Er, Hola Nausea

I’m a bad blogger lately – what is it? February blah, maybe. And that first trimester endlessness – okay, I know I shouldn’t complain. We are really so grateful for a healthy Bean. But the queasiness! The headaches! Uno is literally sick all day, every day, and has a raging headache each night. She wraps herself in a blanket on the couch and tries her best to eat dinner. We had a few days that seemed better, then suddenly it was back with a vengeance. Sometimes it seems like a blood sugar thing, other times maybe hydration, but even when we tackle both issues via a steady stream of fruit juice, snacks, and plain old H20, the illness persists. Come on, 2nd trimester, we can’t wait for you.

Until we realize that means, gulp, the second trimester. Where does the time go? Are we supposed to, uh, purchase a bassinet?

Our second midwife appointment is on Friday, and though we prob. won’t have an ultrasound, we’ll hear the heartbeat again. I live for a little Bean heartbeat. The P.enny S.imkin book we’ve been reading lists “fascination with the fetal heartbeat” as a common “father/partner symptom” during the 1st trimester. Check. I find all the “expectant father” stuff downright hilarious. And I should blog about it. I should also be a better blog friend. Come on, Deux, shake off February. Shake it off.

Adios Nausea

We hope, anyway! We’re at twelve weeks and for the first time, Uno spent the day feeling – in her words – “normal.” That’s right. No queasiness, food aversions, headaches. Boo yah. We’re going out to dinner to celebrate.

Also, she has developed a real sweet tooth, which isn’t like her – the other day she came home saying she had a Mc.Flurry after lunch! I was shocked. She had a little gleam in her eye and said, lovingly, “it was delicious.” Conclusion? Bean will be my baking buddy.

a little bit of bright, a little more of blue

Aaah, it’s been one of Those Weeks. Uno and I are worn out. Bean probably is too. Poor Bean. We love you, we do. In bullets, it went like this:

• We spent last weekend taking care of Uno’s troubled, if loving, mother. The good part was seeing a pregnant friend and feeling her baby kick. Lovely. The tiring part was everything else.
• Uno got horrible food poisoning on Wed. She was throwing up all night and then — well, I won’t go into details, but let’s just say the issues moved south. Neither of us slept a wink. We called the midwives the next day (they answered quickly, score one for them) and were told as long as she improved, could keep down fluids, and had no fever, we were in the clear. She passed on all three counts.
• The midwives wouldn’t talk to me when I called. I had to pass the phone to a sick, bedded Uno. It dawned on me that because we have no legal relationship in this state, or hell, anywhere, they *couldn’t* talk to me.
• This made me sad and mad and worried. Plus I keep seeing/hearing references to “father” / “dad” everywhere. Maybe just in commercials, baby magazines at the hospital, and our “Pregnancy Bible.” But, still.
• As for our 11 week-old Bean? There’s a bright spot. Bean will soon be 12 weeks. We’re a bit jumpy, though. It’s hard when there’s no obvious sign to reassure us. Say, a kick, a heartbeat, a picture.
• Uno got sick the same night I taught the first of a ten-week community writing workshop. “Community” in this case means educated, NPR-listening closet writer types who paid the big bucks to take this. I am the youngest person in the room and the instructor. I pulled it off but felt ill when I was done. I’m usually a confident teacher but I cried later. I’ve taught the damn course before, but these students are hugely diverse in age/goals/abilities and harsh-ish. Edgy. That night I returned home to an actually ill Uno…
• …and tended to her while trying to chase away feelings of inadequacy about my teaching chops…
• …while she worried about her wayward staff and how they’d pull off an impending training without her. All day Fri. she answered calls and got increasingly frustrated.
• So she went in this morning, a Saturday, to the training, though she still needs to rest.
• My uncle had a heart attack; he survived, but it’s scary. This just as my mother has developed chest pain, diagnosed as cartilage inflammation, but needs an EKG anyway.
• I had already paid a nonrefundable fee for my first 5K race this morning. So I went and ran it. In the cold and sleep-deprived. It felt good and I’m proud of myself but it does add to my general weariness…
• …but I’m feeling bad about that weariness, because I’m not pregnant and she is.

There you have it. Thanks for listening if you made it this far. I’ve loved reading everyone’s updates and I’m sorry to be behind on comments — I answer in my head, often. Soon!

If I See A Single Movie This Year It Won’t Be This One

EDITED to say that my dear friend Abby pointed me to this jezebel article about the movie, which in turn includes the following info: “Cholodenko’s new film … which screened Monday at Sundance, stars Julianne Moore and Annette Bening as a lesbian couple whose non-open relationship is shaken when Moore’s character has an affair with their sperm donor.”

NEVER MIND, movie. I am not seeing you. That’s right, I’m going to be all uppity lesbian about it and I am not having it. Nope. Tired of it.

***

I need to get on my posting — midwives, ultrasound, why I think about cutting my hair every time I go to our medical appointments — but alas, I have a bunch of grading / planning to do. But first: I’m in shock. This movie! Read about it!

Maybe I’m just hopelessly behind. I hadn’t heard of it. My jaw dropped, I obsessively googled it, I teared up (you’d think I was the pregnant one, with all the tearing up I do lately). A movie about a lesbian family that isn’t overly earnest? Or trying to be titillating? Or capped off by a suicide / someone going off the deep end? Granted, the jury’s still out. But from the reviews, it sounds promising. Note that it’s directed by Lisa Cholodenko of “High Art.” Back to my regularly scheduled programming.

Or not, hmm. I’m thinking about this again. On the one hand, it’s upsetting to have a film about lesbian moms that must also feature the sperm donor. The obligatory man. Why, Hollywood? Also, I fervently hope the film doesn’t depict the kids as dying to know their donor – as though there’s some father-sized hole in their psyches. Though that brings me to the second point, which is that I’m excited about these reviews because it sounds like the kids’ reactions are mixed and differ from one another. And the kids are grown, healthy, etc., merely dealing with ordinary growing pains.

I’m fixating on this because we chose to go the open-ID donor route, which means come Bean’s 18th birthday, we may very well find ourselves in this situation. Or not, if Bean could care less. Who knows? One thing is certain, however. Unlike these fictional ladies, our donor is not Mark Ruffalo. And we are not naming our child Laser.

One, please

Yes, it’s one bean! One perfect, singular, unique Bean, hiccuping and waving and gettin’ busy being a whole live baby. First we heard Bean’s fast, strong heartbeat and then we got to see him/her in action. Bean is bigger than we thought! Definitely a chunky little fetus.

Wow, we did this, we made a baby, and the baby has a beating heart, and we are going to be parents, and I’m freaking out in the best possible way. More details when I calm down…

Ten Weeks

Our first medical appointment since the IUI is tomorrow. We’ll be seeing one of the nurse-midwives at the hospital that also houses our RE. Though we have some reservations, it does seem this midwifery practice is our best option. At any rate, it’s about time we saw somebody! It was the holidays… our forgetful RE’s office… somehow, it didn’t happen. In a way, the wait has been nice, especially for Uno, who’s had time to recover from the poking and prodding of the last several months. That said, I’m more than ready to hear a heartbeat. I’m a little anxious and I’m sure I’ll cry shamelessly as soon as we see/hear Bean. Not that I have a rational reason to worry: Uno is nauseous, glowing, and – take it from an expert – her body is changing. Her little belly has popped up and her cup size has to be bigger by now. She may kill me for this dose of TMI. (Honey, you can delete this later if you want). She’s a small person, and with such a pronounced belly at only 10 weeks, I can’t help but recall the chance of twins we incurred with injectables. That whole 20% statistic. After we did the second IUI in November, when Uno had at least five *huge* follicles, the RE warned us our chances were higher than average. Until now we’ve conveniently, merrily addressed her belly as Bean, singular. Now I really wonder. Two beans? Brain. Cannot. Process.

No matter what, I believe that we have the just-right baby for us. And I believe that we can handle anything. And I am so thankful for a healthy pregnancy. I wake up every day feeling grateful.

I will update you tomorrow afternoon! This speculation is probably nothing. Her betas were singleton territory, after all.

Lions and Tigers and Bears and Midwives, Oh My

Suddenly, the tempo picks up. Drums beating. “Get ready, get ready, get ready.” We’re nearing 10 weeks and so far, so good, and that thrills us, but the reality is settling in, too. Uno is calm. She is such a wonderfully calm person. You have no idea. And thank god, because I am much more anxious. Right now my brain is spinning up, overtime. Here’s how it started: we went to the orientation at hospital midwives’ practice (must blog about), felt lukewarm, started researching further birth options. Landed on a local Super Midwife, who has quite the website. I read all the birth stories. I examined the photos. I clicked on the links. And I concluded that I am a Neanderthal when it comes to being prepared for birth and parenting. She includes a questionnaire that asks you to explore all your assumptions about parenting, sex, birth, being a woman. Sample questions: What does your mother believe about women? What did you believe about sex at the age of 16? What are three words you associate with pain? And then she has links about attachment parenting, which ask you to: “Reflect on your childhood experiences.” “Reflect on your current beliefs about parenting.” “Work through negative emotions regarding your own childhood.” “Consider what you want for your child’s education even before birth.” And so on.

The philosophy is, know thyself. I get it. I agree. Oh, I do. I’ve had my share of therapy. I journal. As a couple, we over-analyze everything. But I’m still freaked out. I had a shitty dad, fraught childhood (I know, who didn’t?) and I’ve lapsed on my therapy-attending. Have I done enough soul-searching? What are my assumptions? AM I READY TO BE A PARENT OH MY GOD?

Whew.

At least Uno is carrying so that Bean isn’t regularly subjected to a stress hormone bath.

TTC resolutions – long post warning

Thanks so much for your comments on the photo post! I was nervous-ish about putting the pictures out there. Thank you, thank you.

I’ve been wanting to reflect, in writing, on our TTC journey. You know, What We Learned. But I couldn’t seem to face it. Then I did this New Year’s activity with my high schoolers, which I came up with when I realized my original lesson was too involved for their first day back from vacation. They were squirrely and protested but wrote great stuff. I was inspired to follow suit. Here’s what we did: 1. In the spirit of New Year’s countdowns, take a minute to think about your own “top” memories of the year (or decade or other time period you want). These aren’t necessarily “best” or “worst.” Write a top ten list. Don’t worry if you can’t capture everything. 2. Now imagine yourself at the beginning of the (chosen time period). Close your eyes and put yourself there. What did you care about? What were your days like? Look at your list again, then write that younger self a letter. Say anything you want – advice, predictions? Bonus: take that letter and turn it into a poem. You can use line starters like “believe,” “do / don’t,” “you will / won’t,” etc.

In my adapted version, I’m writing to myself at the beginning of the TTC process.

Memories list:

1. Talking to our friends E and N about their TTC process while their beautiful little baby crawled around the apartment. We started to think: we can do this.

2. Our first meeting with the RE after seeing Great White OB for three cycles. Relief! Hope restored! He was vastly superior in terms of knowledge and advice. We got going right away on blood tests, imaging, and medication.

3. Telling my cousin about TTC. We were on the rocky beach in my hometown. She screamed for joy.

4. Deciding, over the phone – me in a cafe, Uno stealing time at work – to do the HSG. Hu.mana (i.e. The Devil) had just turned us down for the second time, despite a new diagnosis of “pelvic pain” from our RE. Stretched to the limit financially, we thought, oh well. I was supposed to cancel the appt with radiology. Instead, after five minutes, I called Uno back. “What are credit cards for?” I said. And we got pregnant that cycle.

5. Our conversation with the RE about “going for the gold” – i.e. moving to Fo.llistim injections.

6. The moment we saw New Donor’s baby photo. That little face sealed the deal. Can’t explain it, but it spoke to us.

7. Turning to blogs rather than the paltry advice for lesbians out there (we got R. Pepper’s book, but it was so vague on all things TTC).

8. The 20 minute post-IUI waits. I’d sit next to Uno, my hand on her belly, in our room with its view of the sprawling city. It was sleepy on Sunday morning, snarled at rush hour, rainy or sweltering – and we were peaceful up above.

9. Seeing the little swimmers on the ultrasound screen after our successful IUI. I got chills knowing our baby could be taking shape right before my eyes.

10. Waiting for the blood test rather than facing the HPT stick. It was so exciting to get the ironclad confirmation, when it came.

Here’s my letter:

Dear Deux,

This will take longer than you think, but have faith. You think you’re ready for a baby now, and in many ways you are, but just wait. The process has a life of its own. It will change you – and on the other side, you’ll be stronger and more prepared for motherhood than you ever thought possible. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen. Trust yourselves, trust the universe. Remember that Anne Lamott quote you’ve got tacked above your desk, the one about being a straw in the Gulf Stream? Yeah, align yourself with the current, not against it.

On timing: Get ready to track your lives in two-week cycles. It’ll feel out-of-control, sometimes, like General TTC is marching all over your life. So take charge right back. Plan rituals to reflect the changing rhythm of life – schedule treats and retreats, large and small. The evening of an IUI day, do something special. The evening of a pg test, negative or positive, do likewise. Frozen yogurt with unlimited toppings? A day off work? A TV on DVD marathon? A road trip to see the ocean?

On testing: Decide in advance when you will test and follow the plan! Mark it on the calendar. Wait ’til the result is going to be definite one way or another.

On money: Be mercenary with insurance. Find out everything about their infertility coverage. Fight. If it’s still not happening, it’s okay. Money is just money. Plan in advance – what’s your limit before taking a break? – and then spend without guilt or fear.

On doctors: Start with an RE. Shop around. Trust your instincts. Ask a lot questions up front about their policy on meds and what happens if you ovulate over the weekend etc. And get all the phone numbers! Including that of the lab – get all the info on where you’ll get those vials shipped and how much storage costs etc. Information is power.

On conception: Skip the unmedicated cycles and go for Clo.mid right away. Know your body. You’re the expert. Track your cycles in advance of seeing an RE and lay it out for him/her.

On donors: Remember, the donor isn’t everything. Do your research, but if you have to switch, it’s okay. And don’t worry about parents or friends who have opinions about using anonymous donor sperm. They fear what they don’t know. In fact, don’t talk to them about it; even the well-meaning questions will be tiring, so wait until you’ve made your decisions with Uno or until you both are comfortable, whenever that is. Not everyone needs detailed donor info. This is your family, your child.

On telling people: Be judicious about who knows. Talk to the people you know are most supportive and most clued-in about queer family-making.

Overall, remember that you’re part of a vibrant community of women who are starting families in similar ways. You’re not alone. This isn’t weird or unnatural: this is the path your family is supposed to travel. When you feel alone in the hetero-filled waiting rooms, hold your head up and grab Uno’s hand. Some people will surprise you – like the sullen woman in financials you’re always being sent to. She’ll end up a great ally and she’ll congratulate you so warmly once you’re pregnant.

I hope this letter isn’t discouraging. Gulf Stream, straw – remember that.

Much love.

one more time…

i thought i was so clever with my password protecting, then realized i don’t know most of your emails. some i uncovered from your blogs, but if that’s not the case, would you include your email in your comment? if you want the password, of course. OR you can get me at this shiny new location: mamadeux at gmail dot com.

Protected: 2009, The Photo Version

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