A Long Overdue Update

Maybe I am a cat.

You know how someone decided that cats have nine lives?  I feel like I've got at least three.

There's pre-diagnosis me, post-diagnosis me, and pregnant me.  Let's call them Innocence, Depression, and Prongo Congo.

Innocence and Depression are dead.  Prongo Congo killed them.  She just belly flopped right on top of them and now they are dead.  That's probably why I was so nauseous for a month and a half because I was figuratively vomiting up my former self.  Day and night.  I know it certainly felt like an entire other person came out of me in barf form.

So now I feel like I'm getting to know me as an completely new person.  I'm happier.  I'm friendlier.  I'm lazier.  I'm crazier.  I'm a little chunky around the middle.

And just like making a new friend takes a little time and involves a certain amount of evaluation and hesitation (at least it does if you're an introvert like me), coming to an understanding with my new self has been a bit of a drawn out process.  Because the memory of my former selves still haunt me.

When Little Miss Innocence thought she was pregnant, she used to rub her belly several times a day and whisper, "You are wanted.  You are loved."  I don't do that now.  It scares me.  Like my verbalized affection will somehow make this pregnancy a figment of my imagination, too.  The most I can manage is just putting one hand on my stomach and breathing.

On the other hand, when Depression had hormonal symptoms and mood swings, she would go into a rage and rant at the world about how unfair it was she had to go through so much.  Prongo just laughs and takes it as a sign that things are ok.  Hormones are raging and for the first time ever that is GOOD.

But no matter what I feel about me and who I am and who I was and who I am/was becoming, I can tell you that I know exactly how I feel about my little one, affectionately dubbed "Bear Cub".  I love Bear Cub, and I cannot wait to meet him or her.

And I can tell you the exact moment I knew and my attitude changed from fearful distance to actual love.  It was when I first heard the heartbeat.  For a minute or two, my midwife couldn't find it and I was just lying there on the examination table with my pants unzipped and my stomach covered in goop completely terrified that there was no heartbeat to find and my baby was dead inside of me.  But then she did find it and it was the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.  She said it sounded perfect.  And then I went home and cried because I really like hearing the word "perfect" when it comes to my baby's health.

The second time I got to hear the heartbeat, I recorded a bit of it on my phone and it's the most reassuring thing ever to play it over and over and hear how strong and good it sounds.

So that's how I'm doing.  Identity crisis.  Lots of symptoms.  But a lot of joy and love, too.

I Don't Know What My Feels Are

So I haven't been blogging a lot.  And it's mostly because I don't know how to express what I'm feeling.  Because I don't really know what I'm feeling?  Feelings are weird?

When I was in the trenches my feelings were very difficult to experience, but very, very easy to articulate.  I felt sad/mad/bitter/resentful/hormonal/misunderstood/defective/alone/jealous/unfeminine/unhappy/unmyself.  Now my feelings are easy to deal with but I have no idea what they are.  People keep telling me I seem so much happier.  Am I?  Am I happy?  Is this what happiness feels like?  Could I really have forgotten what happiness feels like to such an extent that I don't recognize it anymore when I feel it?

After months of raging depression and ferocious anger, walking around and not feeling that way is strange and it feels a lot like being emotionless.  Don't get me wrong, I don't miss the emotion storm.  This isn't one of those things where I tell you that I started personifying my depression and came to view her as a constant companion and friend.  Nuh uh.  That jerkface can stay away forever.

But I am trying to figure out who I am without it.  And it's not as easy as just remembering who I was Before, because I'm never going to be that girl again.  That girl never had to deal with ANYTHING as hard as seeing blood on toilet paper and having no choice but to spend the rest of the day crying.  Those experiences changed me.  So if she's gone, and my barren hag persona is, at least for the moment, dormant, then who am I now?  And what does now feel like?

These are the things I have been thinking about lately.  I don't know if they make sense to anyone else.  They barely make sense to me.  But I'm figuring it out, and I'll keep you posted.

(P.S.  For those who have asked, and for those who didn't ask but are still wondering, I'm just over 8 weeks.)

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.