Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em

Symptoms, I mean.

On Tuesday, I had my worst day yet in the nausea department. I felt faint in the shower, had to take a time out several times during my getting-ready regimen (note to self: flipping head upside-down to blow dry whilst nauseated is not a good strategy), and barely kept it together at work by keeping a constant stream of small bits of food doing down the hatch. I got a little panicky: if this is what the nausea feels like at 6w5d, how barfalicious am I going to be at 8w?

Yesterday, I felt better. So of course I panicked. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? The throbbing boobs and extreme fatigue weren't enough -- why didn't I want to hurl?!?

Well, ask and you shall receive. I spent two hours in the middle of the night last night taking shallow breaths and wandering desolately back and forth between the bed and the toilet. No barfing, but still. Yuck. And today I am struggling -- physically with the nausea, and psychologically with the fact that my office is under construction and only available ladies room is on another floor on the opposite end of the building. There's no way I'm making it if Senor Barfy decides to come out and play.

Tomorrow, I will undoubtedly be back to obsess over the fact that I feel fine. You really can't win on this blog!

Oh, and a note on poop: thanks to everyone for their suggestions and commiseration. I seem to be winning the battle at the moment with a combination of Jamba Juice smoothies with a Flax n' Fiber boost (I love the way the guy behind the counter looks at me when I order this EVERY MORNING -- he probably wishes I would exit the store butt first), lots of fresh fruit and water, and a variety of fiber bars and cereals.

So, one out of four major symptoms under control. If I were a baseball player with that kind of average, I'd get sent down to Triple-A, but at this point I'll take it.

Party pooper

I bet you think this post is going to be about being tired and going to bed early. But no -- it's going to be about poop. I'm going Dooce on y'all. You've been warned.

I'm not going to go into any actual physical detail, but let's just say that since my weekly PIO shot last Wednesday, I've been fighting the Battle of the Bowel. I'd somehow made it 33 years without having any issues in this department, so I was at a loss. I complained to my acupuncturist, and he laughed and told me I was "full of sh**." Hilarious, buddy.

The internets yielded all sorts of helpful suggestions, so in case there's anyone out there having similar issues, here's what worked for me:

• Metamucil -- easily the worlds foulest ingestible substance. Who thought a drink could be chewy?


• High-fiber meal replacement bars -- anything with more than 5g fiber -- Odwalla Berries GoMega is one example. I also found a "Flavor & Fiber" bar at Trader Joe's with 12g of fiber -- I bought it but I'm a little afraid to eat it. Anyone remember Colon Blow?


• Kiwifruit -- one of the corners of the web told me that kiwis were good for this stuff. At the very least, they're really tasty.


• Lots and lots of water

Anyone else out there fighting the good fight and succeeding? Let us know what's worked for you -- don't be a party pooper!

Wii got busted

Well, actually, I got busted. By my Wii Fit.

We got a Wii Fit for Christmas, and for many a week I dutifully logged in every day, tracking my weight, logging my workouts, and doing some yoga. I loved it, and spent months trying to get the Mr. to get on board. Finally, just as I was starting my IVF needle habit, he started to use it for his weekly weigh-in. (Don't even get me started on how he's been able to work out an extra day or two a week and drop 10 pounds. NOT FAIR.)

Last week, I was in the shower while he was weighing in. I hear him running down the hall and into the bathroom, shouting "BUUUUUSSSSTED!!!"

Apparently my darling little Wii Fit ratted me out. "Have you seen Barefoot? She hasn't logged in for 45 days!" And then: "Maybe you should keep a closer eye on her, so that she can reach her weight loss goals!"

My goals right now? To not bust out of my pants before the end of the first trimester. Extra points if I can avoid a new bra purchase for another month.

And maybe to unhook the Wii Fit. We'll see how sassy he is when he's unplugged.

FabFooFri, Round 5, and some other stuff

For those of you new to the blog, I usually talk about food on Friday. I call it Fabulous Food Friday, which is not original but does use a lot of Fs. Today, I'm going to digress a bit, since I'm pretty much trying to avoid pungent smells or any thoughts of pungent smells these days.

But first, a couple of updates. I know you all are dying to know how my boobs are doing. In a word: bigger. It's unbelievable. The Mr. is enthralled; I am disgusted. I guess the silver lining is that they are distracting the world from my stomach, which is a little pooch-a-licious right now.

The other piece of fantastic news from yesterday's appointment is that I got the all-clear to start working out again. I'm not supposed to go crazy, but I can walk, bike and swim, which makes me so very happy. I went to the gym this morning for the first time in weeks, and I feel so much better today. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep up my pre-IVF 5-6 day-a-week regimen, but I think even half that will help me combat fatigue, bloat and all of the other fun things that are going on right now.

So, FabFooFriday. Or in this case, FabBritFriday. The "Brit" is Ms. Britney Spears, whose concert I attended on Wednesday night, somewhat against my will. I have to say, though, that the show (and the fans) were very entertaining. My take-aways:

1. If you are a single guy (because I'm sure there are loads of you reading this blog), get yourself to a Britney concert ASAP. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel. Squealing, stampeding fish.

2. The fashions that Britney sports do not work for the average person. Seriously. I mean, I donned my share of crucifixes and black lace during the Madonna era, but no one over 18 (or under, for that matter) needs to wear hot pants unless you are a certain kind of professional.

3. Speaking of Madonna, hasn't she already done the whole writhing on a bed while simulating self-stimulation thing? Does another generation of young minds really need to be subjected to this sight? If Wednesday night was any indication, apparently so.

4. I am now somewhat terrified that my unborn child(ren) will spring from my loins as huge Britney fans. The sound system was so effing loud, I'm quite certain "If U Seek Amy" is now part of their genetic makeup.

And finally, because it's FabFooFriday:

My hot dog and soft pretzel were delish.

Another two week wait.... (ICLW disclaimer: pregnancy mentioned)

We saw a heartbeat!

And a second sac!

Peanut A (who is currently known as The Showoff, because he/she popped up like a champ on every ultrasound angle) is measuring at 5w6d, with a nifty little heart rate of 140. Peanut B is measuring at 5w5d, but the RE wasn't sure if he could see a heartbeat or not. B definitely looked smaller, but I guess that could have been the angle.

The RE gave B a 35% shot at making it -- he said that in most cases he's seen like this, that's been the result. So oddly, our chances of having twins are pretty much the same as they were 3 weeks ago at our transfer. We should know for sure what's going on at our next ultrasound in 2 weeks.

I'm still processing all of this, but am so so happy we saw one heartbeat....it's more than I hoped for, frankly. I feel like I can't commit to being happy about twins, since things are still so up in the air. So I'll just hang with my Peanuts, feed them lots of good food, take them for walks and swims and acupuncture and pedicures, and wait.

Thanks for all of the super-supportive comments over the last few days....you all are the best.

The things people say (and a foot confession)

Sort of like the day before my beta, I am feeling pretty zen today about tomorrow's ultrasound. This could be because I was up until 12:30 last night (a full 3 hours past my bedtime, thankyouverymuch), or maybe because I'm excited to see the fabulous Ms. Britney Spears in concert tonight. I hope it will be train wreck-alicious. It seemed like a good idea at the time when my friend bought the tickets six months ago.....

I did have one extremely annoying work interaction today. One of the lawyers in my office is unexpectedly expecting identical twins. I hadn't seen her in a while, and asked how she was feeling. I got a 10-minute diatribe on how pregnancy is "awful," how "people should really know that twins can happen and it's such a curse," and how no one in the family (including her 2-year-old daughter) is happy about the pregnancy. Seriously? Not even a little bit happy? No one?

I know I can't understand her circumstances -- obviously, having never been accidentally pregnant myself -- so I'm trying to reserve judgement. But it will be pretty funny if it turns out tomorrow that I'm having twins (not likely, but still within the realm of possibility). Do I get to tell her how mother-effing happy I am about it?!? For 10 minutes?!?

Now on to the feet. I've had several lovely comments about my toes in recent blog posts. Thank you. As someone who grew up with a stepmother who regularly told her how ugly her feet were, it's nice to now have feet that I can take a picture of and post for all of the world wide web to see.

But, I have a confession. I do not paint my toes myself. I spend an ungodly amount of money on pedicures -- they're even factored into my monthly budget. And I don't just get a regular old pedicure -- I get the super spa pedicure with the sea salt scrub, paraffin wax, and extra leg massage. My big concession to the tanking economy has been to stretch my pedis to every 3 weeks (instead of every two).

The Mr. thinks I'm ridiculous, and he's probably right. I try to justify that I work really long hours, that I deserve a bit of relaxation in the midst of all of the infertility crap, that I'm supporting the economy and am a good tipper, and that it's good for my feet (probably the lamest justification ever). But it's my little ritual and I love it.

I blame my stepmother. And have her take me for a pedicure whenever I'm in town.

Welcome ILCW-ers!

Another ICLW is upon us. For those of you who are here for the first time, a disclaimer: despite the title of my blog, I am actually pregnant (6w on Thursday). But I am feeling a little too superstitious to change my blog title just yet, so apologies for being misleading. I won't be offended if you don't hang around.

My infertility story: I'm a little bit pregnant after 2.5 years of trying, including 4 Clomid cycles and 1 IVF cycle. I'm 33 years old, hypothyroid, and married to a wonderful man with not-quite-so-wonderful amounts of sperm. I started this blog just as we were starting our IVF cycle, so if you're curious about how that went down you can read the whole sordid tale right here.

Other things about me: I love food and wine, and write about them here (although the wine not so much right now). I've also been known to consume a bit of TV programming, including such cultural gems as American Idol and Gossip Girl. I live in Northern California. I've got a high-stress job that honestly seems a lot less stressful after dealing with the stress of trying to get knocked up.

I'm amazed by the ALI blog community, and can't imagine getting through the last couple of months without the support, stories and strength of all of the women (and men!) who put the most sensitive parts of their lives out on the internets. I'm looking forward to getting to know even more of you this week!