. But still, after so many blank pregnancy tests and, just recently, OPKs, I was thrilled to see the faint, barely visible hint of a mark next to the control line.
It showed me that a second line actually can appear. I had begun to wonder whether second lines weren't something that people made up, "like unicorns, leprechauns, and eskimos", as Homer Simpson puts it.
Mission Possible
So, yes, I've hopped on the OPK bandwagon. During my annual visit to Dr. Cold Speculum, we discussed my conception woes. He suggested adding these to my arsenal, with the tip that the Dollar Store brands work as well as the expensive grocery store ones.
Since I can't count on an egg every 28 days, least of all at the same time each month, I figure everything I can do to catch one when it does appear is a good investment. I can test every day for $30 a month.
Meanwhile, I'll keep in touch with the nether regions of my body, noting every indication of fertility.
That's the easy part.
The Hard Part
The hard part is what to do with my mind. As I watch and wait for ovulation, how do I control the inevitable baby thoughts?
I've become more realistic about things. That helps. Instead of fantasizing due dates nine months from now, I try to picture them a year from now or even later. I even think about how I'll spend the time between now and then!
Just yesterday my mind raced with all kinds of projects and new purposes. I felt almost manic as the ideas flowed. I blabbered incessantly to Tom about what I would do to end all the suffering of the world...
But last night, it hit me that whatever my plans, I wouldn't solve all the ills of the world. I started to feel a little depressed. As I stood at my dresser getting ready for bed, I even got a little teary.
At first I thought I was teary over my lack of ability to save the world. Then came the truth: I was teary for one reason alone: I want a baby, and I don't have one. No matter what I do over the next nine months, however noble my causes, whatever good I accomplish, the truth is that what I really want, above all else, is to be a mother.
Why I Love Aunt Flo-- No, Really! (Wk 8: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
April 26, 2005
If there is one good thing about full-blown, crampy, undeniable menstruation, it's knowing that you're not pregnant. It's seeing that your temps have dropped, your boobs have lost all tenderness, and whatever was in your uterus has bid farewell.
You read that right.
I spent weeks wondering, "Will I ovulate? Have I ovulated? Did we do the deed at the right time? Did we conceive? Are my boobs sore because I'm pregnant? Is that why I'm so tired? What will my temp be tomorrow?"
Now I don't have to wonder. I know. I have a full week to rest from the anxieties of babymaking.
Back to My Old Self
I even have a new perspective on this whole babymaking thing. While waiting to conceive, my big concern was the emotional turmoil I'd have if it didn't happen right away. Well, I haven't cried once since my period came. Worry about the failed cycle was much worse than the reality.
I know that I've got his month to try again. And next month. And maybe making a poop-machine will take longer than I thought but, somehow, it's okay.
In fact, while shopping in Target a few days ago, I heard an infant crying. Lately, that sound has ignited my maternal instinct, overwhelming me with a need to nurture and comfort said baby. Well, when I heard it yesterday, it just got on my nerves.
Feeling more like myself here.
Life Goes On
While at Target, I bought some normal non-maternity clothing for the first time in over six months. I've spent all this time holding back, determined that I'd get little wear out of anything before getting pregnant. Besides, I wanted to moolah for some of those adorable maternity ensembles.
In the meantime, I actually have needed new clothes. Ever since my thigh explosion (seriously, I woke up one morning to find my hips two sizes larger than the rest of my body), I've been unable to wear much of what's in my closet.
Well, I've got to move on with my life. How I loved my shopping spree! I'd almost forgotten the joy of prancing around in spanking new britches.
Maybe I'll give myself a consolation prize each month we don't conceive: a new outfit.
Party Time
Penny-pinching hasn't been my only restraint in preparing to conceive. Since reading that alcohol can impair fertility, I've all but joined the temperance movement.
But a funny thing happened during my two-week wait. While taking a walk with Tom, I saw a Purple Haze beer bottle on the ground. All indignation at littering was lost in longing for my favorite beer. I decided then and there that should Aunt Flo arrive, I'd grant myself a night of beer and pizza.
A few nights later, I sat down to pizza, substituting my usual salad for three Purple Hazes. There's another monthly consolation prize.
The next night, my in-laws kept filling my wine glass, which I deemed acceptable to soothe my muscles after a long day of horseback riding.
Two nights in a row, I feel like a lush! A happy lush.
If there is one good thing about full-blown, crampy, undeniable menstruation, it's knowing that you're not pregnant. It's seeing that your temps have dropped, your boobs have lost all tenderness, and whatever was in your uterus has bid farewell.
You read that right.
I spent weeks wondering, "Will I ovulate? Have I ovulated? Did we do the deed at the right time? Did we conceive? Are my boobs sore because I'm pregnant? Is that why I'm so tired? What will my temp be tomorrow?"
Now I don't have to wonder. I know. I have a full week to rest from the anxieties of babymaking.
Back to My Old Self
I even have a new perspective on this whole babymaking thing. While waiting to conceive, my big concern was the emotional turmoil I'd have if it didn't happen right away. Well, I haven't cried once since my period came. Worry about the failed cycle was much worse than the reality.
I know that I've got his month to try again. And next month. And maybe making a poop-machine will take longer than I thought but, somehow, it's okay.
In fact, while shopping in Target a few days ago, I heard an infant crying. Lately, that sound has ignited my maternal instinct, overwhelming me with a need to nurture and comfort said baby. Well, when I heard it yesterday, it just got on my nerves.
Feeling more like myself here.
Life Goes On
While at Target, I bought some normal non-maternity clothing for the first time in over six months. I've spent all this time holding back, determined that I'd get little wear out of anything before getting pregnant. Besides, I wanted to moolah for some of those adorable maternity ensembles.
In the meantime, I actually have needed new clothes. Ever since my thigh explosion (seriously, I woke up one morning to find my hips two sizes larger than the rest of my body), I've been unable to wear much of what's in my closet.
Well, I've got to move on with my life. How I loved my shopping spree! I'd almost forgotten the joy of prancing around in spanking new britches.
Maybe I'll give myself a consolation prize each month we don't conceive: a new outfit.
Party Time
Penny-pinching hasn't been my only restraint in preparing to conceive. Since reading that alcohol can impair fertility, I've all but joined the temperance movement.
But a funny thing happened during my two-week wait. While taking a walk with Tom, I saw a Purple Haze beer bottle on the ground. All indignation at littering was lost in longing for my favorite beer. I decided then and there that should Aunt Flo arrive, I'd grant myself a night of beer and pizza.
A few nights later, I sat down to pizza, substituting my usual salad for three Purple Hazes. There's another monthly consolation prize.
The next night, my in-laws kept filling my wine glass, which I deemed acceptable to soothe my muscles after a long day of horseback riding.
Two nights in a row, I feel like a lush! A happy lush.
Is Anybody in There? (Wk 7: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
April 19, 2005
It's not my first two-week wait.
No, I had two-week waits wondering-- er, hoping-- that I might be one of the 1% of women to get pregnant on the Pill. I had a "sort of" two-week wait a couple of months ago after some risky anniversary behavior.
In fact, I even had two-week waits in my virginal days. My pre-pill periods were so regular that the few late ones would cause me to panic about what non-intercourse action with the current boyfriend could have led me to conceive. I'll never forget going through sorority rush wondering, "What will these girls think if they find out I'm pregnant with baby Jesus?"
Still, this month's wait has been unique: it's truly my first in which conception would not be a freak, bizarre occurrence.
Mind Games
I didn't want to obsess these two weeks. Really. Well, this is why I don't believe in free will.
Let me explain: Do not think about breathing. Where's she going with this? you ask. Just trust me. Do not think about breathing, about that breath going in, out, in, out. Do not breathe slowly. Do not fill your lungs with a deep breath.
How you doing there?
Now, try telling someone in the two-week wait not to think about being pregnant. Do not figure out your potential due date. Do not peek inside a pregnancy book. Whatever you do, do not picture holding your own baby nine months from now.
Hmm.
I've decided that wondering will just have to be a part of the game for me. The harder I try not to think about things, the more I find myself thinking about them!
My new approach is to allow myself to embrace the thoughts, then re-direct myself to the tasks at hand.
I'm Sure I'm Pregnant, Because...
At least a quarter of my wayward thoughts center on pregnancy symptoms. Intellectually, I know that the bodily clues found in the first two weeks after conception can easily be explained by PMS. Intellectually.
Okay, but how about these symptoms?
1) I was standing in the kitchen, when-- snap! My bra strap popped off. Swelling?
2) I dreamt that I caught a rabbit. It doesn't take a guru to figure out that one.
3) At what I think was ten days past ovulation, my temp dropped. Could I be in the 10% of women who get an implantation dip?
After seeing that dip, I found myself nearing schizophrenia. I must be pregnant!... No, I couldn't be pregnant!... An implantation dip-- it couldn't be more clear!... No, Aunt Flo is coming--that's all it means!...
When I made it through day 10 spot free, I knew it all hinged on the next day's temp. Don't ask me how I ever fell asleep.
With butterflies-- no, a drum corps-- in my belly, I took my temp yesterday. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the beep.
97.5. Low. Aunt Flo. Here in all her glory.
The funny thing is that her arrival hasn't devastated me as I expected. Heading into cycle two, my heart is somehow light.
It's not my first two-week wait.
No, I had two-week waits wondering-- er, hoping-- that I might be one of the 1% of women to get pregnant on the Pill. I had a "sort of" two-week wait a couple of months ago after some risky anniversary behavior.
In fact, I even had two-week waits in my virginal days. My pre-pill periods were so regular that the few late ones would cause me to panic about what non-intercourse action with the current boyfriend could have led me to conceive. I'll never forget going through sorority rush wondering, "What will these girls think if they find out I'm pregnant with baby Jesus?"
Still, this month's wait has been unique: it's truly my first in which conception would not be a freak, bizarre occurrence.
Mind Games
I didn't want to obsess these two weeks. Really. Well, this is why I don't believe in free will.
Let me explain: Do not think about breathing. Where's she going with this? you ask. Just trust me. Do not think about breathing, about that breath going in, out, in, out. Do not breathe slowly. Do not fill your lungs with a deep breath.
How you doing there?
Now, try telling someone in the two-week wait not to think about being pregnant. Do not figure out your potential due date. Do not peek inside a pregnancy book. Whatever you do, do not picture holding your own baby nine months from now.
Hmm.
I've decided that wondering will just have to be a part of the game for me. The harder I try not to think about things, the more I find myself thinking about them!
My new approach is to allow myself to embrace the thoughts, then re-direct myself to the tasks at hand.
I'm Sure I'm Pregnant, Because...
At least a quarter of my wayward thoughts center on pregnancy symptoms. Intellectually, I know that the bodily clues found in the first two weeks after conception can easily be explained by PMS. Intellectually.
Okay, but how about these symptoms?
1) I was standing in the kitchen, when-- snap! My bra strap popped off. Swelling?
2) I dreamt that I caught a rabbit. It doesn't take a guru to figure out that one.
3) At what I think was ten days past ovulation, my temp dropped. Could I be in the 10% of women who get an implantation dip?
After seeing that dip, I found myself nearing schizophrenia. I must be pregnant!... No, I couldn't be pregnant!... An implantation dip-- it couldn't be more clear!... No, Aunt Flo is coming--that's all it means!...
When I made it through day 10 spot free, I knew it all hinged on the next day's temp. Don't ask me how I ever fell asleep.
With butterflies-- no, a drum corps-- in my belly, I took my temp yesterday. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the beep.
97.5. Low. Aunt Flo. Here in all her glory.
The funny thing is that her arrival hasn't devastated me as I expected. Heading into cycle two, my heart is somehow light.
Letting Go (Wk 5: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
April 6, 2005
Instead of taking my usual slew of fertility vitamins this morning, I took a Flintstone's. I just had to. It felt good. It reminded me of a time when I was a child, not an adult trying (unsuccessfully) to make one.
Turns out all my beautiful high temps this past weekend had more to do with jetlag than ovulation. Yesterday, I tried not to let a low temp discourage me. Implantation dip, right?... right?...
Nope.
I began this morning, like so many other mornings lately, in tears. Wishing I'd never taken birth control pills. Wishing we'd started trying earlier. Wishing that Aunt Flo would just come on already, to at least start a fresh new cycle.
What's a Girl to do?
My now-pregnant friend Karen once visited the library to pick up some fertility books. As she checked out a book on how to get pregnant quickly and naturally, the librarian held up the book and said, "Have sex."
So here's what I'm going to do: for the first time in 218 mornings, I will not temp tomorrow. The alarm will go off, but instead of reaching for the thermometer, I'll hit the snooze button.
I've already packed away all trying-to-conceive paraphernalia into a dresser, removing temptation.
As this cycle goes on, will I wonder all the more whether I am pregnant? Possibly. Still, I cannot go on like this.
Am I quitting charting forever? Absolutely not! I'm sure I'll pick it back up next cycle, since it really does improve the odds of conception. But there comes a time when trying to conceive takes backseat to improving one's sanity.
After two false sets of high temps, a 34-day cycle with no ovulation in sight, and emotions in overdrive, it's time to catch my breath.
In the Meantime...
I will not think of babies! I will not think of babies. I will not think of babies?
Who am I kidding? But I can try.
Once upon a time, I really didn't think about them. Honestly, I thought about horses, fashion, art, books, God, strawberries... I enjoyed summer nights with the sun dragging its way to bed. I enjoyed drinks with the girls, venting about boyfriends, parents, and work.
Can I find my way back?
Instead of taking my usual slew of fertility vitamins this morning, I took a Flintstone's. I just had to. It felt good. It reminded me of a time when I was a child, not an adult trying (unsuccessfully) to make one.
Turns out all my beautiful high temps this past weekend had more to do with jetlag than ovulation. Yesterday, I tried not to let a low temp discourage me. Implantation dip, right?... right?...
Nope.
I began this morning, like so many other mornings lately, in tears. Wishing I'd never taken birth control pills. Wishing we'd started trying earlier. Wishing that Aunt Flo would just come on already, to at least start a fresh new cycle.
What's a Girl to do?
My now-pregnant friend Karen once visited the library to pick up some fertility books. As she checked out a book on how to get pregnant quickly and naturally, the librarian held up the book and said, "Have sex."
So here's what I'm going to do: for the first time in 218 mornings, I will not temp tomorrow. The alarm will go off, but instead of reaching for the thermometer, I'll hit the snooze button.
I've already packed away all trying-to-conceive paraphernalia into a dresser, removing temptation.
As this cycle goes on, will I wonder all the more whether I am pregnant? Possibly. Still, I cannot go on like this.
Am I quitting charting forever? Absolutely not! I'm sure I'll pick it back up next cycle, since it really does improve the odds of conception. But there comes a time when trying to conceive takes backseat to improving one's sanity.
After two false sets of high temps, a 34-day cycle with no ovulation in sight, and emotions in overdrive, it's time to catch my breath.
In the Meantime...
I will not think of babies! I will not think of babies. I will not think of babies?
Who am I kidding? But I can try.
Once upon a time, I really didn't think about them. Honestly, I thought about horses, fashion, art, books, God, strawberries... I enjoyed summer nights with the sun dragging its way to bed. I enjoyed drinks with the girls, venting about boyfriends, parents, and work.
Can I find my way back?
Friday, April 6, 2007
"Grey Skies are Gonna Clear Up..." (Wk 3: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
March 29, 2005
About a month ago, I did something for the first time. I requested an aisle seat when booking a flight. Normally I fly like a child, my nose pressed to the window as we skim through the clouds.
So why, then, did I ask for the aisle? If you're trying to make a baby as badly as me, you already know. I was hoping that I'd be pregnant for the flight (i.e., "powdering my nose" twice an hour).
But alas, the flight is on Thursday, and I haven't so much as ovulated.
When Sort-of-Bad-Things Happen to People-Who-Think-They're-Good
"Why me?" I want to cry with all the drama of someone who's actually had a life-altering tragedy. "How could I not ovulate, just as we start trying to conceive? What did I do to deserve this?"
I've gotten teary-eyed every morning checking my basal body thermometer. I've gotten teary-eyed at diaper commercials. I've gotten teary-eyed just sitting at my desk at work.
I've realized that I won't have a baby in my arms next Christmas. I won't be pregnant in time to announce it to family and friends on Father's Day, at the end of my first trimester. I won't be showing when I visit an out-of-town friend in July.
I've realized how very real my hopes have become at getting pregnant my first cycle of trying.
The emotions I've allowed myself to wallow in would be more appropriate for someone who has been trying for... I don't know, longer than a month? Someone going through IVF? Someone who's had a miscarriage?
So it's time to quit pouting, realize that what's happened isn't that bad-- nor am I entitled to a first-time homerun in the babymaking game.
Put on a Happy Face
In the spirit of ripping my lower lip off the ground, I will now recall all of the wonderful things about trying to make a baby. After all, I spent the last six months thinking that if I could just get to the point of trying to make one, rather than waiting to try to make one, my life would be completely fulfilled. So here goes:
1) The odds of my getting pregnant each month have gone from 1 in 100 to 1 in 4.
2) I can walk into a bookstore, buy a fertility book, and feel completely legit (too bad I've already bought them all).
3) No more questioning whether we should start trying sooner. (That is, no more trying to convince Tom that we don't really need financial stability to start a family.)
4) My imagined pregnancy symptoms at the end of each month might actually be real.
5) Starting each cycle knowing that in a year's time, a three-month-old infant might be suckling in my arms.
So there won't be a baby next Christmas. Maybe there will be one before the next... uh, Super Bowl?
About a month ago, I did something for the first time. I requested an aisle seat when booking a flight. Normally I fly like a child, my nose pressed to the window as we skim through the clouds.
So why, then, did I ask for the aisle? If you're trying to make a baby as badly as me, you already know. I was hoping that I'd be pregnant for the flight (i.e., "powdering my nose" twice an hour).
But alas, the flight is on Thursday, and I haven't so much as ovulated.
When Sort-of-Bad-Things Happen to People-Who-Think-They're-Good
"Why me?" I want to cry with all the drama of someone who's actually had a life-altering tragedy. "How could I not ovulate, just as we start trying to conceive? What did I do to deserve this?"
I've gotten teary-eyed every morning checking my basal body thermometer. I've gotten teary-eyed at diaper commercials. I've gotten teary-eyed just sitting at my desk at work.
I've realized that I won't have a baby in my arms next Christmas. I won't be pregnant in time to announce it to family and friends on Father's Day, at the end of my first trimester. I won't be showing when I visit an out-of-town friend in July.
I've realized how very real my hopes have become at getting pregnant my first cycle of trying.
The emotions I've allowed myself to wallow in would be more appropriate for someone who has been trying for... I don't know, longer than a month? Someone going through IVF? Someone who's had a miscarriage?
So it's time to quit pouting, realize that what's happened isn't that bad-- nor am I entitled to a first-time homerun in the babymaking game.
Put on a Happy Face
In the spirit of ripping my lower lip off the ground, I will now recall all of the wonderful things about trying to make a baby. After all, I spent the last six months thinking that if I could just get to the point of trying to make one, rather than waiting to try to make one, my life would be completely fulfilled. So here goes:
1) The odds of my getting pregnant each month have gone from 1 in 100 to 1 in 4.
2) I can walk into a bookstore, buy a fertility book, and feel completely legit (too bad I've already bought them all).
3) No more questioning whether we should start trying sooner. (That is, no more trying to convince Tom that we don't really need financial stability to start a family.)
4) My imagined pregnancy symptoms at the end of each month might actually be real.
5) Starting each cycle knowing that in a year's time, a three-month-old infant might be suckling in my arms.
So there won't be a baby next Christmas. Maybe there will be one before the next... uh, Super Bowl?
The Big "O" (Wk 2: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
March 25, 2005
The Big "O." Sigh... There was a time I thought it meant something else. And I don't mean Oprah.
In recent months, though, it's taken on a whole new meaning. That's right, girls: were talking ovulation. That sometimes elusive yet absolute essential to babymaking. That biological detail which, in seventh grade sex ed. class, was about as interesting to me as photosynthesis. Who knew that sixteen years later, an obsession with it would crowd my thoughts more than any junior high crush?
How It All Began
It all started when I came off birth control pills. No, wait--it actually started when I gained fifteen pounds and experienced periodic nausea on The Pill. A friend of mine suggested I try Natural Family Planning.
"Oh, you mean the rhythm method," I said. "No thanks."
Yet as my friend explained the clues my body has been giving me for years, I agreed to do some reading. Four fertility books later, I was a convert. By reading my body's signals, I would know when ovulation was coming and when it had gone. All a girl needs for birth control!
Armed with a basal body thermometer, a chart, and a newfound ability to touch parts of my body that previously I did not know existed, I described the method to my husband.
All of the books had told me what a bonding experience this would be for us. He would ask my symptoms and record them on the chart. We would decide together which days were "safe." We would grow in intimacy as we explored other ways to express affection on the unsafe days.
A short discussion later, I wondered where those books had found those men. So we bought stock in Trojan.
I was too intrigued with my body, though, to give up. I charted, I campaigned, and a few months later had a compliant husband, who was perhaps less than thrilled with the previous compromise.
Now that we're trying to achieve what we once worked so hard to prevent, the chart consumes me. No blissful ignorance to our attempts at babymaking! I'm on the constant lookout for The Big "O."
Waiting is the Hardest Part
So the month we actually start trying, my chart gets all screwy. It's Day 23 with no O in sight. Six months of folks remedies to regulate ovulation have worked, so it seems, for the most part. Until now. When it counts.
"You take more pills than an 80-year-old woman," Tom chides as I throw a handful of vitamins down my throat.
"My body's got to be healthy if I'm going to ovulate," I reply, a touch of hysteria to my voice. Did I mention I've given up sugar?
Serious business, this babymaking.
The Big "O." Sigh... There was a time I thought it meant something else. And I don't mean Oprah.
In recent months, though, it's taken on a whole new meaning. That's right, girls: were talking ovulation. That sometimes elusive yet absolute essential to babymaking. That biological detail which, in seventh grade sex ed. class, was about as interesting to me as photosynthesis. Who knew that sixteen years later, an obsession with it would crowd my thoughts more than any junior high crush?
How It All Began
It all started when I came off birth control pills. No, wait--it actually started when I gained fifteen pounds and experienced periodic nausea on The Pill. A friend of mine suggested I try Natural Family Planning.
"Oh, you mean the rhythm method," I said. "No thanks."
Yet as my friend explained the clues my body has been giving me for years, I agreed to do some reading. Four fertility books later, I was a convert. By reading my body's signals, I would know when ovulation was coming and when it had gone. All a girl needs for birth control!
Armed with a basal body thermometer, a chart, and a newfound ability to touch parts of my body that previously I did not know existed, I described the method to my husband.
All of the books had told me what a bonding experience this would be for us. He would ask my symptoms and record them on the chart. We would decide together which days were "safe." We would grow in intimacy as we explored other ways to express affection on the unsafe days.
A short discussion later, I wondered where those books had found those men. So we bought stock in Trojan.
I was too intrigued with my body, though, to give up. I charted, I campaigned, and a few months later had a compliant husband, who was perhaps less than thrilled with the previous compromise.
Now that we're trying to achieve what we once worked so hard to prevent, the chart consumes me. No blissful ignorance to our attempts at babymaking! I'm on the constant lookout for The Big "O."
Waiting is the Hardest Part
So the month we actually start trying, my chart gets all screwy. It's Day 23 with no O in sight. Six months of folks remedies to regulate ovulation have worked, so it seems, for the most part. Until now. When it counts.
"You take more pills than an 80-year-old woman," Tom chides as I throw a handful of vitamins down my throat.
"My body's got to be healthy if I'm going to ovulate," I reply, a touch of hysteria to my voice. Did I mention I've given up sugar?
Serious business, this babymaking.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
My Double Life (Wk 1: TRYING TO CONCEIVE)
March 21, 2005
Watching Oprah several months ago, I gasped to see myself on TV. As ordinary women confessed to double lives of shoplifting and compulsive gambling, I realized that I was living the double life of waiting to try to conceive.
Did you catch that? Not trying to conceive--but waiting to try to conceive! The I-want-to-make-a-baby-right-now-but-I-am-not-because-of-XYZ-still-all-I-think-about-is-getting-pregnant waiting to try to conceive. The I-purchase-baby-clothes-on-clearance-and-hide-them-in-my-closet waiting to try to conceive.
"Hello, my name is Martha, and I am a babyholic."
Yes, I have even created on-line baby registries under fake names. Here's the funny thing: my goofy alibis were sometimes already taken. So I know I'm not alone.
I haven't always been this way. I've always wanted children, but I wanted other things first: education, career, and husband. In that order. At the age of 28, when it hit me that I had all three (after some bumpy roads of course, but that's another story), I realized that having a baby was a real possibility.
That's all it took.
Next thing you know, I'd sneeze--and convince myself that it's an early sign of pregnancy. One thing I've learned, there's nothing like a home pregnancy test to invite Aunt Flo for a visit. She'll come within hours of that call.
Why the Big Secret?
In most cultures throughout time, it's simple: you find a mate, and you make a baby. You make lots of babies. For most people in the world, love-making and baby-making are the same thing. (Hard to believe, I know.)
Not so in my little enclave of acquaintances! One day I casually mentioned to girlfriends that I might like to get pregnant this spring. They looked at me like I'd announced a plan to divorce Tom and marry a billygoat.
"Are you serious? Why would you want a baby so soon? You realize that your life will never be the same. You need some time as a couple. I would never get pregnant so fast."
I was breaking a taboo. So much for those hormones that prepare your body for baby-making and give you that desire for children. In my microcosm, you simply do not get pregnant before three years of marriage. Whether you marry at 22, 25, or 30--you wait three years. If you get pregnant one month sooner, you might.... umm.... let's see.... You know, I'm not sure. Rebel that I am, I'm putting this taboo to the test.
At Last!
So why, with baby fever kindled, did I not go for the gold right away?
Well, there's that whole husband thing. Yes, he plays a part in this story. Tom, also known as Mr. Patient Logical, likes to have a plan. Back when we were engaged, he suggested we begin work on the poop machine on April 1, 2005. That would give us two years alone as a married couple and time to build our savings. We both liked The Plan.
You don't mess with The Plan. No siree, baby fever or not! Plus, when I could detach my head from my heart even just a little bit, The Plan still seemed like a good one. Though I did convince Tom to move up the date to March 1st!
So here we are, March 21st, 2005, a bona fide married couple trying to make a baby. I feel like such a grown up.
Watching Oprah several months ago, I gasped to see myself on TV. As ordinary women confessed to double lives of shoplifting and compulsive gambling, I realized that I was living the double life of waiting to try to conceive.
Did you catch that? Not trying to conceive--but waiting to try to conceive! The I-want-to-make-a-baby-right-now-but-I-am-not-because-of-XYZ-still-all-I-think-about-is-getting-pregnant waiting to try to conceive. The I-purchase-baby-clothes-on-clearance-and-hide-them-in-my-closet waiting to try to conceive.
"Hello, my name is Martha, and I am a babyholic."
Yes, I have even created on-line baby registries under fake names. Here's the funny thing: my goofy alibis were sometimes already taken. So I know I'm not alone.
I haven't always been this way. I've always wanted children, but I wanted other things first: education, career, and husband. In that order. At the age of 28, when it hit me that I had all three (after some bumpy roads of course, but that's another story), I realized that having a baby was a real possibility.
That's all it took.
Next thing you know, I'd sneeze--and convince myself that it's an early sign of pregnancy. One thing I've learned, there's nothing like a home pregnancy test to invite Aunt Flo for a visit. She'll come within hours of that call.
Why the Big Secret?
In most cultures throughout time, it's simple: you find a mate, and you make a baby. You make lots of babies. For most people in the world, love-making and baby-making are the same thing. (Hard to believe, I know.)
Not so in my little enclave of acquaintances! One day I casually mentioned to girlfriends that I might like to get pregnant this spring. They looked at me like I'd announced a plan to divorce Tom and marry a billygoat.
"Are you serious? Why would you want a baby so soon? You realize that your life will never be the same. You need some time as a couple. I would never get pregnant so fast."
I was breaking a taboo. So much for those hormones that prepare your body for baby-making and give you that desire for children. In my microcosm, you simply do not get pregnant before three years of marriage. Whether you marry at 22, 25, or 30--you wait three years. If you get pregnant one month sooner, you might.... umm.... let's see.... You know, I'm not sure. Rebel that I am, I'm putting this taboo to the test.
At Last!
So why, with baby fever kindled, did I not go for the gold right away?
Well, there's that whole husband thing. Yes, he plays a part in this story. Tom, also known as Mr. Patient Logical, likes to have a plan. Back when we were engaged, he suggested we begin work on the poop machine on April 1, 2005. That would give us two years alone as a married couple and time to build our savings. We both liked The Plan.
You don't mess with The Plan. No siree, baby fever or not! Plus, when I could detach my head from my heart even just a little bit, The Plan still seemed like a good one. Though I did convince Tom to move up the date to March 1st!
So here we are, March 21st, 2005, a bona fide married couple trying to make a baby. I feel like such a grown up.
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