All the Sun For You

A mom, two boys, a husband, and a whole lot of adventure!


Who Knew?

We all learn things about ourselves when we move into a new phase in our lives – and parenting is no different.  I, of course, have learned a lot of “deep” things about myself – like the type of parent I actually am versus what I thought I would be, but I want to document the top 10 things that have REALLY surprised me about myself.

10.  I really enjoy being a SAHM.  I never planned to stay home – that decision caught me completely off-guard and made me uncomfortable at first.  But I really, really love it!  I love spending every day with Matthew and watching him learn new things.  I love hanging out with him and talking to him all day long.  I don’t miss much about work because we still get lots of adult interaction with daily activities – and he and I are constantly interacting.  We’re best buds!

9.  I am an incredibly patient mother.  For those who know me IRL, I am not a patient person – at all.  I am not patient with myself, with others, with gadgets, or with certain situations.  But I am so patient with my child.  Very little gets me riled up and even when that happens, I shake it off almost instantly and can laugh out loud about it.

8.  I have no control over so many things.  Being a control freak, this has surprised me a lot.  However, I think our IF experience prepared me for the lack of control I have in motherhood.  Sure, I can control our schedule (for the most part), what Matthew eats, etc., but I can’t control when/how he gets hurt, when he’s fussy, when he can’t sleep, etc.  I accept this and welcome it.  I wasn’t always this way – Matthew’s sleep caused me much distress before he was sleep trained (and B and I had many conversations about how Matthew was not a robot and couldn’t sleep on demand – and I needed to accept that) but once we got past that, the lack of control I have as his mother is a non-issue.

7.  I handle stressful situations much better than I ever thought I would.  Matthew has been hurt a few times (fell down the stairs, fell out of the car, almost broke his ankle, tried knocking out his teeth two days in a row) and each time, I have not freaked out and I have kept it together.  When he started choking twice, I knew exactly what to do and did it, without hesitation.  When he had his ear infection, I knew right away what the problem was and how to help him.  The only time I really felt helpless was when he was having what we think was a night terror and there was nothing to do but wait it out (but it was so sad to watch).

6.  I am not a yeller.  I was raised by yellers – we were yelled at all the time.  I worried this would become a trait of mine because it “runs in the family,” right?  My sisters are both yellers and there were clues early on in my childhood that I wasn’t going to be, but I wasn’t a parent yet so I really had no idea if I would become one or not.  I have not.  Whew!  The only times I have yelled are when Matthew is in danger (about to put a power cord in his mouth that’s plugged in).

5.  I can function on very little sleep.  I am a night owl – if I could stay up until midnight every night, I would.  In fact, most nights, I do.  I’m changing this now because it’s just not healthy – but I like being up at night and sure there are moments that I’m tired after only 6 hours of sleep, but I’m never flat-out exhausted.  Even pregnant, I’m not exhausted at the end of the day.

4.  I still love my cats as much as I always have.  I expected this to change – because everyone told me it would.  But it hasn’t.  I still worry about my old girl, Lily (who is diabetic), every single day.  I still obsess over her behavior and have actually become more regular at giving her her insulin twice a day.  I am just as in-tune to her now as I’ve always been.  I still snuggle with Jackson every night when I climb into bed (sorry, B!).  He and I still snuggle periodically throughout the day while Matthew naps.  I still make sure to seek out Janie who tends to enjoy time alone and not on our laps.  When I seek her out for one-on-one time, we both enjoy it so much (she’s in my lap right now as I write this).  My kitties are still my 3 little besties – I just now have a fourth bestie as well.

3.  I hate putting Matthew to bed.  This is not because he makes bedtime difficult (he does not), but because I just hate the idea of putting him to bed and not being able to play with him anymore.  I struggle with this for every nap and every bedtime – and it’s caused me to be the primary problem in getting him to bed on time.  We are fixing that this week – he needs more sleep and I need to stop standing in his way of it.  But it makes me sad.

2.  I am a softie.  Sure, I have my rules and Matthew is good at following them – but when he wants another Cutie orange, I can’t say no.  When he wants more milk, I always say yes.  When he wants to drive around to look for school busses or holiday lights, I oblige.  I like him to be happy, and I tend to go over the top sometimes.

1.  I love, and I mean LOVE, whole milk!  I always thought whole milk was gross (because I was told it was – HA!).  I always thought it would be like drinking cream.  It’s not.  It’s divine.  It’s wonderful.  It’s the best stuff in the world!  I love to finish Matthew’s cups of milk that the straw can’t reach anymore.  I love pouring myself a little bit when he gets his cup of milk in the afternoon.  I love sipping it from his cup, in an attempt to get him drink more.  I just love it – and I love yogurt that is made from whole milk.

Who knew?


Good With It

I’ve been reflecting a lot on our IF past.  I think this is because it’s starting to feel like it’s more in the past than in the present.  It’s strange.

People have asked me what it was like to lose the pregnancy that resulted from our first FET way back in summer of 2010.  They’ve asked if I still think about it.  I’ve been asked if it haunts me.  I’ve been asked how I mourned it.  I’ve been asked if it will stick with me forever.

It won’t.

In fact, it’s never really haunted me and I don’t think about it much at all (if at all, really).  Not like when we had our first IVF failure.

That’s weird, isn’t it, to not be bothered by a miscarriage?  I think that’s what bothers me the most about it – that it doesn’t bother me and I think it should.

I never had any faith in our first FET.  The 7 frozen embryos were from a cycle in which everything went perfectly until the very end, when I stimmed too quickly over the weekend before retrieval.  That was the cycle that landed me in the ER with minor (but what felt like major) OHSS.  After that first cycle failed, I wrote those embryos off in my mind.  Something was wrong with them – all 7 of them.

When our doc wanted to do the FET, I knew it was the responsible thing to do.  I knew it was not responsible to do another fresh cycle with 7 embryos in the freezer, with the very real possibility of adding to that collection.  B and I truly want to give all of our embryos a chance (even those last 5 we still have in the freezer) and the thought of adding more to the freezer terrified us.

But I also knew it wouldn’t work.  Not with those embryos.

The cycle did not go well from the start.  My estrogen wasn’t rising appropriately so I was put on estrace tablets twice a day that had to be administered vaginally.  Ugh.  They were blue and dyed my lady bits blue and made my urine green.  It was terrible.  People who haven’t been through this may think this is a minor inconvenience and you know what – it really is minor.  😉 But at the time, the last thing I wanted to be doing in addition to hormone shots was MORE hormones put up my lady parts.  It was just… humiliating.  Every time I had to do it (have I mentioned I had to do it twice daily?) I would cringe and be on the verge of tears.  I hated it.

My lining got better, but was never better than the minimum/average they wanted.  I didn’t get all wrapped up in that because I knew it wasn’t going to work anyway.  I sort-of didn’t care.  I was doing this cycle out of obligation – not desire and hope.

The transfer went well and the blasts they put in were perfect (again).  I still had little to no hope and had a hard time taking my bedrest seriously.  I did enjoy my bedrest though – that is when I watched the first season of Glee back-to-back and fell in love with all the crazy talent on that show.  We were living in a corporate (furnished) apartment because we’d sold our town house without a new house picked out (only we would do such a thing in a down market – we got freaking LUCKY!) – so I wasn’t even “home” for my bedrest.  After 2 days, it was done and I went back to work, not thinking at all about the cycle.

I had some light spotting at 5dp5dt and got excited for the first time that cycle.  I started testing at 7dp5dt and got a positive HPT – so I took the day off to celebrate with B.  Here I’d been all gloom and doom about the cycle but it was seeming to have worked!  Who knew?

I tested again at 8dp5dt and I got another BFP but it was not darker.  I got a little concerned.  Everyone will tell you that they don’t always get darker – but let’s be honest – they usually do.  Gloom and doom came back and never left.  Day after day, I tested and got faint BFP’s – nothing seemed to be getting much darker at all.  I just knew we were in trouble.

We went for our first beta and I told them I’d gotten a BFP, but that it was rather faint.  The nurse told me not to read into it and sent me on my way to wait for the call.  We went back to our little apartment and waited.  They called before lunch.


The target at 12dp5dt is 100 and more.  I got a 76.  B was happy with it – I was not.  The nurse told him it’s not what they were hoping for but that they were being cautiously optimistic.  I told him it was over.  We returned 2 days later and it was 140 – not quite doubling.  B said it counted as doubling and so did the nurse, and I called BS on them both.  140 is not 152.  But the nurses were still obviously concerned because I was scheduled for another beta to check again.

We actually had a weekend away scheduled so we went to Atlanta and I was a freaking wreck the whole time.  All I wanted was to get back and get my blood drawn so we could stop the charade and move on from what I was calling a chemical pregnancy.  B stayed in Atlanta for work and I flew home alone to keep testing.  at 18dp5dt, my beta was only 357 when it should have been 608.  I knew we were in serious trouble and just wanted someone to call the game.

Two days later, my beta was 549 – far from the 1216 we needed.  It was over.  I asked the nurse to have a doctor call me with the results because I was tired of the song and dance, so the other doctor in the practice (whom I’d only seen once) called me to give me the news.  He started by saying, “I’ve been told you like blunt honesty, so I’ll give it to you straight.”  THANK YOU!  That’s all I wanted.  He told me the number and said it’s most likely going to be a miscarriage.  Dr. C said that he wanted me to keep taking the meds, though, because he’d had a recent patient with similar betas and she was currently 20 weeks pregnant – and that he wasn’t telling me that to give me hope, but to explain why he’s making me keep up with the shots.  We discussed what would be done if it is a miscarriage and he assured me I could have a D&E.


So I kept doing the shots and let me tell you – you don’t truly resent PIO shots until you’re taking them just to cover everyone’s asses, including your own  😉

Doctor C said that we’d have to wait 6 days to do an ultrasound because my betas were still too low to show anything on ultrasound.  That made sense, so we scheduled it for 6 days later (when B would be back, so that was nice!).  The nurse showed us the (empty) sac and said that that was what they expected to see at this point.  I knew that was BS and when she left the room, I told B that she was just telling us that so that the doctor could tell us the truth.  He sort-of scolded me for being negative.

We crossed the hall to an exam room where we waited for Dr. Y.  He came in and immediately said, “I’m sorry guys, but this is a miscarriage.  It’s an empty sac, there is not fetal pole at all.”  God, I love when people are straight with me!  I could have hugged him – truly!  I did not cry – there was just nothing to cry about.  There was no baby.  I felt like I had lost nothing but time.  I was relieved – I got to move on to a better cycle, one that may work (we had an agreement with Dr. Y going into the FET that we would only do one FET before returning to fresh cycles because of my lack of confidence in those embryos).

I was thrilled!

Dr. Y told me to consider my options and I told him I already had and wanted a D&E.  He agreed, saying that the sac was not degenerating at all and it could take weeks for my body to figure things out on its own.  The D&E was scheduled for 3 days later.

The D&E was no big deal.  No tears.  When Dr. Y came in prior to surgery, we laughed.  We joked.  I told him I was ready to be done and move on.  I told him I wasn’t sad at all.  He believed me.  I thanked him for being a great doctor.

And it was over.

I walked out of that surgical center with hope that I’d get my period soon and start a new, fresh cycle.  Because there was no fetal pole, I did not have to wait multiple cycles to start again.  I started the next cycle exactly one month later.

And it worked!

I never think about that baby that could have been.  In my mind (and biologically), there was no baby.  It was an empty sac that was confused.  That empty sac bought me the time to get to the magical cycle that created Matthew, and now this new baby that we’re expecting.  It was part of fate’s plan for me.

And I’m totally good with that.


* Please note that this post is simply about how I felt about MY experience with an empty sac miscarriage.  In no way am I implying that others in a similar situation should feel the same way.   




Especially Thankful

I’ve never been one to reflect much on what I’m thankful for on Thanksgiving because, well, I think that’s something you should do regularly and not specifically on one day.  I was always annoyed as a child and young adult when we had to go around the table to state what we were thankful for, because in my mind, the list was endless and how was I supposed to pick just a few things to focus on?  Once infertility entered our lives, I began to resent that table-talk even more as everyone would talk about how thankful they were for their multiple children, as we sat there wishing that we could have just one.  It was awful.  I think that I’ll always resent that conversation because of those 2 Thanksgivings of wishing for the opportunity to be thankful for a baby.

With that said, I do have one thing that I am especially thankful for this year.

Of course I’m thankful that we have Matthew.  I am thankful of that every single day – multiple times a day.  When he gets to be a little difficult at times (few and far between), I still always catch myself thinking, “I’m so thankful for this little boy.”  He may get away with a little too much because of this.

Of course I’m thankful for my husband.  I never thought I’d meet someone like him – and I certainly never thought someone like him would want to marry me.  I thank my lucky stars all the time for him being a permanent fixture in my life.  B has brought so many wonderful things to my life (babies, fitness, happiness, challenges, love) and I will always be thankful for him!

Of course I’m thankful for my family.  Sure, they can be crazy, but without them, I wouldn’t have my best friend (my little sister) or my big sister who has helped me navigate some of the hardest moments in our family.  My sisters keep me sane – and I am so lucky to have them.  They are the reason that we really want a sibling for Matthew, because we know how much love and fun can come from sibling relationships.

Of course I’m thankful for my pregnancy.  We had our 8w ultrasound today and all is just great!  I still can’t believe that we’re here – that it worked the first time.  I don’t think it’s sunk in yet and I find it hard to be excited  because it just doesn’t feel real.  But I’m very thankful for it.  I’m thankful that we finally had an easy road when it came to TTC.  I’m thankful that Matthew will have his own little friend in seven short months.

Of course I’m thankful for my friends – online and offline.  I love them (you) all and I know that I’ve hit the jackpot when it comes to friendships.  I have so many people I can count on for fun, support, idle chit-chat, gossip (gasp!), lunches out, and play dates for our kids.  Because of my strong, wonderful friendships, Matthew is making strong friendships already at the age of 17 months.  I could not be more thankful for this!

Of course I’m thankful for the life we live.  B and I worked very hard, together, to get to where we are and we know that individually, we would not have gotten to where we are together.  This is just a fact – we are a strong unit that makes great things happen when we work hard and focus on our goals.  I know that we are fortunate, but I also know that we’re fortunate by hard work and not by luck.  I am so thankful that we’ve made our life wonderful together!

So what I am particularly thankful for this Thanksgiving?

I’m thankful that I am done with IVF.  I am thankful that I am done doing fresh cycles.  I am thankful that I am done with the fear.

One of my latest posts talked about the cycle in which we flat-out failed.  I was surprised by the support I got in the comments not because I wasn’t expecting support, but because what we endured was just part of the deal.  It was what it was.  It was hard, but we survived it.  It still makes me sad, but it’s over and done and I’ve had a great outcome.

What makes my past failure so hard for me to think about now, though, is the many people still going through it for their first baby.  So many commenters said that they couldn’t imagine going through IVF and the truth is – they’re right.  Until you’re there, until you’re told that this is the end of the line for a biological child – you just don’t know what that’s like.

We didn’t know what it was like until it happened to us.

This is what it was like from our perspective (I just added these last two sentences because they should have been in my original post to clarify my intentions.  This is the only edited part of my original post).

Many people get to start out with clomid, natural IUI’s, medicated IUI’s, stimmed IUI’s, etc. before moving onto IVF.  We were not so lucky – our diagnosis landed us with trying one IUI as to “not waste the clomid needed for pre-IVF testing.”  After that one attempt, we were told to move straight to IVF.  We tried one more IUI because of the clomid challenge test but they wouldn’t even let us go through with it because it was a waste of time.  We went in for the IUI, and we were benched that day.  No surprise really.

So no – we didn’t get to move through the phases of IF treatment.  We went from trying naturally to being told that we had one shot at having a biological child – and that one shot was IVF (in all fairness, we were told that we would try it up to 3 times but after 3 times, there’s no point).  All of our eggs were in the IVF basket.

When we went to the RE, I thought we’d start with clomid, then IUI, etc. and I found peace in that.  There was always something else to try if the first, second thing didn’t work.  That peace was ripped away from us after a few tests, before our first IUI.  We were never just put on medication and told to go home and try.  Our diagnosis was straightforward and all we could hope for was success with IVF with ICSI.

That was it.

We were told that if it didn’t work in 3 tries, that it wouldn’t work.


Scary stuff.

After our first failure, I started to worry.  What if the next one fails and we only have one try left?  What then?

Stimming for IVF is hard.  It’s hard work for all involved, but super hard on the female partner.  Your ovaries get to be the size of grapefruits and they hurt.  In my case, I had some OHSS which was not fun – it landed me in the ER because I couldn’t breathe.  After retrieval, things got worse when I thought they’d get better.  All I wanted was to feel normal again.  And then we failed.  There was no longer “normal” in our lives.

I know that many couples are limited in IF treatments because of finances or religious reasons.  I get that.  But honestly, it’s not the same thing.  You can always try to find an IF grant (I’ve seen many gals get these), you can join an IF trial, you can take out a second mortgage on your house, you can save the money the old-fashioned way, you can borrow the money from family (if possible), you can change jobs to one that covers IF coverage (a friend of mine did this), you can move to a state where IF coverage is mandated, you can finance your IVF, you can join a shared risk program.  THERE ARE FINANCIAL OPTIONS to extend your family.

But when you do IVF – you are at the end of the biological line.  If it does not work – you are done.  You can’t wish to win the lottery to pay for more treatments, you can’t borrow the money for another type of treatment, you can’t mortgage your house for the next option.

You are done.

And that is scary stuff.  There will always be the person who can’t get to IVF because they don’t have the money – but it’s just not the same thing.

It isn’t.

I have a child now, and one on the way.  I am so far away from that fear of, “what if this does not work?”  But that fear still creeps in.  I feel it now for others.  I feel it for my online friends who are still trying for their first baby.

It makes me feel cold.

It makes me feel helpless for my friends.

It makes me sad.

And it makes me thankful that I am done with that phase of my life.


We Could Not Fail

I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about our IF past anymore – it’s been over four years since we first started trying to have a baby.  That number surprises me, because although it seems like a lifetime ago on most days, it feels like just yesterday on others.

Today is one of those days that it feels like yesterday.


When we did our first IVF cycle, I didn’t think we could fail.  I spent tons of time researching success rates with our IF factor, I specifically researched and memorized the stats from our clinic, and I built spreadsheet after spreadsheet so that I could track my cycle and not miss a single thing.  In my mind, we were going to be the, “one and done,” because our diagnosis was clear.  Our diagnosis was easy to treat.  Our diagnosis was the one that people wished for.

I get really irritated when I read comments on people’s blogs saying to, “think positive – positive energy goes a long way.”  As my RE says, positive thinking does not get you pregnant.  If it did, we would have been the, “one and done.”  I truly did not think we could fail.  I thought that we would walk out of the RE’s office 8 weeks later with at least one healthy baby in my uterus.  The thought that our cycle could fail never occurred to me.

It should have occurred to me that things may not be perfect when I stimmed way too fast over the weekend just before egg retrieval.  My dosages of Rep.ron.ex and Follis.tim were cut in half on Friday afternoon and by Monday, I had at least 13 follicles at target size or larger for trigger.  I didn’t worry too much because we were told things looked good – and they did.  By the time we did our egg retrieval, we got such glowing reports that there was truly nothing to worry about.

Our RE retrieved 16 eggs.  This cycle was already looking perfect.  By the next day when we got the fertilization report, I was convinced all over again that we could not fail.  Of the 16 retrieved eggs, 15 were mature and 11 fertilized with ICSI.  There was no reason to worry – they had plenty of embryos to choose from.  I was excited for the transfer and I couldn’t wait to see how many embryos made it to day 5.  Instead of worrying about my embryos, I challenged them to all make it to the freezer.  It was a game in my head.

We could not fail.

By transfer day, I was hyped up on positive mental energy.  WE.COULD.NOT.FAIL.  We arrived and were told that we had 9 strong embryos and the two being transferred that day were both graded 4AA (“Perfect” by all REs’ standards).  I smugly grinned, thinking to myself, “one and done.”  When we went in for the transfer, I asked how good our chances were and our RE said well over 75% – and the embryologist held her fingers up signifying that she thought both would stick.  That is what I wanted to “hear!”

The transfer was done and we were told that 3 “wonderful” blasts were already frozen and that they thought the other 4 would make it to freeze as well.  We were on cloud nine.  Not only did we have 2 perfect embryos where they belonged, but we also had 3 in the freezer for when it was time to persue baby #2 (the other 4 were frozen the next day).  Cue another smug grin.

I spoke with my little sister on transfer day as I did my obligatory bed rest.  When I said, “I can’t believe it, I may actually finally be pregnant,” she quickly responded with, “I have something to tell you I’m 12 weeks pregnant.”  I was stunned, shocked, bitter.  How could she tell me this on the one day I’d worked so hard to get to?  What was she thinking?  She took the wind right out of my sails.

She wasn’t the only one.

My two week wait was hell.  I promised B that I wouldn’t test, but a friend of mine convinced me to test at 8dp5dt in the evening and the test was negative (it was digital).  We chalked it up to being too early to test (not to mention not using FMU), but in my heart I knew it was probably right.  My friend and I were stunned because we both thought that there was no way this cycle could fail.  I got a non-digital test, and with not enough urine in my bladder, I tested again – BFN.  I knew I couldn’t trust that one because I hardly peed on the stick.  But… I kind of knew.  I told B when he came home that it was negative and he said to wait until Saturday for the real answer.

I was struggling with my little sister’s (MLS’s) announcement.  Here she was, with one baby already, and had already lapped me again and was pregnant with baby #2 with only one ovary?  How, how, how?  My mom was in the thick of my cycle and driving me nuts with questions and the such.  I emailed her the night before my beta that MLS’s announcement was hard on me, that I knew it was wrong to be struggling with it but that I was.  My mom knew I’d had the BFN’s earlier that week.  Her response was, ‘you can’t focus on MLS’s good news right now.  You’ll get your own good news tomorrow.’  She sent me a “suck it up and get over yourself” lesson via email.

I did not get good news the next day.  We went to the clinic for my beta and I just had a bad feeling that we’d failed (I mean, I already had 2 BFN’s under my belt), but tried to remain hopeful.  The waiting room was packed and I looked around, guessing at who would get BFP’s and who would not.  That’s just terrible of me – but I did it.  I lumped myself into the 50% of people who ‘looked like’ they’d get a BFP.

Good God.

We were told we’d get the call by noon.  B volunteered to take the call and that made me happy.  We had a two story townhouse at the time and he locked himself upstairs in his office, waiting for the call.  He didn’t want me to hear the phone ring when it did.  I sat on the sofa downstairs and obsessed.  As time went by, I knew we were going to get bad news.  I was convinced that they saved the BFN calls for last – that they liked to call the BFP’s first and get their follow-up betas scheduled before they called the poor gals who weren’t going to get to schedule follow-up betas.

And then I heard the phone ring.

And then I heard B slowly walk towards the stairs and take a couple steps down them.

And then I said, without looking at him, “It didn’t work.”

And he said, “It didn’t work.”

And I sobbed.  I sobbed more than I’ve ever sobbed in my life.  Just writing this makes me cry now – 2.75 years later.

B came over and held me on the sofa as I sobbed and sobbed.  He cried too.  It felt like that lasted forever.  It was the darkest moment of my life (and still is).

I pulled myself together long enough to send an email to my family with the subject line, “it didn’t work,” and simply wrote in the body of the email that I wanted time alone and to please not call or write.  That wish, of course, was not respected – but I knew it wouldn’t be.

I texted my dear friend, M, who had been through the exact same thing just one month prior.  She called me immediately and we cried together on the phone.  She couldn’t believe it.  I couldn’t believe.  We had both failed.  We had both not beaten the odds and would have to try again.  She confessed that she didn’t have much hope for herself anymore – that she needed this to work for me so that she knew it could work for her, too.  We were both beside ourselves.

B and I decided we needed to get out of the house.  We headed to a convenience store to pick up some soda and snacks on our way to rent some movies.  We went to a gas station that we had never gone to before – one that had never crossed our minds.  Why we chose to go the way we did is beyond me because it wasn’t the most direct route to the movie store.  When we pulled into the parking lot, I saw a familiar car.

My friend, M, was there.  My friend – who helped me navigate the IVF process and cheered me along even after she had her first failure*,  who was the only phone call I took after my official BFN that day – was at the same convenience store as us.  M and I met on her way out and my way in as our husbands waited in the cars.  She held me for quite a while as I cried on her shoulder, and she cried on mine.

A few days later, after the storm had passed, M and I talked about how neither of us ever went to that particular gas station – ever.  That that night, it was out of the way for both of us – yet we both ended up there at the exact same moment when we needed each other the most.  I’m not religious (but am spiritual), but to this day, I truly believe that that chance meeting of ours was not by chance.


I drove by that gas station/convenience store on my way home from lunch today.  I have never stopped at it – not since that night when we found out that we’d failed our first IVF cycle.  In my mind, I refuse to go there.  I’ve never said that out loud to anyone, but I will NEVER go there.  Driving by it is one thing, but going in would tear my heart out.

It’s been more than two years since that awful day, but I am still brought to tears when I think of B coming down the stairs, echoing me saying, “it didn’t work.”  We are fortunate in that we have a very happy ending with a beautiful little boy who wouldn’t be here if that first cycle had been a success, but the memory of that moment – that moment when I realized that WE FAILED – will always emotionally bring me to my knees.


* M’s next cycle was cancelled but she was successful on IVF #3 and is once again pregnant now with baby #2 who will be born a week from TODAY! 



Ruined for Nothing

I’ve had a hard day – I mean – the type of day that brings you to your knees.  It all started yesterday, actually, when Matthew’s cold was getting obviously worse and we had a major diaper situation at a restaurant over lunch.  It was not good and our return home was even worse – and neither of us really ever recovered.  Matthew’s cold got worse by the hour and I didn’t get to rest at all until he was in bed.  It was exhausting.

So yesterday was hard, but today was almost impossible.  Matthew feels even worse and is showing it.  He’s actually a really good “sick baby” and still sleeps through the night until his normal wake-up time, but it’s not as good of a sleep so he wakes up cranky.  He was cranky all day and even though he had a 2.5 hour nap, it wasn’t a good nap due to his cough.  He woke up 3 times and cried a bit.  It was heartbreaking.  Dinner was a challenge because he doesn’t want to eat solid food right now, which makes me think he has a sore throat.  Matthew threw his chicken at me from the moment I put it in front of him and even refused his grapes, which he usually devours. He had only cottage cheese and veggie pouches tonight for dinner – which I’m ashamed of.  He’s a sad baby  😦

To make the day worse, I got a bill from for $264 even though we cancelled service on 10/11 and paid in full before that date.  I absolutely lost my shit over this because we even have receipts saying we owe them nothing – and calling to talk to them takes a freaking lifetime.  I spent 10 minutes on hold (shorter than I expected) and then talked with the gal who insisted on talking with B since it was his name on the account.  I explained to her that she would much rather discuss this with me because he hates them more than I do – so she talked to me.  I swore on the phone – not my proudest moments, but I am so sick of this cable company screwing everyone simply because they can.  I swore several times.  It wasn’t good.

So I’ve had a rough day… and it was after the call with that I realized why I was in such a bad mood.

It wasn’t Matthew’s crankiness.

It wasn’t the bill (even though, HOLY HELL, that made my mood way worse).

It wasn’t my lack of rest.

It wasn’t because B is out-of-town tonight.

It was because I needed to give myself my own PIO shot for the first time (aside from the three I did in my thigh while pregnant with Matthew and OMG that was a mistake.  OUCH!).

I watched a couple of videos during the day, trying to get pumped up for it, but the videos scared me even more.  I was trying to figure out who I would call to do my shot.  The neighbor next door who is a nurse?  My friend who did all of her own?  My friend’s husband who’s a doctor?  B’s coworker’s husband who’s a nurse?  I would have felt bad springing my need on any of them, so I wondered if I should suck it up and do it myself.

I watched Keikos’ video and read through the comments.  I noticed that Shelley commented a few weeks ago that she had to do her own PIO shots because her husband would be out-of-town.  So… I emailed her.

I just love this community!  Shelley emailed me back right away with a step-by-step description of what to do.  I read it, and thought, “you can do this.”  She was so helpful and pumped me up so much – to the point that I just wanted to get to it so I could say it was done!

I did it.  And it was no big deal.  It did not hurt.  There was no blood.  I didn’t throw up.

(But my hands were still shaking a bit afterwards.)

An entire day ruined for nothing!







Not to Pass

The ALI community sure has been busy this week taking part in the “To Mom or Not to Mom” Open Salon hosted by Keiko and Pamela.  I am not one who really enjoys “assigned theme” posts  because they feel too much like school to me (HA!) and I’m a terrible procrastinator (and a week to get my assignment done usually is not enough time).  Hell, I buy the PAIL book club book every month and have yet to read one and take part in the discussion.

But today’s topic over at The Infertility Voice and Silent Sorority grabbed me, and I must comment.

The question posed is do we pass or not when it comes to sharing our infertility story?

I have chosen “not to pass” since we first started trying to have a baby.  I am an open book – I put almost everything on my blog because I have no filter and I’m just an over-sharer in general.  I love to share – there – I said it!

But that is me.  That is not you.  Nor do I feel that it should be you.

“Should infertility disclosure be an obligation for members of this community?”  No – absolutely not – but I feel that it is MY obligation.  I feel that it is MY obligation to share our story with someone who I think may be struggling in an attempt to make them feel not so alone.  I was lucky – I had close friends who both had struggled, or were struggling at the same time as us, with infertility.  The three of us were, and still are, thick as thieves.  We always will be.  Those two ladies were my lifeline – they kept me sane.  They kept me from taking B’s head off because they were my outlet for sharing my frustrations, jealousy, and anxiety about our infertility.

Some people don’t have offline friends who have been through infertility – or at least – they don’t know they do.  And that’s because some people decide to “take the pass” (which is fine).  For those people – the ones who feel alone and isolated – I will always share our story.  I will share our story if I know or think that you’re infertile or not – because if there’s any chance that you are (or that someone you know is) – I don’t want you (or them) to feel alone.  If knowing that I’ve been through it too will bring some peace to just one person’s mind – then it’s all worth it to me.

No one should suffer alone.  As long as I know you (or ran into you at the vet) – you won’t.