Back to School: Moderate Takes

1.) I started back to work last Monday, and hoo boy, did I jump into the deep end. I knew my boss was traveling at the beginning of the week and that our other department member was on her honeymoon, so I felt like I had to get back. I also skipped my regular telework day, as it was my boss's first day in the office. A lot of people were on vacation, so it was a nice, quiet week to get back into the swing of things, but I really hate that Charlie got thrown into the deep end as well.

2.) We ended up working out a nanny share with a family down the street from us. I had been worried about timing with getting to work if I had to drop Charlie off somewhere but I literally cannot leave my neighborhood without passing their house. How convenient is that? The hiring process caused a lot of agita, but much more so for the other family. Their little guy was born in February and the mom was due to go back to work the first week of June. However, the seemingly fantastic nanny we hired showed up on the first day and quit within a couple of hours with a pretty shady excuse. This poor couple was left with no child care on the mom's first day back -- total nightmare situation. It was kind of a blur for me; this all went down on the day we brought Charlie home from the hospital. They scheduled a bunch of interviews over the next week or so, and Mark would go to their house for the interviews. Any contenders were asked to walk up to our house to meet Charlie and me. We finally found our nanny in mid-June, but she wasn't able to start until mid-July. Again, it was no big thing for us, but thank GOD the other woman's employer was super flexible about things. Our nanny was totally worth the wait. She is from the area where Mark and I grew up, is a little older than I am, has two kids, and worked in the same daycare center for 12 years. Most importantly, she is fantastic with Charlie and he seems to be really happy so far, which is a huuuge relief.

3.) Our first day went really well. Charlie hung out in the bathroom with us while Mark and I got ready, and then we had a nice chunk of his super smiley morning time to hang out and play. He had had a crap night of sleep, of course, so he was ready for his morning nap before the nanny arrived and was sleeping when I left. Not having to say goodbye made the transition a little easier, and I didn't cry at all. (I think I got all of my allotted tears out over the weekend. Holy hannah, poor baby didn't need a bath, I spent so much time weeping onto his sleeping head.) I will admit to welling up as I got in the car, but that was because I found a box and card with "Mom" written on it. Mark had printed and framed a bunch of the best Charlie pictures for my office. Is that not the sweetest thing you've ever heard? Love him. Charlie got a great report from the nanny and he looked so happy when I peeked in on the webcam. 

4.) On the down side, I am totally struggling with work guilt. I wasn't quite ready to leave the baby; I would have loved having one more month at home, but it is what it is. I am so glad he is in such wonderful hands, but it kills me to miss so much of his day. Overnight, I went from spending every one of his waking moments with him to getting maaaaybe two hours a day. I have about an hour with him in the morning, and if traffic is on my side, an hour at night. It doesn't help that the transition is wiping him out and he's desperate for bed around 6:45. It's killing me, too, that he doesn't seem happy to see me when I get home. In fairness, Mark is usually pushing him past his preferred dinner time so that I can feed him when I get home, and also, he's just barely three months old, so yeah: BABY. But still, I spend all day itching to get home to that face, and it kills me that he just kind of watches his dad and ignores me, despite my being all up in his business, kissing him all over. I also barely survived Tuesday's fret fest. It was the first day at the other family's house, and Charlie seemed unsettled when I left him. He gave me this look like, "Mama, you're leaving me again??" The nanny is great about sending pictures, but Charlie looked worried in Tuesday's shots. We skyped once Mark got home and the little guy seemed like his usual self, but ugh. Mostly it's killing me that, right now, I know everything about him, and I feel like I'm on the verge of losing this, like someone else is going to need to tell me what my baby needs or is trying to communicate. 

5.) There is also a good side! Sort of. Shame is my biggest (only?) cleaning motivator, so having someone in my house 2-3 days a week means that I'm getting in the habit of picking up and organizing stuff daily. It is astounding just how many things I now plan and prepare for on a regular basis, just because the scramble that results from not doing so is vastly worse. I get home from work and we scramble through the bedtime bottle and getting Charlie to bed. I make dinner (from the planned weekly menu, because there is no more grocery shopping on the way home), and then we have about an hour to hang out before we do the closing up shop chores. Mark does the dishes while I putter around cleaning up -- getting rid of clutter, folding couch blankets, putting away toys, gathering baby laundry that needs to go upstairs, washing bottles, boiling bottle water, making bottles and packing Charlie's bag if the next day is a travel day, packing my lunch, laying out my clothes for the next day, and folding any laundry that's in the dryer. It's so...grown up. I always thought my mom was just a do-er; nope, it's just necessary crap and thus a massive PITA if you don't do it. Being an adult is so not all it's cracked up to be. But at least the nanny won't see my inner slob? 

8 weeks ago today I also watched a "Law & Order: SVU" marathon...

I cannot believe how time is flying by. Charlie is 8 weeks old tonight! Back then, a month at the beach sounded like such a long time, but here we are with a nearly two month old baby and just a few days left of "vacation." (I mean, really, I have a newborn; you could stick me in a spa in Fiji and it still wouldn't really be a vacation.) On the one hand, I'm excited to get home to our own space and to have some time as just our little family of three, but on the other? Man, is this place heaven. We walk to the coffee shop most mornings and the beach is a two minute walk in the other direction. Evenings rocking in the salt air on the breezy porch are what I dream of in the winter. The abundance of fresh, cheap(er) seafood is such a treat. I love being in proximity to our families, and of course, having my mom's help with the baby has been invaluable. I know it's time to go, but I just wish our time here hadn't passed so very quickly. 

Living on fast-forward also means that my return-to-work date is rapidly approaching, despite my doing everything I can to ignore that fact. I'm lucky to have a job with an understanding boss in a family-friendly company. I am also lucky to be able to telework one day a week. However, I'm a professional with responsibilities that sometimes follow me home, plus I also commute nearly two hours each day. I am excited about the nanny we found and know that Charlie will be in great hands. I just worry that they won't be my hands, and that I'll regret all of my time away from him. I'm not someone who lives for her career, but I have invested a lot of time and effort to get to where I am, so I don't know that I would want to walk away, even if I could. Mostly, I know how much I suck at juggling multiple full-time jobs, so I'm worried about continuing to grow my position at work, maintaining things at home, AND adding a baby, even one as delightful as this one is, to the mix. Certainly this is not unique to me; it's your basic modern mothering conundrum. Knowing I'm in good company doesn't lessen the worry and guilt, though. I guess we'll see what happens! 

Until then? I'm going to snuggle my baby and enjoy the hell out of cocktail hour on the porch.

Gratuitous baby photo:

A Day in the Life

I have loved reading about all of your daily routines (daaamn, some of you ladies manage to pack a LOT into your day – color me impressed!), so I am writing out my own, even though it is so not that interesting. And even though it will memorialize my shocking laziness. Here's my (very lengthy!) Tuesday:

5:20 am: Mark’s alarm sounds for the first time and he does not respond. Wiggle close enough to kick him until he gets up to hit snooze. He returns to the bed and groggily greets the fetus with a pat. Repeat every nine minutes until he staggers toward the bathroom.

6:10 am: Mark turns on the lights, kisses me goodbye, and attempts to make sure I am actually conscious, as I have to take my mom to the airport this morning. I blearily mumble my usual goodbye: “Love you. Nice day. Lunch.” (He will still forget to take his lunch.)

6:20 am: I reluctantly drag my sorry carcass from the sheets and stumble to the bathroom where I shower, brush teeth, and fix the hair and makeup, etc. It’s an off day for hair washing, so the routine is speedier than on washing days. (This is all set to change, however, as I am getting my hair chopped off tomorrow. HOORAY!! I haven’t had it cut since August and it needs it desperately.)

6:40 am: Head to the closet to get dressed, stopping by the dresser for a hit of perfume. I am already pantyhosed and beskirted when I realize that the cardigan I normally wear with this skirt is in the wash. I grab another black top that I know will make me crazy all day long because the neckline is too big to wear without a scarf and I have no scarf to wear with this skirt. C’est la vie – it’s too late to look for something else.

(I definitely spent all damn day futzing with the neckline o’ regret.)

6:45 am: Make the bed, open the blinds, and head downstairs where Mom is waiting for me. Grab lunch bag and start throwing in snacks – a cheese stick, 2 clementines, a yogurt. I normally make a half sandwich for lunch also, but Mom made Italian wedding soup last night (mmm), so I scoop some into a jar instead. Spoons and a napkin complete the bag. I forego making my usual breakfast for the car (2 eggo waffles, toasted with butter, and a half-caff latte) since I am heading out early and will have time to stop at Starbucks.

6:55 am: Mom and I gather our stuff. I set the alarm and we head into the garage to load the car. It is shockingly chilly again and the sky looks like snow is coming; the unbelievably gorgeous weekend we had was such a tease. Into the traffic we go.

7:20 am: I drop Mom at the airport for her 8:30 flight home. She says more of a goodbye to my belly than to me. (The grandparents are kind of beside themselves with excitement. It’s pretty cute.)

7:25 am: I head back out into the traffic in the opposite direction to head to the office. My commute requires driving a particularly nasty stretch of the DC Beltway, and today is no exception. I gladly fork over the dollars to use the express lanes (toll road) and zip past the parking lot that is the main lanes.

7:55 am: Stop off at Starbucks on my way in for a latte and a cinnamon scone. Lovely treat.

8:10 am: Arrive at the office. Gather my work bag, lunch bag, purse, water bottle, and breakfast and schlep it all through the parking lot and into the building. Chat with coworker in the elevator and on the way to our desks.

8:15 am: Start up the computer and head to the galley kitchen to put away my lunch bag. Stop to chat with coworker on the way back. She was out of the office last week and apparently the belly has gotten a lot bigger in that timeframe. We chat about the baby, her upcoming wedding, and the conference that most of my team attended last week while I held down the fort in the office.

8:30 am: Get to work. Check emails, read daily listservs, sort through some researchy tasks, and make my list of what needs to be done for the day.

9:00 am: Check on Mom’s flight via FlightAware. I am a crazy person and do not care for having my loved ones 30,000 feet above the earth in a metal tube, therefore I track their flight’s progress, keeping them aloft with my mind. It’s exhausting, as you might imagine. (I kid, but yes, I like the little altitude graph that assures me that my mommy has not plummeted into Long Island Sound.)

9:54 am: Receive text that Mom has landed safely in Boston.

12:50 pm: Emailing with Mark. He really wants to host a March Madness/Basement Warming party, but we are split on dates. We leave for vacation on Saturday, returning the following weekend, then we have friends visiting the weekend after that. He still has some finishing touches to complete in the basement, so I am of the opinion that we need a weekend to prepare before having a party; he is more concerned with the basketball schedule and the abundance of games that first weekend. I am also stressing about getting the baby’s room together, but I could be just a tad irrational on that topic, seeing as we have a good 12+ weeks to go (I hope, knock wood, etc.). We shall see….

1:05 pm: Head to the kitchen to heat up lunch. Chat with coworkers while soup heats up. Head back to my desk. Soup is delicious, but yogurt was very liquidy and possibly curdled? Ugh, definitely not eating it. Have cheese stick and clementines instead. Check the news while eating.

1:45 pm: Heeeeartbuuuuuurn. (Daaamn, baby, cut Mama's digestive tract some slack!) Root through purse for Zantac.

2:55 pm: Chin dives are FIERCE today. I am struggling to keep my very red eyes open. Decide that this calls for caffeine and chocolate. Head to the break room, where I also put my soup bowl and yesterday’s mug in the dishwasher. Conveniently, some coworkers are brewing a fresh pot of coffee. I select “Grandma’s Chocolate Brownie Cookies” from the vending machine, which shorts me $.10. (These cookies? They were made by Frito Lay, not anyone's Grandma, and I am pretty sure my Grandma has never made cookies which had shortening and HFCS within the top four ingredients. UGH, desperate times.) Fill up with coffee when the pot is full and head back to my desk.

3:05 pm: Encounter coworker in the hallway on my way back who had just been down to my office to see me. She comes in to chat about an interesting new potential client. There are some questionable regulatory issues happening, so I ask her to set up a conference call on Thursday morning, which gives me some time for research. To the FDA regs I go…

4:22 pm: Mark emails to see if I am still planning to head out before 5 since I was in early. I am hoping so, because while the coffee helped, I am still wiped from the very fun weekend. I mention stopping at Old Navy to look for summery maternity clothes on my way home, seeing as I have none and we are leaving on Saturday. (Here’s hoping my cache of Lands End Fit and Flare dresses will be as forgiving to the six months of baby attached to my person as they were to the severe post-egg retrieval bloat. Mental note to try them on tonight.) Mom gave me a gift card to Motherhood Maternity for Valentine’s Day, which is earmarked for a bathing suit. Looks like I’ll have to stop there on Thursday, leaving Friday open for a mani/pedi and packing. Nothing like waiting until the last minute!

4:48 pm: Note that my liquid intake has been less than ideal today – two coffees and one water bottle does not sufficient hydration make, at least not when I am trying to ward off the scary cramping. Will have to step it up tonight.

5:02 pm: Begin fighting with archaic phone system in order to forward my phone for telework day. It keeps saying that my cell is a non-working number. The hell it is, you effing piece of crap. Decide to cross fingers, as no one ever calls anyway, and pack up. Stop by the bathroom on the way out because, well, pregnant + 30 mile commute. 

5:20 pm: Stop by Old Navy to check out potential options for vacation clothing. Store claims to carry maternity line; store lies. Moving on!

5:35 pm: Decide to try popping by Destination Maternity around the corner from Old Navy if I can find parking. Luck out with street parking and take it as a siiiign. Not much luck with actual clothes (come oooon, Fit & Flares!), but I find the bathing suit I had been eyeballing online in my size and it's not horrible. Put it on hold and plan to come back with gift card from Mom. 

6:10 pm: Return home, fall head first into bag of chips husband purchased (I never, never buy junk food for precisely this reason). Find husband in the basement, putting some finishing touches on the bar. Screw around chatting for a bit, half watching an episode of Ken Burns: Baseball. Laugh when Mark says he cried a little when they talked about the Sox winning in '04. I love nothing more than watching the 30 for 30: Four Days in October with him; it's his "Steel Magnolias." 

6:45 pm: Head upstairs to find my jammies and start some laundry. Remember I have to try on the Fit & Flares. They are slightly awkward, but I can make it work. WOO. Another LE dress fits as well. I also have high hopes for the flared skirts with the fold-over waist bands. Now to find t-shirts...

7:00 pm: Head downstairs to make dinner, completely forgetting to start the laundry. (Crap.) We're making sandwiches with the leftover tenderloin roast from Saturday night's dinner. Heat oven #1 for the baguette and oven #2 for the beef. Slice up the beef and throw it on a small sheet pan to reheat, shove all of the food in the ovens. Mark sets the table. When the food is heated, I cut the baguette in two and slather the insides with this amazing creamy dijon horseradish sauce we found at Whole Foods and stuff the sandwiches with the beef and some arugula. Root through the fridge for leftover roasted veggies and call it dinner. 

7:50 pm: Mark loads the dishwasher while I make him a lunch sandwich with the leftovers and wipe down the table and counters. Now? Now it is basement time -- cozy man chairs, a comfy quilt, and House of Cards. I refill my water bottle and we head downstairs. 

9:50 pm: Mark turns into a pumpkin at 10 and I'm too exhausted from the weekend to try to con him into another episode. We tidy up the room and head upstairs to bed. I stop off in the kitchen for my meds (Phenergan: Don't leave home without it!), turn on the alarm, and continue up to bed. I turn on the fan, forage for my vitamins, and set up the iPad and headphones. (Ohhh, the bedtime tv battle we used to have -- I need something to focus on so I can turn off my brain and sleep, he needs quiet darkness. The iPad arrangement has saved me yeeears in prison for Mark's murder.) Mark helps me roll into bed (the SPD pain is getting much better, but getting into bed is still hurty; it helps to have him swing my feet in rather than to go leg by leg) and we're both out within minutes of our heads hitting the pillows. Zzzz...

And then we do roughly the same thing again the next day. I had no idea "Groundhog Day" was so true to life. ;)

Hello, old friend!

It has been a while since I checked in over here and HOO BOY, are things better. I would like to kiss the face of whoever invented Phenergan. Seriously. I went from constant, nauseated misery coupled with crippling constipation (a giant bird to you, Zofran) to "I FEEL COMPARATIVELY MAAAAARVELOOOOOUS" with one dose. There were tears of gratitude on more than one occasion, no joke. With time, the nausea has gotten much better on its own too. I am down to one dose nightly, which gets me through the morning, and if I forget to take them, the misery is minimal. Thank GOD; the fall was a dark, dark time over here.

Conveniently, the dramatic improvement in health came just in time for the holidays. We went to Boston for the massive Irish shit show (i.e. Thanksgiving -- it's a lovely tradition, though pretty funny as the sober one). There is lots of delicious food (I come from a family of amazing cooks) and wine, and it's a great day with most of my mom's huge family. She's the oldest of nine, and 7/9 attend with all of their spouses and kids. We missed it last year, so it was great to be back. 

Once we got home, we decorated for Christmas as much as I had energy for, because Mark's parents were coming to us for faux Christmas. I loved having the decorations up; it made the house feel so cozy. 

We had a great visit. We did "Christmas" on the Sunday of their visit, with my MIL making her traditional cinnamon rolls and opening presents. I made a tenderloin roast with horseradish cream sauce for dinner with a potato gratin (Smitten Kitchen's recipe + caramelized onions -- omg) and roasted green beans with a lemon chive butter. We had boozy icebox cake for dessert and sat around on the cozy couch lit by the tree. Lovely. 

We went back to Boston for Christmas proper. We got there in time for the Christmas party with my mom's side of the family, went up to visit Mark's grandmother, and had Christmas Eve/day with my dad's family. We do the whole seven fishes thing on Christmas Eve (my mom hosts -- we have smoked salmon and fried calamari with the apps, linguini with clam sauce, scrod baked with crabmeat stuffing, and baked stuffed shrimp and scallops). It's much more formal than with my mom's family, but my cousins on this side are really funny. I'm the oldest by six years, so I wasn't really close to these cousins when we were younger; I was a babysitter rather than one of the kids. It has been really fun as they've all gotten older too. 

My tiny grandma sleeps over on Christmas Eve (she has done this since my grandfather died in 1996) and we open presents and eat leftover smoked salmon with bagels and cream cheese. We go to my uncle's house for dinner with the same crowd (SO MUCH FOOD AND TOGETHERNESS), and then on the 26th, we have the traditional Day of Sloth. We clean up the presents and arrange them under the tree, shower and change back into jammies, and then we take to the couch. Well, my mom and I do. My dad usually goes to the office and Mark went to meet up with high school friends. It was glorious. I gave mom Downton Abbey on dvd, so she powered through the first season while I napped. We had leftover baked stuffed shrimp for lunch and an afternoon snack of pie. I tried to soak up the gloriousness as much as I could, knowing that next year will (knock wood, fingers crossed) be VERY different. 

On the baby front, all is going well. My biggest issue to date has been some pubic symphysis discomfort. I sleep with a pillow between my legs and sit down to put pants on. Flipping over in bed and putting all of my weight on one foot is pretty painful, and for some reason, walking around grocery stores practically cripples me, but otherwise it's pretty manageable. Baby boy, whom we are calling Billy for the time being (it's a long story, and probably only funny if you know my dad), had his 20 week ultrasound, and he's looking perfectly healthy, which was such a huge relief. He also revealed his funny little personality. My sweet guy is a total stinker. They spent two hours checking him out and I still had to go back for a repeat because he refused to let them measure the structures in his head. He was just as much of a stinker the second time around. They were able to measure everything they needed to, but when they tried getting a 4D image of his face, he hid behind his hands, looked away, and even shook his head "no" (OMG). We did get a profile and he's adorable, of course; I think he looks just like Mark, not that you can really tell. 

The really fun stuff is that he's super active, and I love feeling him wiggling around in there. He's a big chocolate fan, so that always gets him dancing. He totally responds to his space getting squished too. He punches me when I lean over the computer, and he was pissed last week when I wore regular khakis with a belly band. They were kind of digging into the belly, and he spent a good portion of the day punching right where the pants were cramping his style, poor baby. His kicks and punches have gotten to the point where Mark can sometimes feel him too. 

We celebrated hitting the viability mark by ordering his crib, mattress, and changing table, as well as getting baby registries started. Would you please look at these shoes I bought? Have you ever seen anything so wee and adorable?

It is all both awesome and terrifying, because he feels so real now and I love him so much already, and I am absolutely terrified (TERRIFIED) of something happening to him. I know it's out of my control, so I'm trying to focus on the fact that all is going well to this point, rather than all of the horror stories my brain has accumulated over the years and naturally prefers to fixate on. It feels so impossible that we could really be so lucky after so much disappointment; I think I'm just so used to waiting for the other shoe to drop.

24 weeks, 4 days today. We are SO EXCITED to meet you, my Billy. (We'll gladly wait until you're fully cooked, though.)

I vant to be alone. You know, just for an hour or so.

I am the epitome of an introvert. I prefer small groups to big ones, I haaaate idle chitchat and would sooner hang myself than attend a networking event, and I 100% require quiet time at home in order to recharge. When we do vacations with friends or my inlaws where I am with non-immediate family 24/7, I end up spending day 4 or 5 holed up in bed because I just can't be ON for another second or I will die. This is unfortunate, because I have pretty much spent this entire month traveling away from my personal recharging station (aka "home"). I met up with college friends for a long overdue girls weekend of wine tasting, we went to Boston/the Cape for my birthday weekend, I had a work trip to the San Francisco area (during which I had my first IRL internet friend meetup in which Emily (@pantalonesfuego) introduced me to Mission burritos), and I returned home to greet my mother in law at the airport for a visit to check out the new house. All of these things are really fun (well, meetings aside), but still SO draining. I am counting the minutes until I am home in an empty house next Wednesday, and I'll have to enjoy it while it lasts, as we have friends arriving on Friday to visit for the long weekend. I AM READY FOR SUMMER TO BE OVER. 

In other news (and feel free to avert your eyes here), we are well into the stims portion of the first IVF attempt. We ended up moving up the schedule after I had three migraines with aura in one week and realized that they were being triggered by birth control. The only other aura I ever had was back in April when I was on the pill after the cycle that was cancelled for overstimulation. I think this is day 9 of shots (Gonal-F and Menopur), and at my monitoring appointment, there were about 10-12 follicles in the 9-10mm range. I am hoping everything will keep progressing, and keep equal pacing with each other. Still waiting on the bloodwork and dosing call, but the ultrasound tech thought it all looked good. I am mildly optimistic (I have moved on from yesterday's fretting about having to move to MA for IVF coverage after we exhaust our allotted attempts here), though I will take any good thoughts you can spare. Next appointment is Monday morning. 

Ok, I have to go. I snuck away to "take a shower" about a half hour ago, so I should really get on that. I already had to lie about my whereabouts this morning so I could sneak off for monitoring. Ahem, I mean, have coffee with a friend. Ugh, this month can bite me. 

Feel free to avert your eyes...

Hello again! I've kind of been buried in unpacking (it will NEVER END, will it?) and work and daily life crapola. It's amazing how quickly the weeks slip by, isn't it? Anyway, with all of these weeks slipping by, it seems my month of freedom is over and we are back in the reproductive technology saddle, and HOO BOY is it different this time around. To sum up, after giving ovulation induction plus timed intercourse the old college try, I was ready to eliminate some variables. Given the particulars of our situation (many antral follicles making it very difficult to mature only 1 or 2 follicles, no male factor), IUI would not have increased our odds of success and it came with a hefty price tag. This left us with IVF.

I could write a dissertation on the b.s. that is our health insurance racket industry, but I'll sum it up quickly. Our insurance covers diagnostic testing for infertility, but generally excludes treatment. This means that for ovulation induction cycles with timed intercourse, we were paying out of pocket for the meds, but all of the bloodwork and ultrasounds were considered diagnostic and therefore covered for the regular "specialist" copay. However, if you add in just the IUI procedure, the same monitoring bloodwork and ultrasounds are no longer just diagnostic; because there is an end therapy in mind, they are considered treatment and excluded from coverage. I guess this is pretty common because my clinic offers IUI cycles for a flat fee that, while still including a comma in the number, was not much more than I was spending on injectables alone. The one exception to the general treatment exclusion is IVF. Because my husband works for a Maryland-based company and Maryland is blessedly liberal on these issues, our health insurer is obligated by statute to cover three IVF attempts per live birth. For this reason alone, we have access to the treatment option best suited for our needs AND it is costing us significantly (significantly) less money than less invasive treatment options, never mind what it would have cost us out of pocket. It is a game changer to say the least; I'm not sure we could have done this without insurance coverage. At best it would have been a decision between buying the new house and trying for a baby. Needless to say, I am feeling beyond grateful these days. 

The gratitude is taking a backseat to feeling completely overwhelmed, however, when it comes to the actual protocol. It's Day 13, and we're in the Birth Control Holding Pattern. I had the mock embryo transfer on Monday, and I think it was actually more painful than the HSG. (It was either someone's first day on the job or they were using a speculum made out of two shivs. Unpleasant!) Next appointment, for the pre-IVF evaluation, is on my birthday and obviously getting spelunked is totes how I had hoped to ring in #34. After that, we're heading to Boston for the weekend, then returning home to start shooting up. I nearly died when this arrived at my door last week:

Behold: An entire cycle's worth of meds for the price of maybe a dose or two out of pocket.

Because it is totally cool for multiple follicles to mature this time around, we do not have to be quite as cautious as before, so everyone is very hopeful that the injectables portion of the process will be well under the 17 days of stims I had last time. This does not mean that there is not intense monitoring; there totally is. In fact, this cycle's super fun drama (to date) has revolved around the scheduling of my first post-meds monitoring appointment.

My appointment is on the 22nd, and that is a hard date -- no wiggle room. I have a business trip scheduled for that week, but I figured it would be no big deal. I told the colleague booking our client visits that I needed to be back in DC on the 22nd. We had only three visits to make, so I figured Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday, fly home Wednesday night, and we're good to go. Easy, right? I still cannot fathom why, but the colleague scheduled our appointments for Tuesday/Wednesday/Friday. When I asked that he reschedule the Friday appointment for Wednesday or earlier, he rescheduled it for Thursday. While I wanted to rip my hair out in frustration, I was cool about it. I mean, people undergoing IVF surely have to travel on occasion, so I asked my doctor who they could work with in the San Francisco area. I found a clinic near my hotel that my doctor could work with and that also had doctors considered in-network for me. My nurse sent them an order for the procedures I need, they scheduled everything, and all was well. Well, at least until I spoke to the finance people at the SF clinic. It seems that their policy is to require non-patients to self pay, even if there is a doctor there who is covered by their insurance. Self payment was going to be many dollars for basic monitoring bloodwork and ultrasound. I called my insurance to see whether they would reimburse me and they said, "Sure! Our negotiated and contracted rate is [less than half of that outrageous amount]." (Note to clinic: if a health insurance company thinks your policy is unfair? YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.) At this point, I threw in the towel and decided to attend the last of the client visits via conference call because COME ON. 

Anyway, I have typed too many boring, rambling words (as usual), so I shall shut it now. Assuming all goes well (haaaaaaaa), we're anticipating an early September retrieval and a 5-day transfer. Cross some fingers and think good thoughts if you wouldn't mind, ok?

Coming Up For Air

So that was ... an experience. Let me break down the timeline for you:

6/7-6/10 -- house guests

6/9-6/13 -- Mark out of town

6/12-6/15 -- business trip for me

6/18-6/21 -- dying painful death of kidney infection

6/24-6/27 -- horrifyingly crazy week at work

6/28 -- closing/moving day (with bonus thunder and lightning monsoons)

See the wind blowing the rain sideways? That was awesome.

6/29 -- finish cleaning out the old house

6/30 -- leave for Massachusetts at 4 am

HAAAAAAAA. I lost my mind somewhere around mid-June. I think it's maybe in one of those boxes out there?

Anyway, we are fully out of the old house and into the new, disaster that it might be. It was kind of stressful leaving for vacation immediately after moving, especially seeing as I couldn't find any of my clothes, but we had a fantastic, relaxing week on Cape Cod. My parents have a cottage there, and my best friend, who has been coming up to visit annually since we were assigned as freshman year roommates in college, rented a house around the corner with her husband and AH-dorable son. 

(This kid, OMG. He is so cute and so sweet and SO SMART. 18 months and speaking in sentences! He repeats everything you say, then uses it in context. Amazing! Uncle Mark might have lost his ever loving mind at Toys 'R' Us when he discovered the wee man's love of Thomas.)

We had a fantastic week despite the less than fantastic weather. Lots of smoked meat, ice cream, and wine on the porch, as well as daily afternoon naps and a great dinner out at the restaurant where I worked all through college (hat tip to Mom for babysitting). It was a great respite after the flaming hell that was June, and I was so sad to leave at the (literal) crack of dawn on Sunday. 

We made it home by 1:30 on Sunday and spent the afternoon trying to get organized. I don't know about you, but I have to get the kitchen sorted out first. If the kitchen is clean and functional and uncluttered, I feel like I can take my time working through the rest of the house, figuring out where things should go. By 10, it was done, our first dinner had been cooked and cleaned up, and I was ready to drop. 

OMG, I have a gas stoooove! (I also have to relearn how to cooook.)

The rest of the house? It looks pretty much like this:

I have my work cut out for me.

**One week later, because of course I never posted the draft post**

I did make some progress for, like, five minutes there. I actually found the dining room table and everything, see?

Aaaand then we had to clear out the garage to make room for the extra fridge and freezer. (OMG, I cannot even express in words how excited I am for that stupid chest freezer after years of having only wee bottom freezer drawers.) (Pretty sure that was the death knell of my youth.) Anyway, we are now happily refrigerating beer and freezing a few random things Mark found at Trader Joe's, and the dining room is back to looking like this:

Craaaaap. I'm going to need some of that beer. 

**Ooh, also! Furniture update from last time. We ordered the kitchen table and chairs, as well as the bar stools. There was also a very important couch development. We found out the cloud couch is available in a sectional. They had either the amazing 46" deep version or a slightly smaller 43" deep version (still v. comfy). As much as I loved the 46", we went with the 43". The 46" only had a wedge-shaped corner piece, which would have been a bit too big for the room. The 43" has a square corner piece and should be pretty perfect. I went with a beigey cotton/linen blend slipcover that the store claims is washable. We shall see. It is very cozy and squishy and should be here in 60-90 days. (SERIOUSLY? It takes three months to make a damn couch??)

Moving is much more fun when you focus on the new stuff instead of packing all of your old crap.

The big move around the corner is rapidly approaching, so my house is quickly morphing from a place where people live to an unholy explosion of crap everywhere. This has really not been helped by the fact that Mark and I were both traveling last week (laundry explosion!) AND I returned with a raging kidney infection (zero things have been accomplished). I have gotten as far as going to Costco to acquire a nice supply of wasteful paper goods so that I can pack up the kitchen (can I offer you a Solo Cup of wine?), but the actual packing? Not so much. I am in no shape to pack things today, seeing as I can't even breathe without cringing in pain, so let's talk about the fun stuff: NEW HOUSE DECOR.

We have a surprisingly decent amount of furniture for the new place, considering that we're coming from a much smaller place. We just ordered a new mattress (super excited for the king sized bed, as my husband is a damn furnace), and we'll need a box spring for one of the guest beds, but otherwise the bedrooms are pretty well covered, at least for now. We have living and dining room furniture already, and a desk that we can expand later for the office. There will be little accent pieces to collect over time, but our only big needs right now are for a kitchen table and a family room couch.

This is the space we're working with:

Kitchen

Family Room (from way back -- can't find a current photo, but this gives you an idea)

Our house is a mirror flip of this one -- we're talking the two rooms along the back.

The kitchen table was a dilemma for a while, because I had my heart set on a table that was just too big for the space. Our kitchen has a lot of space, but it opens into the family room, so flow is an issue. I needed to stay in the 42" range, and the extra 6" made a big difference. I kept looking, but nothing really caught my eye; smaller pedestal tables were either too dainty or SUPER country, and I did not want to spend money on a table I didn't love. This is why I was so excited to find Canadel, a Canadian furniture manufacturer, which has a design-your-own option. We went to check out their line at a local furniture store, and knock wood (no pun intended), it seems great. Heavy, solid wood, no veneers, and a nicely distressed finish that should work well for hiding the wear and tear of daily use. I also found a classic black Windsor spindle-back chair to go with it that conveniently has matching counter stools. Can't wait to get these ordered!

It doesn't look nearly as beat up in person; the distressing is much more subtle and natural looking.

The family room is a little tougher. As with the kitchen table, I have had an image in my head forEVER, but I feel like I would be way overspending if I were to go with this particular version. It's such a classic style; there has to be someone other than Pottery Barn selling it. I want a squishy, comfy sectional in a very neutral beige so that I'm not limited in decor options and can change things up with curtains and pillows. (I'm thinking a pale, icy blue for the walls; I like that it can be beachy most of the year, but looks great with red at the holidays.) I found two options at our local furniture place:

Option #1:

Option #2:

Option #1 is very much like PB Basic in style, and it's pretty comfy to sit on. It comes in a million different fabrics, so finding something beigey and washable shouldn't be too tall of an order. Price is definitely better than Pottery Barn's (though that price really had nowhere to go but down). In all, I probably would have been quite happy with #1 had I not tried out #2. Option #2 is the couch of my dreeeams. It is super squishy; you sink into it and it envelops you in squishy pillows. It has a really deep seat that practically begs you to curl up on it. It too is slipcovered and has many fabric options (I totally love the white version in the showroom, but I'm probably definitely way too anal yet lazy (be perfectly clean but without my having to strip and wash the slipcovers!) for that), and it's in our price ballpark. The only problem is I'm not sure if it's too big for the room. Our family room is about 15' x 17'. Given the configuration, we have plenty of room along the 15' wall, but the couch running parallel with the 17' wall will be floating into the room a little bit, as the entry to the room is centered on the 17' wall. We can't have the couch sticking out so far that it creates an obstacle when entering the room. The "grand" version of the sofa #2 is 94", which would be perfect for the 15' wall. They also have an "apartment" size, which is 74" long. The dilemma is that the couch is 46" deep (SO COMFY). I think that, in order for the couches to be spaced appropriately perpendicular to each other, the depth of the long couch will make the shorter couch stick out too far past the doorway. There is a 53" chair-and-a-half that would work size wise, but I'm not sure it's a practical solution for maximizing seating in the room. Ideally there would be a sectional version of this sofa that solves all of my problems, but the saleswoman we are working with is out on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I just have to be patient -- my least prominent quality.

This would all be so much easier if I could get into the room with some painters tape to tape off where the couches would go and actually get a visual feel for it, but of course, we are in the painful period where we aren't allowed in the house so that the builders can play Extreme Makeover: Home Edition on our pre-closing walk through on Friday. I was kind of annoyed, since we've chosen all of the finishes and seen everything as it has been installed, but I really have no choice other than to humor them. Patience is just the name of every game up in here these days...

Anyway, couch thoughts?

Workation?

I do not normally love business travel. I love the frequent flyer miles and hotel points, but in general? I prefer it when Mark is the one earning them. Business travel for me is generally kind of awkward. I'm usually flying to the middle of nowhere to audit a drug or medical device manufacturer that has no idea what it is doing, and leaving terrified to ever require any kind of medical intervention. (Haaaa, how that ship has sailed.) Best case scenario, I'm traveling alone and the companies I see aren't going to kill anyone; less rosy scenario, I'm traveling with our outside consultant to utter shitholes of which the owners are inordinately proud. I spend my day breaking the spirits of our clients (well, actually, Bob, it's not just FDA being difficult; quality systems ARE that important...), then head back to the finest Comfort Inn or Courtyard that exists in whichever cornfield/industrial park I'm in, praying that there is some sort of food establishment nearby that serves potable wine. It ain't glamorous, is what I'm saying. 

However, once a year, it seems my luck might be looking up. My company hosts a big annual meeting for all of the various defense attorneys we use, and in order to get people to attend, it's generally pretty swanky. This year's meeting was last week and it was gloooorious (please please please let this not have been the peak!). I had been dreading it, being a hater of meetings and awkward social functions and all, but it ended up being pretty damn amazing. I flew to California last week and found myself at a truly spectacular golf and spa resort. My room had a lovely private patio looking out on the cypress and jacaranda trees, with a little walkway down to one of the gorgeous pools. The furnishings were insane -- giant marble bathroom with a super deep soaking tub, marble shower, tv in the bathroom, giant king bed with Oprah's Italian linens, a ridiculous gilt frame for the bedroom tv. 

The meetings started with a cocktail reception the night I arrived, after which I grabbed an extra glass of wine on my way out and headed to my giant, fluffy bed. We had breakfast on Thursday morning, then a full day of presentations. Oh -- and by full day, I mean we started at 8, were done by 2 and I was at the pool by 2:30. 

The pool was spectacular as well. I grabbed a towel and headed for a chair, only to hear one of the pool boys chasing me down. "Madam! Madam! Please, let me get for you a chair cover!" Seriously, they have little towels with hoods on them that fit snugly over the top of the chair cushion so you never have falling-down-towel issues. By the time I was settled, he was back with a glass of ice water and some frozen grapes. A little while later, just as I was starting to feel a little warm, he reappeared to ask if he might bring me another beverage. Why, yes, kind sir! I asked for something fruity with rum and minutes later he was back with a caipirinha. I (heart) him.  

Thursday night was our conference dinner, which again started with cocktails and was followed with a very tasty buffet. My coworker and I escaped by 8:15, again nabbing some wine to go, and I headed back to my giant, fluffy bed. Friday was even better -- we started at 9 and were done before noon. I had a lovely room service lunch on my patio, then headed down to the spa, as one of the firms was treating us to spa services. I had an outstanding facial, then soaked in the relaxation whirlpool. 

I headed back to the pool for a bit, promptly destroying my lovely facial with sunscreen and loving every second. I had a lovely night in my amazing room, sipping chardonnay on my patio, then soaking in a bath with rose petals and enjoying another room service special (big fan o' room service here and Mark haaaaates it, so I take advantage when I can). The only down side was that I had to go home the next day (after room service breakfast on the patio, of course). Siiiigh...

OH -- my very favorite things? Housekeeping was ON TOP of all electrical cords. Hair dryer, chargers, computer cable -- didn't matter. If there was a loose cord during one of their twice daily visits, it got wound up and tied with a gold ribbon. For real, every time. It was ADORABLE. They also left either chocolate covered Oreos or little boxes of truffles as the turn down chocolates. HEAVEN. 

Anyway, my husband is a wonderful guy, but he is super not into luxury hotels, and I love love them. The rarity has kind of made me appreciate them more, so I soaked it up while I could. And even better -- on someone else's dime! Ohhh, if only all business trips were like this...

I may have spoken too soon...

So, last time around, we talked about my deluuuusions, and rest assured, they were nothing more. This month was a bust -- a very long and expensive bust. I remained devoted to my hopelessly hopeful delusions right up until the moment my nurse called with the news, despite testing out the trigger and taking a series of glaringly negative home tests. I had my two favorite monitoring nurses to chat with during the blood draw, and they laughingly called me a "home test cheater," saying that this was a relatively early blood test and I may have just tested too early at home. Deep down I knew, but I played along. I always feel like I have to be super chipper when my main nurse calls with the bad news, too. She feels bad delivering it, so I always overcompensate, like I never expected the thousands of dollars of crazy making hormones to result in a real, live baby or anything, so no need to worry about me, I'm fiiiiiine!

We're taking a breather this cycle, and I'm definitely ok with that. Last cycle was particularly trying for some reason; maybe it was the signs, maybe it was selling our house and the rapidly impending move on top of all of the drugs and monitoring. Regardless, the breather is kind of out of our hands, and here's why. You know how last time I mentioned that I had craploads of antral follicles and Mark's analysis was tip top? Yeah, about that... 

Mark busted his shoulder while skiing about 4 1/2 years ago (Christmas '08 -- he was totally showing off on his first ski trip with me and bit it hard while attempting to slide down some sort of skiing balance beam thingy). Rather than going to the doctor after the pain wouldn't resolve, he just continued to build houses and play softball and renovate our house and do any number of things to irritate his ARTHRITIS AND PARTIALLY TORN ROTATOR CUFF, all the while bitching about how much his shoulder hurt. It was not at all infuriating and I was the picture of sympathy the whole time. (LIES.) Anyway, in a softball game a few weeks ago, he threw the ball and the pain in his shoulder kind of exploded (ROTATOR CUFF. TOOOORN!). 

It was enough to make him schedule a doctors appointment, and while he was there, he mentioned that he had been feeling tired a lot, earning himself a nice blood panel. Interestingly enough, the blood results came back that his testosterone was low, which could certainly cause fatigue, but also a whole mess of Science Baby issues. I called my nurse to see what his levels were during our intake testing and she said that because his analysis was great, they did not test his testosterone; they do that only when there is an issue with the semen analysis. Long story still long, we have no idea if the low T is accurate (his blood was drawn in the afternoon and testosterone needs to be tested first thing in the morning), and if it is, whether that is having an effect on Science Baby and the lack thereof. He has an appointment next week with a urologist recommended by my doctor, so we'll see what the deal is and then formulate a new plan. There's no sense in jumping into another cycle until we figure this out. I'm kind of leaning toward IVF at the moment, especially since it's covered by state mandate while I'm still on Mark's policy for the next six months, but right now we just have to be patient and wait to see what the doctors say. 

I wish patience were something I knew how to do...

(The business trip to heaven on earth I am currently on is helping. Remind me to tell you about it, because whoa. WHOA. Gotta run -- had my rose petal bath and room service dinner; now it's time for a nightcap of port and the little box of truffles left on my pillow.)

Pretty sure I'm setting myself up for devastation here...

I try not to be a “signs” person – I’m in the business of rules and analysis; I’m supposed to know better. My husband is an engineer and thus practically a robot. Seriously. When his mother was diagnosed with a recurrence of breast cancer (it was found very early and resolved surgically, she is doing great, thank God), his response was, “Well, there’s really nothing to worry about until we have more information.” It may as well have been, “Beep boop beep beep boop.” Signs, not unexpectedly, cause him to roll his eyes. Well, unless they are Red Soxian in nature, in which case he wears his lucky ties to work on game days and is willing to sacrifice his formerly-lucky hat on a bonfire bbq grill at the torturous end of a miserable season. Girly signs hold no water for him, though.

I generally try to be all zen about the baby stuff; we are working with excellent doctors, doing all we can medically, and it will happen when it happens. Actually, I have the fine ladies of the internet to thank for that relatively healthy attitude. I’ve been reading ‘round these parts for close to a decade, following people down some very dark roads, but amazingly, not one of those ladies is without some form of the family she hoped for, despite the long journey, sometimes to hell and back. Knowing so many of these difficult personal histories is oddly comforting, and it helps in keeping perspective. It might be a long wait, and a more painful path than I would ever wish on my worst enemy, but in the end, there is (more often than not) joy. 

(You have no idea how often I pray that is not just naiveté talking.) 

But here is the dilemma of my discontent: I am seeing Siiiiiigns about the current cycle we’re working through, and it is causing my hopes to soar, despite my every attempt to keep them suppressed zen-like. Although I have a crap endocrine system, things are not entirely hopeless over here. There is no male factor to worry about and I have a ridiculous number of antral follicles, so at least we’re lucky enough to have material to work with. The tricky bit, though, is that because there are so many follicles (and I have no desire to be the next Octomom), ovulation induction is a delicate dance. There needs to be sufficient stimulation to produce one or two mature follicles, but no more than one or two, and of course, I am a slow responder. It takes many days (and dollars – SO MANY DOLLARS) of meds in order to get to that point. Last cycle, things went haywire and I ended up with two mature follicles and way too many not-quite-mature follicles, and the cycle was cancelled. It was really disappointing both because of all of the money wasted on meds and because it was costing us three weeks before we could start the next cycle. Where there were so many maturing follicles and a climbing E2 level, my doctor ordered a round of birth control to calm everything down and hopefully keep any cysts from forming. 

However, during those three weeks of feeling like nauseated garbage, I started contemplating the what-ifs of the next cycle. Knowing when I would end the pill, I guesstimated a Cycle Day 1, figured in the approximately 3 weeks of meds before triggering, and added 38 weeks, which brought me to mid-February. Turns out I was pretty close on my guesstimates, as my nurse is now predicting a trigger mid-week next week. And there we have The Sign: assuming this were to work out, the hypothetical baby (we affectionately call him/her “Science Baby”) would be due on or about February 12^th.

I don’t know if any of you have experienced this, but I have birthday clusters in my life. The two most serious relationships I have had have birthdays two days apart and two days from my sister’s. Two of my best college friends were born six days apart. My birthday is the day before my dad’s. And here’s the kicker: I have FIVE very close friends, including the two who are my sisters-from-other-mothers, all of whom were born between February 12^th-19^th, with two on February 12^th alone. I think astrology in general is utter crap (I am the least Leo-y Leo to ever walk the earth), but there has to be something to this, right? 

And just like that, my analytical brain goes directly to a constant loop of “IT WAS MEANT TO BEEEEE. THAT’S WHEN MY PEOPLE ARE BORN. THE CANCELLATION HAPPENED SO THINGS WOULD BE READY WHEN THE RIGHT LITTLE PERSON WAS READY. IT WAS MEANT TO BEEEEEEEEE.” I catch myself thinking about what I will be doing in a year, and looking around Science Baby’s room in the new house picturing where the crib and glider will go, looking out of the window I will look out while I rock her (Science Baby is a she in my delusions, of course). It is as un-zen-like as I have been in a long, long time, and I really need it to just STOP.

 
Otherwise? It is going to suck even more than usual when the negative shows up this time around.