Due Date

Tomorrow, September 13 would have been the due date for the pregnancy I lost last winter. I didn't think it would bother me, but the lingering sadness that I have experienced over the last few months seems a little sharper today and my mind keeps wandering to what might have been. What would the baby look like? How would the baby feel like in my arms? Would E and M be happy to have another baby in the house?

I have the sense that our days of trying to conceive are extremely limited. We can't try this month because I need an MRI next week to help diagnose some upper right quadrant pain I have been experiencing since my more recent miscarriage* Because of childcare and work issues,** the timing would have to be quick, probably by my birthday in December. Then, there is the issue of that birthday. 40. I know it is just a number, but it is still a milestone. And,oh, did I mention my sucky eggs?



*Ultrasound suggests a stone in the bile duct.
**Our department chair is going to step down next year and colleagues are lobbying me hard to at least consider being the next chair. I'm not wild about it, but I'm obviously not rejecting the idea outright either.

Day Eight-Virus Time

It took only seven days back in preschool with all the other little disease vectors for both of my girls came down with runny noses, scratchy throats, and surly dispositions.

Still, having the girls back in preschool is wonderful. They are both much happier (less bored anyway) and are tired at night. Last year, we had moved M whose birthday falls near the cutoff to the older class. We did this because the next oldest child was three months younger and because E is a very big kid who is tall and solid like her dad's side of the family. While she did well in the class academically, she never seemed to gel with her classmates and most often played alone. After much hand wringing and agonizing (social development or academic development?), we decided to keep her back with the younger group this year in hopes that she would be better off socially. I haven't had a chance to speak with her teacher yet, but she tells me that she played with her friends today so I guess that is a good sign.

M seems to be transitioning to the new center with few problems. it probably helps that her big sister is in the next room* and that they see one another on the playground. She loves painting and singing and playing in the kitchen station of her classroom. Sometimes, when I have a few minutes free, I watch her through the one-way mirror in her class. The other day, I couldn't help but to laugh as she followed the master teacher around asking, "What's this called?" as she pulled out every item from the classroom treasure box.

Update: I'm making halting progress in my push to get my act together. Having a hurricane day for Hanna followed by this virus (my version seems to be worse than what the girls had and I had to take a day off today) hasn't helped, but I know I can make it up.

*E is the oldest in the three-year-old class and M is the youngest in the two-year-old class.

Day Three

My house is a wreck, I almost let my flood insurance lapse, and I've made no progress on papers, weight loss, or anything else I boldly announced I would be working on this month. And yet, I'm in a jolly good mood. Why? Sarah Palin. Oh thank you, John McCain, thank you. With the Alaskan branch of the Spears family to keep me entertained for the next two months, I am positively giddy. If they stick around longer than early November, expect a precipitous drop in my mood.

Day Two

Last night at 10:03 p.m., I pulled out our homeowners and flood insurance policies in case we get hit by Hannah as forecast. It was then that I noticed that our flood policy was set to expire less than two hours later at 12:01 a.m. on September 2, 2008. Much cursing followed. The last thing I want when faced by a tropical system is to be without flood insurance. Actually, the last thing I want is for J to find out that I forgot to pay the flood insurance premium.

I ended up calling State Farm which helpfully has people working around the clock. I was able to pay on-line less than an hour before the policy was set to expire.

On the bright side, if I hadn't designated this "get-my-act-together-month," I probably wouldn't have pulled the policies out until the rain was blowing sideways and the trees were snapping around us.

Day One

I've decided that this is the month I get my act together. You know the drill. Lose five pounds, make long overdue doctor appointments, get a paper out, clean my baseboards, socialize with my friends more often. . .

It is no accident that this new resolve coincides with both of my girls being back in preschool after three long months at home. Maybe this is wrong to admit, but even with a part-time sitter, I thought I would lose my mind this summer. It is too hot in SC to be outside much in July and August so we were indoor bound much of the time, bored and cranky to boot.

Take two cranky toddlers, stir in one miscarriage and top with a week spent with in-laws and you get an irritable, cursing, impatient mom. It wasn't pretty, and I'm not proud, but I never said I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. Now, after just four days of full-time care at the same preschool,* I am feeling much more patient and optimistic. I'm also feeling more competent because my college students seem to take me more seriously than my children and because my colleagues don't whine. . . much.

Here are a few pictures of M at her birthday party** last weekend.









*M just made the two year old cutoff. Cue triumphal music and choir of angels.
**We finally decided not to go overboard and only invited two other children. It was the best party ever!

Vacation?

We are leaving for the mountains tomorrow. I was looking forward to the trip until I realized that my in-laws would be with us slightly over half of the time we will be there. Now, this is their new mountain house and I can't very well say, "no, we want to be alone," but at the same time, my mother-in-law told us that we could have the house to ourselves whenever we wanted so I was looking forward to some downtime. Somehow one night with them present has become three.

So J and I are having a disagreement. I say it isn't a vacation if in-laws are present. My reasoning: I can't wander around in my pjs, I have to be on guard as to what I say, and I have to plan meals and mealtimes around them. NOT a vacation. J says it is a vacation because we are away. If we invited my parents, I am guessing he would feel differently.

Time for sightseeing

I finished interviewing candidates a little while ago. In all, we met with 23 new or soon-to-be Ph.Ds. A few were very, very good. A few were very, very bad*. Most fell somewhere in the middle.

Now it is time for a little sightseeing. I just came back to my hotel, changed into shorts and walking shoes, and . . . .watched as clouds enveloped the city and rain began to fall. Shoot. Hopefully, this will be a short lasting downpour.

In the meantime, I'll look through my Boston guide and try to decide what sort of small gifts to get the girls. E, who is nearly four, is VERY aware that the departure of a parent means a gift upon return. In fact, rather than get upset that I would be gone for four days, she grinned as I left the house and called out, "I want a present, Mommy."

Ha! The sun is breaking through the clouds. Time to be a tourist.



*One candidate would not look me in the eye. Each time I would address him, his would turn his body away from me and stare across the interview hall. The other two interviewers from my institution noticed, too. Very, very strange.

Wheels up

I’m sitting in the airport waiting to board the first of my two flights to Boston. The woman on the PA just helpfully informed us that we are on “orange alert.” Whatever.

I resisted this trip. I really didn’t want to leave my girls for a conference. But as program director, I was told, “you have to be there,” so I dutifully packed, filled out my TA and now I’m nearly on my way. I’m not presenting my work on this trip. Instead, I am interviewing 24 people for an assistant professor position. I think 20-24 is obscene, but that is what the committee decided and who am I to argue? It will be like speed dating. With nerds. We already have their vitas, but this will tell us if candidates have necessary social skills to be a colleague who won’t drive us to despair and infighting and gnashing of teeth and wailing and backstabbing and all the other behaviors that we frequently witness from less couth departments. After the meetings, we’ll invite the candidates we liked to apply for the position and hope that the money we spend screening pays off.

Our decision to pour resources into these screening interviews stems from one interview a few years ago in which the candidate wore a Breathe Right nasal strip the entire interview and snorted loudly at odd times. During his teaching demonstration, he made a comment about a colleague’s ass. Later, at a department social gathering held at the home of a colleague, he railed against the evils of tract housing, in her tract house. For his job “talk” he picked up a local rag and just started blabbering nonsensically. We did not hire him, but his interview made us much more sensitive to the fact that while you can study society, you don’t necessarily belong in it. We also learned that a nice vita and good letters mean nothing.

So, here I go. Three days. 24 candidates and no idea how I will tell them apart. They all look alike-- so new and sparkly. I’ve been a professor for ten years, and I am far enough removed from my grad school days that I now find grad students to be kind of cute in that earnest, untested and as of yet unembittered-by-politics-and-the-realization-that-you-are-never-ever-going-to-get-rich-doing-this kind of way.

I’m hoping I’ll find ten minutes here and there for sightseeing. I miss my girls already.

Reconsideration

Remember when I said that my recent pregnancy would be my last pregnancy no matter what happened? Am I crazy for reconsidering?

Even as I was coming out of anesthesia, I was telling the nurse that I just didn't feel like we were done. In the five days since the D&C, I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm not sure if I am quite ready to throw in the towel. I posted a message about this on SIRM's bulletin boards, and Dr. S replied that back to back anembryonic pregnancies were bad luck and reflected declining egg quality, but were seldom due to other conditions. He said that 1 in 6 eggs is good in the typical 39 year old so conception is often a matter of catching a golden egg. If that 39 year old ovulates regularly, then she should ovulate a good egg twice a year if she falls on the good side of the odds.

I'm not much of a gambler, but I think we are going to roll the dice a few more times.

Then and Now

When I miscarried in February, I felt surprise and dismay.

This week, I had steeled myself for the worst, but still had that moment of stomach sinking horror when I saw the empty orb on the screen.

Then, I had allowed myself to start planning. . . the girls would have to move into the same room. We would need a trundle bed. We would probably need a van. I called and put our name on the daycare list. I freaked about money. I imagined what a good big sister M would be and what a great helper E would be.

This time, I tried not to think ahead. I had a few moments, of course, like when I googled about car and booster seat combos and Honda Civics, but I tried not to go there yet.

Then, I didn't want to disrupt my school schedule or my children's schedules by taking a whole weekday for a surgical procedure and opted, instead, for an office procedure. Of course, I paid for that by hemorrhaging and requiring emergency surgery.

This time, I opted for the next surgical appointment available and figured we would work something out for J's work and the children's care. It worked out.

Then, I felt like it was just a genetic fluke and that I would certainly end up on the right side of the statistics the next time.

This time, I feel defective. Something is wrong with me. I don't make babies anymore, I make sacs. Beautiful empty sacs. It sends me right back to the high FSH diagnosis with the less than one percent chance of conception prognosis.

Then, I felt empty and sad. Now. . . I guess some things don't change.

Thanks for your lovely messages to my last post. They've been a source of comfort.

Another blighted ovum

I think my eggs must be cooked. This morning's ultrasound showed a beautiful sac measuring right on target, but no baby. D&C is tomorrow morning.

Blah

Last night I dreamed that J had been offered a great new job, one that pays almost $40k more than his current one. I was so, so, so happy! I spent that dream money on childcare, home improvements and a visit to the Mouse.

Then I woke up. Bummer.

I got out of bed (there was a certain almost-4-year-old poking me, saying " Mommy I'm hungry, Mommy, I'm hungry, Mommy, I'm hungry," over and over and over again until I had no choice but to bolt from the bed lest I start bashing my head on the headboard). I walked into the kitchen only to realize that J had not lifted a finger to clean the kitchen before he went to bed last night. Normally, I am the one who stays up late, sweeps the floors, clears the counters and otherwise makes things look inviting for the next day, but I was very tired last night and went to bed early. Plus, J had come home late and created a new mess after I had cleared the dinner mess from the girls and myself. I expected that he would be the one to straighten up. Bastard. Waking to a messy kitchen just sets the wrong tone for the day.

Next came the phone call from J at 8:45 as he was being pulled over by the police. Apparently, we neglected to pay his car taxes when they were due back in, oh . . . April. I quickly paid them on-line during the traffic stop, but now he has a court date to see if the judge will dismiss or reduce the fine.

As I was leaving the house, my summer nanny* looked at me and said, "I need to talk to you about picking up more hours when you get home this afternoon." When I hired her, we agreed on 20-25 hours a week this summer, but I guess she wants closer to 25 hours (I have been doing 20 hours now that I am out of summer school). I was hoping to save the extra $300 or so a month, but I guess I'll be rethinking that now. Must keep her happy.

Finally, I am having serious nagging doubts about this pregnancy. I want more symptoms, damn it. Except for the fatigue and cramps, I don't have any pregnancy symptoms. I suppose that is normal for 5.5 weeks, but I don't know how I am going to make it to the first ultrasound.

So, my day is not off to a good start. I am tempted to ditch the office and take a long walk by the waterfront to see if it improves my mood. The weather report said that the humidity is way down to 71% today so it might even be pleasant out there.



*E's school is on break until the end of August so I took M out of daycare and they are both home for the summer. Their nanny is with them part-time so I can work.

126

My beta went from 13.5 to 126 in 90 hours. I think that is still a little low for 16 dpo, but it was better than I had hoped for. First ultrasound is in three weeks.

Beta Hell

My beta on Friday was a whopping 13.5. Ugh. On the bright side, we know that First Response is VERY sensitive. The nurse called today and sounded skeptical that this pregnancy will be viable. The doctor (who I have never met) wants another beta and a progesterone tomorrow to see what is happening. I've been doing my own pee-on-a-stick beta monitoring and while the lines are darker than they were on Friday, they aren't all that impressive. Whatever happens, I'll be OK, but I hate having to wait until Wednesday for my next beta results.

What? I can't booze it up anymore?

Last night I attended a divorce party for a friend I work with. We had been looking forward to this for months as it was a nasty divorce and it had taken its toll on my friend who lost her entire retirement to her intermittently employed slack-ass ex-husband. She had carefully planned the party--penis pasta*, a divorce cake complete with the bride pushing the groom off the cake, disco ball, and alcohol, lots of alcohol. It was a good time, a celebration of a milestone, that, while sad, marks the passage to what has to be a happier time.

J knew I was looking forward to this, but last night as I was walking to my car he stopped me. "Promise me you won't drink. I know there will be a lot of alcohol flowing."

I should be offended, right? I mean, I am not an idiot. Plus, I'm hardly a boozer, even when not pregnant. A glass of wine a couple of times a month is my speed. I didn't have as much as a sip of wine while pregnant with E and I think I may have had a sip of champagne for a toast at a wedding while pregnant with M. So, obviously, his suspicions were well-founded.

I'm tempted to pour all of J's beer down the drain tonight and then act guilty about my "bender" tomorrow. Or make some penis pasta for tonight's meal.

*Delicious!

The last pregnancy

I didn't realize that I hadn't posted in more than a month. I think it will take a month's worth of daily posting to catch up with everything, but tonight, I bring to you the most important news:
I seem to be pregnant again. I tested this morning and, while the line is light, it is there, and I don't even need my glasses to see it.*

Poor J. I am not one of those wives who wraps the stick in a box and presents it lovingly for a memorable gift over a beautiful dinner. Nor am I the clever wife who buys two onesies, one pink and one blue, and allows my husband to find out gently and memorably. Oh no, I am the wife who stands over her still sleeping husband insisting, "I need you to see something NOW," and thrusts a test stick in his hands with a "How many lines do you see?"

This will be my last pregnancy no matter how it turns out. I'm just getting too old for it.** Of course, I am hoping for the best and trying to get my ducks in a row. First duck: beta. My obstetrician moved away earlier this month, so I am on the hunt for someone new. Calling for a beta when you are not an established patient is no easy task. That didn't stop me from pissing off a nurse in his old practice and pestering her until she ordered a beta for me. Of course, she didn't call me back with the result, so I won't know that until Monday. This means that I will be studying hpts very carefully for the next few days to be sure the test line is getting darker.

Let the games begin. . .




*Somewhere in the last month or two I have become VERY dependent on my reading glasses. Aging is a bitch.
**I don't think 40 is too old for a baby, but I'm feeling old. And blind.

My Six Quirks

I took the plunge and answered OvaGirl's plea for readers to sign up for this meme.

I'm not sure that it was entirely wise for me to volunteer. The more I think on it, the more I realize that there is a fine line between "quirky" behavior and pathological behavior.

1. Lists
I can't function without lists. Sure, everyone uses a list for the grocery store, but I use lists to structure my day. I hesitate to call myself hopeless, but I do not accomplish much without lists. As an example, I offer today's list:

--Go to gym (take girls to jump castle after workout)
--Buy new stamps at post office
--Buy bananas/ strawberries at Food Lion
--Make lunch for girls (pb&j? peas and chicken?)
--Early naps for girls
--Wrap birthday present
--Take girls to party
--Go to furniture store to order new chairs (don't forget coupon!)
--Clean pantry
--Plan grocery list for Sunday shopping

This list was fairly tame since it is a weekend. My weekday lists are insane because they combine domestic and professional items (e.g. clean bathtub; write executive summary of needs assessment findings; look up things that turn toddler poop purple*) . The sad thing is that, without my list, I probably would not be very productive. I'm certain that without my list I would not have gotten stamps, shopped for fruit or remembered the big furniture sale. I do think I would have made it to the gym (free babysitting!) and the birthday party though.


2. Love Hotels; Hate Staying in Homes
We don't travel as much as we did before the girls arrived, but when we do, I much prefer staying in hotels to staying in the homes of friends or family (no matter how lovely they are). Staying in someone's home is always a disaster for me. I can't relax; the bed or air mattress is uncomfortable; the room is too hot, too cold, too stuffy, too light, too loud, or some combination; the room comes with a cat and a stinky litter box; the room comes with a dog**, etc. We nearly always stay in a hotel now. It helps that we have a gazillion Hilton Honors points because we charge everything to that credit card and pay off the balance each month.


3. I Won't Eat What I Can't or Won't Kill
In 1990 or 1991, I was cooking chicken for J (yes we have been together 18 years this summer) and I was suddenly repulsed by the dead flesh I was handling. For the first time, it hit me that this was a formerly alive chicken. I served it to J, but did not partake. I haven't had chicken since. Nor have I had beef or pork. I set one simple rule for myself: I would not eat what I was not willing to kill. I could never kill a chicken, or cow, or pig. Fortunately, given my location on the coast, I have learned that I am willing to kill shrimp or at least pull off their heads after they have expired. I have also been able to collect and cook oysters.

4. I Could Get Lost in a Bathtub
I have almost no sense of direction. Once, when planning a seven mile run, I ended up running 12-13 miles because I turned onto a wrong street and did not notice my mistake for several miles. Another time, I got lost in southeast Washington, DC, which, if you know anything about DC, was not a good thing at all. Although we have lived in this city for nearly ten years, I still manage to get well and truly lost at least once a month.

As it turns out, I do have an excellent memory and can remember birthdays and phone numbers of childhood friends that I haven't seen in 25 years. J has no such memory and barely remembers my birthday and anniversary though they both fall on or near major holidays. If our daughters get his sense of direction and my ability to remember dates, they will be oriented in time and space and will go far. If they get my sense of direction and his sense of time, they will be lost and stupid. It gives us pause.

5. I Can't Sleep without White Noise
I have to have a fan running in order to sleep. It can't be just any fan. It has to be loud enough and the pitch and frequency have to be just right. If not, I toss and turn and experience terrible insomnia. White noise machines generally don't do it for me, but I did find this little gem for my recent conference. Positioned about 10 inches from my head, it worked perfectly.

6. I Buy a Lottery Ticket Each Week
I know it is wrong! wrong! wrong!*** that my dream home, dream retirement, and dream life plans are based upon receiving a huge inheritance from a wealthy mystery relative or from being the lucky owner of the winning Powerball ticket. That doesn't stop me from plunking down $2 each week (one for each drawing) to keep the dream alive.


Hoorah! I found six quirks and J assures me that there are more, many more. Have to run. Powerball drawing is in twenty minutes, after all.

*Crayola
**Who snores.
***I teach statistics, afterall!

Mother's Day

I'm not a big fan of Mother's Day (which I would not be at all surprised to learn is the evil invention of Hallmark and the floral industry). The holiday--and others like it (don't get me started on administrative assistant's day)--are just sappy over-commercialized stress generators, particularly for J who invariably seems stricken in the days preceding any given holiday.

Of course, my distaste for manufactured holidays did not stop me from taking J up on his offer of letting me sleep past 6:30. Nor did it stop me from enjoying the card he presented that had been me "signed" by both girls.

The Front: Motherhood summarized
The Inside: It's hard

And motherhood is hard. It is a slog--much tougher than anything I could have imagined six years ago when the ticking of my biological clock was too loud to ignore any longer.

But, of course, I can't imagine it any other way. I was reminded of that this week when E made a picture of the family that touched me more than any Hallmark card ever could. In her picture, the four of us are are standing in the sun. "This is my family," she tells me proudly, "This is Daddy and Mama and me and M."*





*Notice she has put a frowny face on her little sister for extra authenticity. Also notice that she proudly signed it (the last letter is a "Y").

Conflicted no more

On Friday, I tested with one of my cheap, internet pregnancy tests. To my surprise, there was a faint second girly-pinky-purplish line. I was, of course, wary of the cheap test, so I went to Target and bought expensive tests. Saturday morning, I tested again, this time with the expensive brand. It was negative. Very negative. No amount of squinting, holding it to the light, turning it just so, or retrieving it from the trashcan just to take another look was going to make a second line appear. I repeated the exercise with another internet cheapie and it was equally negative. My period started in the wee hours of the next morning.

So, I'm not pregnant, but judging from how many times I dug through the trash to fish out the faintly positive test and then the very negative tests, I'm not ready to give up on it just yet. Despite the fears about finances and energy, I still feel like our little family could do with one more. And J seems to agree. Last week, when I suggested that we might be at the end of our family expansion, he looked pained and said, "I hear that adding a third isn't nearly as hard as adding a second." Tell that to my ovaries, buddy.

The last six years of my life have been centered around trying to conceive. RE visits, Clomid, Femara, injections, suppositories, IUIs, FSH from hell, the frantic search for cm during natural cycles, charting, analyzing every twinge, sex during LH surges, worrying, and worrying more. I'm done with that.

So, yes, we will continue to try, but I think we are also going to live a little. It is time for a kinder gentler trying, one that includes wine, soft cheese and caffeine, all in moderation, even through the dreadful two-week-wait. I'll still use ovulation kits and probably chart to confirm ovulation since my RE and OB have agreed that I need progesterone support, but that is it.

I'll probably be a madwoman in a few weeks, but right now I feel pretty peaceful about our new approach.

Conflicted

I tested this morning and it was negative. I suppose I should feel relieved after last night's second thoughts, but I felt the way I always do when faced with the snowy white test: disappointed and sad. I'm not entirely sure of what I want right now. When did I become this indecisive?