Recurrent chemical pregnancies (A delightful holiday tale!)

This is a weird and hard post to begin and complete, so I'm going to take the burden off myself to make it perfect or even memorable and just throw down some words. I know I ate up anything I could find on this subject, so maybe some little thing I write might help somebody, somewhere.

It was really easy to get pregnant the first time. I wanted a baby, so we did what you do and on the second month I was knocked up. And it stuck and she came out big and healthy and that was that.

When I was ready to try again, in September of 2011, I assumed the process would be roughly the same. I was a little older and Clay had gone through chemo and I was certainly stressed, so maybe it would take a few extra months?

After probably three cycles of trying, it happened. But almost as soon as the line turned dark, it faded. It was a chemical pregnancy. It was jarring and it freaked me out. Even though chemicals are really common, I had this gut feeling that this was the beginning of a longer process. We were living in the rental house in Westport and it was Christmastime and I Googled a million different searches to read about what to expect ("AM I NOW BARREN") but not the fun kind of what to expect.

I eventually shook it off and we went back to trying. In May 2012 I got pregnant again. Ooo, perfect: Another February baby! And they'd be three years apart exactly, which was the age difference I'd wanted. This time I went to the doctor for a blood test because I was interested in my HCG levels. The day after my missed period I was only at an 18, which is really low. (It should be in the 100-1000 range...) They were all "it might stick!" but I knew it wouldn't. Just like before, three days after my missed period the line was gone and it was over.

I started to panic a little/a lot. I got hooked up with a reproductive endo who told me there was probably nothing wrong with me, that these things just happen. He ran a bunch of tests, took a bunch of blood, and checked out my uterus. And hey oh! There was a big polyp in there! So I had a surgery in September 2012 to remove it. I was so excited that there was this actual, concrete problem. It had to be the reason.

Through all this, I felt so isolated. I already had a kid so I felt like I couldn't legitimately complain. It had only been about a year of trying, so that wasn't that bad either. I didn't know anyone who'd gone through this so I didn't know who to talk to. Clay didn't seem bothered and didn't want to discuss it. So many people around me were onto their second or third babies, but I felt like I had to make up reasons why I wasn't. "I've always wanted a big spacing!" "It's so nice to have sleep finally!" "I know it'll work out!" But inside I was 100%, all-the-time freaking out.

After my surgery, I had two quick pregnancies. October and then November of 2012. Both ended exactly three days after my missed period. I'd now completely lost faith in the second line on a test and couldn't believe that some people posted the picture immediately after taking it. Or announced it right away. It seemed insane and so naive.

I felt so in limbo and so sad. I didn't want to buy cute clothes because what if I got pregnant and my body changed? I didn't want to look for a job because what if I got pregnant? I didn't really want to do anything because I couldn't think about anything else. I was obsessed (o-b-s-e-s-s-e-d), but felt like I completely had to hide my obsession. I dealt with it all very privately and worked to perfect my answers to all the inevitable "do you want another?" questions. I felt awful because I wasn't working, my whole role was full time mother, and yet I felt like I wasn't doing "enough" (whatever that means!) in terms of mothering. Because I couldn't grow another baby.

There were all sorts of women who I (admittedly insanely) felt were showing me up. Like Clay's ex-girlfriend who was working full time in a fancy job and had just had her third baby -- and I felt like a complete failure. What the hell was I doing? She wanted to have brunch with us, to bring over the new baby, and I just could not handle it. I avoided people, I stopped following pregnant people on Instagram, I told myself terrible things.

I stopped going to the reproductive endo because his next move was IVF and I just wasn't ready yet. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I wanted to try something alternative first.

So after reading a lot of positive experiences about it, I started acupuncture in January of 2013. I told myself I'd do four months of it, not worry too much about trying in the meantime and go from there. I went once a week until April and hated every minute of it (though I did love the actual acupuncturist, she was amazing), but I could feel subtle changes in my body. When I got my period, they felt like they used to pre-Harper. I won't go into graphic details, but I just felt like my old, super hormonal self.

Toward the end of treatment, I went to see a second reproductive endo, this time one I really liked. I wanted to make sure I had every blood test possible to make sure I really was starting on a clean slate after acupuncture. I got 20 vials of blood taken and a lot of extra blood sugar work because my blood sugar had come back a little strange. While I waited for the results and my next appointment in June, there was a well-timed marital encounter in late May 2013.

Just nine days later, in early June, when my friend was over with her two kids and 12 weeks pregnant with her third, I noticed how sore my chest was. That's not a symptom I get monthly -- wasn't even a symptom I had while pregnant with Harper -- so I thought hmmm? When Harper was in bed that night I drove way too far to find a Dollar Tree so I could stock up on a thousand pee strips and obsess over faint, faint lines. Except that when I hurried into my bathroom and took the test, the line was definitely not faint, definitely not a maybe. On just nine days past ovulation it came up immediately and was super, super dark. Say wha?

And that was Bea.

They think I was probably pregnant with twins to start with. They saw a weird undeveloped blob on an early sonogram and my HCG levels were through the roof from an early, early stage. (64,000 at my first appointment -- I think they were looking for 1,000-5,000.) It would explain the really dark, early test and why I got morning sickness before I even missed my period - - which coincided perfectly with a 10-day writing seminar I took at Yale. I kept dry heaving during panels of editors and weeping uncontrollably over waffles in the dining hall. Of course the whole time I kept taking those Dollar Tree tests in my dorm bathroom, expecting them to fade at any minute. But! Soon the test line was darker than the control and I just kept getting sicker and sicker, depressingly unable to enjoy the Shake Shack that was within walking distance.

And as long as that whole, lonesome journey had felt -- it was suddenly over. I was going to have the two kids I wanted. All that junk in the past was just junk in the past.

I have no idea what caused those four chemical pregnancies, or what took me almost 2 years to get pregnant. And I don't know if the four months of acupuncture helped (I really think it did -- but I'll never know how or why) or maybe the fact I got a root canal done the week before I got pregnant or that I lost 5 pounds a few months before. Was it because I started going forward with life plans -- taking a weekend away with girlfriends in New York, doing the Yale thing? Was it nothing and just time passing would have solved it all? Don't know, don't know, don't know.

I do know that what I went through (not the chemical part, exactly, I think that's kinda weird still) is not uncommon at all. So many women have a tough time getting pregnant -- either the first time or second time or third time or anytime. For all the people out there who brag "my husband just has to LOOK AT ME and I'm pregnant!" there are just as many thinking "NOT ME!"

And I know that sometimes when you're in something like infertility it can feel murky and dark for so, so long. But looking back, it wasn't really the longest or the worst and it somehow just passed. As time always seems to. I wish I hadn't been so hard on myself, I wish I'd seen how much I was doing for Harper, and how it gave me time to write more and sleep a bit more and have some great adventures. (Spain and Disney and Chicago and New Haven!)

(And now I feel like I'm writing Oprah's What I Know for Sure column...)

I know that the people who seem like they have it all together probably don't. They're feeling stressed by too many kids maybe. Or a career they're unsure of. Or their marriage is rocky or their parents aren't well or they're just plagued by typical and boring shortcomings like the rest of us. We have no idea what's going on behind others' walls and it's a waste to worry about it. Off with your head, Pinterest and Instagram!

It can be hard to hear "it'll be okay!" from someone on the other side of this, so I'll resist the urge to go there. But I do hope anyone treading these waters knows they are definitely not alone and they're definitely not crazy for feeling crazy or obsessed or worried. It's all normal and it's all life and I guess I just want to say -- I hear you and hang in there.

I spent the weekend in Brooklyn

The girls and I won't move into our apartment until a few days after Christmas, but we spent the weekend there to get Harper excited about her new room/bed/bedspread and to help me see what's missing from the apartment (all of our things that aren't furniture).

Some observations:

1) I have been living in strange and suspended animation out here in the boons. I went walking with Bea in the carrier a few different times around the neighborhood -- to get coffee or groceries or just look at stuff -- and I would suddenly catch myself acting a total fool. Smiling at, like, rooftops? Or chuckling, shoulders shaking, at something a crazy person selling flasks said. I was almost on a manic high from the combo of real! live! people!/lights/tiny-dogs-in-sweaters/constant coffee access/men in crazy fur hats and couldn't believe I'd waited so long to live in a city again. *hitch kick and a Mary Poppins song*

2) I dragged us to see the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree and decorated windows. At 6:00 PM. On a Saturday night. With two overtired tiny people. It was madness and there were so many Santas ("Um, mom? I just saw four girl Santas? I mean Mrs. Clauses, I guess...") but it still thrilled me that that's a (relatively easy) thing I can just go do.

3) Both girls had their first NY Subway ride. Mixed results. And I remembered, from my many years in Boston, how much I haaaaate being bundled in winter gear and smushed inside a train. The sweat trickling down and the static hair and just so, so hot and no room to take any of it off. PANIC. 

This reminds me that senior year of college at BU, I had a few Psych classes with this one girl. She was Japanese and so pretty and pulled together and chic. She had a certain backpack and certain jeans and these black lace-up shoes from Diesel (do they still even exist?) and I would stare at this outfit and know true happiness would reveal itself to me if I had it. So I went out and bought every single part of it and straight up wore it, too. THAT IS SO WEIRD. And also really unlike me. I still have the backpack and still love it. And okay, true happiness didn't splash upon me, but I did look pretty cool. For 2003 at least.

4) A 5th floor walkup with an elevator is cool/fine/sure/nice view until the elevator breaks. *hospital emoji*

Grace in small things

I used to do these posts -- waaaay back in the day -- where I'd list 5ish things from the day that I felt grateful for. It was a reminder to focus on the little-but-good things that are sometimes too easy to forget. Especially important during times like oh, uh moving when change/transition/chaos feel like the norm.

1)  My INSANE (but truly beautiful IRL!) white, flocked, artificial Christmas tree. Never thought a fakey could bring me more joy than real, but oh ho ho yes. I love it so hard. Harper and I keep hugging it, overcome by tree love.

2) The way Bea scoot/crawls around. Kind of like a crab. Kind of like a weird spider. Also a turtle.

3) My new long-sleeve tees from J. Crew. That were on major discount. Soft and lush, but also sturdy. I bought three and am having a hard time putting on anything else.

4) Looking at Bea's vaccines all typed out on a sheet. It's like my mothering body of work.

5) Frozen cheeseburgers made unfrozen in a skillet, squished between rye toast. Just yeah.

6) Harper yelling "I just love you 159!"

On writing, part 2

Last week was a hard week that punched me in the face a few separate times. I kept wanting to escape into my writing to deal with it and use my anxious energy for good, but the project next at bat was that dealing-as-a-cancer-spouse book idea. And you know what? Turns out that's not something I want to dive into when I've finally found a delicious and sacred hour to write. Because every time I've tried to sit down and really get rolling, my whole body/soul/mind/breakfast recoils.

And then I was reading one of my 1200 Buddhist/mindfulness books this morning and a passage was focusing on, what else, living in today and only today instead of yesterday and all the old yesterdays and hark! I realized no, no, no -- this isn't for me.

And anyways, yo, what I need to push myself to do is write fiction. It's why I did that summer writing program at Yale (the very week I found out I was pregnant with Bea -- oooohhh there were some very queasy editorial panels I sat through) -- to find out if I could actually do fiction. Like at all. To see if I could do more than write about my life in short bursts. And I came away after those 10 days feeling like I could, like I can.

But it's a lot harder for me (I think for anyone) to sit down and work on a story than to sit down and bang out a quick anecdote. So I fight it a little and look for other things to do (there are just so many closets to clean!) when all I really want is to write a great -- or good, I'll take good! -- story.

I want to work on a world that I'll want to escape into when it's time to work. Like Mma Ramotswe's Botswana or sure okay it's not a book but it's heaven -- Stars Hollow. I love that kind of stuff and I seek it out like crack and I want to try my best to make my own. (Insert Walter White joke here.)

Writing about writing is another delay tactic of sorts, sure, but who cares. I feel a weight off my shoulders typing this post because: Do not have to write sad cancer book! Can write warm and hopefully funny novel book! Tarzan happy and drink hot cocoa under covers now!

Oh and coda: Behold my baby who turned 9 months this weekend! I don't type about her nearly as much as I did Harper on my old blog, but trust me when I say she is a w-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l baby. Funny and curious and loud and loving and just happy. My tiny bumble Bea.

Limits

In my San Francisco newlywed days, I used to walk to Whole Foods, pick out and pay for 30 dollars of groceries, and then walk back to our apartment. The dollar limit was for two reasons: 1) Half of our two person unit was gone Monday through Thursday of every week and we just didn't need a lot of food and 2) I'd learned the hard way that I could only carry 30 dollars worth of loot.

My first walking trip to that Whole Foods (affectionately referred to as "WH" in our house because for YEARS I abbreviated it that way in texts, not once realizing it should be WF... ) had me all excited and jazzed to be Euro style, with my walking and my canvas tote and my fresh produce getting. I would choose what struck my fancy and then whip up a locally-sourced-organically-grown-unicorn-picked meal.

Anyway. I got in there and behaved like I'd never set food in a grocery store before. Who even knows what all I bought (we were really into goji berries in days of yore), but I filled my XXL L.L. Bean tote to the brim and then some. I paid and picked it up, quickly realizing there was no way I could carry that thing home like a normal human, using straps and arms. It was much, much too heavy and there were far, far too many hills. So I dragged it home. All along the city sidewalks, up and down and over... Pull pull, pause, rearrange the eggs, pull pull, pause, now the cilantro. 

I ruined that (brand new) bag, put huge holes on the bottom and ripped some of the seams. I was so mad at myself! Also embarrassed. Also my arms were killing me.

So I learned that 90 dollars of groceries wouldn't work. But 30 could. 

I run into things like this all the time with mothering a second child. Things that used to have me choking back tears with Harper just don't take me down anymore. It took a few years, but I've started to learn my parenting limits. I don't have to tackle the grocery store and then do story time at the library and then return shoes to Target and then do housework and then drive against rush hour to meet a friend at an inconvenient park and then cook a locally sourced unicorn meal and then put a load of cloth diapers in and then and then. I was always racing against a clock, or trying to fill the hours manically, and ended up ripping a lot of metaphorical totes along the way.

Last week I had an errand to run at the Apple Store. I usually dread going to the mall in any scenario, let alone with an infant person. But then I remembered I didn't have to tack on forty eleven extra errands to the day. If I felt tired or overwhelmed (uh I'm not so much of a hothouse flower that the mall wilts my will to live, but there have been a lot of 5:00 mornings around here and adding up the preschool driving and mall driving there was going to be 2+ hours in the car), I just had to do the usual tasks and this one bonus thing. I left plenty of time to get to the mall and to park. I made sure Bea had been nursed and had solids. I used the bathroom, I fed myself, I dressed nicely, I packed my stroller. (Sure these sounds like basic things, but with baby HJ I was always in scramble/reactive mode.) 

And so? I actually found myself smiling as we walked out of the mall later that morning. I'd had fun, yo! It was a sunny day and Bea was a happy clam and I was holding a holiday coffee cup. I'd done my errand, a little window shopping, got a Starbucks, walked a bit for exercise, and enjoyed the ooohingaahing over my cute nunnerson in the pink booties. Then...left! 

Who knew, 28-year-old me? Limits! They're a thing. 

A list of Wednesday things

- NYTimes just pushed through the message "Spacecraft Lands on Comet's Surface" and I burst out laughing.

- Sitter smalltalk is the worst for me. I feel like a teenage boy nodding and smiling and saying sure, I love you, all to get some play. Wait, strike that. What I mean is, when she gets here I want to leave as quickly as possible -- I'm on the clock, woman! I've timed nursing and naps and school pick-up and all myriad things so that every minute counts. I super don't care about your kids and though I'm completely certain that makes me a monster... Seacrest out! 

- At drop-off today, I overheard two moms talking about a playdate in the works. One told the other (who would be hosting) to make sure she got "some greens" into her daughter. That kind of ruined the next 5 minutes of my life.

- It's slowly dawning on me that in 4 short weeks, I'll be home with 2 kids all the time, full time. We had yesterday off because of Veteran's Day and while in many ways our day was better than a school day (baby could take real naps, there was no morning scramble, we were all relaxed and uncrabby for the most part -- except come 4:00 when I needed to call it a night), there were a lot of hours to fill.

So I think I need to research/potentially purchase some "homeschool" books for Harper. She is very into projects and worksheets and word problems and math equations and the like, and I think our days will flow if we have a rough schedule with some definite "school" (I don't know why I keep putting that in quotes, let's roll with it) time. Are there any recommendations for such a thing/things? I'm usually disappointed with the workbooks I find out and about mainly because she whips through them too quickly, so I'm looking for something that is a challenge without being crazy hard. 

She'd probably love something where you read a book, then do some comprehension questions, then do a make-a-puppet project that ties in. While I like the idea of "tell me what you're interested in and we'll go do it!", Harper 1) seriously enjoys traditional structure 2) she's constantly doing her own weird open-ended chemistry and/or craft projects and I'll let that check the box on creative, tactile learning. Plus, I've always been very focused on incidental teaching/learning, so wherever we are or whatever we're doing there are LOTS of questions/answers and discussion. LOTS. 

Anyway. Any and all tips are welcomed. 


- I'm guessing this will change once I'm in the BK, but I've always found home coffee to be preferable to store/cafe/restaurant coffee BUT store/cafe/restaurant lattes to be everything worth living for. Am I visiting the wrong coffee establishments? It would be nice to enjoy the cheaper of the two options while erranding. 

Bye. 

Zzzz

So you know how my blog title might seem like it's about living on a ranch-ish property? I can see where you'd get that. But actually, no, it's from my postpartum days with Bea, when I realized how insane this house is when you're trying to care for a 4-year-old, an infant, and a crazy Frenchie all day everyday. It's up and down and over and down and up and across and yelling "I can't hear you from any other room than the one you're in, Harper, but I'll be RIGHT THERE TO WIPE YOU! I'm just taking Georgie out/changing Bea's diaper/putting clothes in the dryer/peeing!" And then scrambling and sliding down stairs to find her.

I started saying I really wanted a reasonable ranch. You know -- mid-century style, easy breezy one-floor livin'. Give the kids a bath and then saunter to their rooms and then saunter to the kitchen and then saunter to the living room and then saunter to bed. Basically, I envisioned massive quantities of sauntering.

No shouting through the ancient walls to get heard or tripping over millions of staircases or strategically placing multiple space heaters and keeping a woodstove roaring from 6 AM to keep the temp above 55. Did I mention the dog who needs to be let out 175 times a day to very particular spots of land? Too much, I say!

This is all the definition of #firstworldprobs, of course, but I'm just zapped. It's beautiful here and sometimes magical and would be just lovely at a different stage of life, I'm sure. It's basically a great house to visit, but not to manage. Because for now, for me, I am constantly in a scramble from cold room to cold room, trying to keep things together and the kids happy (with their very different, 4-years-apart needs) and the dog fed and the husband fed and maybe not myself fed since I still have 7 pounds to lose and it's exhausting in this layout. #crymeariver #iknow

This is one of the reasons I am so excited about apartment living. I know we'll be cramped at times, I know it's going to come with its own list of frustrations and limitations, but it's going to be a better fit for me. For us, I hope. I know how to keep an apartment clean. I can keep a kitchen and one bathroom and a few extra spaces tidy. I'll have all that on lockdown and won't feel like I'm always one (or one hundred) steps behind on housework.

And! I won't have to leave Harper alone in remote corners of the house while I do baby things or George things. How will we ever adjust to communicating without (kind but very loud) yelling...?

Anyways. I'm working extra hard these days because on top of reg cleaning maintenance, I'm pushing to clear this house of extra stuff (there's a lot) and organizing what we want to take with to Brooklyn or donate or leave behind. I've always got a closet to clean or drawer to organize or box of clothes to sift through and I've always got a tiny baby Niecy Nash who's giving me sass while I do it. It's a strangely satisfying kind of work and I'm feeling more and more on top of things, but by the end of the day there's little left for anything too fun or soul/brain oriented (like book writing!) I'm okay with focusing on the mundane for now, though. Just knowing it's not forever keeps me buoyant.

All of this is to say: I'm tired, but excited -- and I'll be happy when the stuff's gone, I'm in my reasonable Brooklyn ranch, and there's a pocket of time for me (and probably a cronut).