Normalcy

I'm not sure when it happened exactly.  But at some point in the last six months I feel like things that formerly seemed fantastic and impossible have now become ordinary.  My pregnancy problems have shifted from infertility fears (What if this isn't real?  What if I lose it?  Why don't other mothers experience the same level of anxiety that I do?) to normal-people annoyances (It's totally a bummer to not get to eat rare steak anymore, am I right?)  The squirming in my lower abdomen is so frequent now that I often don't even acknowledge it most of the time.  And when I think back to the days when I couldn't quite make it back to the apartment before I started crying, it seems like another lifetime entirely.

In one way, this makes me sad.  I kinda wish that the shadow of infertility would always hang over me so that I would be forced to appreciate every second of growing life as precious.  And on top of that, I sometimes feel survivor's guilt and I can't stop thinking about the people who would do anything to be in my position.  I still feel like I've somehow betrayed them.

But in another way, it's good.  It's nice.  Comments that people make in casual conversation don't hurt me anymore.  My mind is freed up to think about all kinds of things.  I get to remember what I first loved about school and friends and family and my life in general.  The whole world is no longer out to get me.  And I haven't seen that wench Aunt Flo in months, but I know that when I do her visit won't be accompanied by the feeling of my heart getting ripped out of my chest.

I don't know if me saying this will make any of you angry or bitter or jealous.  I know how awful it is sometimes to hear about someone else's joy (ESPECIALLY pregnancy joy).  But I decided to write it anyway in case it gives you hope instead.  Because the things that have power over you now may not have power forever.  In fact, one day, you may feel that they have no power at all.  Pregnancy doesn't have to be haunted.  Not for us.  We've dealt with all kinds of things that others will never have to and we've fought hard just to stay afloat.  But one day all that struggle might just end, and the armor and weapons we built and hefted around with us will drift peacefully away like falling leaves as our battle days become mere memory.  Like me, you may find that the transition is so quiet and so gentle that you don't even notice it happening.  And then you will have finally gotten one beautiful thing that you didn't have to fight for.

For those who are wondering, I'm having a baby girl. :)

Pregnant Women Who Complain

So you know how one of the worst things that a pregnant woman can do around an infertile is complain about how hard pregnancy is and jokingly ask if said infertile reeeeeally wants to go through it?

Now that I am on the other side, I have some things to say about that.

First of all, pregnancy is totally hard.  Things I have gone through so far include:

1.  Running out of class to throw up.
2.  Walking home even though it takes an hour because I can't bike anymore without vomiting and my husband can't always give me a ride.
3.  Period-like cramps for TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT peppered with sharp pangs that I have never experienced as my uterus swells to an unheard of size (no blood, though, so no cause to worry).
4.  Waking up in the middle of the night to throw up.
5.  Throwing up for half an hour straight, so hard that chunks were coming out my nose, then getting a nose bleed as well so that blood and vomit are just spewing out of my face orifices in an endless stream of disgusting bodily fluids.
6.  Awkwardly avoiding questions from friends and family about my ttc journey because I'm not comfortable telling EVERYONE yet.
7.  Peeing like basically every seven minutes.
8.  Bloating and feeling fat and unattractive.
9.  Constant exhaustion.
10.  Difficulty sleeping because of all the stress dreams and the inconvenience of trying to train myself to sleep on my side when I've always been a sleep-on-the-stomach kind of person.
11.  Insane cravings.
12.  Super fun pimples all over my face.
13.  Inability to eat sushi or rare meat or soft cheeses or alcohol or excessive seafood (all my favorite things).
14.  Wild mood swings that have me sobbing one second and laughing the next.
15.  Fear and anxiety about miscarriage or complications.
16.  Throwing up.  Yes, this deserves FIVE spots on the list because, seriously, it is the worst.

These things are not fun.  They are, in fact, rather inconvenient.  But let me tell you something, ladies.  And I want you to know that I mean this from the bottom of my heart.

Even without all those symptoms, struggling with infertility is still harder.  SO MUCH HARDER.  IT IS NOT EVEN CLOSE.

Because all those things (except the mood swings and the anxiety, but they come with fertility drugs, too) are purely physical, and I can handle physical difficulties all day.  All day.  For nine months.  No freaking sweat.

Having the emotional burden of barrenness and fear that I will never get pregnant lifted off of my shoulders is HUGE.  I'm doing better in school.  I had five interviews last weekend for summer employment and I nailed them, even through the nausea.  In fact, I already have two offers.  I'm remembering all the good things about my life and enjoying being where I am instead of wishing, so hard, that I could fast forward.  Life is honestly, genuinely, dramatically easier now.

So I just want you all to know that when you grumble behind your compassionate nods as some fertile myrtle tells you that you're just so lucky to not have to go through what she's going through... you are so unbelievably right when you think about how wrong she is.  What you're going through is harder.  So much harder.  She will never understand.  But I will understand if you decide to slap her, because she is the worst.

Well. Look at that.

So... I'm pregnant.  (I'm going to tell the story, but I skipped to the conclusion first because I know that's easier sometimes.  Pregnancy is where this is going.  Read on if you would like to.)

One week ago, I lay in bed for about three hours debating with myself whether or not to test.  I didn't want to see another freaking negative but I'd had cramps for several days and no blood and I knew I'd go crazy if I didn't just take the test and be done with it.  Finally, when I really had to pee and couldn't put the decision off anymore, I went to the bathroom, did my business, and then angrily slapped the test down on the counter and got ready to cry all day.  I played a game on my phone while I waited to keep from looking.  But then, because I'm me, I glanced anyway.  I was already telling myself that no line didn't necessarily mean no pregnancy and that I had to wait a couple more minutes to be sure...

Only the line was there right away.  And it was really freaking dark.  Look how dark!

I've pictured my reaction to such a thing several times, but all I felt (and felt strongly) was complete and utter shock.  Just shock.  No thoughts in my head at all other than "Uuuummmm.......?".

I picked it up, stared at it while I walked down the hall, and woke up Husband.  Then I told him I was pregnant.  He mumbled something about how he was very sleepy but that he loved me sooooo much (he's not good with processing information when he's suddenly woken up).

So then I emailed KC, because of everyone in the world she understands most (having just gotten pregnant after infertility herself).

She was very excited.  And that made me really happy because I felt like someone should be and Husband and I were clearly not stepping up to the plate.  Thankfully, she told me that she felt the exact same way when she got her positive and sent me a picture of her holding up a pregnancy test with a "Meh, I'm not sure about this" face.  So that was reassuring.  And eventually Husband woke up a little more and called me back in with a, "Wait, what did you say?"

It's been a week since then and I am still not totally processing this.  On a conscious level, anyway.  I think that I've accepted the reality on a soul level, because I've been really, really happy.  Comments have been made.  "Why are you so dressed up?" (Meaning: Hmmm, you aren't in the baggy sweatshirt and jeans you've worn for the last several months out of an inability to care about anything at all besides babies...),  or "You sound happier than last time we talked."  (Meaning: Man, you're usually super depressing to talk to.  Today less so.)

I'm trying to be patient and not too excited because I know that the time I'm in right now is a dangerous one, that the rate of miscarriage for women with PCOS is higher than normal, and that if I get my hopes up then I will only be crushed if something goes wrong.  But if I'm honest, I think that there realistically isn't anything I can do about making miscarriage less devastating.  I just pray that it won't happen to me because I think I might never recover.

I've decided to keep blogging, but I understand if a lot of readers decide to stop reading.  No hard feelings.  I've stopped reading a few blogs because of pregnancy, too.  And in some ways I feel like I'm betraying everyone by getting pregnant because now I'm one of those women we rant about and I know I might cause some of you pain.  And that just sucks, as many aspects of infertility do.

But the truth is that a pregnancy after infertility is totally different than other, "normal" pregnancies, and I'm still going to need a community of people who get it.  So I hope a few of you stick around.  Either way, I want everyone to know that they mean a lot to me and that I wish them only the best in their lives, whether you stay with my blog or not.  You're all awesome people and I'm so thankful for each and every one of you.

That is what I have to say.