So…. this is what I’ve been up to. Let’s play catch-up:
I am 3 months into the making baby #2 plan. So far, no baby. At least, I’m pretty sure. I haven’t taken any tests this time around, and our last fertile session was while visiting his mother in GA over the holidays, and you can probably guess how many times we tried to get it on while sleeping in twin beds at his mother’s house (uh… 0 times.) I did make sure we gave it a go on the night before we left though, two days before estimated ovulation. You never know.
I’m not panicking yet. Although it took us 2 ½ months last time, I’m now 3 years older (41) so I know it could be a completely different timeline this time around, if we’re to be so lucky. I’m just concentrating on cleaning up my diet (OK, failing at this so far), preparing my still-overweight body with a little exercise (ugh, I’m so lazy) and trying to stay positive. All three things I suck at.
Sad to say, the hardest part is carving out time for sex. We have the benefit of getting Charlie to bed by 7:00 usually, so that leaves us with an hour and a half after DH gets home to make it happen. I have to plan ahead for it too. Like, if I know it’s ovulation week, and Tuesday and Thursday should be the ideal nights for sex, I have to give advance notice — for myself more than DH. If I plan for it, it’ll likely happen. If I wait for inspiration to strike and naturally make the moves … 9:00 hits and then it’s just time for sleep. I turn into a grandma and only care about crawling under the covers for shut-eye. Pathetic, I know! So, I’ve been tracking it all in my little black book – with penciled in “S” for the nights we need to sneak off to bed early.
Only twice in December. That’s it. I have friends who are trying to get pregnant, and they do it 2x a day! Gah! Just thinking about that makes me tired. Anyway, I should get my period next week. And when it shows up, I’ll know we gotta try a little harder.
Our little girl is 1 1/2 already. It’s so fun to see her vocabulary grow every day — I think she has at least 100 words now. Our pediatrician said they hope for 3 words at this age! I had fun showing him all her tricks — saying “bless you” and “love you,” naming all the body parts, and giving kisses and hugs. Her new thing is saying “I naked!” when she’s partially undressed. What’s even funnier is when she points to the shirtless David Beckham commercial or the lady in the nude-colored, revealing dress at the mall and says the same thing: “I naked!” What a crackup. She’s the best. And that’s why we’re greedy motherfuckers who have to try for another one.
Holy shit. It worked! That last-minute, night-before-we-travel-to-GA-for-Christmas, let’s-just-do-it-now, two-days-early sex worked! I was drinking my second glass of wine last night when it occurred to me that I should’ve gotten my period two days earlier. I decided to test in the morning though, so I would be able to sleep. First morning pee = two lines. I took it out to DH in the living room and showed him. “Does this look like two lines to you?” “Sort of.” “Well, even blurry lines mean we’re pregnant.” Big smiles.
I can’t believe it was that easy. And once again, in less than 3 months time. We rule at procreating! I can’t believe how lucky we are.
I don’t feel pregnant at all yet. No weight gain. No boob pain. One morning with slight nausea, but otherwise, nothing. It makes me nervous. I have my first appointment this afternoon to get an ultrasound and take a look. Fingers crossed.
Heart broken. First ultrasound showed no heartbeat. I was 9 weeks along, and the baby measured 8 weeks, 4 days. So it happened recently. I can’t help but go over the past week, to try to see if it’s something I did wrong. What if it’s when I lean over Charlie’s crib to lay her down? Was it that hike I went on? Was it the day after day of eating nothing but tomato pie? I’ll never know, but it won’t stop the feelings of guilt. I had one job. I couldn’t keep my baby alive. I don’t take care of myself. Maybe I wasn’t fully excited about it… a number of negative guilty thoughts that ran through my head, my fault, my fault, my fault….
The doctor told me that there’s no way to know what happened. I asked, “Is it because of my age?” He said possibly, that my eggs at 41 aren’t the same as younger eggs. That it could’ve had a chromosomal problem, and this was nature’s way of taking care of it. According to the internet, 1 in 4 women will miscarry. For women in their 40s, miscarriage rates are 30 to 50 percent, mainly due to chromosomal defects in the eggs. The good news is, there’s no reason to believe we can’t try again and go on to have a normal pregnancy.
Yesterday, I had a D&C to remove it. It was awful. They didn’t knock me out for it this time, like they did for the one I had after Charlotte was born, when they removed the remaining placenta that didn’t come out. They told me I would be “sedated” and be “in a fog” but conscious. There was nothing foggy about it. I got a little dizzy but was fully aware. I heard it all, and I felt it all, despite pain meds in my IV, three injections in my cervix and a sedative. Thankfully, it only lasted a minute and the horribleness was over. DH was brought in and held my hand while I rested, trying not to cry. The pain was mostly gone in about 30 minutes, when I was able to get dressed and go home. I rested on the couch, stuffed my feelings with fast-food and waited for our nanny to bring home Charlotte. I couldn’t wait to see her. She mends me. And so does my husband. Crushed as well, he’s been a rock by my side, offering positive energy to balance my negative.
Today, I am much better physically. But I’m taking the day off to have my mental breakdown. I didn’t let myself cry much about it yet. I have a hard time letting go when others are around. So today, I sent Charlotte out with our nanny. I’m going to process this, let it sink it, let the tears come and just be sad, alone. Tomorrow will be a new day.
Turns out, yesterday was a beautiful day, and I didn’t feel like crying (surprise.) So I cleaned the house for hours. It was also therapeutic. Then I had a glass of wine in the backyard. Then I started cleaning up the yard, pulling out weeds and throwing away broken yard lights. Then my daughter came home and I played with her while telling her I loved her, over, and over and over.
Today, on the other hand, sucked. I had to go back to work and pretend that I was OK, that it was a normal day, as if nothing horrible happened to me two days ago. A few of my coworkers know, which helped me, oddly. I want to tell everyone. I suck at secrets, and keeping this one private feels like it’s shameful or something, and I hate that. And I get these brief moments of anger/sadness/depression. Like I want to scream – “Who gives a shit about this fucking job!! Don’t you know what just happened to me???!” My husband isn’t ready to tell everyone yet. So I just shared on the derby moms group on Facebook that I’m a part of:
I was getting excited to reach the time when I could share the news that I was expecting #2, but then … no heartbeat. I had surgery to remove it on Tuesday, the day after I learned, at 9 weeks. I only told a handful of friends that I was pregnant. Now I have to be back at work, pretending that everything is normal when it’s not. It sucks. And I kind of want to tell everyone – like announce it on FB – so that I can stop feeling like it’s a shameful secret, and I don’t have to pretend that I’m ok. So I’m starting here, so my husband doesn’t get mad at me (he’s not ready to share with everyone yet.) I lost my baby and I’m sad.
And I exhale. Sharing helps. Other women know what I’m going through. It’ll be OK.
I’m grateful that it happened early. And that it’s a common thing. And it doesn’t mean anything long-term. But still… the guilt. I don’t really like being pregnant. I don’t fully appreciate it. Maybe I didn’t deserve this one. Maybe I had to experience this loss in order to fully know and appreciate what my body is doing. Maybe, because I don’t take care of myself, I couldn’t support a new life. I don’t know…
I bought a car. I decided I needed one, got a loan in 30 minutes, picked the one I wanted in two hours, and spent 2.5 hours at a dealership making it mine, while my husband chased after our bored toddler. You know… lose a baby, get a car. It makes sense. Only now I’m feeling a little sick about it. I didn’t negotiate at all. I don’t even know what my payment is going to be. I’m having a little bit of buyer’s remorse, a little bit of “Oh my God, what have I done?” I think I may have rushed through something that probably should’ve taken much longer. I am not a patient person. But I think my husband may have been right when he warned me that I didn’t need to make a car dealer’s day. Oops.
It’s been over two weeks, and I’m still healing. No idea if spotting this long is normal. I should probably call my doctor or get a follow-up exam. Meh. We’ll see what happens.
So, I took my friend’s advice on waiting before we announced to the world that we had a miscarriage. And now I don’t care to tell anyone. I was on the fence about telling family. I know my family has a way of not making me feel better, so that was out. But I thought maybe telling his family would feel ok. They’re very supportive and would know the right things to say. But in the end, enough time passed that I don’t care to share. The friends that knew I was pregnant know the end result. That’s good enough.
My mother apparently thinks that I should already be in menopause. During our phone call the other day, she asks, “So, have you gone through the change yet?” I was like, huh? I said, “No, I’m only 41.” And she says, “Well, I did at 38. Or was it 36?” And I reminded her that she had a hysterectomy after 5 kids, so she didn’t “go through” any change — it was taken care of surgically. She ends with, “Yeah, that’s true. It was easy for me. I was just wondering.”
In my mother’s head, I think this was her way of asking me if we’re having more children. And this would be why I don’t tell her anything. She cannot ever say the right thing. I’m pretty sure if I told her that we miscarried, she’d blame it on my age and make me feel like shit for trying.
This is normal though, right? My friend shared that her mother made her feel like shit for not spanking her daughter when she pooped her pants (potty training.) Oy. I can’t wait to someday learn what I say to my daughter that makes her feel like shit. As I bitched about my family to my other friend, she said the most profound thing: “It’s weird when we reach the point where our parents stop being our parents and start being fuckups like the rest of us.” So true.