Shades of Bridget Jones

On Saturday, I felt a bit like dear Bridget when the neighborhood women and I gathered to ooh and ahh over the newest baby on the street. Cameron's mom got married in her late 30s after a marathon of internet dating, and then needed fertility intervention to have her two kids. The other women, moms all, got married very young and had less than no trouble getting pregnant (more like trouble preventing their pregnancies).

The Young Moms swooned over the baby. Then they started joking about how their ovaries hurt, and speculating on the baby boom that Cameron's arrival would trigger in the neighborhood. Because, you see, everyone can have babies, right? Why, certainly, no one in that very room has had trouble getting pregnant, right? Definitely not half the women in the room at that very moment, RIGHT?!?!

On the verge of tears, I got up to leave. Cameron's mom saw the look on my face and quickly tried to change the subject to something more encouraging and less... insensitive.

"Maggie, I meant to tell you! Remember my friend Camille, the one who had her son by insemination? She's engaged!"

Apparently this friend of hers, who had a child on her own three years ago when she was 39, has been swept up in a whirlwind romance with a 35-year-old she met through work. He loves her, he loves her son, the son is already calling him "Dad," and they're getting married in May.

At which point the traditionally more cluelessly insulting (truly, I don't think she means to be hurtful, I think she's just an idiot) Young Mom chimed in:
"Ooh, it's like some urban myth from Sex and the City; you always hear about women who get married in their 30s but you know they don't really exist. But now you actually know one, so maybe there is hope after all!"

I left. Cam's mom left with me, and let me have a good cry on the sidewalk before I went home. Seriously, it's like a scene from Bridget Jones, where the Smug Marrieds treat us like a different species or something.

Maybe I need more "Sex and the City" after all, and less Bridget. Certainly New York Magazine thinks this is a fine time for Singletons in New York.

Hmm, and George wants to see a movie tonight, how interesting....

(Also, the Captain checked in on me last night, but that has nothing whatsoever to do with marriage and babies, in any order.)

Baby Whisperer: my next career

I am a Baby Whisperer extraordinaire, and Auntie Maggie to countless children at home and abroad. But I always figured this was a calling, not a vocation.

Until this weekend. I just taught a seven-month-old baby to swim! First I got him acclimated to being in the water. If he got upset, we stepped out for a while, then we went right back in. Once he was calm with me holding him in the water, I put him on his back.

First I held his head with one hand and his back with the other. Then I let go of his back, but kept his head up. Then, once I saw that he was holding his face above water on his own, I slowly... let go.. of his head! And he was floating! All on his own! He was wailing a little hit, but his mother said that was the sound he makes when he's determined and trying to do something, not the upset sound.

Soon he stopped making sounds at all, and just floated. Then he started to kick! It was lovely to see.

After a bit of that, I turned him on his belly, but didn't let go. Still, he kept his face out of the water, and kept kicking. He even paddled a little!

Videos on YouTube. E-mail me and I'll send you links. I'm seriously considering "infant swim instructor" for a second career.

Afterwards, he was wiped out from working so hard, and all that excitement. We wrapped him up warm and snug, and he crashed hard in his mummy's arms. The next day, I took him on a pony ride at the horse show. We joked that I'd teach him to ride a bike next week, followed by bourbon and cigarettes.

Cloonacy

I hope Cloomydia isn't bad for a baby...

You can't afford me

Powered By Limousines For Rent


Thanks, Nina!

(I don't know, though. Considering I just went through another insemination, somehow I think I should be worth more.)

BFN

As they say on the boards. I know you're eager for news, so I'm posting from my conference (sshh).

How could I have possibly forgotten to pick up a test, you ask? Honestly, I was pretty sure it would be negative, so my subconscious must have, surprisingly, preferred taxes to bad news.

I'll try again soon, and you'll be sure to hear all about it.

Thanks again, all you darlings!

Taxed

You're all going to hate me.

I had to prep my taxes last night, and I forgot to buy a pregnancy test.

Right now I'm catching a train to New York for a conference. I will try to remember to buy a test in Penn station or somewhere, so as to have news for you all tomorrow.

And now for something completely different

While I've been writing about Very Serious Things, "living life explicitly" and perhaps Sharing Too Much, the interwebs have continued to churn out the funny. The past few days have been particularly rich.

So herewith, a selection for your amusement:

Echo Park Time Travel Mart, Barbarian Repellent

Star Wars according to a 3-year old

Monkey Star Wars

Official happy Sex and the City trailer #1

Longer, sadder, Sex and the City trailer #2

Stuff White People Like

I love New England

Jimmy Kimmel loves Ben Affleck (I point you to Gawker because they've got links to the whole history and lead-up of the gag)

For the Somervillionaires, TomCat Champion warns you of Snow Emergency

Okay, okay, and one that is related to current events, but still funny:
Handy forum abbreviations

Rollercoaster

During the night, the period/spotting/whatever it is stopped.

This morning, my temp was elevated again.

I checked the chart again, and I talked to my nurse friend, who thinks it's impossible that I would have gotten my period so early. Math is hard!

Tomorrow, I will pee on a stick. I think this is why normal people don't go public with their baby drama until the second trimester...

PS: I've been doing lots of editing and rewriting of posts, and adding of images. If this is wreaking havoc with your feed reader, I apologize. If, on the other hand, it has *not* been wreaking havoc, you might want to go back and re-read for updates and new photos. But give me a few minutes; I have a few more to add...

Hit the spot? Not....

Wednesday, I felt stirrings.

Thursday, I saw a sign, right on time.

Friday, I was still seeing spots, which was still okay.

Saturday, I started worrying. By Saturday night, the spots should have been tapering off; instead, it was continuing, maybe even increasing. (come on, if you can watch CSI, you can read this.) But only a little; I still had hope. Anyway, Saturday was just WAY too early for a period, right?

Well, sure, if you presume that I ovulated on Tuesday or Wednesday, which is what we figured. But what if I'd actually ovulated Sunday, when the pee stick first went dark?

It is also worth noting at this time that, due to my erratic sleep habits, my temp charts are consistently an inconsistent mess. Here is what a normal temp chart should look like:

That little blip on Day 10 is what happens if you don't sleep the same number of hours every night or wake up at the same time every day. But overall, that sample chart shows lower temperatures pre-ovulation, and elevated temperatures afterwards. See that big leap on day 14? That's ovulation. See that big drop on day 28? That's the beginning of menstruation. If you're actually pregnant, you don't have a drop, you stay in the hot zone.

I have the worst sleeping habits in the world. Consequently, my temp charts are on crack, all over the place. So, though my temp did rise on the morning of the insemination, who knows if that meant anything?

Whatever, I'm babbling, and prolly giving TMI for some of you.

The point is, by Sunday it sure looked like my period, complete with cramps. I curled up crying and achy on the couch all morning...

This morning? My temp plummeted. No hot zone for me. As I said, my temps are ridiculous and oscillate wildly, so I'll still pee on a stick on Wednesday -- might as well. But it looks like I'll have to keep trying. One down, three to seven more to go!

I'm not going to lie; it sucks. I've been weepy and moody and short-tempered. I'm worried about racking up the continued expenses. But I knew, barring some miracle of beating the odds, that this is what I signed on for, probably for a year or more. And so I'm prepared to stick with it.

Thank you all so so much for your support, your involvement, your excitement. Blogging cannot express what it means to me, I swear.

I probably won't Twitter hourly as Nina requested, mostly because I still don't understand how to use Twitter. But I will keep the updates coming, promise.

In honor of J. Lo

.... and all my other peep-ettes who are currently baking, or have recently produced, a sweet bun in their respective ovens:



Seriously, I know so many pregnant women and already-birthed babies, that I'm knitting baby hats non-stop these days, and I'm still way behind...

And what of my own oven? Hmm... well I guess I can't put it off anymore with talk of grammar or celebs, can I?

Reader, I did it. I went and got inseminated.

In answer to the questions posed last Tuesday:

• Yes, I had time to choose a donor. To be honest, I had been dragging on this decision for weeks, and the only way I was ever going to make up my mind was under deadline pressure anyway.
  
• Yes, the bank was indeed able to deliver in time. Though that depends on what you mean by "in time."
  
• Yes, the Jolly German was happy to see me on Wednesday.
  
• Yes, I was back in the office well before the Big Important Meeting. And fortunately, the cramping and spotting didn't start until later that night.
  
• No, I did not try with B Thursday night.

Now for the details...
I spent last Tuesday running around like a crazy woman. Somehow, between meetings at both offices, I spoke to the sperm bank and confirmed that they could deliver to the Jolly German's office on Wednesday morning, as long as both I and the doctor faxed over some paperwork. I got the forms to the JG, confirmed that he had time to see me and that everything was in order.

Only one problem: even though the LH surge happens before ovulation, it's still preferable to do the insemination on the same day you see the pink line. Reason being, idle sperm can stay viable in the uterus for around 48-72 hours, whereas an unfertilized egg only stays viable for 12-18 hours. So it's much preferable to have the sperm already there, hanging out waiting for the egg to arrive. And there was no way the sperm would arrive on Tuesday -- I hadn't even chosen the donor yet! That said, the JG still thought it was worth a try, so we forged ahead with plans for Wednesday.

But how on earth was Ms. Paralyzed by Indecision going to choose a donor?
I had been combing the donor catalogs at two different banks for months, and I could not make up my mind. Some days I liked them all, other days none were good enough. To make matters worse, one of the banks lets you build a "favorites" list for further review, but that list was not working properly. So I had been saving donor profiles for weeks, and ended up with nothing saved to review.

In between meetings, I logged on quickly, and saw that Donor of the Month had been updated. Amid all those baby pics, one sweet face leapt out at me. I checked his profile, and he sounded cute, funny, and clever. He even reminded me a bit of B in the personality department, and he was a film major! A quick call to the bank confirmed that his specimens were available for rush delivery.

The JG's office said that they would call me as soon as the package arrived Wednesday morning. My schedule was clear until the Big Meeting in the late afternoon, so all that was left to do was breathe deep, get some sleep, and wait.

Gosh, I was wishing I had someone to go with me, hold my hand, just Be There....

Remember the baby hats? I'd just finished one for my three-year-old neighbor, so I stopped by after dinner to drop it off. Her mom had the day off on Wednesday. Her mom is an Ob/Gyn. Her mom offered to come with me and hold my hand.

This was EXCELLENT. Not only did I have company and support, I also had a second set of trained eyes to make sure all went well.

I also had a FedEx tracking number. Wednesday morning, I may have brought down FedEx servers with the force and frequency of my page refreshing.

At 10:30 I got the call from the doc's office that my shipment had arrived. I told my boss I had to step out for a bit and hightailed it out of there, picking up my neighbor on the way.
As we waited for the JG in the exam room, the nurse came in with a huge shipping carton. Unopened. I had asked them to save the packaging, because I was curious, but they hadn't even looked inside!

Neighbor and I looked at each other, at the nurse, at the box. Nurse handed me scissors and said, "Here, you can do the honors and open it yourself!"

Neighbor said, "Um, you know it's frozen. You mean he hasn't defrosted it yet?"

Nurse explained that no one in the office had ever dealt with shipments of donor sperm before, so this was all new to ALL OF US. I opened the box.

It was a big liquid nitrogen vapor tank, with lots of instructions on how to safely handle the contents. We defrosted the specimen in a coffee-cup water bath, prepared a slide to check out the little swimmers, and we all went over to look at them.

Cute little swimmers! Swimming all over the place! So many! So motile! Yay!

I'll leave out the details of the moment of truth, because I know that some of you are already past your squeamishness threshold. Let me just say that I was very glad to have a friend's hand to hold on to. Definitely more pleasant to do this the traditional way. (every time one of these procedures causes my uterus to seize up in pain, I wonder how on earth I'm going to ever make it through labor...)

In the days that followed, I didn't feel anything particularly special or glowing going on. And to be honest, I wasn't surprised. When my tag-team docs reviewed my pee sticks and temperature chart, they exchanged some very serious and none too encouraging looks. They both really wished that I had arranged all this at least a day earlier, and weren't too sure that we had caught the window in time. It was very likely that the whole adventure had been a $650 dress rehearsal. Even if we had gotten the timing right, there's still only a 10% success rate for women my age, and it usually takes four to eight attempts before I should expect to actually conceive.

So I was prepared for a lack of baby magic. (This is also why the "B on Thursday?" issue turned out to be a non-issue. If I was borderline too late on Wednesday morning, then I was definitely too late by Thursday night.)

But then, during the lunar eclipse, I started to feel a little ... magical. And I started to think...
How incredibly cool, if I do indeed have a baby on my birthday -- which is Election Day, which one way or the other will definitely be historic -- to also be able to tell him that I first had stirrings of his presence during a breathtaking celestial event.

I know, call me sentimental, call me crazy even, but it's good to have hope, yes?

Yesterday, eight days after the insemination, I got a sign that sounds terrible but is actually good news:
Implantation spotting.
Right on time!

I'm not running out to order birth announcements; I still remember the odds. But I'm hopeful enough that on this Lenten Friday, I am following these guidelines that my 5-months-pregnant co-worker forwarded my way.

Per doc's instructions, I'll be taking a test next Wednesday, and I promise to let you all know how it goes.

Thrown for a loop

Warning --stream of consciousness ahead. I'm rushing between meetings and if I have to take time to write this nicely, it will never get posted.

Remember the J. Crew Catalog? And the lovely pics of my uterus? You may have noticed a dearth of news about this lately. Sorry about that. But here's the thing -- every time I try to choose a donor, or do anything else to move towards the goal, I start to hyperventilate. My lovely red-headed step-intern (actually now a fully fledged coworker who ROCKS) gave me a copy of Choosing Single Motherhood, and every time I try to read it I start to cry and have to put it down. Sometimes I look at the donors and no one is good enough, other times I like them all and want to take them all home. I even started a last-ditch effort of asking a new round of friends if they wanted to help out, with no takers.

And then there's the Boyfriend, who sometimes would love to help out, and sometimes is totally freaked about the whole thing. With him on the fence about babies and me on the fence about our long-term future, I keep deciding that it's not a good idea. And yet, I keep deciding that, as in, the decision is never final, we keep rethinking.

Every year on February 13, my mother calls me to remind me of the anniversary of my conception. Yes, she has no boundaries, but if I dig any deeper into that, I'll have to start a whole new blog. A few weeks ago, I was looking at my temperature chart/calendar, and I realized that it looked like I would be ovulating on the 13th myself this month!

How exciting! Share the anniversary! Share a birthday with my child! How wacky, how fated, how perfect! But then the waterworks and conflict started, and here we are one the 12th and I have not procured any sperm.

Honestly, I thought it didn't matter. The Jolly German has me peeing on sticks, to more precisely pinpoint ovulation than the temperature chart can, and it looked like I'd gone early this month, over the weekend.

Last night, with the long weekend approaching, I suddenly decided that I really wanted to see the boyfriend, that I couldn't wait until next month when we go on vacation. Also, I really wanted to have the sex with him.
RIGHT.
AWAY.

Don't get me wrong, I adore him. It's just that I can usually deal just fine when we're apart. But last night, if I could have jumped into a plane right then to go be with him, I would have. And that kind of transcontinental urgency? Yes, that is atypical.

I booked a flight for Thursday night (aww, Valentine's Day).

This morning, I peed on another stick. I usually do this for a day or two after ovulation, just to confirm the waning end of the pink stripes.

Holy God.

There resulted the widest, darkest, deepest pink stripe I have yet to see in three months of stick-peeing. There have been months when I couldn't tell a difference at all in a week's worth of stripes. This is definitely NOT one of those months.

I have never seen a clearer sign. I was right, I am ovulating on the 13th. (The sticks give you a day or two heads-up, here, read about it.)

So, now the questions:

• Do I have time to choose a donor?
  
• Will the bank be able to deliver in time?
  
• Will my doctor be able to see me tomorrow?
  
• Can I schedule this around the Big Important Meeting tomorrow?
  OR
  
• Is this all just a sign that I should try with B Thursday night?

Please note that if I don't try this month, then B is my only option for next month, as we will be in the Caribbean during the critical time, away from the Jolly German and any easy way to receive cryogenic deliveries. So if not this month, then it's either B, or wait until April.

AND now I have another meeting...

Since I'm shopping from a catalog...

... I might as well shop the J Crew catalog...

Oh, it's on!

I'm getting excited!

BBC NEWS -- Curvy women may be a clever bet

Skip the diet, and bring on the brainy babies!

(oops, forgot to call the sperm bank again today. I'm a bad mom...)

A Womb with a View

A bad pun, but it's true. Here is a photo of my abdominal/pelvic area:



But Maggie, you may be wondering, where are your lady parts? Et voilá! On demand, they appear:



Please note that the uterus is nicely formed and shaped, with no adhesions, polyps, tears, dents, dings, scuffs or scratches. (Don't worry, the missing bottom of the triangle just has not yet filled with dye.) The tiny pencil line squiggles? Lovely sturdy fallopian tubes free of twists, tangles, bulges or weak spots, ending in nice big catching mitts to grab an egg or two. The fuzzy wispy stuff at the ends and drifting about the abdominal cavity a bit is contrast dye, which, having flown unimpeded through the tubes, illuminated the bits for our benefit, and having found no blockages -- YAY -- has successfully exited the subway system. Here's another peek with a bit more wispiness:



Beautiful and perfect, a textbook example, in prime condition (though who knew an empty womb was so small?). Seems a shame to waste it, right? I agree!

I return to the smiling German Ob/Gyn (I have yet to settle on a blog nickname for this lovely man) tomorrow to review the results of this hysterosalpingogram, but so far, it looks like a big, fecund thumbs-up.

Breastfeeding: The Latest Refuge of Scoundrels - from The Huffington Post

Can you imagine if an employer did not allow employees to go to the bathroom? If they said, if you want to pee, then you should stay home?

Breastfeeding is a natural and vitally important function of our bodies. It's a testament to how well we are designed. And you know what else? Childbirth is nothing short of a miracle. I'm amazed almost every day that mothers are not treated like gods walking on earth.

In short, breastfeeding breaks, decent childcare at the office, and decent maternity leave. NOW, please.

(Also, no, I'm still not pregnant, if you were wondering. And I don't really want to talk about it yet. Soon.)