Enormous vs. gargantuan

My wife seems to think that describing the size of her breasts is a bad thing. I can't quite figure that one out. I mean, it's basically like all the benefits of getting a $6,000 boob job without any of the cash outlay, surgery or post-operative discomfort. She's offended that I recently upgraded her size from merely "enormous" to "gargantuan." As if that's a bad thing.

I know that some of my beautiful wife's regular readers (and most if not all of her entire extended family) think I am some kind of deranged maniac for not wanting to find out the sex of our baby-to-be - whom I have tentatively named "critter." I hope it doesn't come as too much of a blow to learn that my commitment to remaining blissfully ignorant is unwavering.

I have conceded that if we ever have another critter, I will grudgingly allow us to discover that baby's sex.

Incidentally, did you know there's a social networking site for babies? When I found out I thought it was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard of. Eventually our critter is going to have the full-on accessories of being the child of a first-rate dork father but I just can't quite wrap my head around a venture capital pitch that essentially comes down to, "We're going to be the next Facebook for babies."

First, isn't that just an invitation to deranged sickos to do God knows what in front of their computers with pictures of young babies? And second, how are they going to make any money? And third, can you honestly imagine sending your mom to some Facebook like site to look at her grandchild? To be honest, I'm lucky my mom has her own email address and doesn't TYPE IN ALL CAPS like some people's parents.

Disturbing.

Without words

Whatever I wore on Tuesday must have made me look more pregnant than usual. We joined with a bunch of people from church to attend a baseball game and several people commented on when the baby was due or extended congratulations. One woman, whom I just don't like for a variety of reasons, said that she hadn't congratulated me yet. She followed that up with the statement, "I'm jealous, I wish I had a little baby." Her tone wasn't joking. She has a seven-year-old son. I have previously pieced together that she has secondary infertility. I don't know any of the circumstances or whether she sought treatment. I just know based on some comments she has made (to others) in the past few years that she would have liked another child, but it didn't happen. I honestly didn't know how to respond to this woman. But I felt bad. A lot of people at church know just how miraculous this pregnancy is, but she is not one of them. And I'd rather not clue her in. For no other reason than I just have a hard time getting on with her. I tell pretty much any other stranger in Target that this baby was against the odds. I can discuss the heart wrenching ups and downs of infertility with the 92-year-old who adopted a long, long time ago. But this woman, I just can't bring myself to engage with.

I don't equate secondary infertility with primary infertility. Both are painful. Different, but painful. I have been careful of those struggling with secondary infertility because I watched my mother try so hard for so long to have another baby and also personally understand the desire to have more than one child. I don't ask people who have one child when or if they are going to have another. I have always felt it was none of my business. I am fairly careful about talking about any baby or pregnancy-related topics with anyone whether they have children or not unless I know their comfort level. I never assume.

After having this awkward conversation (not sure that it can be called a conversation since I didn't say much), as I munched on my Cracker Jack, I started to ponder what we will do about another child. DH has always wanted three (I have informed him that ship sailed, so he had better be thinking more along the lines of two) and is insistent that we will have another child by some means. Will we try on our own (what are the odds on lightening striking twice?), will we try treatments again, do we just move to adoption? You mean, we have to get on the damned rollercoaster of craziness again?

Yes, I know I am putting the cart before the horse. And mostly, I am consumed with just getting to the point of having THIS baby in my arms. But my Cracker-Jack induced thoughts are lurking, waiting for a time to pounce.


P.S.- Anatomy ultrasound tomorrow afternoon. I haven't convinced DH to change his mind, so we will still be having a surprise. God willing, a healthy one.

X-files

I thought on Monday that I had actually felt the baby from the outside but was unsure of myself that I wasn't somehow equating the internal feelings with the external. But yesterday afternoon, I was positive I felt the tap-tap-tap from the outside. I had called DH to tell him, but figured he wouldn't be able to feel this for a few more weeks. Nonetheless, as we were walking across a street on the way to a MLB baseball game, I grabbed his hand and asked if he could feel it. And he could!

His response though was, "It feels weird. It's like you have something in there. An alien or something. It's just like X-files."

Not exactly the heartwarming moment I had imagined.

Hilarity ensues

Two funny DH stories to quickly share. Needless to say, he's got a LOT to learn.

My mother sent me a nipple brush she found on clearance. [Don't know why she keeps sending random things but it makes her happy.] DH didn't know what it was and I explained to him that "it's a nipple brush." Clearly horrified, he said, "You have to wash your nipples with that? Doesn't it hurt you?"

And I was also mentioning to him that next summer we can take baby swimming (note my positive attitude here) and that we could even sign up for a Mommy and Me class. DH's response, "What will we do with the baby while you and I are swimming?" It took me a minute to realize he was interpreting Mommy and Me as me and him.

"You Don't Even Look Pregnant"

This was MIL's comment when she first saw me this weekend. Thanks.

I found out another coworker is pregnant. I sort of knew she had been trying and she was one of the reasons I hadn't been overly public at work about being pg. I was trying to be a considerate pregnant inffertile. I had kind of figured she was having a hard time because she is 40. Her husband also travels a lot. Apparently, I had no cause to be concerned. Anyhow, here she is telling everyone and she is 12 weeks and here I am 20 weeks and still somewhat on the down low. And I love how surprised she was that I am pregnant. Thanks again. Way to make a girl with weight issues feel even fatter.

The ironic thing is that yesterday was the first day I really felt pregnant. I don't know what that baby was doing in there, but in the evening it was if I had acquired a spare tire (not fat either, as it was firm) right around my middle. And there were little bits of kicking here and there.

Per my promise to DH, I am trying to "enjoy" my pregnancy more (since it may well be the only one I ever have) and not be so anxious. Now, that the baby's furniture has arrived, I have made a nightly habit of going in the room and "showing" the baby all his or her stuff and talking to the baby. Sometimes, I read one of the books to him or her or just sit and rock in the glider.

Quick update- still just fat

I had a routine OB appointment on Friday. All was fine and I scheduled my anatomy ultrasound for August 1. DH is still being stubborn, so it looks like team green will continue.

Yesterday, I was wearing a maternity dress that I feel makes me look particularly pregnant (that's not why I was wearing it- it happened to be clean). One of my coworkers who had been out for a few weeks asked me how things were going and when I was going to start wearing maternity clothes. Yeah, thanks. So, I guess, I am still just looking fat. I don't wear really fitted clothing because I am just not one of those types that buys into the baring my bump theory. I buy my maternity clothes in a size bigger than I would normally wear b/c I am not some skinny, twenty-year-old who wants to prance around with my belly hanging out.

We are going to the ILs this weekend, so I am curious to see how crazy they drive me about baby stuff.

Prayers, thoughts, etc.

My real-life infertile friend, who had such a wonderful response to my pregnancy, is going for a beta today. She is 15 DPO, not on progesterone, following a femara/trigger cycle. So far, no period in sight. Please pray or send positive thoughts her way.

Edited for update- she was told that her "progesterone is really high, which is indicative of pregnancy, but hcg is negative." She goes in for another blood test on Friday. I am so very disappointed for her.

If

IF I wasn't 17 weeks pregnant, I would be starting stims for ivf right about now. I have been pondering this all week. We purposely planned to be home for the month of July and didn't plan anything big for this very reason. It is so humbling to be in the place that I am and not the one that I had imagined. Instead of poking myself with needles, I am picking out a nursery. I know how blessed I am and I constantly remind myself that I am not "supposed to be" in this position. And I make sure everyone knows it. I don't allow the comments that "it was because we stopped trying" to fly without correction. I still feel the divide between the "normal" and the infertile worlds.

The irony of the IF abbreviation for infertility is not lost on me and has been commented on by others, I am sure. Infertility is all about "if"- if only I could get pregnant, if only there were more sperm, if only the embryos had implanted, if only I could stay pregnant, if only there was insurance coverage, if only we could afford treatment, if, if, if . . . . And the ifs also lead to the "what ifs"- what if we tried a different protocol, what if my husband tries clomid or has surgery, what if we did ivf, what if we tried a different clinic, what if we did it just one more time, what if . . . .

But the biggest IF of infertility is the foundation of hope implicit in even asking the question. If is more than just the desperate wanting, it is the hope creeping in, the wanting to believe in the non-zero chance.


IF.

Crutch

I finally got my doppler in the mail yesterday (don't get me started on the USPS) and ripped that puppy open to check the baby's heartbeat right away. It was a reassuring 154-160. I repeated the magic for DH when he got home. He wasn't nearly as impressed as I was.

But now I have my fallback when the anxiety level starts to rise.