Itchy belly. (Kinda long)

I'm a big fat liar. When I said that my blogging frequency had been altered by me just being all-around-boring I lied.

I've been incredibly distracted by something for a few months. It has consumed every free millimeter of brain space and has turned me into a babbling idiot.

That faint blue line says I'm pregnant. The arm-full of blood I donated to test tube a week later said the same.

After I went off that damned Lupron shot I had to make a decision of how I was going to follow up with my endometriosis treatment. I could go on contraceptives that would basically allow my lady bits to remain at status quo, or I could choose not to want to blow up to Goodyear Blimp proportions and risk the problem returning.

At the time I felt like everydamnbody I know was having a baby or already had one (three in the case of my not-much-older sister). Even my cousin, 6 months my junior, has three. I'm not going to say that my clock was ticking, but I had come down with a serious case of "Mommy-wannabe." This seriously freaked out the husband who has sort of gotten used to not being broke, but I wore him down with that whole "You're not getting any younger" thing.

Once we were both fully committed to the idea of starting a family right now it was just a matter of making it happen. I became obsessed.

In hindsight, I have to confess that I was quite fearful that after all those years of extremely painful endometriosis I'd have probems conceiving. Although my doctor told me that there shouldn't be any complications, I didn't believe it. I kept temperature charts, recorded every little belly twinge, consulted websites - you name it. I've probably hit up every "let's make a baby!" website there is - even some less-than-reputable ones.

In any given month, the chances of sperm meeting egg and leading up to a successful implantation is around 1 in 5 for a couple of our respective ages. After month one I thought "No sweat! Charting is fun! I get to do it again!"

After month two I thought "This is strange. Here we are doing everything right and this isn't working fast enough. I don't understand how 'accidents' happen so frequently." During month two I began peeing on sticks to determine when ovulation would occur.

After month three I thought "WHAT THE FUCK? PLEASE GOD DON'T LET SOMETING BE WRONG WITH ME!" Mind you, at the time I was obsessed with one particular trying-to-conceive forum where some (much younger) women had been TTCing for a month and were posting pregnancy announcements. During month three I began peeing on even more sticks. I took at least three ovulation predictors and begin taking pregnancy tests around four days before the ol' witch was due.

During month four I thought "How would my husband cope with having two Scorpios in the same house?" I had sort of relaxed a bit with my self-induced prohibition of caffeine and alcohol. I was a little slack-ass with my temperature charting (didn't even realize that it was triphasic . I woke up too late to temp during the weekends and probably missed the dip when I ovulated, in fact. I had no reason to believe I was pregnant. I certainly didn't have the all-in-my-head symptoms I'd had the previous months. In fact, I felt dandy. Still do. I took a pregnancy test four days early and got a really faint line - microscopic, in fact. I went to band practice and forgot about it.

I took another one the next day and the line was a little darker. It disappeared shortly after.

I took another one the next day and the line was still yet a little darker. I still couldn't believe it. Could it be? Was it time for me to do my "happy happy joy joy!" dance?

I took a final one on the day I missed my period. Still pregnant. My doctor confirmed that I'm as pregnant as I think I am - almost 6 weeks.

I know that it's "traditional" to not spill the beans until three months into the pregnancy (warding off the evil eye and shit like that) to make sure the baby "sticks", but the way I see it, if I miscarry (Please God, don't let that happen) [Isn't it interesting how parenthood renews your hope that God exists?] I want as many people as possible patting me on the back and telling me it'll be okay.

So, that's it. 6 weeks into pregnancy and my pant waists are already tight from bloat and I want to build a shelf to hold my boobs up. I can't wait until I'm showing and have a reason to give people for me getting fat.

Yay!

Note to the menfolk - I wouldn't worry about this turning into a pregnancy blog, however to be prepared for a lot of complaining about how my coworker/bullshit tolerance is diminishing.

Posted by Tiffany at March 23, 2006 06:01 PM | TrackBack