A dream is a wish your heart makes...

Today I am 39 weeks and 4 days pregnant. I've been putting on a brave face, but in truth every muscle and joint and ligament and ounce of of my freaking being is uncomfortable. The thing is, I realize that less than a year ago I would have given ANYTHING to be in this position. And I realize that this is the last time I'll ever be doing this. And so, I'm trying to relish every ache and every pain and every trip to the bathroom every 10 freaking minutes - because I wished for this. I hoped for this. I prayed for this. And here I am. In reflection, I wanted to tell this story for the life we're about to welcome into the world. Because I'm uncomfortable - but dang it, I'm so happy.

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"It started out as a feeling which then grew into a hope
Which then grew into a quiet thought which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder until it was a battle cry..."
- The Call; Regina Spektor


At the beginning of 2015, I made a secret Pinterest board that was dedicated solely to ideas for announcing a pregnancy at Disney World. It's a notion that makes me cringe even today, but it's true. My husband and I had long ago decided that we wanted our last vacation as a family of 3 to be taken at Disney World.

I have a habit of getting WAY ahead of myself when it comes to planning and given that we were planning to start trying for another baby at the beginning of the year, the timing seemed perfect.

Six years ago, when we found out we were pregnant for the first time, I learned nothing about my reproductive health in the process. For all intents and purposes, we got pregnant accidentally on purpose after one month of trying. It's a blessing, one that I do not take for granted (especially now), but it was unfair. It's unrealistic. It set me up for what would end up being 6 months of sadness and disappointment and above all - confusion.

But, first - Disney World.

Upon packing for the trip we had planned for for months, I realized that I would be able to take a test around the fourth day of our trip there and was sure it would be the most magical positive pregnancy test anyone had ever peed on. I thought of fun ways for us to secretly announce our pregnancy through photographs while at Disney World to share with our families when we returned. I was excited for the trip, yes, but I think I was more excited about what the trip would mean for us.

I remember taking the resort transit to Hollywood Studios on our second day of the trip and suddenly being overcome with nausea. The kind that only exists in the first trimester. I can't even describe the elation I felt at this sudden and inexplicable urge to vomit. I had never been more sure that I was pregnant.

We arrived early at our brunch reservations the next day and while waiting for our table, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. And that's when I saw I had my period.

In my bag, I had packed six different pregnancy tests.
And four tampons.

I walked out of the bathroom with tears threatening to spill down my face. I don't even think I had to say the words to my husband. I think he knew. And he tried to hide it, but I saw the disappointment I was feeling mirrored in his expression. We both decided not to discuss it and to try to just enjoy the trip.

We spent the rest of that day at Epcot. I drank a beer in every country that day. Partially because I could. But, mostly because I was numbing the pain. There was so much self blame. I wanted to space out my pregnancies. It had always been the right decision for our family and now I was filled with so much doubt. Truly, this was one thing I felt like I (personally) was born to do - and I was failing at it. Quite frankly, I felt broken.

The next day, while waiting in a very long line at the Magic Kingdom, I did the thing you should never do when you're panicking about a possible medical problem - I Google'd.

However, the great thing about relying on Dr. Google when it comes to fears about your fertility, is that sometimes you stumble upon a community forum that tells you you are absolutely insane. It was there that I learned facts that sustained me for the failed cycles that would follow. It was there that I learned I was not even close to infertile - just uninformed and impatient.

I learned that it can take up to a year for a healthy couple to conceive.
I learned that a couple only has a 20% chance of conceiving every month.
I learned that I had expected to get pregnant in a fraction of the time that many couples out there have been trying (and some with varied levels of medical intervention).
I learned that accidental pregnancies are pretty much mathematically improbable.
I learned that most pregnancies (including my own previous pregnancy) are pretty much mathematically improbable.

I felt like an idiot. Little Miss "I got pregnant after one month of trying, what's wrong with me now?" really got a dose of her own medicine. I read post after post after post after post of women struggling with fertility, women starting IVF, women who knew so much more about this stuff than I ever bothered to learn. It was like I had fallen asleep in health class in middle school and suddenly woke up at 31 and decided to pay attention.

So, I read. And I learned. I found solace in a community full of women who understood what I was going through.

Who would listen when a very pregnant person complained to me about her pregnancy while I was hoping so desperately to be in her shoes.
Who would sympathize when I was asked over and over again when we were finally going to have another kid.
Who would understand when every pregnancy announcement was like a punch in my (empty) gut.

Even though I was now armed with the knowledge that our timeline was completely normal, I felt less normal as every non-pregnant day went on. I discovered through various tracking methods that sometimes I ovulated and sometimes I didn't. My body just doesn't see it to be a necessary process every month. The birth control pills which had regulated my cycles for years were finally out of my system and in response, my system had no idea what to do with itself.

I put in a call with my OB/GYN for an appointment to discuss my concerns. The nurse I spoke to was very reassuring and sweet and told me that I should give it one more irregular cycle before I made an appointment.

That cycle never came.

And one afternoon, motivated by some sweet women on a board which had become my safe haven for sharing my obsessive charting who saw my chart and told me I would be crazy to not pee on a stick that afternoon, I stopped by a store and bought a pregnancy test.

I was on the way home from our second annual musical and still feeling elated from watching our students and their triumphant performance. I didn't want to ruin that feeling with another disappointment, but I just had to know.

I remember closing the door to the bathroom and standing outside of it. I had seen so many negative tests already. I just didn't want to see another one turn right in front of my eyes.

I cautiously approached the test the way one would approach a live wire. Convinced it would be another disappointment.

But it was positive. I was finally pregnant.
And no, it wasn't Disney World - but it was still magical.


I'm sharing this story here because I am certain there are people out there who, like me, don't understand the reality of fertility. Who think pregnancy is a right rather than a privilege. Who perhaps have never felt the pain of this struggle. Who have felt the pain of this struggle and are glad to hear someone break the silence that surrounds infertility. I was never one to approach people about their plans for procreation - I find that to be a highly personal decision and I never wanted to accidentally harm someone who was unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant.

However, I also never applied those same principles to myself. I approached myself over and over saying "Why aren't you pregnant yet, Amanda?" and it was a very painful and scary time. It didn't have to be. It just took a little bit of self help and education.

And now here I am - 3 days before I'm due with this little man. All I can feel is grateful that I didn't allow the fear and judgment and disappointment keep me from the magic I've wanted for so long.

"Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling that no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it too, doesn't mean that you have to forget
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
Until they're before your eyes..."

Sitting, waiting, wishing...

You don't forget the look on a woman's face when she confides in you that she and her husband are having difficulties conceiving a child.  I know because there was a day not too long ago, when I sat across from my friend Kelly (as we gorged on chips and salsa and drank margaritas) and she told me exactly that.  Though I didn't know it at the time, Kelly and her husband were just at the beginning of a long, hard journey.  I have no idea what I said in that moment.  I'm sure it was the wrong thing.  But, I do know that I knew exactly how she was feeling.  No, I did not suffer from any reproductive struggles, but I did know the longing that you feel the instant you officially decide to try to have a child.  You want to be pregnant in that instant and obviously, it doesn't work that way.  So, to hear my friend had been struggling with that feeling (as well as with the very real situation that she may not be able to conceive without major intervention) for 6 months - I was devastated for her.  These are two of the nicest people I've ever met and Kelly and I had shared several conversations over the years about her hopes to become a mother.  I invited Kelly here to share her story, because I know people will benefit hearing this story.

Because sometimes the paths to becoming a mother are as varied as the paths of actually being one.

Because I know there are so many women out there who have been through this and can relate.

Because I know there are so many women who are currently weighing their options and could really use a hopeful story right now.

Because sometimes even though someone doesn't have a child, it doesn't mean they don't desperately want one.

And this is one such story - with a very happy ending.

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“It’ll happen.”  That's what everyone said.

“Give it time.” 

“Just don't think about it.”

If you're a woman trying to conceive, you want to slap any person who utters the words "don't" and "stress" in the same sentence...regardless of their good intentions. Through gritted teeth, I'd respond with a "Thanks, I'm working on it," and a half-hearted chuckle, while baby bumps danced through my head and doctor visits started monopolizing my calendar. 

Let’s back up a little. 

At the time, I was a very healthy (albeit holding onto probably 15 more lbs than I should have) 26 year old woman. I didn’t smoke. I exercised. I brushed my teeth and took my vitamins. I did everything I was supposed to do. I was very happy with my husband who’d been my better half for over a decade by then…but something was missing. We had been trying to conceive for about a year with no progress. I know what you’re thinking. That’s not much time to start panicking. However, I started charting my cycles and taking ovulation tests with no indication that I was actually ovulating. 

This brought me to my doctor and I was diagnosed with poly-cystic ovary syndrome (PCOS) and cannot ovulate on my own. My OB/GYN put me on Clomiphene (Clomid) for 7 months which regulated my cycle, but we saw no results (as in, no baby). My husband had been tested a few times using a standard system with no red flags. We even went to an urologist; if only to rule out more reasons why we didn’t yet have a 3^rd member of our family, to no avail. Then, once we were referred to a reproductive endocrinologist (RE), they took his sample, sent it across the country to one of the only labs that tests DNA fragmentation and sustainability, and a few hundred dollars later, we got some definitive bad news. Our doctor concluded that we had about a 1% shot at conceiving naturally due to Male Factor Infertility and my PCOS combined. At least we were in it together!

I. Was. Devastated. 

Our RE was very honest about our options. We could keep trying and maybe a few years down the road, it could happen. Miracles happen every day, however, I wasn’t going to risk my child bearing years on the hope that I MIGHT have a child one day…maybe. 

He didn’t recommend the less invasive (see also, less effective) IUI procedure which is basically the turkey baster method. Oh yes. That’s what he called it. 

Our RE basically told us we had the best shot with IVF, but of course that is physically, emotionally, and financially draining and we could still revisit that option a few years down the road if we weren’t interested in committing right away. We would, however, have a great chance at conceiving this way because of the way they fertilize the egg at this particular clinic. Instead of a traditional IVF where they put an egg and some sperm in a dish and let nature do its thing, science intervenes even further by having a doctor inject a single, perfect sperm into an egg. This is the best way to overcome male factor infertility. He all but guaranteed us a child by the end of the process. Science rules. 

I’d wanted to have children since I was a child myself. My husband and I were ready, or as ready as you can possibly be…which is kind of not at all. We’re good people. We’re young. We have a wonderfully loving, stable relationship. We have good paying, full time jobs. How could we be getting the news that having a baby would be such a challenge?? That wasn’t in my plan!

For me, I think I decided then and there in that office that I wanted to do IVF…like…yesterday. I remember talking to my husband that night, or rather, sobbing to my husband, about how I much I wanted this. I know he shared in my enthusiasm for expanding our family, but maybe not so much my knee jerk reaction to go all in with this procedure. We hadn’t exactly been saving our money with this expense in mind and I was going to have to give myself shots. HE was going to have to give me shots. Big ones. 

Of course, I also doubted myself and thought that if we weren’t able to conceive naturally, is that somehow a sign? Should we just accept that it isn’t meant to happen and we aren’t meant to be parents? Maybe we were meant to adopt. Maybe we were meant to have a surrogate or lots and lots of dogs instead. Maybe we were supposed to do something else with our lives. God knows those are all fantastic, valid life options. 

Then again, why have all these advances in medicine if we won’t use them?! If we didn’t try everything in our power to have a child with our own DNA, we would always wonder, “what if?” If we go through with it and it doesn’t work, at least we know we tried, and we can move on to pursuing another option. 

Some people are meant to make the laws or enforce them. Some feel like their purpose in life is to teach. Some help to save lives and keep people healthy. I was born to be a mother. I would make that happen, one way or another. That much, I was certain. 

We considered waiting a few months, but I couldn’t see how waiting any longer would change our situation. Not long after that last doctor visit, my husband and I made the decision that would change our lives. It was April 2012 when I made the call to our RE telling him we were ready to start the process of IVF. I was signed up for the June 4 cycle. 

Suddenly, I felt relief. It obviously wasn’t an ideal situation, but we were given hope that this could work. We could have a baby. There was an end in sight and while I didn’t have a lot of control over it, I was confident in those that did. It’s amazing how having a plan of action can be so satisfying, even if it isn’t what you thought it would be. The wheels were at least in motion. I could breathe again. 

We signed and notarized our documents, contracts, medical records, etc. I wrote the biggest check I’ve ever written in my life and ordered my meds. Panic set in once I opened my box of meds. 

Even more so once I got my schedule. 

I could write a novel of everything we went through that month: needles, blood draws, ultrasounds, surgery, tears, laughter, and LOTS and LOTS of waiting. Somehow, though, the details don’t seem that important anymore. Not compared to our happy ending, anyway. 

On Tuesday, June 19, 6 days after the doctor transferred 2 (yes, 2!) blastocysts to my uterus, I took yet another blood test. 

My HCG level had to be over a 5 for them to consider it a positive pregnancy test. It came back a 32. I was pregnant! I got the news in my office at work and just stood there with my cell phone, back pressed against the wall, happy tears filling my eyes. I can’t believe I even worked the rest of the day. 

Once home, I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive. I cried again. I had never seen a positive test of my own before. I can’t tell you how much money I spent on them over time, always seeing that stupid single line staring up at me; mocking me. All of a sudden, there were 2 lines. (I must’ve taken more than 10 more tests over the course of the next few weeks…just to make sure!)

I surprised my husband with the news that evening and from there, we told a few friends and family who knew about our IVF journey. It would be another 3 weeks before we would learn that I had just one baby growing inside me, not two, as we originally thought. In that time, I also experienced a fairly common side effect of IVF called ovarian hyper stimulation syndrome. Because my ovaries were stimulated to the size of baseballs (not an exaggeration), some fluid was leaking from them with a surge of HCG (caused by pregnancy), and filled my abdominal cavity. It was as pleasant as it sounds. Luckily it subsided within a few weeks and I got to enjoy the rest of my pregnancy. And did I ever. 

From then on, everything was smooth sailing, and I can honestly say I LOVED being pregnant. Maybe it was because I understood the magnitude of the blessing and miracle I was experiencing and maybe it was just because I knew that in 9 months, I would fulfill my dream. 

Sure enough, at exactly 40 weeks, my son was born. I was a mommy. 

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t painless. 

It WAS worth it…and so much more. 

The beauty of uncertainty...

On Friday, I bounded out to my husband's car to collect The Incredible Hulk out of his car seat and immediately rummaged through his backpack to see what precious little artwork he carried home with him.  The crafty wannabe in me lives for the moments when I get to see his adorably created art projects covered in tempera paint and macaroni.

Instead.  I found this:

(Upper left corner.  TIH drew himself a sister.)

Sigh.

Here's the thing.  This has been on my mind a lot lately.  I have this interesting and notable twinge when I see a little face peeking up from a pumpkin seat in the grocery store.  I spent an above average time sifting through little sleepers with adorable footies on them the other day.  Right now, babies smell to me like baby powder and happiness and that is ALWAYS a telling sign.

TIH has also (clearly) become obsessed with the idea of having a sister recently.  He talks about it a lot and has elaborate plans for how they will play together.  ("She will go down the slide at the playground. Sisters are so silly!")  He has thus far neglected to realize that his sister will probably take away a lot of his wealth of parental attention, will rob his family blind in childcare costs, and will also likely steal his toys when she is old enough.  His rose-colored-glasses outlook is adorable.  Really. And, all joking aside?  He's going to make an excellent big brother.  Someday.

As much as these superficial things are giving me that familiar itch lately, I just know in my very core that right now is not the right time.  Last year's move was earth shattering (a point I have clearly belabored here and must do so again).  But, it was earth shattering.  And, not just emotionally, but in every possible way - physically, financially, mentally...and all of these things combined with the fact that I maybe, sort of, had a really, really tough time right after TIH was born does not a good situation make.  (It also makes horrendous, poorly punctuated run-on sentences so I am in no place right now to be a mother of two.  Obviously.)

Listen, I know that I was put on this planet to be a mother to TIH.  And somewhere, deep inside, I know that (God willing), I am to be a mother to TIH and his sibling(s?)  Someday.  Not now.  But, someday.

I am really and truly enjoying TIH at this age.  I am loving that he has all of our attention right now (and any of you who have ever raised a 3 year old know that they don't give a crap how they get your attention - they're going to get it!)  Part of me is happy to be able to be undivided for him right now.

When we had TIH, it was a very carefully calculated decision.  We knew that it was a good time in our life to have a baby.  We felt ready (I say "felt" because we soon learned that no matter how ready you "feel," it's still going to rock your world when you do become parents).  And, truly, becoming parents was the best thing to ever happen to us.

I know we will have that feeling again.

I know it when I see a mother rubbing the swell of her belly knowing that she's feeling little kicks and nudges while doing so.  I know it when I kiss the sweet, soft skin of a newborn and breath in that gorgeous smell.  I know it when I look at TIH, at the little boy he has become, as a I watch all signs of the baby he once was melt away, and I see what a miracle and a blessing kids are.

So, maybe it's not right now.  Maybe it's still a few years off.  And who knows what the future has in store for us.  But, I'm sure excited to find out what it is like to be a bigger family.

Someday.

We all need somebody to lean on...

I wrote this post months ago and forgot about it. Seriously, the two pregnant women I mention at the beginning are both in their 3rd trimesters now and we moved after I wrote this so TIH is in at a new preschool (which we LOVE).  But, since most of the stuff is still true, I can post it now.  I love it when blog posts have been written for me already.

I wish I could say that my husband and I have never had a single issue with our childcare provider(s) throughout the over 2 years since I returned to work from my maternity leave.

However, I can't.   When we sold our house, we left a center we absolutely loved to go to a place that we really didn't even like that much.  But, we chose it because it was close enough to my dad's house and didn't totally break the bank.

As with most things in life, when you cut costs you also inevitably sacrifice quality.
We tried to make this place work for a good 4 months (which is honestly 4 months longer than we ever thought we would be there), but eventually the number of our complaints outweighed the reduced cost we were getting.  So, we started looking again.

The day that we went "daycare shopping," we happened to spend some time with a couple of couples who recently told us they were expecting their first children.  Both women plan to return to work when the time comes, and yet, here I was with another one of my New Mom on the Blog horror stories.  I tried to back peddle halfway through what I was saying after seeing the horrified looks on both of their faces, but I know I need to go one step further.

The thing is, I've received a lot of criticism from people for enrolling my child in a daycare center.  For some reason, daycare centers have this stigma of being dirty, disease-infested, money machines who will abuse and neglect your child for the low, low price of $1500.00 a month.  And unfortunately, our most recent experience was pretty much that (give or take a few hundred dollars.)

But, today on the blog, I'd like to talk about all of the reasons why sending your child to a child development center is not just a great idea (and something that you shouldn't fear at all), but also why it is mother-flipping AWESOME.



Reason #1 - Nap time
It takes about a full hour from start to finish to get TIH down for a nap on the weekend and almost always involves taking a ride in the car (which is somehow the fastest way to induce toddler sleep.)  At daycare?  Not only does he lay down on his cot with minimal prompting, he almost always falls asleep within minutes of laying down, and proceeds to sleep for THREE FREAKING HOURS (on the weekends, we are high-fiving ourselves if we get an hour and a half.)  I would love to know their secret to such nap-ful bliss, at the very least to save us some gas money on the nap rides.

Reason #2 - Art Work
If you follow me on Pinterest, you may believe I am some sort of crafty goddess, but you would most assuredly be wrong.  In fact, I have an entire Facebook album dedicated to craft projects I've made and not screwed up.  (There are five pictures in it.  Two of them are of brownies.  Made from a packaged brownie mix.)

Don't get me wrong.  It was delicious.

So, when I've attempted art projects with TIH, it almost always turns into a big, fat, FAIL.  Most recently, I attempted to make this project, but instead ended up with this:

Nailed it.

Even though it doesn't state it in the directions, you probably should not leave your toddler (still holding a paint brush, still covered in paint, still with open paint pots) alone while you go retrieve paper towels to clean up his hands.

At daycare?  They would have never made this mistake.  And even if they did, the place is practically a Hobby Lobby filled with all of the crafting supplies you could ever imagine and furniture that can be wiped down within an inch of it's life.  My kid is only two years old and I already have a large binder FILLED with his paintings and drawings.  It's amazing and it allows me to leave the crafting up to the experts.  Otherwise we end up with things like this:

I wish I could blame this flower pot address marker on TIH, but this one was all me.

Reason #3 - Parents Night Out
A long time ago, my husband and I used to actually go places and get dressed up and eat dinner and have adult conversations.  We are lucky enough to have a bunch of family members who are always willing and able to take TIH so that we can have a date night.  But, sometimes those people have lives too.  Or, they want to do things WITH US.  Enter: PNO.  This is where we pay our licensed, degreed, and AWESOME childcare workers a (very, very small) fee so that my husband and I can have 4 hours of freedom while TIH gets fed pizza, makes more of the aforementioned craft projects, and plays with his friends.  The result?  Mom and Dad still have what resembles a social life/marriage and TIH has a freaking blast.  Win/win.

Reason #4 - Spanish
Do you know what language I took in high school?  Latin.  Yes.  The dead language.  Sure, my ACT/SAT scores rocked and I still have an above average vocabulary (not that you'd know it from this blog), but as for being functional...nope.  And it also isn't really something you can teach your kid (not that I remember enough to do so anyway.)  At TIH's daycare, a Spanish teacher comes once a week to teach them basic Spanish vocabulary.  If I tried to teach my kid basic vocabulary in another language, it would sound like this:

Reason #5 - Diapers
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I am kind of okay with someone else changing the diapers for 8 hours.  If I leave you with no other reason why daycare is awesome?  This is it.




I will tell the truth - it isn't easy to drop your kid off in the hands of people you don't really know that well.  The first time made me feel like I had been punched in the stomach.  But, it gets easier.  There will be tears at times, but another great thing about daycare - and this is probably the best part - they're there to give the hugs and wipe the tears that I can't.

And that?  Is worth way more than $1500.  (Give or take a few hundred.)