a Repost!

I’m not usually one to repost other blogs. I am also not one to follow infertility blogs. I honestly ONLY follow two infertility blogs. One from a woman I met when we first started treatment. She is now preg with twins and due in July! xo.

And this one, below, I started following a few months before I gave birth to Harper. Not sure why she stuck out among all the other infertility blogs, but she did.

Girl, I love you…. I may not always agree with what you have to say (xo), and sometimes you drive me nuts, but today’s post REALLY stuck with me. I am one to say “I am enjoying the one I have!” because I know that the future ALWAYS has a way of making other plans. Yes, it sucks that we can’t just plan when we will have another baby. Yes, it sucks that we have to think of ourselves as “lucky” for getting pregnant with the first one. And finally, YES, it sucks to know that we may not be able to have another baby. There is a quote that I base my life on - “The secret to having it all is loving it all.” I know ONE thing - I am going to try my hardest not to dwell and get sad about the fact that she may not have a sibling. As much as it hurts that I may never be able to feel a kick inside my belly or I may never be able to nurse a newborn again, I am so happy I have Harper. And while it may not be fair to be plagued with infertility, life isn’t always fair.

With that being said…. I love your post today. LOVE LOVE LOVE.

http://ifcrossroads.com/2011/05/11/just-enjoy-the-one-you-have/

Decisions Decisions

So a couple of weeks ago, I was faced with a decision that no mommy wants to have to face. I had to decide on whether or not to take my 8 month old baby to the pediatrician for a cough or if I should take my beloved 6 year old cat to the vet for his inability to urinate. I know that most people would say “Uh. HELLO? You have a baby and she takes priority over the damn cat!” But when faced with this decision, I took my cat to the vet.

Thank God I did. My sweet kitty had bladder stones, which if they caused a full obstruction, he could have died. I know I did the right thing, but days and now, even weeks later, I feel guilty about this decision. 

The bond our kitty has with Harper is just amazing. They honestly and truly love each other. When he was sick and unable to walk, all I kept thinking was “He is going to die and all she will have are pictures taken with him during her first 8 months of life.” The thought of that made me so emotional and still does!

Harper went to the doctor the following day and she was diagnosed with a viral infection which totally cleared up a few days later. My kitty, on the other hand, is still battling his bladder stones and may battle the reoccurrence of these stones for the rest of his life. 

Do I feel guilty? YES. But I know, without a doubt, that I made the right decision. And knowing we will have him around for another 10+ years makes me happy. 

I am GOING to start this blog up again VERY VERY SHORTLY!

Harper is 8 months old today. My sweet little baby is 8 MONTHS OLD! What?!? After a lot of drama over the past 8 months, I’m ready to start writing again. Oh, and I will update EVERYONE on what the hell happened to me after having our sweet little baby girl. 

Wait for it…..

Chafing?

I’m going to talk about something I never in my life thought I would EVER talk about. Yes, people…. my thighs are rubbing together so badly that I have chafed skin! It’s my upper thighs, but STILL! There is extremely irritated skin in a place I’ve never had irritated skin before. 

A few months ago when I realized my legs were starting to rub together, I calmly told my mom that, well, my legs were rubbing together! She thought this was the funniest thing ever and started laughing hysterically. And not one of those laughs like…. “Awww. My babbbyyyyy!” It was more like…. “Bwaaahahahahhahaah!” One of those roaring laughs, as if to almost say “Sucks for you! Now you know how 95% of the population feels!”

I’ve been using baby powder between the legs each day but it only gets me so far (like not even out of my apartment!). But man, yesterday my thighs were REALLY sore! Instead of getting out a mirror and checking out the damage, I asked Charlie to check it out for me. And he confirmed what I already knew…. “Yep! Your upper thighs are chafed!” To which I replied…. “This shit is embarrassing!” I got the same “Bwaaahahahahahah!” laugh that my mom gave me months ago and the laugh was only followed by the comment, “Are you kidding me? You talk openly about your hemorrhoids and you’re worried about your thighs chafing?”

So while I’m admitting all of this… I have to add that I actually wore my husband’s underwear to work yesterday to stop the legs from rubbing together. Good thing all this weight has allowed me to be my husband’s size! Ahhhhhhh!

Infertility

Through the last 38 weeks, it’s something that comes to mind everyday and is talked about between Charlie and I at least 3-4 times a week. Why did we get so lucky? Why did we get pregnant with fertility treatments so quickly while so many women dealing with years of infertility are still not pregnant. What did we do to deserve this?

Even before we started trying to get pregnant in October 2008, I knew we would have problems. My mom had problems getting pregnant, and with that came a wonderful older brother who was adopted as a newborn before I came along. I was always really small and very active - a dancer and a cheerleader - and doctors would tell me and my mom that I would eventually get my period when I gained a bit of weight. They weren’t even concerned that I was almost 16 years old with still NO PERIOD. Even after getting my period, it never came when it was supposed to - and at 20 years old, after countless stained clothing - I was sick of not knowing when I was going to get it on a regular schedule! My doctor’s solution to this was not taking tests to see what the hell was wrong, but to put me on birth control to regulate my system.

So after nine years of straight birth control, Charlie and I decided it was time to get off the pill and try to get pregnant. Only getting off the pill didn’t bring excitement - it immediately brought worry - because after that last period on birth control, I went 82 days without bleeding. And the irregularity continued for 6 months just as it did when I was a teenager. I was only getting my period when put on hormones to induce it and obviously NOTHING was happening other than meeting new doctors hoping someone would say “Oh wait. Something is wrong.” But no, what I got instead were doctors telling me I needed to wait a year (even though I wasn’t even getting my period AT ALL). I even had a doctor tell me that I wasn’t getting pregnant because she thought I had an eating disorder. Yes, really.

After nine months of only 4 periods (2 of them induced with hormones, all cycles lasting more than 45 days, 2 cycles twice that length), I decided to take matters into my own hands and I scheduled an appointment with the best Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE) in the city of New York.

This week marks one year that we met Dr. T and his staff at the Sher Institute in New York City. We walked in to his office praying and hoping that he would be the doctor to tell us that something is obviously wrong - that birth control wasn’t the cause of this - that he was going to “fix” everything - and that he was going to get me pregnant. And the first day I met him, that’s exactly what he did. He even got added bonus points for asking us “What took you so long to come see me?”

I’m sure that many REs tell their patients these very same things. After a few tests to find out exactly what was the cause of us not getting pregnant (my horomone levels were of a woman aged 35-37, not a woman of 29) and to add even more insult to injury, my husband also had infertility problems on his end. We thought we were doomed. But our RE kept reassuring us that the treatments were going to work! And we believed him every step of the way. Of course there were moments of doubt and extremely sad days where we thought, “What if this doesn’t work?” and “What if we aren’t able to have a biological child?” But in the grand scheme of things, we tried our hardest to remain positive even after two failed cycles of treatments.

Our third treatment worked and here we are. But we are always going to be one of those few couples who understands and knows what it’s like to not be able to get pregnant on your own – that some things in life just don’t work out exactly the way you thought they would. But we also know that we are the few fortunate couples who didn’t suffer for years through treatments, and for that, we are entirely grateful – but it still doesn’t stop us from feeling for those couples who have been going through treatments for years and who still aren’t pregnant. We couldn’t be more excited that we are going to have a baby any day now and we wish for our infertile friends that they will soon be able to have this experience.

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Men

I’m no stranger to attracting unsolicited attention to myself. I remember being a teenager walking through the mall with my mom and she would ask me if I realized people look at me A LOT. Not just look, but stare, and stare while turning their heads. I never realized it because I guess it’s always been a part of my life. I was blessed as being part of 2% of the population born as a redhead. As I got older, I started to be approached on the streets or in malls (by men and women) to just be told that I look interesting. Obviously, I got the “Damnnnnnn girl! You are FINE!” outbursts from random men. But I’ve also got times where men have come up to me to say, “I had to just stop and tell you that you are gorgeous. Have a great day.” And it’s always been flattering, to say the least. I never really dated a lot of guys growing up - I was always a bit shy and modest about my body and the way I look.

Being pregnant is a different ball game, and the players are pretty much all men! I always knew that pregnant women attracted a lot of attention, but I never knew to what extent. And let me tell you, I’m not sure if it’s just the openness of New Yorkers or just that fact that I already stand out because of the red hair - but men are EXTREMELY interested in talking to me about my pregnancy. Much, much, MUCHHHHHHH more than women. They ask me when I’m due, what I’m having, how I’m feeling, if I’m tired, if we’ve picked out a name…. the questions go on and on. And they ALL end their questions by saying, “You just look GREAT!!!”

The first open comment made by a man was when I was just entering my second trimester at about 14 weeks. I was just starting to show, and a black man about my age walked past me in Union Square while he sang the lyrics to Salt n’ Peppa’s “Push It”…. it went a little like this….. “Ohhh baby-baby. Bababaabbbyyy. Ohhh baby-baby. Bababaabbbyyy.” Men have made comments in passing me on the street “Looking GOOD, mommy!” I even had a man make a comment in an Office Depot last week telling me it was “too early to be shopping for back-to-school supplies.” I’ve even had a group of teenage boys pass me while one said, “Look. She’s havin’ a baaaabbbyyyyyy”, and the others in response to his comment said, “Awwwwwww.” 

Why is it that men are more interested in a pregnant woman than a woman is? It’s quite an interesting question that I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to answer. For now, I’ll just marvel in the attention for the next 3 weeks. 

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So Swollen

Swollen feet are nothing new to me. I grew up watching my mom and my grandma struggle with their swollen feet. My feet even got swollen every once in a while during the summer towards the end of the day. But NOTHING prepared me for what my feet would look like pregnant, in the summer, in 90 degree weather. My feet are SERIOUSLY twice the size they usually are. I’m not exaggerating.

And they hurt!

You can no longer see bones in my feet (even in the morning). My best friend is telling me to wear flip flops. Haha!!! Um, yeah. That would be GREAT if flip flops actually fit my feet. They don’t. I have the other best friend swearing by Birkenstocks because that’s all that worked for her. I have to be thankful for Birkenstocks and the fact that I owned four pairs of them before I was pregnant from when I was trying to be a hippie 10 years ago. I never got rid of them because, as ugly as they are, they were always so comfortable. Now, they are a necessity.

So let me just explain my feet to you a bit so you can understand how bad this swelling really is. My Birks are the narrow ones. Birkenstocks sells regular and narrow. I have a narrow, skinny foot so I own four pairs of narrow, size 39, Birkenstocks. When I wore them before pregnancy, they were tightened to the very last hole. As a matter of fact, I even think I have a pair they punched a hole in to make them tighter! Over the past few months they have gone from the last hole to the very first hole. They are the BIGGEST they can go and when I take them off, you can still see indentations in my feet from them being too tight. It’s the craziest thing ever.

I don’t exactly let it bother me, because, really, what can I do about this? NOTHING. The only few things that bother me is the fact that 1) I will not wear short dresses; 2) it’s hard to walk; and 3) I can’t wear anything but Birkenstocks! I enjoy sending picture messages to my closest friends with captions like “just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse!” and “they might as well be deformed at this point!” Whether or not they think it’s funny I will never know because they usually don’t respond. I think they are in absolute shock that their friend who has always had really pretty feet (look, I can say that because I know it’s true! I have great looking feet when I’m not pregnant!) now has feet that no longer really look like feet!

My best friend who swore by Birkenstocks is now assuring me that my feet are going to be back to normal about 3-5 days after I have the baby. So I have about 30 days left of this! Not too bad, right?

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“Ghetto Ass Bitches”

<I can’t even post a picture to this post>

As I’ve said in many previous posts, I walked to my train station before I was pregnant. Once in a while, I took the bus…. but it wasn’t too often. Most recently, the extra weight on my frame plus the heat/humidity has basically forced me to ride the bus. The bus station where I wait is right across the street from our apartment and I see many of the same people each morning waiting for the bus while I say hello and move right past them to walk to the train station. Over the past 8 months, I’ve actually had a couple of women comment to me “So, I see you’re slowing down a bit!”

At about 30 weeks, the time came to wait for the bus every morning which I absolutely hate because 1) it proves that I’m now immobile when I swore I’d be walking until we’d be calling a car to take us to the hospital to deliver our baby; 2) the bus is so crowded in the morning that it takes about three minutes for people to get on and off at each stop (which is why it usually takes LESS time to walk than ride the bus!); and 3) the bus I ride is NOT coming from a good neighborhood.

So here I see the bus making it’s way down the street while it’s about to come to a halt at our bus station. Everyone at my station who are waiting tell me to go on the bus first. First, the bus driver does not lower the bus so I can my way easily up the first step. Then when I get on the bus, I have the pleasure to encounter three teenage girls who are sitting in the “disabled” seats right at the front of the bus. The disabled seats are for those handicapped and otherwise “immobile” passengers who can’t squeeze through the 30 people standing in the middle portion of the bus (because there are NEVER any seats available). As soon as I got on the bus, one of the teenage girls took one look at me and waved her finger while yelling “BACK OF THE BUS! YES, YOU, BACK OF THE BUS!” She couldn’t be but 17 or 18 years old. And look, I have NO PROBLEM making my way to the back of the bus, while squeezing through people, when I don’t have a huge ass belly poking out in front of me. There was NO physical way I could go anywhere but right where I was, and there were about 15 people at my bus stop waiting to get on the bus after me. So I stood there for a quick second before someone in another “disabled” seat offered me theirs.

And it totally doesn’t stop there.

As I made my way over to one of the six seats, the same girl who yelling at me to move to the back of the bus, started yelling….. “Would everyone look at this! Look at this 15 year old girl expecting someone to get up for her when she is pregnant! She can’t be but 15 YEARS OLD!” As I sat down, I looked over to this girl, took a deep breath, and said…. “I am NOT 15 years old. I am almost 31 years old, bitch, so have some respect!” And yes, I totally called this girl a bitch for everyone to hear me - it just came out without even thinking about it. I think she was a bit stunned because she didn’t say ONE SINGLE word after that and her friends, under their breath, where like….”dammnnnnnn!” Of course, she had to get the last word while getting off at her stop where she muttered under her breath “BITCH” to me.

And I was fine. Completely fine. Until I got off the bus and called my mom. As soon as I heard my mom’s voice, the tears and hysterics came. If I can recall correctly, I was trying to say something along the lines of…. “I want to walk but I can’t. I just want to be able to walk again!” Not sure if my mom was even able to understand what I was saying because I was crying so hard.

So as a bonus to this story (I know it’s getting long. I’m wondering if you’re still with me at this point!), I was actually on my way to my obstetrician for my routine checkup. I cried all the way to the doctor’s office while I was on the train. People around me were probably thinking to themselves that my “boyfriend” broke up with me because, you know, I totally look like I’m 15 years old and wayyyy too young to actually have a husband and money and a mortgage and cats (yes, I HAD to throw the cats in there). I somehow was able to control myself as I walked into the doctor’s office, but the tears started again when Charlie walked in to meet me. And they started again when my nurse came to get us out of the waiting room.

Obviously, most of you reading this are my closest friends and family, and know that I might quite possibly be the happiest and most social person in the world, so as soon as my nurse saw me, she was like….”Whoa!” She couldn’t even take my blood pressure because I was such a mess. My doctor came in who I have to add is seriously the best doctor! He’s young (39 years old), gay and Jewish! What more could a young, liberal, Jewish pregnant woman ask for, right? He takes one look at me and quickly asks what is wrong. Sobbing, I get out the words, “bus,” “teenage girls,” “seat,” and his first words were “Ghetto Ass Bitches!”. And that was it, I started busting out laughing while snot was pouring out of my nose, as he added “FUCK ‘EM!”

I tell him the whole story, while he shares with us his stories about the discrimination he has experienced on his commutes, which is just UNREAL considering we live in New York City, one of the most liberal cities in the world! I told him that I would have been like, “I’m a DOCTOR, bitches! What do YOU have to say for yourself!” But it’s not too surprising since every city has their own ignorant, disgusting people who have no feelings for other people surrounding them, people who are different from them.

Whether it’s discrimination against a religion, race, homosexuality, or in my case PREGNANCY, people in this country need to be more compassionate to those around them. I think we’d benefit from this simple gesture and we’d all be a lot happier in our lives if we didn’t harbor so much hatred for others.

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HOT!

And not HOT in the way you are thinking. Although, my husband would say I’m the hottest pregnant woman ever. I’m talking about the hot that causes beads of sweat to form on your face and between your boobs.

The past few weeks have been extremely difficult. Let me map my past few weeks out for you to give you the gist of what has been going on.

1. A woman I work with is always cold. It can be 90 degrees outside and she is in a little sweater in our office. People come in to our office and the first thing they say is….. “Aren’t you hot?” To which I reply….. “Look at my belly. What do YOU think?” It has been a constant struggle to control the temperature in our office. If it gets about 73 degrees, the woman I work with turns off the AC. There have been times where I have found myself screaming out…. “If you turn it off, I think I may die.” So what happened then is whenever I left to use the bathroom (which is often when you are 30 weeks pregnant!), she would turn off the AC and I wouldn’t realize it until it was 78 degrees. *Breakdown #1. (To be continued in future post. And it will be good, I promise you!)

2. My husband and I realized that we could not go this summer without an AC in our bedroom. We have a large unit in our living room on the opposite side of the apartment, but we decided that this summer was the summer to get a unit that will cool us (ME!) in our sleep. At about the same time we decided this, we also decided to buy a 46 inch flat screen television at Best Buy (completely besides the point, but whatever), so we decided to buy the TV and the small AC unit together so they would delivered together. Let me explain that it was Memorial Day weekend and possibly the hottest day we had so far this year. So my love decided to spend the extra money to have the items delivered THAT night (I think he just wanted the TV immediately, but again, WHATEV!). The AC arrives and I’m dancing around the apartment thinking of how comfortable I am going to be sleeping when I hear my husband call out from our bedroom….”Ummm. Baby? Uhhh… the unit is dented. It has to go back.” *Breakdown #2.

3. We decided to take a birthing class to get us (ME!) ready for labor. I didn’t want to do it, but my love said “the more we know, the better off we are!” In other words, “the more I know, the better off I am, but the more YOU know, the more scared you will be!” Hmmmm. We arrive at our “intensive” birthing class - 12 hours of class spread between 2 days. We walk in the room to find out that the AC is…… wait for it…… wait for it….. BROKEN. So yes, I sat in a fucking dungeon of a room, 30 weeks pregnant, 2 days in a row, for 6 hours, with 7 other pregnant women and their husbands, with a broken AC when it was 90 degrees outside. *Breakdown #3.

4. Last weekend, we went home for my baby shower to be held in Virginia Beach which is where both me and my husband are originally from. We go to hail a cab in 85 degree weather to get to the airport right before the skies are about to open. I even said…. “Wow! It’s going to pour! We better get a cab fast!” We get a cab, get in and just as I predicted, it starts to rain. And I’m not talking DOWNPOUR rain, I’m talking WINDBLOWING rain. Like, I’m talking the rain that comes more into your car than outside on the street. Ok… ROLL UP the windows! Then all of a sudden it started to get VERY hot in the car. My husband says to the driver…. “Can you put on the AC?” To which Mr. Cabbie replies….”ahww sarry sur. AC en cab broken.” *Breakdown #4

5. We board the flight to Virginia Beach. We are both very excited to be going home. It was the first trip we were making to VB since the holidays when no one but our families and my best friend knew I was pregnant. We walk up the stairs to our puddle jumper that seats 50 people and as we settle into our seats, I look at my husband and say…. “It’s hot.” He tries to calm me by saying “Once the plane gets going, it will get cool.” Does it? NO. NO IT DOES NOT. So as we are in the air on our 52 minute flight, at about 30 minutes I start to get a little panicked. You know that panicked feeling you get when you feel your skin is about to bubble? That panicked feeling where you feel your blood is literally boiling inside of you? Yah, that was me. And before I knew it, I was dry heaving. My husband (God bless him) had my ipod out of my ears, the puke bag open and in front of me all while grabbing the emergency instructions to use as a fan. Once the flight attendant noticed what was going on, it was smooth sailing from there. She ran and grabbed me a paper towel obviously soaked in melted ice because it was freezing cold. *Breakdown #5.

And yes, this all happened within two weeks of each other. I will not even mention the un-air conditioned subway cars and buses. I won’t even tell you how I hung out with my brother the first day we were in VB when it was 92 degrees outside and he had no air conditioner in his car. HA! Let me just tell you that it’s been HOT. And it’s only June. And I have 8 more weeks to go! Please have mercy on my 8-months-pregnant soul!

*Yes, crying was absolutely involved in all breakdowns.

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113!

As many couples do when purchasing their first home, Charlie and I sat down and went through the pros and cons of the specific apartment we wanted to buy. The pros listed were the neighborhood, the space, the mid-sized building that already had many children for our little one to be friends with, and many many more pros that I could go on and on about. Among the cons was the walk to the train (we would probably need to take the bus) and the four flights of stairs we would have to walk up (no elevator building) to get to our apartment - and those were about the ONLY cons for the apartment.

Since we moved into our apartment two years ago, we’ve had quite a bit of visitors. Family and our closest friends have come to catch a glimpse of our fabulous apartment in Fort Greene, Brooklyn - the one we purchased in hopes to start our family. And every day I hear the same question from these people: “How you doing with all those steps!”

I never in my life would have believed how hard it would be to walk up four flights of stairs when i’m 7 1/2 months pregnant. The amount of stairs is exactly 50 (yes, I’ve counted) but that’s not including the steps I have to climb from the subway platform to the street (63! And yes, I’ve counted those too). So, each day I have to climb 113 stairs to get from my train to the couch in my apartment. Which, I must add, used to not even take the breath out of me!

But it’s a whole different ball game now. At the end of the day, my feet are so swollen that you can’t see my ankles! But one good thing has come of them! I’m pretty sure those 113 steps have contributed to the fact that I still DO NOT have any cellulite on my booty! For real - so BE JEALOUS!

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