I've been psyching myself up for this, so here goes.
It's official. It's real. Woo hoo!
Yeah, that birthday party? You got me: I wasn't drinking because I was pregnant. That wedding? Every glass of wine I had got left, full, somewhere. Often next to my partner in crime, who was able to finish it for me (a noble, noble sacrifice). You were right, I was totally pregnant. And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, for not asking me or bringing it up with me and waiting until I did (Ahem, ladies, I'm looking at YOU). You guys are the BEST.
And mostly, I just don't want to talk about it. Which is a weird thing to say at the beginning of a (em, rather long) blog entry that's pretty much destined to be all about being pregnant, but let me try to explain.
First, there's the hormone thing. Apparently progesterone is really really important to staying pregnant. "Pro", as in "in favor of" and "gesterone", as in "gestation". I'm pretty pro-gestation myself, intellectually speaking. Apparently my uterus wasn't on board. The tests I had six weeks ago found that I was low on progesterone. Now, it hasn't been confirmed, but I suspect that this is why I miscarried last time. The timing fits: if you aren't making enough progesterone, you aren't making enough placenta, and then when the little egg-baby has to switch from it's egg-baby-yolk to the baby-making placenta for nutrition, there just isn't enough healthy placenta to get fed and, well, the end result is pretty obvious. And that's at about, oh, 8 to 10 weeks. Which would be the right timing for my miscarriage.
So, about six weeks ago, apparently this was happening to me. Those were the tests I referred to, earlier.
The treatment for low progesterone is a progesterone supplement, but apparently the mouth is too far away from the uterus to take it orally and for it to be effective. So... Yes, my friends, I have had really nasty ladybits for the past six weeks. It's been great. And it's been great twice a day. And the worst part about the treatment is, the only way you'd know it was working is that you didn't miscarry.
So it hasn't exactly been a relaxing six weeks. So there's that.
One thing you don't really know until you're doing this infertility treatment stuff is that you'll never go to the bathroom the same again. Every time you get in there in the morning, you wonder if you're supposed to be peeing on something. Is it ovulation time? Pee on a stick! or maybe, could I be, pregnant? I know, Pee on a Stick! The thought nags you, because if you forget to pee on a stick with that FMU (first morning urine! I love the infertility TLA's...remind me to share some sometime), well, it's a while till you have enough pee again to pee on the stick properly, and even then, no pee is more concentrated than your FMU, so there's always the chance that it should be giving you the stripe/plus/smileyface but you just had pee that was too watery....
See? It's a whole thing.
But worse is the blood. Because when you're not peeing on sticks, you're expecting blood. And dreading it. Or cursing it.
I had thought when I got pregnant last winter, that's it! No more having to do something when I pee. And then the blood started, which shocked the shit outta me.
And we all know how that turned out.
So now, here I am pregnant again, and I'm dreading the blood. I can't even imagine those NPP (normal pregnant people) who just take it on faith that they're pregnant and will stay pregnant. I can't even imagine that kind of security. A sureness that for that next X weeks, you don't need to fear going to the bathroom. That you don't fear your underpants. Which, by the way, is the name of my punk band when I get one together.
Don't, I beg you, tell me "it'll be fine." Last time I'd had all the markers of being fine: heartbeat, images, measurements on track. And it still ended. It wasn't like I'd just found out I was pregnant--I'd had images, little fuzzy images. That was supposed to be the signal.
So now, I don't trust the signals. And I don't really trust anyone else to tell me "it'll be fine."
Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled as hell to be pregnant. It's just I'm also really still scared that this won't stick either. It's really really really hard to tell people, and harder still to talk about it. It feels like I'm jinxing everything. My mom is thrilled for me, which yay, but it also makes me feel really super uncomfortable to get emails from my aunt and my cousins and my mom's friends (none of whom *I* told, and I had no idea that my mom was going to tell everyone) about how happy my mom is, and congratulations! Andrew is adorably excited, but when I went to his work party Wednesday night, the first word out of every single one of his coworkers' mouths was "Congratulations!" Including his boss. And his boss's wife. And his boss's boss. I'm sure if his boss's boss had a wife (or a girlfriend, or for that matter, a date) I would have heard it from her too. (Did he announce it at a company meeting? An "all users" email? it was really odd.) It was a little intimdating and a lot uncomfortable. Not because of anything they did, because everyone was genuinely nice about, but just because.
I know people do this because they care. Maybe it was just the volume of people that I didn't know knew, all at once, one after the other, congratulating me.
I don't know if this is making sense. I suspect that the friends I've had that have seen me through this year understand. I suspect others may think I'm being ungrateful. And my response to that is: I'm not ungrateful, but I'm not grateful. Yet.
But I know I have friends and family who are genuinely caring and interested, and I know you're probably chomping at the bit for the details.
So here's the scoop. I'm 11 weeks today. We've seen the wee niblet's heart--twice--and heard it three times, and we've seen it's brain; we watched it dance, a little like this, and apparently my uterus decided to get on board with this whole "in favor of gestation" thing because I know way more about my placenta and umbilical cord than probably most pregnant ladies. And they're both there and fine and healthy. Yes, we're going to find out the sex of the baby (and yes, I think people who wait are a little weird). I'm due May 4th, although I'll have to have a Caesarian; due to my surgery last summer, I'm at a high risk of uterine rupture and rumor has it that's a wee bit uncomfortable (in the DEAD kind of way). So I'll probably be wheeled in about a week before I'm due. And yes, it's totally awesome timing, speaking as a teacher. No natural childbirth for me--it's drugs for SURE! No midwives, water births, hypnosis, or "eee-eee" breathing. And no annoying debates about the relative merits of any of it (or how you just have to do it this way or that way because otherwise you're not really giving birth), because I really don't have a choice*, which is sort of the silver lining, because I have an instant "Shut the fuck up" card to play when that discussion starts. Yes, I'm going back to work next year, mostly because I'm not crazy now, but staying home all the time, I sure would be soon.
Did I miss any questions?
So, yay! I'm pregnant. And yes, I'm a little prickly about it. I'm scared absolutely shitless that I'll get this far and lose it next week. Hopefully, eventually, I'll relax into the thing and be able to enjoy it. Probably around, oh, week 35 or so.
But definitely, tell me to "just relax and enjoy being pregnant." That'll totally help.
*Please don't say VBAC, since I'm not eligible--it hasn't been long enough. See? still not an option. Yay for no options!