STILL no baby, so we shop (and celebrate a birthday)

After several hours of contractions and painful baby movement last night, I find myself once again this morning with no labor signs and of course no baby. Ugh. I keep telling myself every time I start contracting that it's probably nothing, but it's hard for us not to get our hopes up. The poor Mr. is walking around like a zombie this morning, having been awake and excited all night. I guess it's a preview, but still...kind of frustrating.

So, I guess things will either kick in today or tomorrow (which is my birthday). In the meantime, I think I'll head out today and do a little last minute Christmas shopping/puttering around. I'm sure it's going to be a madhouse out there, but being in my actual house is driving me mad. There are only so many episodes of House and Gossip Girl that I can watch -- which I didn't think possible.

And we will try to get back to our happy place -- after all, we'll be parents in a couple of days, which is pretty darn exciting.

I hope that everyone's enjoying their holiday prep!! I can't believe it's only 4 days until Christmas....

Still no baby, so we eat!

Yeah, so, still no baby. Lots of contractions, many false alarms, and enough spicy-food induced heartburn to keep a Tums factory in business.

I swing between being totally zen (she'll get here when she gets here, this is our first taste of our plans not being our own, etc.) and completely despondent (she'll never come, something is wrong, I am a FAILURE because my body apparently DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, etc.). I'm also not thrilled about being induced, but not because I'm worried about the induction itself. I just don't want to wait until Wednesday!

Anyhoo, so we've been trying to take advantage of the quiet time, since I finished my Christmas shopping and nursery prep weeks ago. Movies, walks, sexy time (not that it's that sexy, but it's probably the best we're going to get for a while), dinners out and random puttering around the house. It's kind of nice in a way. We've also given up on calling anyone unless absolutely necessary, because we get the breathless "IS THERE A BABY YET??" from everyone -- including, oddly enough, the cat groomer, who apparently my mother has on high alert.

Tonight we decided to relish our little remaining adult time by having a modified version of the Christmas Eve dinner that, one way or another, I won't be in any shape to cook this year. I come from a large extended Italian family, so Christmas Eve is all about seafood. Normally, I make a dinner with a bunch of courses and appetizers, basically squeezing in as many kinds of fish as possible. Since there are lot of fish that I probably shouldn't be eating, and my stomach capacity is about the size of a walnut right now, we're just going to go with our favorite course -- Linguini with White Clam Sauce, served with hot crusty bread. Yum. Because I can't be bothered to deal with cleaning or prepping live clams (plus, no need to screw around with potential food poisoning right now), I'm doing the ultra-easy version. Recipe is below for anyone who's interested.

Of course, this probably means I'll go into labor tonight, puking clams and garlic all the way. But it would be SO WORTH IT.

Merry early Christmas Eve!

Linguini with White Clam Sauce (Serves 2 as a main course)

4 6.5 oz cans minced clams (I'm partial to Snow's brand)

4 cloves garlic, minced

Olive oil, enough to coat the bottom of a small saucepan

Small handful fresh Italian parsley, chopped (you could also use a couple of tablespoons of dried)

Juice of one lemon

Splash of white wine (I used Pinot Grigio, but whatever dry white you like to drink would work)

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat olive oil at medium high heat in bottom of small saucepan. Add garlic, saute until golden. Add clams (with all juice in can), lemon juice, wine, parsley and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Let simmer for 20 minutes or so, then add salt to taste. Sauce can be made early in the day, and reheated, or served immediately over linguini with warm crusty bread to sop up the juices.

Due date

Well, here we are. December 16th. It's your birthday, baby! Come on out!

We had our 40 week appointment yesterday. Long story short: my OB didn't check me, since she won't induce us any earlier than 41 weeks and if I'm not contracting it doesn't really matter at this point how dilated I am. So my next appointment is Tuesday the 22nd (my birthday), and we're talking induction on the 23rd if she hasn't arrived by then.

I've actually been feeling pretty normal, aside from another big nasty yet fascinating chunk of mucous plug on Monday. I'm skeptical that anything's going to happen on its own. But I'm still hopeful.

Off to the gym, to see if I can walk this baby out. Out out out!

The Girl Who Cried "Baby"

On Friday I became that girl. The girl who cried "baby."

It started off as a normal day. I got up at 6:30, worked for a couple of hours, and headed to the gym. Of course I had to pee when I got there (that 5-minute drive sure is a killer), so I headed into the ladies room. I did my thing, followed by the customary toilet-paper analysis routine, and -- what's that? Could it be? Could that be part of a mucous plug? That smear of snot-like material? I wiped again and found more, and then more after that, and decided that yes, indeed, this was probably part of the plug.

Knowing that this didn't necessarily mean anything imminent is happening, I proceeded with my workout as usual (40 lame minutes at a lame pace on the lame lowest setting of the elliptical trainer).

And then things started to get weird. My regular 39-week lower back pain got noticeably more painful, and I started to feel some mild pressure on my pelvis. I had a prenatal massage scheduled, so I went to that, where the pelvic pain progressed to the point where I almost couldn't roll from one side to the other on the table, get off the table at the end of the massage, or get back into my clothes. The massage therapist was convinced I was in early labor.

On the way home, the pelvic pain got worse, and I started to shake and my teeth started to chatter. I called the Mr. and told him I thought maybe he should think about taking the afternoon off. I called my mom and asked her to come over for a bit. I even told my boss (it was my last official day of working from home before my leave) that I might not make it to an afternoon conference call. I sat on my yoga ball and rolled and breathed, and tried to wrap up some work stuff.

The pain and pressure got worse as the day wore on, but I never felt anything that seemed like a contraction, so decided to wait it out and not call my doctor. I spent the afternoon lying on the couch, watching old episodes of Grey's Anatomy, and having the Mr. help me up when I needed to pee. I ate a bland lunch Just In Case. I napped, exhausted, and went to bed early.

And woke up on Saturday.

Feeling great!

But kind of like an ass. I'm pretty sure that this baby is going to be crowning before I call anyone else to tell them I think I might be in labor.

Meanwhile, it's two days later and still no baby. No bloody show, no meaningful contractions, no more plug action. There's been yoga and walking and sex and spicy food and various pleas directed towards the belly, but no sign of baby.

Kid, you've got 3 more days before I am Officially Impatient. You hear me?

Eviction notice

I know it's still 9 days until my due date, but we served our first eviction notice on the chicklette last night.

One of our local pizza joints, Skipolini's, has this concoction called the "Prego Pizza." It's rumored to have some sort of legendary labor-inducing properties. I put down 3 slices of this legend, and needless to say I am still here, not in labor. Although I would now like to be evicted from my own body, as I deal with the aftermath of 6 different kinds of meat, plus extra garlic and onions. Ugh! (I have a couple of slices left over in the fridge, and am debating whether I can handle eating it for lunch. I'm thinking no, but we'll see. Pizza is pizza.)

Other things we've tried this weekend: walking, yoga, pressure point massage, and yes, sex. Well, sort of sex. There's not really room for any extra people in there right now, so we sort of improvised. Which was nice, except the baby seemed a little TOO into it, if you know what I mean. She shouldn't be thinking about these things for at LEAST 18 more years.

It's not that I don't love hosting our little nugget, or that I've had a particularly terrible time of it or anything. But I'm cranky and uncomfortable, and ready to have this childbirth thing over with so that I can start obsessing about other things. I'm sure I will look back and think I was crazy to ever want to give up this tranquil end-of-pregnancy waiting period, but I guess maybe I've had enough waiting at this point (a sentiment that I'm sure many readers can identify with).

So, anyway, here I wait. With a heart full of anticipation, and a tummy full of meat.

38 weeks (gulp)

I've only got 2 weeks to go. Yikes.

I had my OB appointment yesterday, which I dreaded for about a week, thinking I'd be getting my first cervical check courtesy of the least gentle hands in the Bay Area. Turns out Dr. Miss Sunshine doesn't do internals until you're overdue or your water breaks, since they don't really tell you anything about when you might actually go into labor. So that was nice.

We did get to get another peek via ultrasound to make sure the Chicklette was still head down (which she is, and which I didn't doubt for a second, as the feeling of a skull grinding into your pelvis is a pretty singular sensation). We also confirmed that the appendage digging into my left ribs is indeed a foot (or maybe a hand -- all four limbs appear to be clustered over there), and that the hard area on my right side is a spine and baby booty. Pretty neat.

Anyway, I think I crossed the line yesterday and am now more physically uncomfortable with her inside of me than I am anxious about having her outside of me. I'm sure I'll be regaling you all with the various crazy things I will be doing over the next couple of weeks to try and encourage her arrival (Step 1: yoga tonight). Not only would I like my body back, but I also wouldn't mind not spending Christmas (or my birthday 3 days before) in the hospital.

Oh, and I guess I'd also like to meet my daughter. Almost forgot that minor detail!

Man candy

I finally went to go see the new Twilight movie yesterday. With my mom -- which I know is kind of weird, but we tend to have the same taste in fantasy men. Short review in a nutshell: while I've always been an Edward girl, I say yes to the chest. The werewolf chest. Some woman (I'm assuming, but I live in the SF Bay Area so I guess you never know) actually clapped when Jacob took his shirt off for the first time. Which were my sentiments exactly.

Ahem. So, just to demonstrate how riveted I was to the screen, I will let you know that I did not get up once in two hours, despite:

1) Having to pee desperately; and
2) Having somewhat painful and regular contractions during the second half of the movie.

The contraction thing is new -- I've been having them on and off for the last few days, and it's interesting. Last night the Mr. whipped out his stopwatch when I had a few more, but I'm pretty sure that was more of a "too much buttered popcorn" episode than anything else. I can see, though, how the last few weeks can drive a person a little crazy.

Chill out, chicklette. The doctor is out of town until next week.

Ready for launch

Well, technically speaking, anyway. At our 36 week appointment today, the doctor confirmed via ultrasound that the chicklette is head down. As soon as the wand hit my stomach, she proclaimed:

"Yup -- that's a head all right."

And indeed it was. A big round head pushing on my bladder 24/7.**

The good news is that now that her head is lodged in my pelvis, she's there for good. No worries about flipping, version, etc. etc. I like to think it's the 37 squats we did in yoga last week, but who knows.

In other news, I had my super-fun GBS swab. I have to say, it's a little alarming that a Q-tip in the nether regions can actually HURT (given what's going to be going down, so to speak, in the next few weeks), but then again, my doctor does not exactly have the gentlest hands.

So, one more week until I'm officially "full term." Exciting and so very scary.

**By the way (TMI alert), the books always say that if you are concerned about things leaking and what they might be, you can tell the difference between pee and amniotic fluid by the smell (pee smells like ammonia, amnio fluid smells a little sweet). I always thought that was BS. But I can now say with confidence -- pee DOES smell like ammonia. Yet another useful (and sexy) skill brought to you by late term pregnancy. See also: wiping your butt when you can't actually reach your butt.

Weighty issues

It's two days before my next OB appointment, also known as The Day I Officially Begin To Dread the Weigh In. For anyone who's ever been on Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Nutrisystem or the like (I've done all 3 at some point -- do I get a prize?), you know the feeling. Please God is there anything I can do to miraculously drop 5 pounds in 48 hours?!?

OK, so I'm not in full-on panic mode. I realize that porking up is part of this whole pregnancy thing, and I'm almost done so I know that hopefully things will be headed back in the other direction soon. But I am Hermione -- the annoying eager beaver who always wants the A+ from everyone -- so I desperately seek approval from my doctor on all fronts, including my weight.

But I haven't been getting it lately. I've gained a little too much -- not WAY to much -- but enough that I am not sporting the "cute pregnant chick" look. And it's totally my own fault. I love food and have given into the cravings.

And here's where the food dysfunction really sets in. As much as I can't wait to lose the shelf that is my belly (and the convenient receptacle for dropped food it has become), I am a leetle beet heartbroken to have to give up the lovely food habits I've adopted: McDonald's hamburgers (with extra ketchup), morning lattes (baby needs calcium!), sweets of all kinds (a new thing for me), nightly desserts (since I can't have wine....), morning AND afternoon snacks, and a complete lack of guilt about carbs.

All good things must come to an end, I suppose. But will I ever be able to get any sort of food discipline back?

Time will tell. Stay tuned!

Somebody please stop me....

I am officially in a shopping frenzy.

I held myself back for so long. What if something goes wrong? What if it's not really a girl? What if I get a ton of duplicate clothes at my shower?

But there is no holding back now. I just can't help it -- all of the little clothes are SO DAMN CUTE. And I've been buying them for other people for so long that I know JUST WHERE TO GO to get the very cutest things.

Making matters worse: I am as big as a house and fit into nothing, so I have only my unborn child upon whom to unleash my shopping urge.

Making matters even worse than that: Grandma thinks we are having a celebrity baby. Which must be why she purchased this:

Yes, that's right. It's a Burberry outfit. I have never owned a thread of Burberry clothing myself, but now my daughter will ooze pretentious London charm.

Somebody please help us stop the insanity!

To vax or not to vax

That is the question. For tomorrow. For the swine flu.

Each time I go to my OB's office, they promise that they'll have the thimerosal-free H1N1 vaccination in "any day now." Apparently "any day" really means "any day," but not any day SOON. I know it's not their fault, but I really want that shot!

So, on our hospital birthing center tour this weekend, we ran into my husband's general practitioner, who was also getting a tour with his pregnant wife. He pulled us aside and said "PSST. I've got some doses of swine flu vaccine. Come in on Tuesday and I'll set you up." They're the regular kind with the preservative, but he gave one to his pregnant wife and basically said that the risk of getting the flu while waiting for the shot was greater than anything the dose of preservative could do to me or the baby. The CDC website seems to agree -- they recommend the shot for all pregnant women, with or without thimerosal.

My doctor, however, does not seem to. I called today and the front desk person said that she "really wants" her patients to wait for the thim-free shot. I asked about the CDC recommendation, and the risk of waiting vs. the risk of getting the regular shot, and she said the doctor would have to call me back. Which she hasn't yet.

I'm heavily leaning towards getting the shot. Any advice/stories from out there in internet-land?

UPDATE: My doctor just called and said to get the injection. I'll leave the above hand-wringing up as a data point for anyone with a similar quandary!

UPDATE #2: We are now both vaxed and hope to stay oink-free! Thanks for all of the input.

On Complaining

Edited to add: I realized in reading some of the comments that my post might have come across as a total indictment of infertiles complaining during pregnancy. I sincerely apologize if I offended anyone -- I mean heck, pregnancy IS hard, and so different from any other physical experience that it's hard to prepare. Upon reflection, I think my post was more about my particular relationship with this particular person, in which there are clearly other things going on. I probably should just have kept my thoughts to myself on this one. Apologies again.

Let me preface this post by saying that I know I can complain with the best of them -- this blog is certainly evidence of that (although I do try to keep it lighthearted -- the various indignities of pregnancy still seem more amusing to me than anything else). But I just need to get a little something off of my chest -- although of course NOTHING relating to my chest is little these days.

I have a friend -- actually more like an acquaintance -- who is pregnant with twins, and due around the same time as I am. She is one of those people that I don't know super-well, but we somehow discovered that we were both struggling with infertility, and bonded over that. She's done 7 IVF cycles, and had been trying for many, many years before that. Her last cycle was a sort of "Hail Mary" -- she knew it would be the last time, both for financial and emotional reasons, that she would try for a biological child. And it worked!

BUT. The complaining. Oh, the complaining. At first, it was because of the morning sickness. And to be fair, it was bad enough that she was on bedrest and fluids for a part of her first tri. But things have been going well since then -- the babies are healthy, she's mostly healthy (dealing with a mild case of gestational diabetes), and most importantly, she's having the babies she's waited so long for.

I want to be understanding. I want to be supportive. But sometimes I just want to throttle her. And the endless Facebook updates.....just for kicks this morning, I took a look at her news feed for the last few weeks, and she averages about 4 updates a day with NOTHING POSITIVE IN THEM. Nothing super-negative either, but just a lot of noise of the "oh, I'm so big and life's not fair" variety. I mean, really?

I guess I should simmer down and recognize that maybe she truly is having a hard time. Maybe she doesn't have a good support system and the complaints are her only outlet. I know her well enough to know that she's got a pretty solid network, so I don't really think this is the case, but I also don't really know her well enough to ask. I guess I'm just surprised after all she's been through to get to where she is, and the fact that she knew that a twin pregnancy was a possibility, that she's acting so completely surprised that there's some discomfort involved in this whole pregnancy thing. And that the joy isn't seeming to outweigh the discomfort.

So, bottom line -- I just don't know how to be there for her when I can't understand where she's coming from. And I'll probably just let it lie and try to ignore the negativity, because I'm all about avoiding the negativity in all aspects of my life right now.

And so concludes MY complaining for the day. ;)

Slowing down

Well, I've fought the good fight for 33 weeks, but I think it's over. It's official. I have become an annoying slow person. You know, the person you have to speed by on the sidewalk when you're trying to make the light. The person you pass on the right side of the escalator. The person you need to watch hoist herself up out of the train seat before you can get out at your stop.

I've tried to ignore this inevitable progression. I huff and puff with people down the hall at work, I do all the planks and downward dogs in yoga, I swim with the "real" swimmers in the lanes at the pool. But I don't think I'm fooling anyone.

And, more importantly, it's time to stop fooling myself. I fell up an escalator running for the train last week, and even though I didn't land on anything "important" and only ended up cutting/bruising my foot, it was stupid and unnecessary and a little bit scary. Yesterday morning I slipped a bit getting out of the shower -- again, no harm, no foul, but a good reminder to slow the hell down.

And you know what? It feels right. At 33 weeks, I should take more care to acknowledge what my body is doing, and preparing to do. And of course it's time to seriously adjust my thinking -- it's not just me I'm responsible for anymore.

Now if only I could remind myself of this the next time I'm at a crosswalk with the flashing red hand blinking and only 3 seconds left to cross, I'll be all set!

I guess now we have to have a baby.....

Because otherwise, what would we do with all the stuff?

This weekend, we went from empty nursery to packed baby warehouse in under 24 hours. Yesterday morning, I was getting ready to go to my baby shower (which was beautiful -- thanks Mom even though I really hope you're not reading this) when I got the call from the baby furniture store telling us our furniture was in and ready for delivery. Only a short 12 weeks after placing the order! So, about an hour after getting back from the shower and unloading the loot (which was plentiful and PINK), the delivery guy arrived and assembled everything.

(And about 8 seconds after that, one of our cats had already jumped onto the crib rail and started walking the perimeter, before jumping in and making herself a little fort amongst the bedding packages. Sigh.)

It's all starting to seem a bit more real. Which feels mostly great, but also a little....unsettling. I've had more than one friend tell me that at some point in my pregnancy, I will freak the heck out about having a baby. Could this be the time?

If so, I feel like the most ungrateful schmuck ever.

In which Barefoot complains about public transportation

[Happy ICLW! For new visitors, here's the brief scoop -- I'm 32 weeks pregnant after 2.5 years of infertility and an IVF cycle. I talk about pregnancy a LOT -- it's kind of all I have going on right now -- so please beware if you're not into that. If you would like to read more about my cycle, you can find all kinds of blather on that in the archives between March and May of 2009.]

I know, it's like shooting fish in a barrel. (BTW, does anyone actually do this? I use this phrase all the time and the thought of actually taking a gun to a barrel of fish is simultaneously amusing and horrifying.) Public transportation, while often preferable to sitting in traffic for hours on end, generally sucks. Especially now that every time someone coughs on the train, you can feel a stiff breeze from all of the heads turning and eyes narrowing. It's easy to complain.

As public transportation goes, I'm pretty lucky. I live in the SF Bay Area and ride BART, which all in all is a pretty comfy ride. Padded seats, not too many bumps, etc. But let's face it: when you've got a watermelon strapped to your front, there is no "fun" in, um, public transportation.

Now that I'm visibly pregnant, people for the most part have been pretty great about the whole giving up the seat thing. Which is nice, because feel like such an a**hole asking that I'll just stand and bear it. Usually after a few minutes, I smack enough people with my belly that someone notices. Or, if I'm really desperate, I'll give the bump a couple of "absentminded" rubs. And honestly, it's less about having to stand (which is not such a big deal yet), and more about having a little extra space so that the chicklette's not getting an accidental elbow to the head.

But wouldn't you know it, the few times when I'm super-tired or having lower back pain or general crampiness are the times when no one will give it up. And you know what? It's always some 25-year old clean-cut guy in business gear, sitting in the "reserved for seniors or people with disabilities" seats, tapping away on his BlackBerry. Not that I have anything against corporate preppy guys -- heck, I married one -- but COME ON. Are you really going to avert your eyes and ignore me for a half-hour?!? Are you really going to make me ask? DO YOU REALLY ENJOY HAVING MY BELLY SIX INCHES AWAY FROM YOUR FACE? (And on a related note, Mr. Gap Man, did you really just cut me off to sneak into the LADIES room at the BART station?)

I know I probably just need to sack up and ask for a seat when I need one. Nothing less attractive than a passive-aggressive preggo.

But I don't liiiiiike to. Wah.

[New visitors, aren't you glad you stopped by this whine-a-thon?]

Transverse "lay"

OK, apparently it's actually a transverse "lie," but I swear my OB said "lay" yesterday, which perked my husband's ears right up as it sounded vaguely dirty.

But it's not. A transverse lie is what they call it when your baby feels like lying (laying? I can never get that straight) sideways, rather than head-down. In my case, it's not really a big deal yet because babies don't generally get into launching position until after 32 weeks. But it does explain why my stomach has been looking a little wide and OMG CAN YOU PLEASE GET YOUR FEET OUT FROM BETWEEN MY RIBS, BEBE?!?

Anyway, so I'm thinking lots of head-down thoughts and doing extra puppy poses, which the yoga instructor says is supposed to help such things. At least I think it's the puppy pose -- I've been a cat, cow, pigeon and camel in the last couple of weeks so it gets kind of confusing. But basically it means you get on all fours and put your head down on your crossed arms, which doesn't look like a puppy at all IMHO but does have the added benefit of moving the baby off of your bladder. If only I could work all day in puppy pose, I would be getting a lot more done.

Anyway, back to the doctor. Everything otherwise looks/sounds good (my weight gain seems to be plateauing, which was nice news), and I got a seasonal flu shot. Supposedly the swine flu shot will be arriving at my OB's office "any day now," so I have that to look forward to.

Oink! Have a great weekend, everyone.

Mr. Stinky Breath

The Mr. has become the most recent casualty of my super sniffer. About a week ago, I woke up in the middle of the night (as is my wont, or rather, my bladder's), inhaled deeply, and gagged.

The offender? My husband's breath.

I figured maybe it was the Taco Bell we had for dinner that night, tilted his head to the other side, and fell back asleep.

Every night since then, it's struck again. And it's not just in the middle of the night -- sometimes I catch a whiff when we're watching TV, or he's giving me a hug, or certainly during more, um, private times. I ask him to brush his teeth, and it doesn't help. And I know he's got good dental hygiene -- gets his teeth cleaned regularly, brushes and flosses and all that good stuff.

Certainly other things continue to offend my nose to a heightened degree (hello, public transportation and work refrigerator), but this particular case is ever so slightly more inconvenient. I mean, how are we supposed to take care of business during these last weeks of relative peace and quiet? It's not like the belly hurdle isn't already making things a bit challenging in that department.

Which shall likely be a topic for a whole 'nother post.....

A series of boring updates

First of all, thanks to everyone who encouraged me to write the love letter to the Mr. I really enjoyed writing it and giving it to him on our anniversary on Sunday. He was thrilled and so moved, and read it 5 times.

Of course, then we ended up bickering about our remodel and baby to-do list all through our dinner, but at least we had a couple of good moments first!

In other news, I am starting to feel like a major wuss because I am starting to get uncomfortable. I mean, come on, it's only 31 weeks, right? But between the shortness of breath, the random stretchy pains, the expanding ribcage, the growing boobs (seriously? MORE???) and the fact that I needed the Mr. to help me try on shoes at the shoe store over the weekend, I'm starting to feel like a big pile of suck. And I know there's so much more to come.....

BUT, the fabulous news is that our remodel is DONE. All that's left to do is have the cleaners come for a deep clean, move a bunch of furniture back where it belongs, and move back in this weekend. I'll post some pics once we've gotten everything looking all pretty.

Now all that's left is to wait for the baby furniture.....

The New "Normal"

This morning I woke up, refreshed and ready at 6:15, and commented to my husband:

"Wow! What a great night's sleep. I only got up to pee 3 times!"

At which point he snorted, rolled his eyes, turned over, and went back to sleep.

Obviously, infertility, treatments and pregnancy have changed me in countless important and fundamental ways. But this morning's episode got me thinking about the countless, semi-trivial ways in which I've changed over the last 3 or so years (beyond the constant need to pee and the ability to fall asleep immediately afterwards -- and OK, sometimes during).

To wit:

• I'd never gotten blood drawn before my first infertility workup, and was so grossed out/scared that I had to shut my eyes and do deep breathing. Now I avidly watch and discuss things like the color of my blood and needle technique with the lab tech.
• Pelvic exams and other occasions where medical professionals insert things in my hoo-ha are no longer a big deal.
• I've come to appreciate work as a distraction from disappointment.
• I've come to realize that I can indeed live without red wine for extended periods of time.
• I've learned how to ask for help lifting my suitcase into the overhead bin (sort of -- this is a work in progress).
• I've always been sensitive about my weight, and people commenting on it. Now I find comments about the growing size of my belly reassuring, and actually enjoy when people touch my belly.
• On a related note, I used to perish the thought of walking around in my bathing suit. Now being in the water feels SO GOOD, I let it all hang out and don't even really think about it (except when my giant boobs occasionally pop my suit open).
• I crave sweets.
• I have hair growing in odd places.
• When my husband tells me I look beautiful, I don't fight it -- I just smile and appreciate the compliment.
• Have I mentioned the size of my boobs?

What about you? Anyone care to share in what crazy ways this whole roller coaster ride has changed you?

Baby Basics

We took our first prenatal class -- Baby Basics -- over the weekend. It was definitely basic, which was a good thing for this only child with very limited baby experience. Although I have to imagine that changing a dry diaper on a doll is going to be wee bit less complicated than changing a squirming baby with poop running down her leg with a cat on the changing table and the phone ringing on 2 hours of sleep. But I suppose those would be hard conditions to simulate.

Now, I'm always the eager beaver in class-type situations -- lots of questions, and notes, and probably annoying the crap out of everyone else -- but I couldn't help noticing that a lot of the couples in the room looked very unhappy. Or at least seriously disinterested. The classes aren't mandatory, so I don't really get it. But it made me kind of sad for them. I guess you never really know what people are going through. And honestly, maybe they were all just in food coma or something since the class was right after lunch.

But it did remind me, once again, that while infertility sucks the big one, it's certainly removed any ambivalence I thought I had about becoming a parent. I guess I'll have to wait and see if poop sucks worse than Lupron, but I'm pretty sure I'll be happy to go with the poop.