Category Archives: TTC

Revisiting the Dildocam

As you may or may not know, I’ve been having some digestive issues for, oh, over a year now.  The latest in a long line of medical investigations into the problem was to go get a … wait for it … vaginal ultrasound!  Yes.  Yes I did.

So there I was in the office with the curtain around the door, being asked to get waist-down naked.  It was downright spooky, I tell you.  The tech was telling me the usual, “I’m going to put some gel here,” etc.  And I kept saying, “I know. I know.  I know already.  I’ve done this about a million times.”  I told her about the infertility treatments.  She told me that she had just signed up to start them!  In the same clinic where Trucker was conceived.  It felt cosmic.

It also felt so different to be doing this familiar thing without the pressure of popping out follicles.  Without the blood being drawn, or having to remember my donor’s ID number.  It felt like a relief.  And a little bit sad because that excitement of making the baby won’t happen again. (Though I DO get to plan a wedding, finally.)  And I felt a kinship with you, my struggling ladies.  I know how many of you are still waist-down naked with your feet up in stirrups holding your breath while the doctor counts follicles.  Yes, I do.  Once you have been there, a part of you never leaves.  Even when your baby is three years old and throwing tantrums because you didn’t let him close the car door that he can’t reach with his seatbelt on.

My thoughts are with you today, TTCers.  May you one day have a baby who sings.

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Filed under IUI, LGBT, TTC

Two-Week Wait Advent Calendar #2

The last one worked wonders. Two of my friends got pregnant using it, one was on the first try.  This is not scientific evidence or anything… but crossing fingers and picking up lucky pennies count in situations like this.  So I’m doing it again.

Here’s how it works… I know how rough the TWW can be.  I did it 11 times.  I think I could maybe write an Elizabeth Kubler-Ross-esque book on the stages of denial and anger and joy that one goes through in those two weeks.  So a while back, I thought, wouldn’t it be fun if I could make an advent calendar like the Christmas ones?  And each day of the TWW you could open a little window and get a treat?  That might make it ever-so-slightly easier to bear.  Now I have a very small handful of friends who have secretly told me they are TTC.  So this is for you, my secret IRL friends… and for you, too, my virtual friends.  May you only have to do one TWW!  And if you have to do two, I have two calendars, now. Open one link each day of your wait.

Stage 1 — Excitement

Day 1  Get pumped.  Imagine each person in the audience is a 100,000 swimmers, each one working toward the same goal.  Scroll down and click on the DipDive video link.  Don’t read the article first.  Just watch.

Day 2 Positive visualization.  Since this is a live-streaming link, it may not work forever.  Let me know if I need to change it.  Imagine this is you. If you are a vegetarian, this might not work for you. 🙂

Day 3 Some more positive visualization.  Short but sweet.

Stage 2 — Denial. You might be thinking, depending on how many TWWs you’ve experienced, what am I doing?  I’m going to jinx this try.  Stop thinking about it!  Stop! Stop! So here are a few days worth of distraction.

Day 4 — Is it day 14 yet?  Wait, day 14 of what?  I’m not doing a TWW!  I’m just my plain old self, not even thinking about such a thing at all.

Day 5 — Pick one and go see it.  While you have the time, money and energy.  🙂

Day 6 — You are almost through the first week of the-thing-that-shall-not-be-named.  Not that I’m naming it, or anything. Why don’t you celebrate with some cake? (This is my favorite blog… always good for a laugh, so surf away there while you ignore that thing you’re not ignoring, kay?)

Day 7 — If you really want to get distracted for hours and hours on end, try this… I mean, you are already on the computer, so you probably already do.  But if you don’t I’m sure you have some long-lost friends out there wishing you would.

Stage 3 — Trying to ignore, yet simultaneously causing, physical signs of pregnancy.  Physical signs of pregnancy, by the way, are evilly similar to those of PMS.  Just breathe, my dear.  Breathe.  And get your hands off of your b00bs.  Your prodding is what’s making them sore.

Day 8 — I know what will stop you from groping yourself… put yourself in a white over-the-car luggage holder in a bathroom stall. Yeah.  That ought to do the trick.  Or, maybe try wearing a sparky, flamey-type bra thing. (Try to ignore the vodka.  You may have some in a few days.  Or not.  Both wouldn’t be a bad thing.  Unless you are in recovery.  Then just try to focus on the costumes!)

Day 9 — Fu*k it.  Go shopping.  Just… stay away from that baby button. EEehh!  I saw that.  It is too early.  Focus on yourself while you still can.  If you are pregnant, it won’t be about you anymore.  And for my lesbian friends, you may be spending so much on baby making supplies… what’s another $50 to spend on yourself?  Nothing!  A drop in the pan.  Go.  You have my blessing.

Day 10 —  I said stop touching your b00bs.  And that goes for your partner, too.  Nah.  She can, but you can’t.  Sorry.  I’m getting off the point.  The point is, you only have a few more days to go.  Yes, the cramp you felt yesterday could be PMS.  It could also be implantation pain.  But since there’s no way knowing which at this point, why don’t you just look at this.

Stage 3 — Wanting it to end.  Trying not to test too soon.  Really, really wanting it to end.

Day 11 — Put down that pee stick!  Put it down and back away.  If you test now, it will be negative and you will feel sad, quite possibly for no good reason.  Why don’t you just try to meditate. And if you feel nauseated, you’ll know the real reason.

Day 12 — You may want another positive visualization at this point.  If you are trying for the first child, look at this.  If you are working on making a sibling, open this oldie but goodie. (Yeah, this was on the first calendar, but I figured I should carry over some mojo from there.) If you are an amazing master of your own mind and you still are ignoring that thing that will be over in two days (go, you!)  Watch this. (Ok, you can all watch that one.)

Day 13 — Please wait one more day to test.  I mean, you can go ahead and test, but I recommend waiting just one more day.  Look, you waited 13 already.  You can do it.  Where ever you are on your journey, I ‘m glad you’ve bothered to spend some time during the trip at my humble little blog.  And here, I give you the beginning of my final TWW.  And here, the end.  I hope this is the end of your final one, but if not, that’s ok, too.  Let me know how it goes.  XOXO!

Day 14 — Take the test already.  And don’t be a stranger.

Love,

ohm

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Filed under blogitty blog blog, TTC, Uncategorized, Waiting and waiting and...

If I Could Live One Year Over…

On New Year’s Day (Happy New Year, my peeps!) I was chowing down on some serious black-eyed peas with some seriously wonderful people.  My dear dear friend and cook of said BEPs, Nethermede, asked this question of her pork-imbibing and vegetarian guests: “If you had to choose between waking up tomorrow and completely skipping the year 2010, or going back and having to relive one of the past ten years, what would you do?  And if you chose to relive, which year would it be?”  Having two small and adorable children whose lives I would not like to miss even a day of, I chose to relive.  But which year?  Hmmm.

I need to do one of those decade run-downs just to be sure I made the right choice.  This is really more for me than for you, but read on, dear reader.  And see if you can guess which year I chose off the top of my head.

2000  All I remember is that this was my first year teaching.  I’d been with my honey for one year.  I was in grad school at night.  The day I spent pretty much in tears much of the time.  My weekends were spent lesson planning.  I’m hoping most of those former first graders figured out how to read.  I certainly didn’t do much to help them.  The poor dears.

2001 I moved up to teaching second grade.  I was feeling very confident that first week.  On the fourth day of school, the twin towers fell.  It was the day I became an adult.  I spent the afternoon sitting with other teachers hunched over a radio, as the children innocently danced to “Take Me Out the the Ball Game.”  We waited, smelling the cloud of heavy smoke that blew straight to Brooklyn, we waited to see whose parents would not show up to get their kids.

2002 Umm. Err.  Can I maybe remember one thing that happened in 2002? Ah!  I finished my masters degree in education.  And I think I may have foolishly resolved to try to get pregnant when I turned 33.  Hah.  So funny.  Hooo.  My belly hurts from the laughter.

2003 I think my honey started to try to get pregnant.  I won’t say much about this, since she does not like me to blog about her.  I will say only that we spent way too much time and money on our donor choice.  Waaay too much.

2004 My honey tries to get pregnant.  We give up on the known donor, shipping fresh sperm from wherever he was at the time in his crazy academic job search, to the much more reliable, yet far more expensive sperm bank.

We bought our apartment!  Our first home!  That was huge.

2005 New Year’s Day, we found out that my honey was pregnant.  On the last try we did at home.  The day that worked was either on the first or third night in our new home. I was beginning to think it was my fault, somehow, that she wasn’t getting pregnant.  But she did.  And she immediately got very very tired.  This was my year of adjusting to being a non-gestational parent.  I took close notes on what I would or would not want to do in my own pregnancy.  I did my best to support her. I tried to cook her healthy food and ended up bringing her Wendy’s hamburgers because it was all she could hold down.  I was extremely happy and a little jealous.  On August 16, I became a mother.  Three weeks earlier than we expected.  By c-section.  And he was so little and so good and so very very cute.  My little sack of sugar.  My Cakie boy.  The rest of that year was a blur.  Lots of diapers and strange attempts at helping the Boobah sleep.

2006 My little sack of sugar’s first year.  I had been dying to try to get pregnant.  Now all I was trying to do was keep my eyes open.  I decided to wait until a few months after he turned one to start TTC, so the baby would be born around the time he turned two. [Chuckle.]  I honestly don’t remember exactly when I started trying.  But mind you, I’d been charting my temperature since my honey first started TTC.  Yeah, for reals.

2007 This was the real TTC year.  I did TTC for a year and a half.  But this was the year of desperation. This was the year in which many of the weeks were spent waiting.  This was the year I began to blog (hi, y’all!)  This was the year I gave up on trying at home and gave up on limiting my attempts to only one year.  This was the year in which I almost gave up.  And it was the year I found out it had finally worked.  I guess you can read all about it on this here blog.  On Halloween, we saw a ghost on the pregnancy test.  Trucker decided to finally show up. I was pregnant!  And I was a little more happy to be done with trying than I was to be having a baby.  It is true.  I admit it.

2008 The year of my pregnancy.  I was all glowy and happy.  I looked fabulous.  I felt great.  (Though I couldn’t eat candy for much of the year, which is just not me, I tell you.) People were lifting things for me and opening doors for me.  I didn’t have to TTC anymore.  I had lots to blog about.  I only had one child.  Until, July 11, that is.  On that day, my due date, Trucker showed up.  My water broke right after my mom told him via the phone to my belly to be born.  And again, the rest of the year is a blur.

2009  I have two kids.  I don’t have much to blog about.  I went back to work.  Though I didn’t want to do it, I’m so glad I did.  I started teaching third grade in September and I love it.  That’s all, folks.

So which year did I choose?  Can you guess?

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Filed under blogitty blog blog, IUI, Labor & Birth, my second son, Post partum, TTC

That Tiny Sweatband, or Pelvic Floor Boot Camp, Part 1

I’ll admit that I procrastinated a great deal in scheduling my pelvic floor boot camp appointment.  I mean,  what’s going to happen?  Should I get an early-December bikini wax for the occasion?  Will she make me (gasp) exercise?  Does she have teeny tiny barbells?  What?

It took me at least two weeks to call the place.  Then another week to have my appointment.

It finally happened.  On Wednesday.  After I worked my second night of food coop shifts in a row.  At 7:30.  To you yet-to-have-babies people, 7:30 sounds like a normal time.  But to those-of-us-who-are-awakened-at-five-am-on-a-regular-basis, it may as well be three in the morning.  By the time I arrived at the PT office, I was pooped.  Everyone at the office was pooped.  I was the last appointment.  I asked if I could use the ladies room.  And guess what?   Just guess.  Who shows up when you least want her around?  Who pops in for a surprise when you’ve tried to wish her away?  Who?  You know.  AF.  There she was.  Laughing at me hard.  Why?  Why does it matter, you say, when I’m not TTC?  Because I was trapped in a physical therapy place.  I had no protection with me.  I was just about to do a a little pelvic floor work out.  I even brought my tiny sweatband. 😉  I couldn’t leave to go buy some protection.  I was trapped.  Why? Why, you silly lesbian, do you insist on not paying attention to when your period is due?  Because you obsessed over it for over two years, maybe?

When my very nice physical therapist finally escorted me into her office, I had to tell her of my dilemma.  She did have pads there.  So that was good.  She asked me a whole bunch of questions about pee.  Somehow one just doesn’t obsess over one’s pee the way one might obsess over, say, follicle size, or possible pregnancy symptoms.  So I maybe fudged my way through some of the answers.

She couldn’t do an internal, so that was also good.  I just wasn’t in the mood.  She poked my belly and smooshed my legs and asked me if it hurt.  Uh, yeah.  Then she asked me if I was active before I gave birth.  I told her about all my yoga.  And she asked me if I’d would like to get back to doing that.  Hells, yeah.  I would.  It was the kind of question that was obvious, but when she said it out loud and I answered her out loud, I realized how much truth there was to it.  I love being with my babies, so I haven’t figrued out how to fit in the yoga.  I need to fit in the yoga.  Even if it is at 7:30 pm.  I need to do it.

All in all, the first boot camp session wasn’t all that bad.  I need to go at least seven more times.  I’ll keep you posted.  I’m sure you’re dying to know every last detail.

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Filed under Post partum, TTC

Happy Anniversary (Halloween)

Of what is Halloween an anniversary, you ask?  Here’s a hint:

HEM.FrontDesk+-+halloween+cookie[The hint was borrowed from Cakewrecks — the funniest blog ever.  Go read it so they don’t get mad that I borrowed their image.  It is just so dang appropriate.]

Have you guessed?

Two years ago.  Two years ago, and I will probably never ever forget it and will always throw back half a bag of candy corn in celebration of it, I saw the second line on my pee stick.   I was released from my TTC duties by the insemination I did on October 19.  Do I remember the date when Cakie got his first tooth?  Nope.  When Trucker took his first step?  Unh-uh.  But October 19 and October 31 will still be in my dementia-riddled brain when I’m 104.  It was the day Trucker set me free.

I dressed up like a pirate and dressed Cakie like a pirate and walked him around the block begging for candy, door to door.  All the while, I was haunted by that ghostly pink line I’d seen at four am that morning.  Later, I took Cakie-the-pirate to my building Halloween party.  And I took Trucker, too.  It was his first “Lobby Party” as Cake calls it, even though he was just a doubling cluster of cells at the time.

As an anniversary present to you, my invisible friends who helped me survive the insanity that lead up to that 4 am BFP, I present a photo from Trucker’s “third” Halloween.  My superhero, Speedyboy.

IMG_3098[Ok, I put a different picture in that was already horizontal.  I think I originally didn’t choose it because Blue’s Clues is in the background.  But who am I kidding?  My children watch TV. No need to pretend that they don’t. ]

PS  I dedicate this post to eggdrop’s ten follies.  I’m sending a zillion virtual sperm Halloween cookies out to those about-to-drop eggs.

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Filed under my second son, Trucker, TTC

What I Have Given Away

The glider.

IMG_2317

I sat in it so many times with Trucker nursing.  Then taking him off.  Then gliding him to sleep.  We’d bought it when A was eight months pregnant with Cakie.  The woman who sold it to us lived in one of those highrises in Bay Ridge that you can see from the BQE.  It had an amazing view.  It had entirely too many toys in it.  And three adorable children. We both made a mental, later audible, note to never ever have that many toys in our house.  The woman wouldn’t even let A carry the ottoman down the stairs in her condition.  It fit in the back seat of our little sedan.  Then it was in our living room.  Then in Cakie’s room.  Eventually it landed in our bedroom between the bathroom door and the bedroom door.  It felt like you had to walk an extra fifty feet to get to the bathroom.  With great hesitation and a little bit of yearning, I posted it.

The man who bought it’s wife was due the next day.  He was skinny and cute and he seemed pleased to be doing this grand act of finally getting the glider before the baby was born.  I helped him carry it to the elevator. I asked him if they knew the baby’s gender yet.  He gave me a look and said, “Yes.  We did find out the sex.”  And I felt a little goofy that I had said gender because really, that’s for the baby to figure out no matter which sex organs it happens to have.  I smiled at the soon-to-be parent and told him I always get those terms confused.  And I felt kind of glad that my cushy-but-ugly furniture was going to him.

The clothes.

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(Please to tilt your head to the side.  I can’t figure out how to rotate the image.)

The first clothes we had for Cakie came from lesbian mom friends of friends who gave us three trash bags full of clothes.  They gave them to us at a party and I spent the whole party wishing I was at home looking at the little baby clothes.  When I did finally get to open the bags at home, I was amazed at how many blue items were in there.  I thought for sure the lesbian moms would have avoided pigeon-holing their son into blue rompers.  The dozens of little overalls thrilled me.  This was all before I realized that most of your baby’s wardrobe is given to you by other people.  And most of those people buy the clothes at places that are not over-priced boutiques.  At least in New York City, if it isn’t an over-priced boutique, it is hard to find baby clothes in colors other than pink, blue or yellow.  I remember putting the little outfits into piles according to size, and putting the sizes into different boxes, so I could just grab the next size up when I needed it.  Of course there were more clothes later.  We got clothes from the showers and birthdays.  When Cakie was born, we received a package a day for almost a month.  Each tiny shirt was a manifestation of someone else’s excitement for us.

As Cakie grew, and his clothes did not, I learned just how much clothing maintenance is involved in parenting.  There is all of the washing and drying —  those hot metal snaps burning your fingers as you reach into the dryer to take them out.  Once the long sleeves become three-quarter sleeves and the pants become capris, overnight it seemed, they get organized again and put away for the next baby.  The closet filled with too-small clothes in little boxes (less-organized now) by size and season, awaiting their second life on our second child.  But would we have a second child?  And what of the sex of that second child?  Would I actually keep the sea of blue if I had a girl the second time?  My blog filled up with worries and BFNs, my credit card filled up with sperm charges, and that closet filled and filled with those little clothes so filled with Cakie’s presence, it was hard to imagine them on another child.

Then he came.  And boy did Trucker come.  He weighed almost twice what Cakie weighed at birth and was born a month earlier.  I had thought they would wear the same clothes for the same season.  But where Cakie didn’t even fit into anything but a white kimono tee shirt when he got home from the hospital; Trucker bypassed entire boxes of clothes.  Though he did wear some of his brother’s hand-me-downs, we needed to actually shop for the lad.  In stores!  I sold two big bags of clothes on the listserve for $20.  I felt like a bandit.  Then, IVPers got pregnant.  And how happy is that?  Sending off a big bag of clothes, including my most favorite pair of plaid pants which only fit each boy for about a minute to the likes of Calli made me feel even better about essentially giving away historical family artifacts.  I sent the Morrissey shirt to England, where it rightfully belonged. And two (or was it three) garbage bags of baby pants (and other things) went to the babypantses.  Even though all three of the strapping young lads who received the little outfits have probably grown out of them, it makes me glad to know that they didn’t go somewhere random.  That those little things filled with the tiny spirits of my children are probably being worn by someone new and equally important.

I’m sure I’ve written about this before, but giving away baby things for the final time hurts.  As a New Yorker, of course, one is glad for the space in one’s apartment when these things go out the door.  But as a mother, knowing that this is the last baby, it feels like I’m giving away something more than onsies.

Now that I’ve thought about it, though, that box of baby baby toys is calling my name.  Trucker got so many new toys for his birthday. We can’t go letting our house end up like that one in Bay Ridge.  Though I understand now, how the woman may have wanted to carry the chair down the hall for her own selfish reasons.  Though her youngest child was old enough to be walking with confidence, she maybe needed to carry that chair out of the building herself.  Just to hold it and then to let it go.

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Filed under baby gear, my second son, my son, NYC What is it about you?, Trucker, TTC

2 Good 2 B 4 Gotten

I miss you people and this blog.  I’ve been sucked into a vacuum of sleeplessness and general lack of brain cells.  I have enough wherewithall to play a game on facebook that involves clicking once amidst a bunch of little flying balls and watching them all bump into each other. I’m a little embarrassed because nice folks keep linking to me and I have nothing witty or entertaining to say.

I’ve been preoccupied with a few folks and their journeys to fertility.

A very close friend is trying to freeze her eggs for future use.  This is tough because it is more like trying to try to conceive, if that makes any sense.  There’s neither BFP nor BFN at the end of a cycle.  Just lots of needles and tests. I wish I could give her even more support, but I just keep calling and asking how today went.

Another friend of a friend — single mom by choice —  just got a BFP.  Yay!  I love those three letters.

I’m awaiting the arrival of L and H babypants’ little pant-wearer.  I thought for sure he or she had already arrived, until I read this today. Ugh.  My heart goes out to them for the unbearable past-the-due-date wait.  On the other hand, it will be over soon. Yay!  (Do you see how braindead I am?  I keep saying “yay!” like an over-enthusiastic cheerleader on red bull.)

And EVA!  Over at eggdrop?  High-stakes IVF.  It is taking every ounce of my being to not call her.  Maybe I should call her.  I just worry that on the off chance she’s actually not thinking about it for five seconds, I might upset her temporary sanity.  God I hope she’s pregnant.  Can we impregnate her with our thoughts please?

Umm errr uhh.  Oh!  And today I found out that I will teach a new grade next year.  I’m finally moving up to third grade from second.  I’ve been teaching second grade for 8 years, so this is a bit of a big deal.  I was hoping to loop with my class, to have all the same kids next year, but that’s not in the cards for me.

What else? This Prop 8 is just another lame misstep on the way to equality.  Evolution takes time.  I think we’re pretty much still primates in much of the country.

And… I’ve been thinking of putting some pictures of Trucker up here.  This blog is not so pretty to look at.  And he is so much so.  In fact, every single day someone tells me how pretty my daughter is.  🙂

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Filed under blogitty blog blog, gay marriage, Trucker, TTC