Saturday, February 9, 2013


Greedy. Spoiled. Ungrateful. These are the names I call myself sometimes when I start to get frustrated. Not my daily frustration over the lack of finding something that I actually want to wear in my closet, or my frustration over not being able to play an entire Wii game of Just Dance with my kids without pulling every muscle in my body.

This frustration has been constant for more than two years, and I hesitate to blog about it, for the fear that some of you may start to associate me with those names above as well. Since December 2010, we've been struggling with secondary (or third-onary, would be more appropriate) infertility. We are twice blessed, with two perfect, healthy, amazing (and totally exhausting) babies. A girl and a boy. Six and four years old. Smart, beautiful, funny...I could go on and on (as any mama could!) with lists if adjectives describing my pride and joy(s), and I can start to almost convince myself that we should stop while we're ahead, and to stop being, well, greedy.

But the thing is, I don't want to. Don't want to stop, don't want to give up my hopes of being a family of five, or my dreams of adding one more little clown to our three ring circus.

When Luca was just shy of two years old, I found out I was pregnant and we were over the moon excited...but at around seven weeks, I suffered a miscarriage a few days before Christmas. It was sad and horrible, and a dark few days, but we were able to come through to the other side with our faith, and the love and support of our family and friends. (You can read that story here...

For the next year or so, we were TTC (take a guess...anyone? Bueller? Trying To Conceive), to no avail. Believe me, and I'm sure many of you ladies and gentlemen can agree, the TRYING part isn't nearly as fun as it sounds when it involves charts and body temperatures, 24 hour windows of opportunity and digital tests. It's stressful, especially when it's not working. When you are in full Operation Baby mode, there is nothing worse than dropping $20 on a pack of Clearblue Easy and seeing those dirty little words "Not Pregnant" pop up.

Finally, my doctor suggested that I have my tubes flushed- which has a big, long fancy name that I'm not going to bore you with, but basically it's like having Roto-Rooter for your Fallopian tubes. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant experience, but I went into the hospital well armed...aka I popped four Advil and two Vicodin an hour before the procedure, and wallah!  It wasn't nearly as bad as Google made it out to be.

The best part? It was a success! A few weeks later, I finally got a BFP. We decided to keep it more hush-hush this time until we were certain that all was ok. Six week appointment went well...then the eight week ultrasound, not so much. There was an empty sac. Which basically means there was a fertilized egg, but no baby. I spent the next week crying, praying, and bargaining (I promise I'll never yell at my kids again...I promise I will go to church every week...I'll start watching more Duggars, and less Kardashians). A week later we went back to the doctor, and there on the screen, was an amazing, beautiful little heartbeat...beating at 140 bpm. The baby was still measuring smaller than he/she should have been, but my doctor was very optimistic, and so was I.

I sooooo needed that optimism. It was the first week of school, we were in the process of selling our house and moving into our new home, everything in my life was stressful during September 2012. I wanted more than anything for this to all to just. work. out.

And then, September 13th comes along. I am a total Triskaidekaphobe. If there is $13 in my wallet (highly unlikely...I usually have about 45 cents and my debit card), I will take a dollar out. My TV volume has to either be on level 12 or 14. So when I realized that I scheduled my next ultrasound on the dreaded 13th, I had a bad feeling. Unfortunately, my intuition was right...the baby's heartrate had dropped to 76 bpm, and hadn't grown since the week before. Crying on the phone on my way home,  I got rear-ended, which was actually a blessing in disguise. The culprits were a lovely older Italian couple, on their way from grocery shopping, who offered me a Fudgsicle and distracted me with stories about their dogs and their arthritis for almost two hours while we waited for the police to come and do an accident report.

Needless to say, September was not my favorite month...but again, after grieving, and focusing on the positive, life did go on, as it should. And now? Well, I wish this post was my way of announcing to the world that we were expecting baby #3... but it's not. We are still on the baby train, and as much as I try not to make it a daily focus, it is always in the back of my mind. I could tell you what cycle day I'm on, faster than what the date is (36!). I think in days, weeks and due dates. Friends of ours asked if we wanted to do the Warrior Dash this summer, and my first thought was, if I got knocked up this month, how far along would I be? Turning 35 this past December was near tragic for me...all I kept thinking was that now if when I have another baby, I will be a geriatric pregnancy. You KNOW a man made up that term...a woman would never refer to herself as a geriatric. Unless she was like, 102.

What's in store for our future? We will have to wait and see. My doctors have prescribed Progesterone, since they think I am lacking enough of it to have a healthy pregnancy. My first two healthy, uneventful pregnancies? Either miracles (as all babies are...) or perhaps something in my body's chemistry has just changed, and I need to change along with it. Either way, we are rolling with the punches and hoping that our baby dreams come true. But however this story ends, I know in my heart, that we are already blessed beyond my wildest hopes and dreams.

 Greedy? Maybe. But who wouldn't want more of this?

I do have to mention that throughout all of this baby mama drama, my family is undergoing a major baby boom. My sissy Missy had her first baby, AJ, in December, and I could just stare at him for hours...such a mushy, chubby, little ball of love! My brother, Chris, and my sister-in-law, Marlene are expecting a little man in March, and my sister Karen and her husband Keith are welcoming TWINS this May! For a few weeks, all four of us were pregnant at the same time...and when I fell out of that group, I was devastated thinking about how I would survive watching everyone's bellies grow, while mine didn't (unless I overindulged on pizza and wine...quite possible). How would I get through planning and attending three baby showers, knowing that I should be looking forward to bringing home my own new little bundle of joy as well? Honestly, I prayed. A LOT. I asked God to give me strength and to banish all bitterness or jealousy I might have been feeling...and my prayers were thankfully answered. I can truly say that I have had nothing but joy in my heart watching everyone get fat excited for their families to grow, and Aunt Jen can't wait to squeeze, snuggle, and sugar up all the new little ones and then send them back home!!