Tara Katy E
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Feel●2019-10-15●

Maybe Baby

And then there was Charlie.

...and 1 baby boy joining our crazy little family at the end of January (...probably in a snowstorm).

I knew the second I was 'pregnant ' (until proven otherwise); there was no surprise, no question, no suspense, no real wondering. I drank a lot of water, got given a sedative, propped up on a bed, shown a picture of some blobs that were supposed to be the thawed hatching embryo of choice (the best of the best), and watched on a screen as the doctor nestled it (as he described it) in the peanut butter layer between the pieces of bread walls of my uterus. I laid there for five minutes, finally got to pee, and then we got back in the car, I put the beagle back on my lap, and passed out as we drove through the mountains down to San Diego.

Fun fact: on day 5/6 after fertilization before it implants, the embryo hatches out of the egg 's shell... kind of like a chicken.

Two days later I took a four-hour nap as the crippling exhaustion set in. Four days later, because I have no self-control, I watched a faint pink line appear, confirming that, at least for now, that little hatching embryo had stuck.

I wish I could say I was happy - I'd spent the past year-and-a-half in doctors' offices, sick and tired in the never-ending first trimester, hemorrhaging blood on a hotel floor, in labor for a dead baby, and then forking over thousands of dollars for the 'privilege ' of having an ultrasound wand stuck inside me to look at my insides, stab myself in the stomach (and have Keith stab me in the butt) every morning and evening for months, grow up an army of eggs and little embryos - but I wasn't.

I was terrified. All I could see was the inevitable loss and the synchronicity of the timing (only 12 days ahead of the last time), that first transfers shouldn't work and it was just a fluke, that none of this was worth it, and that I should've just given up from the start.

While I was detached and emotionless during the medical processes, I was suddenly overcome with sheer envy that pregnancy is something that 'just happens' for so many people, and anger at my body, and our lack of insurance coverage, and that we had to go through any of this for something that shouldn 't be this hard.

Pregnancy after infertility alone is daunting because the stakes are so high; throw loss in there, and it's just a mind-fck.

While at 19 weeks and through seven ultrasounds that have yet to yield anything other than a very normal-looking, very active tiny human (despite my prepping for catastrophe), it's finally getting easier - the first few months were rough. On the day-to-day, I was fine (aside from the three months of nonstop nausea/projectile vomiting and on-going extreme exhaustion), and wasn't obsessing over loss to the point that it was all-consuming, that initial fear was (and is) still there. The first ultrasound I had, the PA had to physically hold my legs still because I was shaking so badly, and when she left the room, I burst into tears. I woke up one morning to find bright red tissues in the toilet, and even after being told it was from Keith's bloody nose in the middle of the night (!!!!), I went into a full-blown PTSD panic attack and was that crazy patient who scheduled a last-minute appointment even though I'd just been there and nothing was wrong. Until recently, I've been petrified to tell anybody or talk about any of it, because in addition to feeling like any word will jinx things, I'm terrified of letting others down if something goes wrong. I 've finally given in to buying clothes that have stretchier waistbands, because the desire to not sausage my stomach is now outweighing the fear of accepting this is actually happening.

I don't write any of this to paint a doom-and-gloom picture, or give the impression that I 'm miserable or unhappy or not excited - this is just the under-layer of the superficial 'Yay Baby!' reality. While most couples get babies with little effort, and pregnancy is immediate joy and blissfully void of any other thought than that in nine months we'll get a healthy human, there's another minority that doesn't have that experience. 1 in 8 couples struggle with infertility, and 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage or stillbirth - and as a general society, we still don't openly acknowledge that without an undercurrent of shame. Openly airing that pregnancy after longer, harder roads is emotionally complex (on top of already not exactly being a physical walk in the park) is met with confusion and awkwardness, because it doesn 't fit the emotional spectrum it 'should '.

And so, while day-by-day, my fear and anxiety is lessening overall and has given way slowly to excitement as the dominant feeling (I actually want to look at baby things! I can feel him moving! I finally look sort of pregnant!), I'm still guarded and hesitant. I know it will continue to get easier over the next 20 weeks, and because time is flying by rapidly, before I know it I'll be faced with that lifelong sliver of anxiety that comes with love and the desire to keep another human happy and healthy and safe when this crazy next stage of life begins.

We're crossing all fingers and toes and taking it day-by-day, but hopefully we'll be starting 2020 with a little guy along for the ride.