tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82643973795615591452024-03-05T05:04:13.907-05:00The Princess and the Pee StickThe tale of one woman's journey through infertility, pregnancy and everything else she encountered on her way to happily ever afterPrincess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.comBlogger213125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-73953886999612800942013-12-01T19:26:00.002-05:002013-12-01T19:26:46.049-05:00Our Infertility Journey Video for IanIt took me until Ian's second birthday (okay...a couple of days before his second birthday) to finish our video/photo montage addressing our infertility journey and his first year. I'm not much for procrastinating, but I"m glad I waited on this. I needed to be far enough removed from the emotions of what we went through to figure out how much I was ready to share with family, friends and the public at large. I'm happy with the end result...and hope you all enjoy it. Thank you to those of you who have been with me throughout my journey...and for those of you who are joining me along the way and making me a small part of your journeys. Love you all.<br />
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<br />Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-49159739283390834432013-08-30T18:15:00.001-04:002013-08-30T18:15:37.017-04:00How Easy It Is To Forget<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I haven’t been on here in awhile…like almost a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my defense, I spent most of that year in
very poor health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opted to have
gastric bypass surgery in December 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The surgery was successful in that I’ve lost about 115 pounds, but I
lost the weight VERY quickly and had some severe complications after the
surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This past July, after months of
being on home IV nutrition and fluids through a PICC line, I had to undergo
another surgery (to remove a large ulcer that had developed that was preventing
me from eating and drinking, and to revise the original surgery) with a
different bariatric surgery program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am happy to report that I am feeling MUCH better now with regard to my overall health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, I have a job that allowed me to work
from home and I had a lot of support from my husband and my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chose to have the gastric bypass surgery so
that I could be the mother that I wanted to be to Ian…not the mother who sat on
the couch and watched him play…or deleted every picture of herself out of
family pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I achieved my goal…but
in the process I had to sacrifice, for the last few months at least, being the
mother I wanted to be to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, I
was blessed with the happiest, smartest, most easy-going baby/toddler (in my unbiased
opinion) that anyone could have, so Ian has emerged from my health issues
none-the-wiser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could gush about him
forever, but I’ll save that for another post.</div>
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You may wonder why I’m writing now…after almost a year of
internet silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m writing now
because I need to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, there are
many side effects of drastic weight loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of which can be increased fertility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, when you’ve spent years going through what I went through to
get pregnant with someone else’s eggs, you don’t concern yourself with trivial
matters like “fertility.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the
bariatric doctors have asked me over the past months what birth control I am
using (as the birth control pill doesn’t absorb properly in gastric bypass
patients, and not everyone knows that), I’ve chuckled and explained that there
is no way I could get pregnant on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Between endometriosis, sucky eggs, only one ovary, periods that only
happen every 2 or 3 months, and infrequent sex with my husband (nothing like an
IV sticking out of your upper arm to put you and your man in the mood), I was
not too worried about getting pregnant. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only…I guess I should have been.</div>
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A couple of weeks ago (my first full week back at work
actually), I was sitting at my desk, typing away, when I felt wetness between
my legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My stomach was having sharp
pains, too, but it had only been 29 days since my last period, so I thought
maybe I was having some random ovulation issue…as my periods have been running
60 to 90 days apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ignored my body
for a couple of hours and by the time I got up and went to the bathroom, I had
bled through my jeans…at work…NICE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So,
I went home…and promptly started vomiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The cramps got super-intense and I told The Prince that I thought a cyst
must have burst or something, as this was NOT a normal period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On one trip to the bathroom, I noticed my old
boxes of home pregnancy tests next to my pads and tampons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prince had recently
re-arranged/toddler-proofed the bathroom and apparently thought those two items
logically went together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know
what possessed me to pee on a stick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wish I hadn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I had just left it
alone…but I didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And one positive
pregnancy test turned into two…and then three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I tested with a digital HPT later that night…still “PREGNANT,” but the
non-digital test’s line seemed a little lighter than it had been earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t say a word to The Prince or anyone
else about what was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I
obsessively counted the days back to my last “encounter” with my husband, and
tried to figure out how this could possibly happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The timing would be about right if I was “a
fertile,” but I wasn’t…I was very much infertile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remembered my husband saying to me prior to
the last “encounter,” “Do we need to use precautions?” and me saying “No”…ignoring
the box of condoms I had bought “just in case.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The next morning, there was still a positive line on the
non-digital HPT, but the digital was reading “NOT PREGNANT.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bleeding and cramping was still going
strong and I was pretty sure that this is what a “chemical pregnancy” looked
like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to work and decided to call
my OBGYN’s office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were rude,
saying “What exactly do you want us to do for you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can do a blood test, but it won’t help
anything.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Confirmation that I was a little bit pregnant
a few days earlier did not help anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I ended-up calling my fertility center for some more compassionate
advice, and the amazing head nurse (who is still an angel) told me to come in
for blood work, as we needed to be sure this was actually not a growing
pregnancy and also not an ectopic pregnancy that would require intervention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really odd sitting in the fertility
center waiting room where I had sat a hundred times before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the past, I was always praying for a
pregnancy…and this time I was praying for a negative beta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know how awful that sounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also know that if my pregnancy had
started out with that much bleeding…something was wrong with the pregnancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that I am well enough to go to work
and do daily living activities, but I am still struggling to take in 500
calories a day and to not lose weight every single day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not in any position to carry a healthy
pregnancy right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As I was leaving the clinic to wait the couple of hours for
the phone call with my Hcg level results, the head nurse asked me “What are we
hoping for here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was all I could do
not to break down right there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could
I say the words “A negative” inside the hallowed walls of the fertility
center…knowing that every other room was filled with a woman who was me 3 years
ago…a woman who would give anything for a positive?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that moment, I could not have felt any
lower, any more despicable, any more irresponsible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walked back through the waiting room, I
saw a room full of husbands, boyfriends, partners, and waiting patients looking
up at me with smiles of hope or nervous looks of anticipation and worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought, if they only knew what was in my
head right now, there would be only looks of contempt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The call came a couple of hours later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Hcg was already down to zero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could only have been the very tiniest bit
pregnant…but the news still hurt emotionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even though I feel it was the best outcome, I still felt a deep sadness
that I still haven’t completely shaken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The bleeding has FINALLY stopped, but the emotional pain (mainly guilt
and sadness) has not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eventually (a
couple of days in) told my husband what happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said he was sorry I was going through it,
but he was glad I wasn’t pregnant because my body couldn’t handle that right
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he launched into how exciting
it was that I can get pregnant with my own eggs…and I wanted to punch him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I technically got a little bit pregnant with
my own eggs, but it didn’t take…and there’s no way of knowing if the loss was
about my egg quality, my endometriosis, my body attacking an embryo, or just a
comment on my general health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hell…it
could have just been a fluke as Dr. Google claims that 50-70% of pregnancies
are likely chemical pregnancies that no one knew about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I suppose it is possible that I have
magically become a fertile, I think it is more likely that this loss was a
reminder that I cannot get pregnant with a child with my own eggs…at least not
for more than a day or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’ve
already mourned the loss of having a child that is biologically mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to reopen that wound and start
the process of hoping that my eggs “work.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have eight little frozen embryos, genetic siblings to the perfect
little angel we already have, waiting for us to decide in a year or two if we
want to try to give Ian a sibling before we put the rest up for adoption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m okay with that…but apparently my husband
is not on the same page as me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I
did learn from this experience is that my body is not to be trusted and I can’t
count on my infertility, so I need to use some form of birth control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a concept after years of failed ART
cycles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I know this post isn’t going to win me any
friends…especially with those still in the trenches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been avoiding writing it because: (1)
it’s not exactly how I wanted to make my blogging return; (2) I have friends
who are going through their own infertility/fertility stuff and I’ve been
trying to wait for their stuff to calm down before putting this out there; (3)
I’m worried about getting lectured in the comments about how irresponsible and
deplorable I am for behaving recklessly and then hoping for a negative beta…and
I don’t know if I’m strong enough to fight back because I mostly agree; and (4)
I worry that I’ll regret putting this insanely honest post out there…but it
will<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>be too late to take it back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately, it doesn’t matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know I will put this post out there because
I need to write this post…and get these toxic thoughts and feelings out of my
head and heart. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My blog has always been
my place to come and be totally honest about my feelings and experiences with
infertility and along the way it has saved me an occasionally even helped
someone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really hoping this
post helps me work through the emotions surrounded with this situation, and
doesn’t hurt anyone else in the process…especially those of my infertile
friends working on conceiving siblings for their little angels.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It’s easy to forget what it is like to be sitting in the
waiting room of the fertility center, praying for some good news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You wouldn’t think the intensity of the
feelings would ever fade or leave you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But before writing this post, I made myself go back and read through my
posts when I was there…just to be sure that the old me would still want me to
post this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had forgotten how intense
things were…how bad the emotional pain was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And still, I am writing this post because the old me, sitting in the
waiting room praying for a positive beta or a good follicle scan, would have
wanted me to…because she would want me to NOT forget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not forget how awful this very early loss feels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not forget how far I’ve come over the last
six years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not forget to be grateful
every day for what I have and what the future may hold for me and my
family…whatever that word means down the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s easy to forget, but not when it is in writing…out there for the
world to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-56703520782754128242013-01-23T22:45:00.001-05:002013-01-23T22:45:51.692-05:00Hello, Stranger! (Lots of photos...may take awhile to load)<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Wow a lot has happened since my last post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel awful that I’ve been away for so
long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve missed my bloggy
buddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m realizing how quickly
life moves once there is a little one taking up your time, and I am determined
not to miss a single second of my little guy’s childhood…even if it means
sacrificing some of my interests for awhile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I won’t promise that I am going to write more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will promise that I am going to try to do a
little better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I miss this.</div>
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I don’t have the slightest idea how to catch everyone up on
everything that has happened since I last wrote.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, given that they say a picture is worth a
thousand words, I will post a bunch of pictures of Ian and hope that they tell
some of the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still madly in
love with Ian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People tell me “wait
until [insert next step of development].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is so much harder.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So far, I’ve
found those people to be wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel
like things just keep getting better and better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ian is taking his first little steps (on his
own) now, and he is a little parrot…trying to mimic everything we say (and
failing miserably for any word that doesn’t start with a B and D or an M). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He plays funny little games and is CONSTANTLY
smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I will say, for all the joy
and happiness I feel during my waking hours, there are still some nights when
infertility haunts me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes I wake
up and “forget” for a second that we have a baby…feeling like we are still back
to trying without success to get pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I assume feeling must be from bad dreams just carrying over into my
first waking seconds, but I wonder why I am having those dreams in the first
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if I will have them
forever… if they are some kind of a scar left over from years of trials.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel guilty for having those moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel more guilty that I want to forget
about infertility, put it in a box, and store it away forever…never thinking
about that pain again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3yWkidVNRTJA-usiqnWyE4qrYx03DmaMUQ8JWVfP1r_yfvnOuY6W87xF_4knV3-TbJy99lJ6FAh1xHxDxUJIAbw0WJ2QbQ7aR3cHgGcJbgCso5rsGr2LgKIvMWgcyiIGVx8KykqHIAY/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf3yWkidVNRTJA-usiqnWyE4qrYx03DmaMUQ8JWVfP1r_yfvnOuY6W87xF_4knV3-TbJy99lJ6FAh1xHxDxUJIAbw0WJ2QbQ7aR3cHgGcJbgCso5rsGr2LgKIvMWgcyiIGVx8KykqHIAY/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+063.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But enough of the Debbie Downer stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On to the photos.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCF5LJvQe0F2z32CCswb44mBhg32OF4WqfooesbvY57M_uiqWjT568gtV6GwA8vGc1MoTRWmdKf3YJiA-70JVWGhvpfqm_SnfFhj3g8SepmpdIWaiseT8469XknPLTlebFheQTgqv1aWU/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCF5LJvQe0F2z32CCswb44mBhg32OF4WqfooesbvY57M_uiqWjT568gtV6GwA8vGc1MoTRWmdKf3YJiA-70JVWGhvpfqm_SnfFhj3g8SepmpdIWaiseT8469XknPLTlebFheQTgqv1aWU/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+024.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes...my little genius is attempting to eat grass in this photo. lol.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS6Q415Uj_RlMZmvIjU5I7fGmFlcNkXCzPQz2iH8t9Ch2PBBatTmYJ5Wx9uAusDSFLFkw3jlQ86wLPgcqoLTBh-A7QbXmtIf2SVleStgBjzewIxoIB1fauqD4pjl5ena8devlmmyVuoV8/s1600/Ian+10+months+060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS6Q415Uj_RlMZmvIjU5I7fGmFlcNkXCzPQz2iH8t9Ch2PBBatTmYJ5Wx9uAusDSFLFkw3jlQ86wLPgcqoLTBh-A7QbXmtIf2SVleStgBjzewIxoIB1fauqD4pjl5ena8devlmmyVuoV8/s1600/Ian+10+months+060.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pugs and Kisses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLU22TsN5UnE3gsDRB5TU3716neCqmNtx-5SLdx35ntPXKcoowQ0J8T0W_c-j3_C1K94dh7NQut6PyB3oJIVVsjSZcxwRDTBim8mJDzSvr4oozVQrnvResw-OpA_3UVkV2nroPnN2LqbA/s1600/Ian+October+2012+062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLU22TsN5UnE3gsDRB5TU3716neCqmNtx-5SLdx35ntPXKcoowQ0J8T0W_c-j3_C1K94dh7NQut6PyB3oJIVVsjSZcxwRDTBim8mJDzSvr4oozVQrnvResw-OpA_3UVkV2nroPnN2LqbA/s1600/Ian+October+2012+062.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bright-eyed boy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzB5nRZATDd5vHnbAXZkgkmmkL-Wdj6OF388s-OWLp5Z13woFtOdk0yicom4EjXL4-1_RBPfaPY7zwak56pUI7U7CWIX_aIF57hizDKlnUjp5qcVQebIMbdrMPpYDdWW2DnTegKyp7dY/s1600/Ian+October+2012+019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzB5nRZATDd5vHnbAXZkgkmmkL-Wdj6OF388s-OWLp5Z13woFtOdk0yicom4EjXL4-1_RBPfaPY7zwak56pUI7U7CWIX_aIF57hizDKlnUjp5qcVQebIMbdrMPpYDdWW2DnTegKyp7dY/s1600/Ian+October+2012+019.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Halloween...a golfer like his daddy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKU2no86v1wtubsVJyKg0Xse3IRcfUj6h9ET23fE-HZwzHpu0qrtPyW_ILLyN4e7oRYMx_P4KPfSAYSBBQW6RPzEE48rOW1QfSHCA7OE2v-PsBa4cN9KZfBDKaeFhuZSwVK1nXJRQknaI/s1600/Ian+in+September+2012+032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKU2no86v1wtubsVJyKg0Xse3IRcfUj6h9ET23fE-HZwzHpu0qrtPyW_ILLyN4e7oRYMx_P4KPfSAYSBBQW6RPzEE48rOW1QfSHCA7OE2v-PsBa4cN9KZfBDKaeFhuZSwVK1nXJRQknaI/s1600/Ian+in+September+2012+032.jpg" height="320" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We love our football</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpC7DpiIx6_0XMeDK5XjTlASiJHQ_PhWfZO4tWwbDghg2btMt1C_f4Ug-IBWa33Kh9raKIS-7mmUGNEfWMScuQRAAXCVpg9XNLkE-ZOiP6tLXfAAK5tslDrd62b-zndNu_pvqgkGsP5Mw/s1600/Ian+10+months+068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpC7DpiIx6_0XMeDK5XjTlASiJHQ_PhWfZO4tWwbDghg2btMt1C_f4Ug-IBWa33Kh9raKIS-7mmUGNEfWMScuQRAAXCVpg9XNLkE-ZOiP6tLXfAAK5tslDrd62b-zndNu_pvqgkGsP5Mw/s1600/Ian+10+months+068.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First walking practice session</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MJm-KyJCw2l-yN2ameY6uf6Allj9sk4IK08bQiOP_iPRk6ebBmiDbwhezI8OFd-oGFzPZR24jys1uBBAw-KHD_S9OJsIKa3wlBCtPEfmgIH7YTtFSBTZ9tu_J14bofZwTxpflyf6cf8/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MJm-KyJCw2l-yN2ameY6uf6Allj9sk4IK08bQiOP_iPRk6ebBmiDbwhezI8OFd-oGFzPZR24jys1uBBAw-KHD_S9OJsIKa3wlBCtPEfmgIH7YTtFSBTZ9tu_J14bofZwTxpflyf6cf8/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+011.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, Ladies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAmAVYExq_ZawD36BxuFxWkXm62N9ta0Or4DB6BClr5zSt0M3770ZE-hWl5saCQi3I5RLEtMHiR-WAxGHVvw35Z1aYXupsqYdtS4JyWk3i-PhuErju-HqxAFP5cCE6ttugtpCIWnC90E/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAmAVYExq_ZawD36BxuFxWkXm62N9ta0Or4DB6BClr5zSt0M3770ZE-hWl5saCQi3I5RLEtMHiR-WAxGHVvw35Z1aYXupsqYdtS4JyWk3i-PhuErju-HqxAFP5cCE6ttugtpCIWnC90E/s1600/Ian+professional+holiday+photos+2012+015.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken right before that basket exploded into pieces. I told the photographer he wouldn't fit. Luckily no one got hurt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMP_tqBIU-OR4weWDKZBCppHJa4dJS1nHIxINFsntjRGorrD_I4FvXbff-i-lapWgMxFepJJzijkD4okh3GDELxq4jSm_Q4PLSRk9DU7JcA9aaKxdLR35s73YIZOLZGR2rSFZMNkaKt8/s1600/Ian%2527s+First+Birthday+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMP_tqBIU-OR4weWDKZBCppHJa4dJS1nHIxINFsntjRGorrD_I4FvXbff-i-lapWgMxFepJJzijkD4okh3GDELxq4jSm_Q4PLSRk9DU7JcA9aaKxdLR35s73YIZOLZGR2rSFZMNkaKt8/s1600/Ian%2527s+First+Birthday+005.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swimming is still his favorite activity.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsc8fiN4vjusgh4wCa1NvhRyxpgM1QQMwha0dTdDgVgZBCbKOcvp6R9EmwB9s6Zx188uaYgvi_TgReaXu-xH7ncQgPoI94CrG99JrxG4GClUS6wfRpcfoUOjrpkXKyAdX4qx9LmNnabAo/s1600/Ian+10+months+024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsc8fiN4vjusgh4wCa1NvhRyxpgM1QQMwha0dTdDgVgZBCbKOcvp6R9EmwB9s6Zx188uaYgvi_TgReaXu-xH7ncQgPoI94CrG99JrxG4GClUS6wfRpcfoUOjrpkXKyAdX4qx9LmNnabAo/s1600/Ian+10+months+024.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYbg88qSGUj4ozFnPiSFemAw98lC5l8jQ2Kqe2SpWV28vvfEEo06ochiw_Klg8ULNEgXbJP0oyMtl2Isbg60oF-mO3bOnexdd5dejeIAc3kOsrLry4eqco-Jpe50bsUlaT0t92WX2-EU/s1600/Ian%2527s+First+Birthday+025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYbg88qSGUj4ozFnPiSFemAw98lC5l8jQ2Kqe2SpWV28vvfEEo06ochiw_Klg8ULNEgXbJP0oyMtl2Isbg60oF-mO3bOnexdd5dejeIAc3kOsrLry4eqco-Jpe50bsUlaT0t92WX2-EU/s1600/Ian%2527s+First+Birthday+025.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where did the year go?</td></tr>
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Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-58182732263466462492012-09-23T13:10:00.002-04:002012-09-23T13:10:29.997-04:00Thank you.Hello bloggy friends. While Ian is down for a nap, I just wanted to take a chance to thank everyone who wrote me words of support while I was "down." I'm happy to say the clouds seem to have lifted...though I'm not sure why. Probably a combination of hormones and remembering to be grateful. I think about where I was at one year ago...pregnant and sick out of my mind. And then I think about where I was two years ago...quite certain that my dream of motherhood was never coming true. And then I think about Ian...and I cry tears of joy. I have been so blessed and I need to remember that. I may not always be able to fend of the "blues" that creep in, especially in the face of really difficult situations, but knowing how blessed I am may be the light at the end of the tunnel that leads me out of the dark. Your support meant the world to me over the last few weeks and you all helped me remember that I am not alone and I have a lot to be thankful for. Thank you for being a part of my recovery.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-88767481420427118532012-09-11T20:03:00.003-04:002012-09-11T20:03:44.944-04:00You Don't Need to Waste Your Time Reading ThisI probably shouldn't write this post. I think it is never good to just write (and post) off the cuff when I am really upset. I end up looking back at what I said and doing a "Doh!" But still...I'm going to write tonight anyways.<br />
<br />
I'm writing because I am depressed and I have no one to talk to about it tonight. The beauty of going through infertility treatments with everyone is that you get to see all of your friends dreams come true around the same time (or at least over the course of a few years). The down side of having almost exclusively IF friends is that there is no one to call about problems when things pop up...because they have little kids/babies, too. That is not to say that any of my friends wouldn't find a way to drop what they were doing and listen to me if they could. Some of them have done just that in the past. But knowing how hard it is to juggle friendship time and baby time, I don't want to put them in that position. So...here I am...on my blog...talking to no one in particular.<br />
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I should probably get the answer to the big question out first. I am NOT suicidal at all. I've been depressed on and off throughout my life and I am pretty sure this is the product of hormones and life's circumstances hitting me at the same time. I don't think this is going to turn into a clinical, chronic thing (or at least I hope not). I see a psychologist to deal with my issues with food, in preparation for my upcoming weight loss surgery, so I am "seeing a professional" who is aware of how blue I started feeling last week. I'm trying to work out what is causing me to feel so blue, so crabby and so fatigued. Here are my ideas:<br />
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1. THE BIG ONE - My dog who has cancer (and was diagnosed while I was pregnant last summer) is nearing the end. But she is one of those stoic dogs that won't just stop eating, or stop playing, so you know it is "time." No...she wags her little tail and gets into stuff like normal. But she won't walk outside anymore, she goes to the bathroom on the floor randomly without even bothering to squat and she pants constantly. She can't eat regular dog food because of the golf-ball sized tumor in her mouth, so we switched her to wet food. She eats it voraciously, then promptly throws up some clear slime substance a half hour later. I've given her pain meds, but they don't seem to be helping. I'm struggling horribly with the "when" choice. Do I wait until I'm sure her quality life is bad enough that putting her to sleep is a kindness? Or do I put her to sleep while she is still happy, before she gets to the quitting point? This weighs on me day and night. I've talked to two vets, my husband, my friends...everyone who will listen. But ultimately, she is my dog and it is my decision. And it sucks.<br />
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2. My family is a train wreck. As usual. Not much that needs to be said here for anyone who has followed my blog. My sister's children are currently in Belize and I have to say that I don't think that is the worst place for them. Nice, huh? I prefer them to be with complete strangers in a poor country where I will likely never see them again as opposed to having them live with my sister. I've just written them all off. My husband and I can't fight everyone all the time to give the kids a normal life and, as selfish as this will sound, my sister and her friends are dangerous and I have to think about Ian's safety above all else...even above the welfare of my niece and nephew. I can't even hear about what is going on because it causes me physical pain. My mom is just enabling the whole situation and so I've had to tell her we can't talk about anything other than how Ian is doing, the weather, etc. In short, I have made the decision to almost completely cut my family out of my life...and that sucks too. I want them to be something they can't be and they want me to stop expecting more from them. I'm just done with it all.<br />
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3. My weight loss is a slow and tortuous journey. I needed to lose 13 pounds by October 15th in order to get the surgery date I want. I'm currently down 8.5 pounds...but I've been working on this for months now. How am I going to lose another 4.5 pounds in a month? I walk my entire lunch hour at work, despite my sore knees, hips, feet etc. I eat what I am supposed to eat and avoid what I am supposed to avoid. Why the heck can't I get this weight off? And why do I have to lose weight on my own to get weight loss surgery (which you get because you can't keep weight off on your own)? I actually know the answer to that question but still the situation is frustrating. I try not to beat myself up too much, but really?!? How did I let myself get this big? I try to focus on the fact that I'm doing something to change it now...and that's what is important. But when I can hardly walk because my feet are so sore from carrying all my weight around, or when I have to stop and rest between each flight of stairs I walk up, it is really hard to be positive.<br />
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4. My husband hasn't touched me in a remotely romantic way since I got pregnant. Granted, we weren't probably having enough sex to get pregnant on our own before my pregnancy. But now...nothing. During the pregnancy he used the excuse that he didn't want to hurt me or the baby. In hindsight, given my preterm labor, I'm glad we didn't go there. But since the baby was born...still nothing. All of my advances are rebuffed. He watched the childbirth process...from the baby-coming-out view. Did it gross him out so bad he can't stand the idea of that body part being sexual again? Does he see me just as a mommy and not as a lover anymore? Is he so grossed out by the weight and stretch marks that he just can't make himself do it? I've asked him and he says no to all of these above...but then we still don't "do it." It makes me think...I wouldn't really want to have sex with me either at this point, so how can I get upset about him not wanting to. But still...this situation is a bit depressing. Every wife wants to feel wanted. I should add, in fairness to him though, our marriage is about the strongest it has ever been. We are a great team when it comes to raising Ian and what my husband is lacking in the bedroom department, he is more than making up for in the "being an awesome Dad" department. Still...no sex sucks.<br />
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5. I can't get anything accomplished. I like order. I like knowledge. I like things to be clean and tidy. My life is a constant state of chaos. If when Ian goes to bed he doesn't have food stuck in his eyebrow or on his ears, I've had a good day. That's how low the bar is set now. Forget cooking. That happens maybe three times a week (probably part of #3's issues). Forget housecleaning. My husband and I tag team clean, handing off the baby in between chores. I have to grit my teeth and appreciate my husband doing a crappy job at his chores, and I have to prioritize mine and find ways to let things go. For example...my kitchen stove top has not been thoroughly washed in three weeks (guess it's a good thing I'm not cooking more, huh?). Before Saturday...our floors had not been mopped or even swept in two weeks (unless you count bleaching all of the spots where our dog with cancer "went" on the floors). Ian's playroom and my bedroom are the only sacred rooms that gets cleaned thoroughly during the week. Unfortunately, we can't live in those rooms...or we'd turn them into chaos, too. I think this is going to have to be the new normal standard..."Good enough." But I am having a very tough time adjusting.<br />
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6. The chronic pain associated with the endometriosis sent me reeling. I feel better now, but I forgot how awful that pain really is. I forgot how my whole system would just revolt, making every movement painful. I forgot how it felt to be so tired I couldn't even get out of bed...no matter how badly I needed to. I am terrified of the disease progressing again. It will happen. no amount of happy thinking will fix that. But it may happen slowly, and that is all I can hope for. But right now...I am really sad to know that more pain is coming. <br />
<br />
There is probably even more going on than all of this, but this is what is rolling off the tip of my tongue. Whatever is causing my "blues," I need to get over it. I don't have the time or energy to be at less than tip top shape. Maybe this is just like a second wave of baby blues related to that first post-pregnancy period. Who knows. At least I got all of this crap out of my system. Sorry for such a crap post. <br />
<br />Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-8104842040151203732012-09-01T12:09:00.000-04:002012-09-01T12:10:40.327-04:00Endometriosis is a Dirty B-Word!!!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband and I work hard not to curse around Ian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But sometimes a curse word is warranted, so
we say something like “B-word” or “S-word” or “F-word.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can always tell from the context what was
meant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well I have to say, ENDOMETRIOSIS
IS A BIG FAT ”B-WORD”!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought that after pregnancy I would get a bit of a
reprieve from my endometriosis symptoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Many women do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, some are “cured”
of their symptoms after giving birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
really tried to keep a positive attitude that I would be one of the lucky ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently I have yet again disproved the
power of positive thinking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been approximately nine months since I gave
birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the after-pregnancy bleeding
stopped, I had nothing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I was
breastfeeding, so I assumed AF would come back after I weaned Ian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three months ago I weaned him, and for three
months…no AF.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had sort of resigned
myself to the fact that my female cycle was just dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body was in menopause, just as it had been
before I got pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, yesterday,
I woke up with a nasty surprise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Apparently AF decided to sneak back into my life like a thief in the
night…literally in the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should back up a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve felt twinges and aches for months that felt like endometriosis
pain, but I kept trying to tell myself it is just my uterus still shrinking or
my body adjusting after delivering a baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The last week or so, I had the old intense ache in my low back, non-stop
need to urinate regardless of how little urine I had to give up, and the
cramping that rivals food poisoning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Trying to be a Positive Polly, I told myself that these things could be
a result of my new healthy lifestyle – high protein diet, greatly increased
physical activity level, and increased water intake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere inside I knew it was endo pain…but
I didn’t want to believe I could have endo so soon.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyways…back to the thief in the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I woke up and cleaned up the colossal
mess that anyone with endometriosis is all too familiar with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt an insane amount of pain and nausea,
but I sucked it up and went to work with as much Ibuprofen in my system as my
stomach could handle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did the
obligatory super tampon /overnight pad combo routine all day at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I can home, I was greeted with the
unpleasant surprise that somehow I had failed to notice that I had leaked onto
my pants anyways (at least they were black pants).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humiliation on top of frustration and pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Great.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pulled out the old heating pad from its storage spot and
prayed for some relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forgot how
exhausted endometriosis makes you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe
all periods cause fatigue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not
sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was diagnosed with severe
endometriosis at age 14/15, so I don’t know if I ever got to have endo-free
periods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I couldn’t keep my eyes
open yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it was the pain
that was draining me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But whatever the cause, anyone who says that
endometriosis isn’t a chronic, debilitating illness hasn’t been through it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today, things have only gotten worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m exhausted, cranky, sick of spending as
much time in the bathroom as out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
feel like eating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t feel like
sitting on the stupid towel I have to put down on the furniture “just in case.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a million thoughts swirling through my
mind like…”Do I really want to endure this for a few more years while my
husband comes around to the decision that I am already comfortable with…that
our family is complete with Ian?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or “What
if I decide to have a hysterectomy and end up getting cancer (having a
hysterectomy at a young age increases your risk for some cancers without
hormone replacement therapy…which you can’t take if you want to keep the endo
at bay)?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>or “How can I have worked so hard
to get pregnant and now be so willing to let my ability to do that in the
future go away?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I making too hasty a
decision?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are no good answers to these questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, there is really no good in even
asking the questions at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know they
are just a product of pain and frustration and that once this bout has passed my
concern about those issues will pass as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, as endometriosis always does, it will continue to slowly progress,
interfering with my life more and more until, eventually, the questions have to
be answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until then, I know I need
to just bite the bullet, take comfort in the fact that I am not alone and that
there some of my friends in “the real world” and in “blog world” get what I am experiencing
right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is hard to expect any
empathy from someone who just hasn’t experienced this (i.e.- my husband).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Endometriosis sucks!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s unfair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it’s a B-word! </div>
Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-76631482828312961162012-08-29T14:44:00.001-04:002012-08-29T14:46:02.928-04:00WARNING! There are baby photos at the bottom of this post.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So sorry
about my insanely extended absence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
missed you all terribly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am still
finding it difficult to find “me time” since Ian’s birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I adore him so much, I happily spend every
free waking moment with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unfortunately, that means no time for blogging, hair appointments,
visiting with friends (well…a little time for that) or much else I used to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am also preparing for weight loss surgery
in January and the preparations are a lot more energy-zapping and
time-consuming than you might think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Balancing taking care of myself and feeling like I am doing a good job
as a mother is currently my greatest struggle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I figure I have a lot of time to work on it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Since my last substantive post, I have returned to
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was very scared about going back
to work and how it would affect me emotionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everyone told me, it will suck for awhile…take tissues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I (guiltily) have to say…I love being
back at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I trust that Ian is having
fun with the nanny all day (she is soooooo great with him) and I’m not
worried about him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get time for a
shower every day (okay…almost every day) and get to go have conversations with
adults about things other than what Ian’s poop habits are, or the extent of his
reflux (which he is FINALLY starting to outgrow).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoy my rides to and from work, when it is
just me, my blaring music and my thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know I should want to spend every moment with Ian, but I feel like I
enjoy my time with him so much more now that there isn’t quite so much of it. I hope that doesn't make me a bad IF mommy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for Ian, he is doing awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll attach some pictures to this post (and
hope I’m not offending anyone going through a rough time. I want him to be an inspiration, not a source of pain).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is fabulously happy almost all of the
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a big eater (which is funny
given the time he spent in the NICU because he wouldn’t/couldn’t eat).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We joke (perhaps crudely) that our premie now
looks like he ate a premie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a
serious chunk!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just started throwing
fits about things he doesn’t like (he’s not even 9 months old yet…boy are we in
for it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spits/does raspberries and
gets all red in the face until he gets what he wants...or gives up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s so funny, it is hard to say “no” and keep a straight face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s going to get picked on a lot when he
hits school if he doesn’t find a new way to show his displeasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s still not crawling…at least not
forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He goes backwards really well
which only frustrates him more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All-in-all, he is a happy and healthy (and spoiled) little guy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A commentor who was new to the donor egg journey had asked
me on an earlier post if I could comment on my feelings about using a donor,
now that I have my baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not even
sure where to start, so I’ll try to just hit the big points.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone should feel free to ask me questions
you might have, and I am MORE than happy to answer them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will give me incentive to get back on here
quickly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First and most
importantly, I NEVER see him as anything other than 100% mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think about the donor or the fact that we
used a donor to conceive him for a few seconds, every few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually it is when I am analyzing some feature
of his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> But there is no sadness connected with those thoughts. It is just a matter of fact and, if anything, he feels that much more special because he was truly a gift. </span>I can’t imagine that it is
possible to feel more connected to Ian than I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>DNA makes zero difference when your baby is
in your arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next, I would say that
your baby may look (and act) a lot more like you than you would think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ian is almost a spitting image of me (no pun intended with the "spitting" thing).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The donor did not look a lot like me, but somehow Ian got my
features.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has his daddy’s eye color
and ears (poor guy with those ears), but in every other way, he looks like
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of people who know we used
a donor have said to me, “Are you sure it’s not possible that you accidentally
got pregnant with your own egg?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smile
and say no, but secretly inside, I love that no one questions whose baby he is.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only downside I’ve found about our use of an egg donor…or
perhaps more so our decision to tell people we used an egg donor…is that
you must educate, and re-educate, and re-educate people over and over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stupid comments will be made…not out of
malice, but out of ignorance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are
still convinced that our decision to make Ian’s conception story not a secret
was the right one, but that decision does come with consequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worry about those stupid comments when Ian
gets old enough to understand them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
large number of the comments come from my mother, who says things like “What if
you run into the mother at some point, what will you do?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s
not his “mother.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with pictures of her, I’m not going to
recognize her if I see her on the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>C. The chances of me running into the donor are amazingly minute given
that we don’t live near each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>D.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the f@%^# kind of a
question is that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another one of my
favorites is “What will you do when he wants to track down the donor when he
gets older?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A. He may not have any
interest in “tracking down the donor.” B. If he does, we will have a
conversation about respecting the privacy she requested when she donated
eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>C.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This isn’t really the same thing as adoption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The gift she gave us was amazing and resulted
in our son…but it isn’t like she gave birth to her son and then gave him to
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a difference in the
analysis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>D.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll
cross that bridge when we get to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t really have to worry about that when he’s 9 months old and his only words
are DADADADADBABAOOOHHHHH!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When confronted with these “concerns,” I just remind myself
of how ignorant I was at the start of infertility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew what the different types of cervical
mucous were or what they meant, until they had a reason to find out and pay attention to that
issue?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People need to be educated with
patience…not made to feel stupid or mean (even if their comments seem stupid or
mean to us).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s how I feel about it
at least.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sure if that answers “anonymous’s” question, but I
hope it helped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really looking
forward to writing more soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But for
now…here’s my little miracle: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQd0gecfYawRfnotqQg_xlim1HSvPa2zkwRyA6jq-bnuXgsAg5A6K7PXrPkAeXtusULeZ-3PSTG9Gy9id_OWBnCcYoEKTSFLljAcRrqbzED0i86aDYRCHNcjTTEsqgvjpuLwEvW0SeN5o/s1600/Ian+in+August+2012+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQd0gecfYawRfnotqQg_xlim1HSvPa2zkwRyA6jq-bnuXgsAg5A6K7PXrPkAeXtusULeZ-3PSTG9Gy9id_OWBnCcYoEKTSFLljAcRrqbzED0i86aDYRCHNcjTTEsqgvjpuLwEvW0SeN5o/s320/Ian+in+August+2012+016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-5649741720563655032012-07-11T20:57:00.003-04:002012-07-11T20:57:51.628-04:00Ouch!I've been away form this blog for a long time. I've had lots to talk about and even some time to write. Unfortunately, I had a bad experience after my last blog and I've been sort of fearful to write...second-guessing choices I've made about sharing my son's name, his pictures, his milestones. I shared him with all of you because my blog has always felt like a safe place to me. A place to be open and honest, to receive love, support and occasionally some gently-worded tough love. But after my last post, my feelings changed.<br />
<br />
In the course of a few hours, I received multiple abusive comments on various posts. Some went back to early posts I had written. Some were on newer posts. Most of them made very little sense, but they did address issues in my posts and, thus, they felt very personal. It scared me that someone would spend the time and energy spreading cruelty on an infertility blog. That made me think...if there's someone out there willing to spread such hatred in my direction, what will happen when my son comes across those people. I wasn't going to even acknowledge what happened, as I was concerned that it would be encouraging the behavior...but I wonder how other women dealing with infertility (especially those with their own blogs) would deal with this situation. Should I erase every picture of my son? Go back through and try to remove every mention of his name? Erase everything? Go private? I want to just continue my blog the way it has been...the way that made me happy. I want to believe that the barrage of horrid messages was just a stupid prank and was a one time ordeal. I'm just not sure.<br />
<br />
<br />
On a lighter note, my son is doing really well. He is 7 months old, has two teeth, is loving hanging out with the nanny everyday, is laughing at EVERYTHING, and is sleeping 10-12 hours a night. I seriously could not be any luckier. I returned to work last week, and even though it wasn't easy, it wasn't nearly as hard as I had anticipated it would be. Seven months of maternity leave was perfect. I was ready to go back to work...and my son was ready to be without me during the day. He has developed a milk-protein and soy-protein allergy, so he is on unbelievably expensive formula. Still...if it helps him keep his formula down, it is worth it. He weighs about 21 pounds now...but is still super-short. He's mostly bald, but the hair is starting to fill in on top. We still can't tell what color his hair is going to be. It is red in the sunlight but medium brown in indoor lighting. I'm still at that stage where everything is exciting to me. He spills a glass of ice tea off the coffee table for the first time and I'm running to the baby book to record his "first destructive gesture." I'm ridiculous really...but I'm enjoying myself.<br />
<br />
I hope to write soon about the things that I actually want to talk about, but I need to ease back into this. In the meantime, I am trying to catch-up on everyone else's posts. Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-5104353516882814462012-06-11T19:16:00.000-04:002012-06-11T19:30:02.297-04:00Missing YouI know it has been way too long since I've written a post. I think about my blog a lot, but I never seem to find free time to write. I miss it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>NANNY:</b><br />
<br />
We found a great nanny! She is a few years younger than The Prince and I, but she is incredibly responsible. She will watch Ian at our house and will bring her son (two weeks younger than Ian) with her. I like the idea of Ian having a little buddy to grow and play with. I have no concerns about the nanny being able to handle both guys (even though I couldn't do it), as she used to run an infant room in a daycare (8 infants being cared for by just her and one other adult). She also watched her friend's son (three days younger than Ian) for a couple of months shortly after her son was born. If she can handle two one-month old boys, she can handle two seven-month old boys. We are currently rearranging and improving our house to prepare play areas for the boys. I've ordered one inch thick foam mats for the floors of the two designated play rooms, we've put baby gates around all things breakable and dangerous, and we are working on getting rid of non-essentials to make room for baby things. (If only we had a nursery...but alas, The Prince still hasn't even started that room. Someday).<br />
<br />
<b>ENDOMETRIOSIS:</b><br />
<br />
On a more negative note, my endometriosis is back. I'm sure it never actually left, but I didn't feel it during the pregnancy or after delivery. I wasn't sure if it was endo yesterday, when the cramping and sharp pains started. I am in the process of weaning Ian and I thought maybe my "monthly cycle" was just starting up again. Nope. Today I felt the tell-tale sharp pains in my left pelvic region and the back ache that comes with it. I know a lot of women have SERIOUS periods when they stop breastfeeding, but I am certain this is not that. Unfortunately, I know my endo well...and it is back. I am just hoping that a hormone fluctuation is to blame for this little endo surge. I don't have space in my life right now for the debilitating chronic pain that goes along with endometriosis. I'm not sure that endometriosis cares.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>WEANING GUILT:</b><br />
<br />
I am really struggling to let go of my guilt over giving up breastfeeding at 6 months. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends no less than one year of breastfeeding. The World Health Organization recommends no less than 2 years. I have lots of friends who weren't able to breastfeed their babies, and I had no problem with that. I fully supported them and I would be furious if anyone suggested that they should feel guilty. I know they have healthy, happy little bundles of joy that suck their formula right down. But for some reason, when it comes to my decision to switch Ian to formula at 6 months, I feel like crap about it. So why am I making the switch? Well, for one thing, I go back to work in a couple of weeks. Right now, I am having to use (and rent) a hospital grade pump to get any milk. I can't cart that thing back and forth to work and just pumping two or three times a day isn't going to keep my supply up. So, pumping isn't going to work. Plus, once I am back at work, I don't want to spend what little time I will have with Ian pumping. The alternative is to give up sleep...and I don't want that either.<br />
<br />
Also, I have had to take increasing doses of Reglan to try to keep up my milk supply. It is starting to make me sick. When the dose gets too high, that medicine causes a "dumping syndrome." Basically, I feel shaky and sick, get cramps and have digestive upset. My prescription runs out in 3 weeks...I don't want to get a new one. I'm fighting my body to keep getting milk for Ian and the fight is just taking a lot out of me - physically and emotionally. I cannot keep up with his intake needs anyway. The issue is just whether he is going to get formula only, or whether I am going to continue torturing myself so that he can have formula AND breast milk. <br />
<br />
Ian had a serious dislike for formula at first. He would just spit it and refuse to drink it. After a few days, I got him to drink a couple of formula bottles as long as he was getting breast milk the rest of the day. Then we went to half and half. Now, he drinks formula all day and gets about 5 ounces of breast milk at night. He clearly prefers the breast milk, but he doesn't hesitate when given formula. He refused to nurse for all of May and most of April, but the last few days, when I started truly cutting my supply by only pumping once a day, he's decided he wants to nurse. <br />
<br />
The Prince makes my decision to stop breastfeeding more difficult by saying things like "He's nursing...clearly he's not ready to give up breast milk." Or "Look at how much more he likes your milk. Too bad you aren't sticking with it." The Prince clearly can't understand the joys and hardships of breastfeeding, so I try to be patient with him...but really, his inability to understand should be motivation for him to keep his trap shut. Ian is "making me feel guilty" by grabbing at my shirt all day and wanting the breast in his mouth at night, even if he doesn't actually suck. The Prince is making me feel guilty by confirming my fears that Ian isn't ready to be weaned. Maybe I should be feeling guilty...and that's why I am. I don't know. I just wish Ian had made the decision to actually nurse (as opposed to only eating breast milk bottles) prior to me making the decision to stop breastfeeding...or that he had stuck with his breast-boycott altogether. I can't stand this second-guessing and guilt.<br />
<br />
<b>CONCLUSION:</b><br />
<br />
This post has been really random and all over the place. Sorry about that. I guess that's what happens when I stay away too long. I do know how I want to wrap this up though...I want to say thank you to all of my friends. I try to read your blogs whenever I can and the power of your words and experiences keep me feeling connected to the world. Some people have just had some disappointments, some have just had births of their long-awaited children, some are adjusting to mommyhood, and some are still trudging through the IF trenches. All of you are amazing. It has been amazing to watch the IF journeys of so many women (including those in my personal life). I had a dream the other night (no kidding), that I was sitting in a garden, watching flowers bloom as one at a time. I realized that a new flower bloomed every time one of my IF friends had a baby. There were different types of flowers, different sizes, and different colors because each woman's dreams about becoming a mom were different. I know that's super corny, but I woke with a smile on my face and carried a good feeling with me that whole morning. I know not all of the buds have opened yet, but I have faith they are going to. <b> </b> <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhVTwZyNk_j56fLc16qzHwy3HESYOJw7VdxOGyqS9ezZgmq0_NYnZ-Phugp30bUiASWOr4g80l0gbEoPjkvGFow3_EL3duY9w2fxd5_6-cTi6DzBQBDVHIWONROZN3WS-Wp6yG4qpRaQ/s1600/May+2012+229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHhVTwZyNk_j56fLc16qzHwy3HESYOJw7VdxOGyqS9ezZgmq0_NYnZ-Phugp30bUiASWOr4g80l0gbEoPjkvGFow3_EL3duY9w2fxd5_6-cTi6DzBQBDVHIWONROZN3WS-Wp6yG4qpRaQ/s400/May+2012+229.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian and his mommy (my little bloom).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-46278985181547663162012-05-18T15:56:00.001-04:002012-05-18T15:56:50.606-04:00Nanny NeededI haven't had much time to write lately. It seems the older Ian gets, the more time I spend with him. I rarely want to do anything else, but I must take some time for myself to. Luckily, The Prince recognizes this fact and, today, he decided to take Ian to visit my in-laws, so I could have a few hours to myself.<br />
<br />
This last week has been especially stressful. First, there was more drama with my family (can't even get into it because it makes me sick to my stomach to think about it). Then, there was my first daycare tour. I'll be returning to week the first week in July. We placed Ian on the waiting lists for two daycares when I was 12 weeks pregnant. He has just now made it to the top of the list (just in time). I knew it would be hard for me to accept that I am going to be leaving Ian in the care of strangers, but I had no idea just how hard it would be.<br />
<br />
We (The Prince, Ian and I) went to the first daycare last Thursday. It is for state employees and we had heard good things. UGH!!! The carpeting was dirty and frayed. There were dirty and broken toys everywhere. Way too many kids were crammed into way too small of a space...and none of the 50 or so kids were smiling. In one room, a little girl came over and hugged my legs and begged me to be their new teacher because the teacher they had was mean. Seriously! The infant room had 10 infants at the time of our tour...usually there are 16. There were 3 adults in the room. Most of the infants were crying and the teachers were paying no attention to the crying. Two were getting breakfast ready for the older infants and one was changing a diaper of a younger infant. Babies were just sitting and laying around. I didn't even make it out of the room before I started bawling.<br />
<br />
New York state requires that daycares have one adult for every 4 infants under the age of 2. So that's what daycares do...a 4 to 1 ratio. It's too much. I have friends whose children go to daycares and they are perfectly happy with the care their babies receive with the 4:1, but I can't do it. Ian is used to my constant care and attention. We've practiced attachment parenting, so he has never been left to just cry it out (not that he has never been allowed to just cry for a few minutes to blow off steam...but he knows I'm there and I love him while he does it). Putting him in the daycare environment would be traumatic for him...and I say that with certainty. Even The Prince, who is all about saving money (and daycare is cheaper than any other childcare option) walked out of that first tour saying...NO WAY!<br />
<br />
After the first tour, I placed an add for a nanny. The Prince and I decided that, even though it will likely cost about half of my take-home pay, it is worth it while Ian is still an infant. His well-being and our peace-of-mind needs to come before financial concerns. <br />
<br />
We took a second tour, yesterday, of the daycare on the campus where The Prince is a professor. It was sooooo much better, and we feel really comfortable sending Ian there...when he's a toddler. The infant room was, once again, depressing. I watched one teacher put a crying baby in a crib, say "take a nap," and walk away to write in a notebook. Another teacher in the infant room was talking about how her son would be starting at the daycare now that he is 2. I said "He didn't come here with you to the infant room?" She said "Oh no...he's with people I trust." Really?!? Glowing recommendation.<br />
<br />
So, we've put ourselves on the waiting list for an opening in the toddler room next year, and will hire a nanny to get us through until then. There are a lot of candidates. I received 30 responses to our ad. I reviewed references and background checks, read profiles and started my stupid grading system. I narrowed the candidates down to the 7 best (although it is really difficult to say who is "better" than someone else when the criteria is so subjective). What I'm doing now reminds me a lot of what I did to find the right egg donor for us. At noon today, I wrote to the 7 top candidates, explaining what we are willing to pay and what we expect in return. I assumed that this would weed-out the people who are not on the same page as us, so we don't waste anyone's time. So far, 5 have responded that they would like an interview. It looks like next Saturday is going to be spent conducting interviews. <br />
<br />
I'm excited, but scared. This is one of those things that you have to get right. Ian's safety and happiness depends on this decision. I can't stay with him everyday for the next year, so I need to make sure that the person who is spending time with him is going to be able to care about him...not as much as I do...but close. Who knew, a year ago, that finding a nanny would be on my to-do list. I know you are probably sick of hearing me say "what a difference a year makes," but I can't help it. It's just surreal.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-90862643425703435762012-05-03T13:24:00.000-04:002012-05-03T13:24:28.437-04:00Transfer Update - Take TwoOne year ago today, I was providing an <a href="http://theprincessandthepeestick.blogspot.com/2011/05/not-so-quick-post-transfer-update.html">update</a> of my first donor egg cycle embryo transfer. Little did I know that one of the two embryos being transferred would stick for the long haul. Little did I know that the tiny 10-cell being in the picture below was going to become the little boy I am holding in my arms today.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ_MnyrM794kGUVlttWgP-GaHAelcT2_Yx_kgvZ35jnx97igfHc5wXezh02ZG3nALztIi5pFiSALMlvQUTQIDZJvcJgCf7HpiQCYqtB4WIb0CfutpZ0_RC6cCN2iTk0Kh_Lupx691b0w/s1600/embryo+Ian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ_MnyrM794kGUVlttWgP-GaHAelcT2_Yx_kgvZ35jnx97igfHc5wXezh02ZG3nALztIi5pFiSALMlvQUTQIDZJvcJgCf7HpiQCYqtB4WIb0CfutpZ0_RC6cCN2iTk0Kh_Lupx691b0w/s320/embryo+Ian.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian's first photo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Ian turned five months old today. He has his own little personality. He has very clear opinions about EVERYTHING and he will let you know what they are by yelling his babble at you when you misstep. I have to pinch myself to remind myself that this is my new reality. No more failed IVF cycle after failed IVF cycle. Now my days are spent changing diapers, working hard to elicit the most beautiful little smile in the world, and loving life. I can't believe how much has changed in my life in one year. I know I've said that before, but it is true everyday. I can't believe this is my life. <br />
<br />
In my post from last year, I talked about the doctor making me chant "I believe." I found it ridiculous at the time, but I <i>chose </i>to actually believe in that cycle...and for once, I hadn't set myself up for the fall. My dream came true and I couldn't be more grateful for the blessing I've been given.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-14369932420216250652012-05-02T08:13:00.001-04:002012-05-02T08:13:06.832-04:00Please Send Some LoveOne of our IF sisters is having a rough time right now. I'm not going to go into details because I think it is for her to share what she is comfortable sharing whenever she is ready. But I know she could really use some love and encouragement right now and the blog world support system is one of the best. So, I am asking all of you to take a second to head over to Krystyn's blog at <a href="http://www.bringonthebabies.com/">http://www.bringonthebabies.com</a> and give her some bloggy love.<br />
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Thank you so much for your help.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-82260606434275097862012-04-30T22:43:00.002-04:002012-04-30T22:43:16.499-04:00Saying Thank You and GoodbyeToday, Ian and I went to Mommy and Me yoga. The class is held in the upper floor of the building where my fertility clinic resides. I took Ian downstairs, after class, during the office's lunch time, to show him to all of the men and women who were so instrumental in getting him into my arms. I loved it and hated it at the same time.<br />
<br />
You see, when I walked into the fertility center doors, I realized immediately that there are still many painful memories haunting me there. There was one woman sitting in the waiting room when I walked through the lobby and I could read the pain and frustration in her face. I wanted to say to her..."I know. It does get better. I promise." But that's not a promise I can make...and a woman holding a baby is probably the last person she wants offering her advice right now. I can only pray that the glimpse she caught of my infant carrier didn't make her day any harder.<br />
<br />
When I saw the doctor and nurses, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. I ended up chattering like a middle school girl talking to the boy she's been crushing on. I was trying to be impressive and struggling to find something witty to say. I kept randomly saying "Thank you" in the middle of conversations because I couldn't keep the words in my mouth. The gratitude I feel towards those people is overwhelming. Having Ian sitting there, in the midst of the clinic just made the "homecoming" all the more intense. And although I know there is a remote possibility that we will be back there someday, trying again with one of our frosties...it felt like goodbye today. A real goodbye. Not the surreal experience I had on the day I was discharged from the clinic. This visit brought a sense of closure. And with that closure... I experienced sadness for what I lost in the past, peace about where I am at in the present, and hope for where I will be in the future. I cried on the way home from the visit with the clinic, but I'm not crying anymore. I am able to move forward, with gratitude in my heart.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-18587383374447104652012-04-27T22:57:00.000-04:002012-04-27T23:05:33.204-04:00I'm "That" Mom.I'm that mom who...<br />
<br />
1) ...called the pediatrician twice in the last two days. The first time because one of Ian's cheeks seemed "too red" to me. The second time because he had cried all day and wasn't drinking as much as usual. The "cheek" issue resolved before I was even off the phone with the doctor (apparently teething can cause redness in the baby's cheeks). The second call resulted in my giving Ian Tylenol...which resolved what turned out to be just another teething issue in 15 minutes. The pediatrician must LOVE me.<br />
<br />
2) ...shows everyone pictures of her baby. I mean EVERYONE! Receptionists, people in elevators, doctors, nurses, grocery store clerks. I, of all people, should know better. You never know what that person is going through and if looking at your baby is going to ruin their day. But I can't help myself. I waited so long to have a baby to show off...I just can't seem to stop.<br />
<br />
3) ...posts pictures of my baby on Facebook everyday (or almost every day). I have read IF post after IF post about the daft, inconsiderate women who think their stupid babies are so magical and so amazing that they shove pictures and updates about their babies down everyone's throats. Guilty as charged. I am now daft and inconsiderate. And I do think that everything Ian does is adorable and worthy of being shared with the world. I know that's stupid...I don't care. Love makes you do stupid things.<br />
<br />
4) ...can't stand the idea of my son going to daycare in a couple of months and yet... I start counting down the hours (and minutes) until his bedtime before I've even had breakfast some days. I adore spending my days with Ian. But all day, every day, for almost five months, is starting to be a bit much. And the feeling is mutual. There are times that Ian gives me a look in the morning as if to say "Ugh! Not you again." I think I will need to try to find a babysitter so that I can have a couple of hours here and there to myself during the week.<br />
<br />
5) ...still thinks about IF almost everyday. Isn't that strange? Some days it is because people tell me that Ian looks just like me. Some days it is because I will feel a pang in my remaining ovary. Some days it is because I am talking to or thinking about my best friends...almost all of whom I met in my IF support group. I guess when you spend years defining yourself by a condition that you have been forced to endure...it isn't easy to drop that label and forget about what you've been through.<br />
<br />
6) ...sings songs about EVERYTHING to amuse the baby. We have a "Poopy in the Pants" song, a "First We Do the Diapey Change And Then We Get a Baa" song, and...my personal favorite... a "We Don't Bite The Booby" song. If anyone bugged my house, I would likely be committed.<br />
<br />
7) ...talk to my baby in the car...while I'm driving. The people next to me must think I'm a crazy person as I talk, sing, make faces and do all kinds of other things to try to ease the crankiness of a baby that can't even see me...because he's facing the back of the car and I am looking out the windshield.<br />
<br />
8) ...takes my son for hour long rides in the car just to get him to stop crying. Not a great option given gas prices...but some days it's just necessary. He LOVES going for rides and will fall asleep within 30 seconds of hitting the highway. Gas could cost $10 a gallon...and it would still be worth every penny on his "bad" days.<br />
<br />
9) ...cringes when my mother or mother-in-law gives me antiquated parenting advice. I'm mouthy by nature and it is really difficult for me to bite my tongue and not just blurt out "That's wrong...research showed it was wrong a decade ago!" So far, I've behaved and focused on the love behind the advice. <br />
<br />
10)...loves my life. Changing poopy diapers (and poopy clothes) five times a day. Wearing puke-caked shirts (and pants and hair) more often than not. Sleeping less than I did when I was pregnant (which I didn't think was possible when I was pregnant). I love it all because it means I have Ian. It means I'm a mom...even if I am "that" mom.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-67133097266266315562012-04-22T21:11:00.002-04:002012-04-22T21:11:48.697-04:00Thank youI just wanted to send a quick thank you to all of you who commented on my last post. I had chest pains last night and this morning because I was so stressed out about the situation with my family. Every few hours, another email would pop up and it was more words of encouragement from all of you. Slowly, I felt more at peace with the choices I made and I felt so much better. I really can't thank you enough for being the family that my "real" family just can't seem to be for me.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-33510918378727387742012-04-21T22:40:00.002-04:002012-04-21T22:40:32.682-04:00Too Mad to Come Up With A TitleI received a call at 9:00 p.m. tonight from my mother. Naturally, I assumed someone was hurt or dying because why else would she call me when she knows for sure that Ian is sleeping? She opened the conversation with "I need a loan of $20 or more from you. There's a family health issue and the person with the family health issue asked me for the money. I don't have it, so I need to borrow it from you. It will be my loan though." I said "Let's cut the crap. What is wrong with [my sister] now?" Then my mom launched into a huge story about how my sister (who is 26 years old, mind you) took my 6 year old niece to the hospital and found out she has bilateral ear infections. My sister supposedly needs $14 to get my niece's medication. My mom wanted me to wire transfer her $20 (which costs $5-$7 to do) and she would then use $5 of that money to wire the remaining $15 to my sister. My mom told me that not helping would mean my niece could lose her hearing in both ears. <br />
<br />
I explained to my mom that Medicaid would cover my niece's prescription costs. Apparently, my sister doesn't have Medicaid for my niece because they wanted her to take two classes before getting Medicaid, and the classes would interfere with her (20 hour a week fast food) work schedule. I told my mom that there are loads of free clinics in the city where my sister lives. My mom said that my sister told her there wasn't and my sister had already been to the hospital and no one would help get the prescriptions. At that point...I called BULLSHIT. No hospital is going to send an uninsured child home without medications that she desperately needs. Hospitals have pharmacies and frequently provide prescriptions to children late on a Saturday night, when normal pharmacies might not be open. Even if everything my mother was saying was true, there are dozens of charitable organizations that could provide an emergency "gift" for the cost of the prescriptions. In fact, one such charitable organization just bought my sister a refrigerator and stove last month because child welfare workers had found out that my sister didn't have any appliances and my niece had no home cooked meals, milk, fruits or vegetables, etc. for months (except for the meals provided at school). (Every time I think child protective services is finally going to step in and do something for my niece, they find a new way to bandage the bullet hole...giving my sister time to find new ways to F-up as a parent and giving my niece more time to learn that madness is normal....GRRRRR!)<br />
<br />
My mother got furious with me and said that she couldn't believe I could be so heartless. She kept repeating that if I refused to help, I would be responsible for my niece's suffering. Finally, I said "You know that [my sister] is on drugs. She's admitted it to you. There are clearly ways for [my niece] to get her medicine without $14. Do you truly believe that this money is for a prescription? And even if it is...do you really think you are helping [my sister], by enabling her to not avail herself of the resources she has available to her? Is that really what is best for [my niece] in the long run? And did it occur to you that the reason she doesn't call me directly to ask for the money is because she knows I'll call her out on the fact that her story doesn't add up, while you are so eager for her love and approval that you will ignore the obvious?" (I know...not my finest hour, but my family can push my buttons in a way that no one else can).<br />
<br />
My mother told me that my sister wouldn't ask me directly because I had told my sister the last time she borrowed money from me that she was never getting another F'ing cent from me. <br />
<br />
In fairness, that's not exactly what I said. Almost exactly a year ago, my sister called me crying, begging me for $50. She explained that her electricity had been turned off and they had no food in the house, so she and my niece would starve for two days, until she could get to the food pantry, if I didn't wire money to them. (This was the 100th call of its type over the last few years). I told my sister that, at 25, she needed to get her shit together. She was a mother...and she needed to act like it. Her husband was getting deported so she had a real chance at a fresh start. I explained to her that she was welcome to move closer to us (as she lives over 4 hours away) or even move in with us, so we could help her out. But I was not going to continue to enable her to live her life the way she was living it by sending her small amounts of money over and over and over. There was a lot of crying, and she was clearly not happy with me, but I wired the money and she never overtly asked me for money after that. She didn't get her shit together either, but at least I could sleep knowing that I wasn't actually making things worse. Apparently that wasn't exactly how my sister remembers that conversation.<br />
<br />
Anyhow...back to tonight's conversation with my mom. She kept repeating how I should send the money to her. I said "No. I'm not spending $5 to send $20 to you." She said "Well how the hell are you going to get the money to her?" I said, "I'm not." She said "What do you mean your not? You have to. It is for [your niece]. Don't you love her at all?" I said "I sure do. And..no. I'm not sending the money." I was promptly hung up on.<br />
<br />
I started crying at that point and haven't fully stopped yet. I'm so angry. Angry for being put in this position by my family. Angry that my niece is being used this way. Angry that she might actually have bilateral ear infections that aren't being treated because my sister can't even be bothered to get herself on welfare! Angry that my mother thinks it's okay to make me feel like shit so that she can keep enabling my sister to act like an idiot. <br />
<br />
Oh...and I almost forgot to add...My sister also needed money to go to court next week because her landlord is attempting to evict her. My mom told me my sister needs $244 to pay late rent. Here's the problem with that. First...I know how much her rent is each month and $244 doesn't make any sense. No one pays $106 of rent when they don't have the rest. Second...you don't get taken to housing court after one month of missed rent. It takes about three months from the first missed rent date to the time of the court date, assuming the landlord immediately instituted eviction proceedings (which almost never happens in the type of establishment you can rent for $350 a month). So she hasn't paid her rent for at least three months. Third...this is the eighth eviction my sister has gone through in the last 6 years...that I know about. I'm not counting the homeless shelters she and my niece have lived in, as those places never actually kicked her out. (Can you sense my sarcasm there?) So I'm angry that my sister is a habitual liar and can pay for pot and other drugs, but can't be bothered to keep a roof over my niece's head.<br />
<br />
I'm just so pissed!!! I keep waiting for my sister to hit "rock bottom" so she can start to rise up. I want to believe that one of these days she is going to wake up and realize that she's got to change. I'm pissed that I might be wrong...this may just be who she is...forever.<br />
<br />
And then...there's the other emotions. My heart is breaking for my niece. There's not much I can do for her. Child protective is already involved. I'm not going to go into full out war with my sister to try to take custody of my niece away from her (a VERY hard thing to do in NY). Sometimes I just wish I could forget that I have a sister or a niece. How awful is that? My poor helpless niece...and I'm trying to forget she's there because it hurts too much to think about how she is being forced to live. And adding to that hurt...my old friend Guilt.<br />
<br />
I feel guilty for making my mother mad. Guilty that my niece may be sleeping (or not sleeping) with terrible ear pain and illness, and I'm not sending money to help her. Guilty that I am having to force myself to love my sister (and mother) at this point. Guilty that I can't fix their problems. Guilty that I spend more on two weeks worth of Ian's fancy diapers than what I am being asked to send to my sister...and I still won't send it. Guilty that Ian probably has more clothes and toys at 4 months old than my niece has at 6 years old. Guilty that, even though we take my niece out to the store to get her clothes, shoes, toys and school supplies when we visit, we only visit once a year. Guilty because my family truly sees me as the selfish brat in this situation. In their minds I have more money than I know what to do with and I am too selfish to help them with their basic necessities. It's not that simple...but I understand why it looks that way to them. And for that, I feel guilty.<br />
<br />
My husband says I need to let this go. He says I can't fix the problem and I did the right thing, so I need to just get some sleep and focus on the fact that I am being a good mom to Ian...screw the rest of my family. It's easier said than done. My head is pretty sure I did the right thing. My heart isn't. That's why this is bothering me so much. That's why I'm venting onto my blog. That's why I'm still crying.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-85289649834068237082012-04-20T22:06:00.001-04:002012-04-20T22:06:25.083-04:00My Blog Has a SisterI struggled a lot with the idea of how to deal with making this blog stay true to its purpose, while not forcing myself to avoid writing about a big part of my life right now (my weight loss efforts). I thought I would just find a way to incorporate the weight loss discussions and updates into this blog...but it just never felt right. So, I've officially started a "sister" blog to this one. You can find it at <a href="http://cannotweighttolose.blogspot.com/">http://cannotweighttolose.blogspot.com/</a>. That blog will deal with all of my "weighty issues" while this one can remain my place for reflection on infertility, motherhood, etc. It isn't easy for me putting my dirty obesity laundry out there for the world to see, but it needed to be done. I'm tired of hiding from the obesity issue...just as I was tired of hiding from my feelings about infertility a year ago. Blogging was my life saver during my IF journey. I'm hoping it can play the same role in my weight loss journey. Please don't feel obligated to go check it out. I'm still going to be writing on here, and I'm guessing that reading my weight loss blog would be on the same excitement level as watching paint dry. But, if you do decide to check it out and even comment, I only ask that you not reference this blog. I feel like my friends and followers on this blog "get it." I would hate for anyone just stumbling across this blog because of a cross-reference from my other one to make me lose the safety, security and support I feel from this blog. Thanks, Ladies.<br />
<br />
P.S. I just have to say, as I am writing this Ian is picking his nose in his sleep...and it's cute! I swear to God, having a child makes your brain turn to mush. I better go before he wakes himself up or, worse, hurts himself.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-37855414657088018972012-04-16T15:47:00.001-04:002012-04-16T15:47:30.160-04:00Random Reflections<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5ca1TKzT7G4ClGloL-oV31sDzu6FMZlMihr7JwrSddWeDuIR0hllxC_hDTkfj5eWJMi7CWUJCriZJXP7pQNRdduTjAoXS1F1LNqfAds-FZzAo2fP_vpOfkNUVR9GD78ZGu_CjxbLFGo/s1600/April+16+2012+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD5ca1TKzT7G4ClGloL-oV31sDzu6FMZlMihr7JwrSddWeDuIR0hllxC_hDTkfj5eWJMi7CWUJCriZJXP7pQNRdduTjAoXS1F1LNqfAds-FZzAo2fP_vpOfkNUVR9GD78ZGu_CjxbLFGo/s320/April+16+2012+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Let’s see…where was I at a year ago today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was fattening up my uterine lining to
prepare for my donor egg cycle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was fantasizing
day and night about what my donor was like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was picking out a gift and writing a letter to the donor, to show my
appreciation for the wonderful gift she was giving to The Prince and me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was stalking the donor coordinator at my
infertility clinic, nervously anticipating that something was going to go wrong
with the donor’s cycle…because my history of IF had taught me to expect the
worst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was worrying about potential
future repercussions of referencing my infertility struggles on Facebook. </div>
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It’s really strange to look back at where I was at a year
ago, knowing what I know now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing
that the donor’s cycle would go perfectly and we would get more beautiful eggs
to work with than we ever could have hoped for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Knowing that my uterus would plump up and form a lovely little home that
embryo Ian would nestle into for an entire pregnancy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing that I would finally experience a
Mother’s Day that didn’t completely suck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Knowing that no one would ever put me down or ask awkward questions about
my IF “coming out.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing that many
friends and family were suffering from IF in silence, and were inspired to
reach out for some support once they knew they weren’t alone.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The only thing that hasn’t changed is that I still wonder
about the egg donor and think about her sometimes…though it no longer takes up
much of my time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When people say that
Ian looks like me, I always think of her for a second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure if that will ever change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it is always a positive thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve realized in the last year that the
fantasy I had built about who the donor was is not realistic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve also realized that I don’t want to try
to find out who she is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a time
when I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so curious I couldn’t
stand the idea of not knowing more about her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But now I just feel a profound respect for her…and her privacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would not be pleased if she decided to look
me up, and I am going to afford her the same courtesy I expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://tpvedo.blogspot.com/" target="post">The Parents Via Egg Donation Organization</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>blog recently asked about privacy boundaries
between donors and recipients and it got me thinking about how much my thoughts
and expectations have changed in the last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s a part of me that wishes I knew then what I know
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have saved myself from a
lot of stress and anxiety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there’s
another part of me that is happy that I went through those experiences…just as
I needed to…as a process and a period of personal growth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-83749486697097579432012-04-11T21:55:00.000-04:002012-04-11T21:55:00.491-04:00Got Milk? The Link Between Breastfeeding Difficulties and Infertility<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMArrsZUOoLxhSaILnXnLaGaXKweCf8LkQX7jQjFsGS6klUArnPbyb1YZUC20mhsddGJkVA3A7pIipDQGqfz_l5UUw14PRPZofRtgrGinWu4dVskMduXFfflFwxwi-xhUkRPPujnRzrM/s1600/breastfeeding1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMArrsZUOoLxhSaILnXnLaGaXKweCf8LkQX7jQjFsGS6klUArnPbyb1YZUC20mhsddGJkVA3A7pIipDQGqfz_l5UUw14PRPZofRtgrGinWu4dVskMduXFfflFwxwi-xhUkRPPujnRzrM/s400/breastfeeding1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Let me start out by saying,
breastfeeding is not easy. In fact, let me take that statement a
step further and say that it is downright hard. I liken it to trying
to learn a complicated waltz with a partner you’ve never met
before, when you yourself have never danced before. Initially things
are clumsy and frustrating…even painful at times. But slowly, both
partners start to get the hang of it and it becomes easier and more
rewarding. Before you know it, though it is still work, you find
that you're enjoying yourselves. For Ian and I, it took us about
three months to really get our “dance steps” down. I know
lactation consultants tell people that it can take two weeks to get
the hang of breastfeeding (BF), but I think that's an optimistic
estimate.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because Ian was born prematurely, he
wasn't able to really latch and suck for a long time. I started
pumping within hours of his birth and had such an amazing supply, we
actually discussed the possibility of me donating breast milk. Then
I took Ian home and, over time, his appetite increased. The problem
was, the more he ate, the less I produced. Slowly, the frozen
stockpile I had accumulated while he was in the NICU dwindled down to
a single vial of 2.5 ounces of milk...that's half of one meal for
Ian. I felt like a failure. I worked with the doula, increased my
water intake, drank disgusting mother's milk tea, ate oatmeal until I
wanted to puke, and meditated while pumping. Nothing worked. I
can’t tell you how many tears I shed, or the number of hours I
spent awake in bed worrying because there was only one bottle of milk
in the fridge for Ian.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I decided to look into what research,
if any, had been performed on women having trouble with milk supply,
so that I could “fix” the problem. While asking Dr. Google my
questions, I stumbled across references to research showing that
women who used ART to achieve pregnancy were more likely to have
breastfeeding problems. One of my close IF friends had also
mentioned to me that she was having milk supply issues and that she
had been told that there could be a hormonal connection between IF
and decreased milk supply. At that point, my interest was piqued and
I started focusing on the IF-BF connection.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My online research turned up some
speculation from the medical community that the same hormone problems
that cause female-factor infertility can also cause difficulty with
lactation (specifically, there appears to be a link between problems
with breast milk supply and PCOS, possibly attributable to increased
adrogen or estrogen levels). But I could find no actual study
defining such a link. It makes sense to me that there could be a
physical link and I hope that the issue will be researched further by
those far smarter than I.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The only “actual” study I could
find addressed the emotional/mental causes of lactation problems
after ART. That study, a 150 subject Australian study, showed that
there is a link between difficulties with BF and women who have
undergone infertility treatments. Specifically, that study found
that the link seemed to be explained by psychological factors. The
researchers found that women who conceive through ART often have less
confidence in their ability to care for their newborns and have
greater levels of anxiety when compared to women who conceive
naturally. The researchers found that the lack of confidence in
mothering skills, anxiety and feelings of guilt bleed over into
breastfeeding. The study showed that women who undergo IF treatments
are less likely to try, or continue, to breastfeed. And those who do
try are more likely to report milk supply problems.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It makes sense in a way. Anyone who
has ever breastfed, or tried to breastfeed, will tell you that there
is a definite mental/emotional component to breastfeeding. For me
personally, I have to close my eyes, take a deep breath and think
about my milk flowing down in order to get “let down.” If I'm
stressed or upset about something, Ian will get frustrated because I
just can't get the milk to him. So, I have no doubt that emotional
and mental perceptions effect BF.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I also know from experience that IF has
a significant impact on confidence. Prior to writing this post, I
though that I had not experienced a lack of confidence in my
mothering skills (I happen to think I'm a really good mother...so
far)...but I forgot about how I felt when I was struggling with my
milk supply. When my supply started to dwindle, I absolutely
panicked and overreacted to the situation. Ian was not going to die
if my milk supply stayed sucky. We just would have had to supplement
with formula. Not my ideal, but not the end of the world. If I
truly am honest with myself, I think my extreme level of stress and
anxiety when my supply started to go down was a result of my residual
fear that my body will fail me (and Ian). I learned to stop trusting
my body during IF. Perhaps I haven't been able to build that trust
back up. At the first sign of my body faltering, I jumped right to
the conclusion that I was heading for a catastrophic failure. And
I'm betting I'm not alone in that feeling. Once that ball starts
rolling, the usual suspects follow...frustration, guilt, anger. All
of the emotions that will further inhibit BF creep in and before you
know it, you are in a vicious cycle of milk supply decreasing due to
stress, which causes more stress, which causes more supply problems,
etc. etc. etc.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Please understand, I am NOT saying that
if you have used ART to get pregnant, you are going to have
breastfeeding problems. I don't even think the researchers mentioned
above would argue that is the case. Lots of women report that they
have problems with BF after their doctor tells them they will have
problems breastfeeding. It's a self-fulfilling negative prophecy of
sorts. So to be clear...I am not saying any of you will definitely
have BF issues. I don't think IF or ART is a direct cause of BF
problems across the board. Rather, I think the baggage that us
former IF'ers sometimes pick up during our journey (and never put
down) CAN cause breastfeeding problems...and that's worth
acknowledging and examining. So for those of you out there
struggling with your supply, please know that you are not alone and
it is not your fault that you are having a tough time. There's a
bunch of us in this together and I am sure we will all be there to
support one another through this obstacle, just as we supported each
other through IF.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
(P.S. For anyone who is interested, I
wanted to let you know that I have really improved my milk supply by
taking the prescription Reglan. It is an acid reflux medication
that, for some reason, has the side effect of causing increased
lactation. My OB said it doesn't always work for everyone, but it
has worked extremely well for me. It has no known negative effects
on the baby, so if you get to the point where you are really
desperate...it might be worth asking your doctor about that option).</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-1415437854341610242012-04-03T19:02:00.000-04:002012-04-03T20:10:11.319-04:00Four Months<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzmRbvoZ5ylYUn4C9pDs2ovDIpFKkyjdGtpgKNuoPJPR7V_WBRL0mr0a_WqXZow_yyQXhJrVk5RPa0gPrO3WA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Video of Ian "swimming"...his new favorite activity since he learned to splash.</div>
<br />
Four months. That's how long it has been since my little miracle entered this world. My blog renovations aren't quite complete yet, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to provide a proud IF mommy update.<br />
<br />
Ian went to his four month baby wellness appointment with the pediatrician today. He is 16 pounds and 4 ounces, putting him somewhere between the 75th and 90th percentile for weight. And that's on the full term baby growth chart...Ian grew out of the premie growth chart (that they told me he would always be judged on) months ago. His height on the other hand...let's just say my guy is a "Little Teapot"...as in "Short and Stout." He is 24 inches today. I was 22 inches when I was BORN! His doctor isn't worried about his height in the slightest, so I'm not going to let myself be upset about it, either. He is ahead of the curve developmentally and healthy as a horse. That's all that matters.<br />
<br />
He is officially wearing size 6 to 9 month clothing. He was in size 3 to 6 month clothing for all of three weeks. Lots of people told me to leave the tags on clothes until he actually was ready to wear the clothes, so I could take back what he never wore. I didn't listen...washing everything out of excitement every time he moved up a size. I REALLY should have listened. We could start a college fund for him with the value of all of the clothes that I washed and he never even got to wear once. Even though he needs to move up to the size 6 to 9 month clothing so that it will fit around his rotund belly, all of his pants are about four inches too long for him. I suppose I should learn to sew so that I can hem the pants. But, realistically, my poor guy is probably just going to have to wear rolled-up pant legs until he's old enough to protest about it (or until one of his buddies tells him it is uncool).<br />
<br />
Speaking of buddies, Ian has recently started attending get-togethers with other IF babies. He's still a bit too young to actually play, but he likes to watch the other babies and it won't be long before he's drooling on toys with the rest of them. It is really amazing to see the joy of the IF mommies that I spent years in the trenches with, as they watch over and love their little miracles. None of us wanted or deserved to be part of the IF club, but as we move forward in our journeys together, it is so wonderful to watch as one at a time dreams come true and amazing parents are born. We are all so appreciative, so full of awe, and so acutely aware of how blessed we are, in a way that I think is rare to find outside of the IF survivor community.<br />
<br />
I've had four months to bask in the joy and gratitude of finally being a mom, worried that those feelings would fade when the "newness" of having a baby wore off. I'm happy to say that those feelings haven't faded yet. My love just grows by leaps and bounds each day. One year ago today, we were just getting started on the meds for my donor egg cycle...the one that would lead to my pregnancy. So, for those of you out there who are still in the trenches and struggling to hold onto hope, please know that miracles happen and when they do...it is all worth it. Every needle stick, every broken heart, every tear, every sleepless night, every fight with your spouse, every negative pregnancy test...all worth it when you finally get to feel the love of being a mom.<br />
<br />
<br />Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-78982473478352715012012-03-18T21:37:00.003-04:002012-03-18T21:46:45.827-04:00UNDER CONSTRUCTION<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6S6INKIOarkbhJuGNjeiTVgYsy0qxU7SD0PjGXHlX_E4l77FAhKtgAv2ecwV0NrN3Lt8vGix459DrpdPJgD68pRIGDXWmmih2wuG4pNiOzPKHAuNn1Hde4LbefCh1Xax9s8HWlmDSikI/s1600/under-construction-green-yellow.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6S6INKIOarkbhJuGNjeiTVgYsy0qxU7SD0PjGXHlX_E4l77FAhKtgAv2ecwV0NrN3Lt8vGix459DrpdPJgD68pRIGDXWmmih2wuG4pNiOzPKHAuNn1Hde4LbefCh1Xax9s8HWlmDSikI/s400/under-construction-green-yellow.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I have decided to redesign my blog. I'm going into the renovations without any specific idea of what I want my blog to become. My hope is that my intuition will guide me as I go, so that I end up with a blog that is ready to tackle the next leg(s) of my journey. There are a lot of other things I should probably be doing instead of working on my blog (working on Ian's nursery, writing thank you cards for gifts we got three months ago, coloring my hair), but for three months I've devoted all of my time to Ian and his needs...I need to devote a little "free time" to what makes me feel good. Right now...that's my blog.<br />
<br />
I have no idea how long it will take me to complete the renovations to the site. I'm not even going to give an estimate because, as anyone who has ever had a bathroom or kitchen remodeled knows, these things always take much longer than expected. In the meantime, I will continue to read my friends' blogs and to keep you all close to my heart.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lKFvSSOLlFpTVgPuj5ZEViNkuoQdJ3FJWoQF7AEDfAgE77jmA8QYNEHOj_rX45bF6EKXR_0FCF699qlS5EnD8Gw1aOBZvTg97dbDCLXqWbsOSTmexJWyjj6oHS_ZwXA4cByE6LS9l5g/s1600/St+Patrick%2527s+Day+2012+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lKFvSSOLlFpTVgPuj5ZEViNkuoQdJ3FJWoQF7AEDfAgE77jmA8QYNEHOj_rX45bF6EKXR_0FCF699qlS5EnD8Gw1aOBZvTg97dbDCLXqWbsOSTmexJWyjj6oHS_ZwXA4cByE6LS9l5g/s320/St+Patrick%2527s+Day+2012+007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One last picture of the Little Prince to keep you company while I'm gone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-42450406455339389102012-03-15T20:46:00.000-04:002012-03-15T20:46:30.371-04:00CrossroadsLately I've begun to wonder what is going to happen with this blog. I've been following many blogs for the year (plus) I've been blogging. Some blogs have gone private. Some bloggers have opted to end their blogs for various reasons. Those reasons include: having a baby and not having time to continue blogging, stopping the journey towards parenthood and finding it too painful to continue writing about that decision, finding that infertility is no longer a subject that dominates enough thought each day to warrant continuing an infertility blog, etc. Some bloggers who have found their "happily ever after" change their blogs to mommy blogs. Some say goodbye before signing off for good. Some just stop writing one day. Just as each journey is individual and each blog is individual, the right way to approach a "blog transition" varies based on the individual writer. I guess the question is, what "blog transition" is appropriate for me.<br />
<br />
I have NOT been blogging nearly as much as I used to. I miss it terribly. I don't want to stop blogging all together, as I find writing incredibly therapeutic and emotionally rewarding. I've made the most amazing 'blog friends" over the last year and I feel like I continue to make more friends with each post I write and each post I read. I don't think I can just quit writing this blog...it would feel like I was moving away from my friends and family. That means I need to figure out what type of transition is appropriate for me. The subject which dominates my thoughts these days is not my infertility journey, but the amazing outcome of that journey. Don't get me wrong, I am still at a point where not a day goes by that I don't think of my infertility/egg donor journey at least once, but even so my blog could very easily turn into a "mommy blog," as I LOVE writing about my little man. I feel weird about officially morphing my blog into that though, as I feel like it isn't staying true to the infertility roots of this blog. I also have a major life decision coming up that I need to deal with, and I would love to focus my blog on that for awhile, as it is another journey of sorts (without getting too involved in the discussion, the topic involves the possibility of undergoing weight loss surgery), but that topic is only tangentially related to infertility and/or motherhood. I don't think I'm up to multiple blogs when I have difficulty already being "present" on this one.<br />
<br />
I look at my blog homepage and I think of all of the things I want to change visually. I look at my blogger name (Princess Wahna Bea Mama) and I worry that it doesn't fit neatly into my situation anymore. I am in need of change. I need this blog to continue to reflect who I am and where I am at in my life. I'm just not sure how to do that. <br />
<br />
So, what do I do? I know the decision is ultimately mine, but I would LOVE it if you...my blog friends...could give me words of advice, support, guidance, etc. I have lots of blog friends at lots of different stages of their own journeys...through infertility and through life. You all have a way of making me think about things that I overlook when I'm trying to analyze something on my own. I would love any help you have to offer.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-82839203043686171282012-03-06T00:19:00.000-05:002012-03-06T00:19:01.784-05:00Mommy and Me YogaIan and I had our first Mommy and Me Yoga class today. It was a really special event for me, as the yoga instructor for the Mommy and Me class is the same instructor who taught my Prenatal Yoga class and the Yoga for Fertility class that I attended during my last two years of infertility treatments. She has been an amazing support. Her kind and calming energy has worked wonders for me throughout the years and, today, it worked wonders on Ian too. He was so relaxed that he delighted the rest of the class with a symphony of flatulence. I was really embarrassed at first...especially because he tends to smile and laugh every time he lets out a loud bout of gas. But all of the other "mommies" were laughing and so I was able to relax and enjoy the humor of the situation. Ian is quickly teaching me that I've got to just let go and roll with the punches. He's going to turn my world all topsy turvy...it's his job...he's a child. I need to learn to enjoy the ride...and I'm already starting to get there.Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-79216475186579500092012-03-01T23:12:00.000-05:002012-03-01T23:12:05.025-05:00Ian's Birth Story (Unabridged version)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> <w:UseFELayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdAz0nR6u8ZfTh1-5LhqTjOLi_zNN5Q2XWpE2JCzN0nVB0Rz01G9ANj9Zi8aDOkDNrkAV1vm3YZ3X2vDywogC3Us51NdctAoXXfKX9XXku0exGGyxoUe8HXvY09SDteQYiCOi7CGjZE0/s1600/cartoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdAz0nR6u8ZfTh1-5LhqTjOLi_zNN5Q2XWpE2JCzN0nVB0Rz01G9ANj9Zi8aDOkDNrkAV1vm3YZ3X2vDywogC3Us51NdctAoXXfKX9XXku0exGGyxoUe8HXvY09SDteQYiCOi7CGjZE0/s1600/cartoon.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve promised this post for awhile now, but could never seem to find time to write it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that it has to be done though, as I am starting to forget the details of Ian’s birth…something I really don’t want to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The story is really long, but breaking it into several posts just didn’t feel right.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to give a quick disclaimer…I didn’t sugar coat any of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are going to have a baby and you try to avoid people’s labor and delivery horror stories, you probably should avoid this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mine was by no means a “horror” story, but it wasn’t pretty either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And…as with most things…my experience was my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as women experience infertility differently, I think the same is likely true with giving birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Also, skip it if you don't want to see a picture of a newly born baby. I have an edited version (so as to make it G rated) of our very first picture of Ian in this post. I had considered leaving it out, but this is my blog and my story and it feels right to me to have a picture to go with my words. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For those of you who still want to share in this story, and are willing to commit the time to reading the whole thing, I hope you enjoy.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">------------------------------</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As most of you know, I went into labor at 30 weeks and was already four to five centimeters dilated by the time the doctors caught it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was hospitalized and placed on bed rest, trying to keep my “bulging membranes” from breaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 33 weeks of pregnancy, my contractions were consistently measuring at three to five minutes apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I had only dilated one more centimeter during the three weeks I was in the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day I hit 33 weeks, I started feeling really crappy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was more crampy than normal, felt sick to my stomach and couldn’t seem to shake some serious grumpiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I threw up breakfast and barely kept down lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I had my fetal monitoring it showed that my contractions were consistently two minutes apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But an internal examination revealed that my cervix hadn’t dilated further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone assumed this was just my normal super-slow labor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day, I felt the contractions change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My back became sorer and I was having a tough time ignoring the contractions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took Percocet…something I had been doing a good job holding off on up to that point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the resident doctors felt my back and hips and told me my pelvis was separating more, likely causing the pain, but that it was all perfectly normal “late pregnancy stuff.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That evening (December 2nd), my friend (an awesome massage therapist and fellow IF sister) came to visit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gave me a light massage to help ease the back contractions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was such a blessing to get a quick break from the pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She commented that she could really feel the contractions in my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I appreciated the validation as I was feeling like everyone was so used to me being in labor that I was beyond getting any sympathy when things got more uncomfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my friend left, I told my husband that I was feeling better, so he went home to get some sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within an hour, I was calling the nurses into my room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t explain what was different about the pressure and pain I was feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just knew something had changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the residents checked my cervix again and said it was about six centimeters dilated still, but she could feel my contractions very strong internally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was moved from the antepartum floor to a labor and delivery room, just to be safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called The Prince.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He initially said “Call me back and let me know if it is real labor.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can't tell you how angry I was at that response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, I wasn't the only one who was angry about his response…my nurses were livid that he wasn’t immediately coming to be with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, during my second call, when I was still bickering with The Prince over whether he needed to come to the hospital or not, one of my nurses took the telephone and told him he needed to get his butt to the hospital “NOW,” regardless of whether I was having the baby that night or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By 11:30 p.m., The Prince was in the labor and delivery room with me (on his best behavior).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was given two doses of medication to stop/slow my contractions and received yet another internal exam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was still only six centimeters dilated, but the baby had moved down two stations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My contractions were between one and three minutes apart, and were lasting about 45 seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was when the nurse from hell was assigned to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We'll call this woman “B” (and I won’t comment on what that “B” stands for).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B was the only labor and delivery nurse I have ever met that I despised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She started right out telling me (and The Prince) that this wasn't “real” labor because I clearly wasn't experiencing the kind of pain women experienced during “real” labor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained to her I was on week three of constant contractions...I didn't feel my pain reaction was likely typical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was unconvinced and kept pushing me to take pain medication and additional medications to try to stop the contractions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, at 3 a.m., I was so angry I asked to speak to my doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. C was out of town so his partner, Dr. S was my doctor for delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was in the middle of a triplets c-section, and so a resident (actually two residents) came in to talk to me instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained to the residents that, after three weeks, I knew what was status quo for my labor and what was not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I was experiencing was of the “not status quo” variety. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The residents encouraged me to take some pain medication so that I could get some sleep, but they would not agree with B (who really irritated one of the residents by repeatedly interrupting her while she was talking to me) that I should take more medication to slow the contractions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The residents agreed with me that, if this was “true” labor, taking too much of that medication would only prolong delivery and increase risks to the baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained that I wasn't going to take any pain medication because I wanted to wait until I spoke with the doctor (Dr. S), so I could be clear-headed during the important conversations. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>B left the room in a huff, saying I should just call her if I needed her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From 3 a.m. to 6 a.m., The Prince and I dosed on and off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My contractions were really intense, but there were two minute breaks between most of them and I could sleep during the breaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With every contraction, I breathed and worked on visualizations I had started practicing during my hospital stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I considered calling the doula, but decided against it because something inside of me felt like I needed to get through what I was experiencing on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 6 a.m., B started with her crap again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A nursing student was shadowing B and it was all I could do not to make some nasty comment about how B was the last person who should be training someone in patient care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The contractions were increasing in frequency again and I was starting to waiver on whether I wanted pain medication or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I was not wavering on was my distaste for B.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prince kept telling me that I should ask to be assigned to another nurse, but honestly, I didn't see the point because, after hours of B telling me that I wasn't in “true” labor, I was starting to believe her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't want to be the “pain in the ass patient” if this wasn't the real deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I held out on the pain medication because people kept telling me Dr. S was on her way into the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At 8 a.m., Dr. S came to my room and took a history of what had happened over night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, B kept chiming in with her opinion, but Dr. S didn't seem to pay attention to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Dr. S did her internal exam, she turned to B and said: “Get the room prepped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She's at eight to nine centimeters and the baby is coming.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And at that moment...a huge, pivotal moment in my life...the only thing I could think of was…“SUCK IT, B!!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was my immediate thought…”Suck it you stupid, mean nasty lady!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was right and you were wrong. Hah!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And then the petulant two year old in me stepped aside and I put on my big girl pants (figuratively) again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immediately panic set in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was really going to have this baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After weeks of “false alarms,” this was it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was going to be a mother…and we were going to find out if our baby was okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked to get up to go to the bathroom because all of the sudden I had to pee like a race horse (and the panic was making me feel like I would die if I stayed on the bed/table any longer).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was told “No” but I got off the bed and went to the bathroom anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They couldn't really tackle me and, at the time, it didn't bother me in the slightest to pee in front of a room full of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly realized, of course, that peeing wasn't relieving the feeling that I was so sure was a full bladder and being squatted over the toilet was not the ideal position when the baby was moving down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I hopped back onto the bed/table and scooted down as directed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. S informed me that it was obvious my water wasn't going to break on its own, so she would need to break it for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I consented...happy to find some relief from the building pressure that was quickly overtaking the pain of the contractions.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dr. S took something that resembled a crochet hook out of a sterile bag and proceeded to break my water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt a quick pinch and then a huge rush of warm water between my legs and down my butt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. S said “There’s really a lot of fluid” as we kept waiting and waiting for the waves of fluid to stop coming out with each contraction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prince just kept saying “Holy crap!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to laugh at the look on his face…his expression was something between “I’m gonna’ throw-up” and “Cool!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was relieved to hear that the fluid looked good and clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then…the first “transition contraction” hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, I was the one saying “Holy crap!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told Dr. S “Something’s wrong,” and Dr. S replied “No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re just having your baby now.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said the only thing I could think of… “I want an epidural,” and I was informed that we were well past that point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained that they didn’t understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I REALLY NEEDED an epidural and would have asked for one earlier if I had only known that the baby was coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. S was unpersuaded by my pleas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also denied my request for pain medication, explaining that taking any pain medicine at that point wouldn’t do any good and would only slow the baby’s respirations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I begged The Prince to make them understand (as if he had veto power in the room).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, ultimately it became clear that no one was listening to my complaints and I was going to have to just grit my teeth and do it…have that baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I tried to distract myself by staying focused on all of the people who had come into the room to prepare the incubator and emergency equipment for the baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room was full of the NICU team (which consisted of about eight people), three nurses who were taking care of me (inclusive of B and the nursing student), Dr. S and a resident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband (and his camera) were at my left, while all of the NICU team and the nursing student stayed at my right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. S, the resident and B remained positioned at my feet/between my legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure exactly when Dr. S told me that she needed to help the baby…before I started pushing or after a couple of pushes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a bit hazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I do know that she had to reach inside and pull the “lip of the cervix” up and around the baby’s head because he was stuck on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was so much pain and pressure at that point, I couldn’t tell what sensations were from reaching or pushing or pulling or baby scooting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just knew that it felt like there were bicycle handlebars wedged between my hips, trying to come out my butt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was exactly how it felt to me…and I repeatedly said so to anyone who would listen to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They kept “shushing” me…telling me to conserve my energy so I could push the baby out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was pretty sure there was no way I was getting the baby out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And I was pretty vocal about that belief, too, the entire way through my delivery).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When Dr. S had me start pushing, I had no clue what I was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I knew…bear down like you are trying to poop, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what I had always heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well…whoever used that as advice on how to push a baby out has a very different bowel system than I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started out pushing like I was trying to take a poo (P.S.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that worrying I did about actually pooping on the table was wasted energy…as when the time comes…you could really care less if you are taking a giant poop right on the doctor’s head, so long as the baby comes out).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was quickly scolded by B that I wasn’t “placing my energy in the birth canal.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently I was “using my face too much.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew that I poop with my face?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(By the way, you will know if you used your face too much when you are done because you will have tiny and huge coin sized spots all over you face where the blood vessels burst from straining. Mine show up in every picture of me with Ian for the first two weeks of his life). So…by trial and error…I slowly figured out which pushes were wasting my time and energy and which ones got things moving in the right direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course by trial and error I mean B telling me what a crappy job I was doing whenever it was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I yelled at her repeatedly in between contractions, telling her she was mean and “not helping.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nursing student took over the counting for the pushes because I think everyone in the room knew my feelings about B about two pushes in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nursing student was awesome and upbeat, but I still struggled. (By the way…my “pushing advice” would be…you will know you are doing it “right” when this God awful guttural sound comes out of you, leaving you to look around to try to figure out where the Exorcist noises are coming from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could never mimic that vocalization if I tried…but it came out of my mouth from somewhere deep in my stomach…and it got that baby moving fast).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every time I had ever talked with anyone about labor or watched a show about a baby delivery, the woman was always depicted as pushing to the count of ten and then relaxing and breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No. no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You push to the slow count of ten…three times in a row before you get a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was NOT prepared for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eventually gave in (of course) and pushed for over 30 seconds at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But initially I resisted and argued that I had been the victim of false advertising regarding what delivery entailed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would quit after ten seconds…only to realize that your contractions don’t quit just because you think you need a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When your body says “Push!,” you push whether you feel exhausted or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I think back to the “pushing,” it seems like it went on forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I remember saying to The Prince, when it was all done, that it seemed like it only took a few pushes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reality, I pushed from a little before 9:00 a.m. to 11:01 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been told that two hours of pushing is considered a really quick delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God help the women who push for longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They must be in much better shape than I was in.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The thing I really remember the most clearly about the delivery, is how The Prince behaved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been so concerned about whether he could be emotionally present and sympathetic and helpful during labor and delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was AMAZING!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was crying that I couldn’t do it (and B was saying “You have to!”), The Prince would get my attention and would hold my hand and say “You are doing it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are doing so amazing. You are having our baby. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over and over he repeated that…meaning it (or at least convincing me of it) every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He really kept me going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also did a great job helping me hold my left leg up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Which brings me to my next gripe about delivery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one told me I had to hold my own legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure there is a person holding each leg at the knee, but during delivery they tell you to reach under your thighs and pull them back towards you, rounding your back into a “C” shape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So…essentially you are holding a serious crunch position with a pregnant belly, and pulling your legs to you from around that pregnant belly, for at least 30 seconds at a time…over and over and over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did prenatal yoga…didn’t prepare me for holding that position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I had to do the pushing and the hospital bed and people at my legs did the rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they say a mother brings her baby into the world…they aren’t kidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mother does the work…lots of work!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So…fast forward to 11:00 a.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was spent from pushing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was certain that baby was not going to come out and I was going to need a c-section because I was too tired and in too much pain to push.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told everyone I was going to try one more push, but I knew it wasn’t going to do anything because I had nothing left to put behind it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t even hold the push a full 10 seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just couldn’t do anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when Dr. S said “Reach down and touch the baby’s head.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said “Yeah right.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t felt the “ring of fire” that everyone talks about experiencing when the head crowns, so I thought they were just trying to keep me from quitting by tricking me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, I always thought it was pretty gross in natural birth videos I watched, when the baby’s head was hanging out of the vagina and the woman was reaching down there to touch it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always felt like there was no reason to do that when you could cradle the baby a couple of second later…after it was out of your vagina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I heard The Prince say “There he is,” and Dr. S said again “Reach down and touch his head.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prince (who is never forceful) grabbed my hand and moved it towards the bottom of the bed and said, through tears “Touch our baby. You can do this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I moved my fingers a couple of inches and there it was…a wet, hairy little head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was all it took.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drew up strength from God only knows where…strength I was certain just seconds before that I didn’t have…and with one quick push the baby was out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get it now…why the mother reaches down to touch the head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That first touch seals the deal…it causes your body to surge with a strength and a protectiveness and a love for that baby that allows you to do absolutely anything (even push some stocky shoulders out).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I heard The Prince ask “Is he okay?,” and then I heard a cry…a gorgeous, strong cry…of a baby with mature lungs that wasn’t fighting to breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t get the “baby on the chest moment” that I might have had if Ian had been born a couple of weeks later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And The Prince was not offered the option of cutting the cord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ian was born at 11:01 a.m. on December 3, 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was 33 weeks and 2 days old…premature enough that time was of the essence in getting him into an incubator and cared for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to my gestational diabetes, he was a chunker and he weighed 5 pounds and 13 ounces (initially reported on my blog incorrectly as 5 pounds and 11 ounces).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSQTdsXpBdYBJMcsPGQ5quo52e8PK0cyqUdR4guFEr_hql5-SCfk1L8o72ZV-U561gsZTKDjtB8S8Stp2-8iGP2LqLfthfS8PHrmZBlpqgpsGUZ03pMapV32DOusIqEw73PpUtsdAkmk/s1600/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+001.edit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSQTdsXpBdYBJMcsPGQ5quo52e8PK0cyqUdR4guFEr_hql5-SCfk1L8o72ZV-U561gsZTKDjtB8S8Stp2-8iGP2LqLfthfS8PHrmZBlpqgpsGUZ03pMapV32DOusIqEw73PpUtsdAkmk/s320/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+001.edit.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian enters the world...not the friendliest greeting.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFAaTqKOAGk5OlXdyBFXrzBZZyYrE-F8dJcRvhs_icwxX19oZccBIlh4p-iO3n3Jac74R7nQmnQDSKnbnLqqMb3K6BvflZfKWv6BGr8wZG-9AGPXe78TUb09iCDxf4GFxwawuW-8eaOs/s1600/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFAaTqKOAGk5OlXdyBFXrzBZZyYrE-F8dJcRvhs_icwxX19oZccBIlh4p-iO3n3Jac74R7nQmnQDSKnbnLqqMb3K6BvflZfKWv6BGr8wZG-9AGPXe78TUb09iCDxf4GFxwawuW-8eaOs/s320/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The extent of assistance Ian needed to breathe was the clearing of his lungs...the same thing all babies need.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jj9nKjxurHhEarI_hxQvw67kGSZEHudjm1bJYQhfZTscKojjNRLG1jDkKvFEHCzS5pLErgPNjIfSJtQJjFo___W3lyq3fiTlbhLYkyWz81zuz7ItdXJjDhhRmG2EnKz8swWGdxyIbMw/s1600/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jj9nKjxurHhEarI_hxQvw67kGSZEHudjm1bJYQhfZTscKojjNRLG1jDkKvFEHCzS5pLErgPNjIfSJtQJjFo___W3lyq3fiTlbhLYkyWz81zuz7ItdXJjDhhRmG2EnKz8swWGdxyIbMw/s320/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+026.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The NICU team quickly wrapped Ian up like a mummy in Saran Wrap, to keep his body from losing heat too quickly.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXIxtWE-8JLOD0I9iChQaRjg93Fvyp9GNxRKwp3-7LbEgQihIMuxhh9uwhAL65tE8wBzviLR_kc6s3cu-Uaaeo9A4aKWOR0CV5jF-5aZ5Ceg1TfLELLk7uAy3fsof0k9bBNFlSnCTKfU/s1600/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXIxtWE-8JLOD0I9iChQaRjg93Fvyp9GNxRKwp3-7LbEgQihIMuxhh9uwhAL65tE8wBzviLR_kc6s3cu-Uaaeo9A4aKWOR0CV5jF-5aZ5Ceg1TfLELLk7uAy3fsof0k9bBNFlSnCTKfU/s320/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+029.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how Ian looked the first time I saw him, when the NICU team held him for me to see before whisking him away.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>As soon as Ian was out in the world, The Prince’s attention shifted solely to Ian (as well it should).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, on the other hand had been sufficiently assured by the NICU team that Ian was safe and on his way to the NICU, so I drew my focus back to what was going on with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The NICU team told us it would be an hour to an hour and a half before we could see Ian, so I felt I had that much time to rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hah!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No one told me you had to deliver the placenta too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have watched calves and puppies be born, and always the afterbirth/placenta slides right out after the baby animal comes out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just assumed the same happened with humans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, in my case, my uterus was so stretched out from three weeks of contractions, it couldn’t contract enough to get the placenta out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with an increased oxytocin drip, Dr. S had to reach inside of me and “gently coach” the placenta out with her fingers while the resident pushed on my stomach (my very sore stomach).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also had an excessive amount of bleeding (it looked like someone was murdered at the bottom of the bed and all over the wall behind the doctor’s stool) which had to be stopped with additional hormone infusions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the placenta and bleeding was taken care of, it was time for stitches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that point, I said “Now that the baby’s out, is there anything to prevent me from getting some pain med?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. S said I could have some Stadol and B brought it to me (after dropping it on the floor the first time).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While B was giving the medicine she said “See.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not so mean am I?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To which I replied “No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re just judgmental and condescending.” (Go me!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately, the tearing was pretty severe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to have six internal and seven external stitches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly, I whined about the pain of the Novicane needle going into the vagina during the stitching process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think that after having a baby, you could handle any pain with ease…but that stupid needle really hurt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time the stitching was finished, it was past 12:00 p.m. and The Prince was anxious to see Ian in the NICU, so I hopped in the wheelchair, made a quick stop in my room, and away we went to the next floor up in the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the elevator, on the way to the NICU, I told The Prince that if I ever got it in my head that I wanted to try to have a vaginal birth ever again…shoot me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promised myself that I would never forget how “awful” the experience was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, by the next day, the memory of the pain was starting to fade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have heard it said, and I think it is true, that women have to forget the childbirth experience or there would never be enough babies to populate the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am writing about how painful things were, but I don’t “feel” the pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know when you think back to breaking a bone or endometriosis cramps, and your body feels the pain a little just because you think about it…like the trauma of the pain stays in your body for future reference?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well…that doesn’t happen with childbirth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a day or two my memory of the pain had significantly faded and had been replaced by a hormone high that I can’t even describe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to admit, there is something strangely empowering about having gone through that experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Prince acknowledged it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For weeks after Ian was born The Prince would occasionally look at me, smile, and say “You did so well,” or “You are amazing!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had known what was involved in childbirth, I would have said “I can’t do that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact…I did repeatedly say I couldn’t do it as I was doing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you have a baby, you find a strength you didn’t know existed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one can ever take that away from me. And...if I had to go through the delivery experience every day, for the rest of my life, in order to keep my sweet Ian with me, I would do it in a heartbeat. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW1B8k-a3QIte9KuYx5qny9atl_DUVMWhyphenhyphenxK_oB3qO-J51qNHcjGJTJaK5_USnbqboDi3LAGLbHKir7czU_7pq1UmKCU04y66A2JWl9jd-PPI1sWOgeV9hKAM-LrYPth-ygmxZAHCreO8/s1600/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW1B8k-a3QIte9KuYx5qny9atl_DUVMWhyphenhyphenxK_oB3qO-J51qNHcjGJTJaK5_USnbqboDi3LAGLbHKir7czU_7pq1UmKCU04y66A2JWl9jd-PPI1sWOgeV9hKAM-LrYPth-ygmxZAHCreO8/s320/Baby+Ian%2527s+First+Days+035.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8264397379561559145.post-40702926820365125912012-02-29T00:08:00.001-05:002012-02-29T00:10:16.169-05:00Awesome Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9T1-35bq0LwDIW1fLfDC56UMiLN3G9xNjtKwlzUS27JzR7fHi4VFd2tcqUJpzfdzgH6BOA3_s50YHinEbaGdMw4CwRmIyxCkaraWYpp6YteuvUpDTO4rRuNlX8p4hcfVMWq8WxFdBu4/s1600/Ian+January+2012+092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9T1-35bq0LwDIW1fLfDC56UMiLN3G9xNjtKwlzUS27JzR7fHi4VFd2tcqUJpzfdzgH6BOA3_s50YHinEbaGdMw4CwRmIyxCkaraWYpp6YteuvUpDTO4rRuNlX8p4hcfVMWq8WxFdBu4/s320/Ian+January+2012+092.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mommy's Little Grump</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">For over a month I’ve been choosing between getting some sleep while Ian sleeps or blogging while Ian sleeps. You can see from the date of my last post which one has been winning. But even though I haven’t been writing as much as I would like, I have found a few minutes each day to read and catch-up on the blogs I follow. There are so many wonderful things happening in the lives around me, especially in the land of infertility (and post-infertility). I feel like I need to chime in with a few of my thoughts about the wonderful things happening in my life. So, here is my “Gushing New Post-Infertility Mommy’s Awesome Things List.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Ian’s Smile</u></div><div class="MsoNormal">Ian is a lot of work…but being his mom is so rewarding. He’s worth every diaper changed, bottle washed, drop of breast milk pumped, and night of sleep lost. And the thing that reminds me of how lucky I am, when I’m nodding off while standing in front of the open refrigerator door only to be woken by my own “2 days with no shower” smell, is Ian’s smile. He smiles only when he wants to, not on cue. But his smile makes my life worth living. Especially, the "morning smile.” Every morning my husband watches Ian from 5:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m. while my husband gets ready for work, so I can get two straight uninterrupted hours of sleep to start my day. And every morning, when I come out to the living room to “take over” Ian’s care again, Ian smiles. He smiles with his whole face. His eyes sparkle and then they squint shut as his cheeks rise so high that they almost cover his lower lashes. The corners of his mouth rise higher and higher until his whole toothless mouth is wide open in a giant grin. Then he holds that face, like a cartoon sunshine in a Disney movie, for a few seconds. The best few seconds of my day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Ian’s Poo</u></div><div class="MsoNormal">Yep. That’s right. I am going there and saying that even his poo is awesome. You see, my son’s poo smells exactly like movie theater popcorn butter. I have NEVER heard of anyone, baby or adult, having poo that smells so much like a specific food. But Ian’s poo smells so much like popcorn butter, when my mother-in-law came into our house shortly after I had changed Ian’s messy diaper, she actually said “Have you been making microwave popcorn? It smells delicious.” How cool is it to have a kid with popcorn butter poo? I mean, if it has to smell like something, there are certainly worse things. Right? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnyilCLGGteM9F468ns9S6zwQlpW2SqI2JpOTqJ7sYY_hJnV867eZHQFvcZ_tdUpBt4RPZhAe-VcDAlpyKs2-qYpSTng_qrOQNJCtErggxSgJadPh3zK-5rrZ17Bc_HX8oJs6Ip2B2uc/s1600/Ian+January+2012+094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnyilCLGGteM9F468ns9S6zwQlpW2SqI2JpOTqJ7sYY_hJnV867eZHQFvcZ_tdUpBt4RPZhAe-VcDAlpyKs2-qYpSTng_qrOQNJCtErggxSgJadPh3zK-5rrZ17Bc_HX8oJs6Ip2B2uc/s320/Ian+January+2012+094.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, Mom?!? You're going to blog about my poo!</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Baby Clothes</u></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not going to lie. I worried when I found out I was having a boy that I would miss out on all of the cutesy, frilly baby clothes that go along with having a little princess daughter. I thought that buying “boy clothes” wouldn’t be much fun. But I was wrong. I am loving my boy clothes shopping. From the little newsboy cap that I bought for Ian on Saturday (my husband calls Ian “P Diddy” whenever Ian is wearing the cap…not sure why) to the little blue corduroy overalls and white polo shirt I got off ebay, I am LOVING dressing my little man. Cute is cute…whether in pink or blue.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Wholeness</u></div><div class="MsoNormal">I hope this last part isn’t going to be discouraging for any of the ladies who are still fighting in the infertility trenches. It isn’t meant to be. I just have to share what is in my heart. I am feeling so blessed and so complete now that I am a mommy. All through my infertility struggle I felt like a part of me was missing. I ached for the loss of the child I was never getting pregnant with…cycle after failed cycle. I had difficulty filling the emptiness inside of me. I know the politically correct thing to say is that I found the strength in myself and realized I didn’t need anyone or anything to make me complete. But I would be lying if I said that. The minute I laid eyes on Ian…not the minute I found out I was pregnant, which was when I started loving him…but the minute I laid eyes on him, I suddenly felt complete. The emptiness was filled. The ache went away. And any fears I had about whether I would always feel incomplete vanished. Ian completes me…not in the cheesey Jerry McGuire way, but rather in a real and almost palpable way. I am a mother. I always was. And now I have finally have the child I waited so long for (and he’s awesome). I feel like I was a puzzle that was missing a major piece and now that the missing piece is in place, you can finally see the whole picture of who I am. Ian makes me whole.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are too many “Awesome Things” to write about at one time, so I’ll stop here. I’ve just shared so much heartache and sadness and anger on this blog that I wanted to finally take some time to share pure joy and optimism. I am Postive Polly on crack right now. I could probably shoot rainbows out of my fingers if I tried hard enough. I think it is important that people hear about that part of infertility too…the “happily ever after” that does exist…and that makes it all worthwhile in the end.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5J9BZMptGOLCstigMSn5oD4eiqh5i8RbMSw0Th3QFKoAE_4O6P5g-MNRG0n_ySwnqutngpEB9WqWY5clpjHp_QrL8Vaw3B7_a9w2WWycffyECNw3BAoNlUq-88fbBcQHzF86NnxbDpSU/s1600/Ian+January+2012+068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5J9BZMptGOLCstigMSn5oD4eiqh5i8RbMSw0Th3QFKoAE_4O6P5g-MNRG0n_ySwnqutngpEB9WqWY5clpjHp_QrL8Vaw3B7_a9w2WWycffyECNw3BAoNlUq-88fbBcQHzF86NnxbDpSU/s320/Ian+January+2012+068.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Happily Ever After</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Princess Wahna Bea Mamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13525236950612612052noreply@blogger.com6