24w3d

Hallo, internets!

I suppose it's kind of boring the way I start off all of my posts with "forgive me, internet, for I have sinned. It has been {insert staggering length of time} since my last post."

So I won't do that this time. Except that I kind of just did.

The news in a nutshell:

Things are good. They're really, really good. Can't ask for much more. My blood pressure has been low; a second-trimester dip is normal, and I got it. It will undoubtedly start to creep up again soon, when I enter my third trimester (kinnehorah-knock-wood-god-willin-and-the-crick-don't-rise).

We are having a wee boy. A boy! The 18 week scan was a story unto itself, which I'll type up soon. Suffice it to say that there are indeed minuscule boy parts attached to the minuscule boy. After reeling and having a few minutes of whaaa? what do I know about boys? we have plunged into an enthusiastic study of baby-boy-hood. And I figure anything else we need to learn we can google.

I am continuing to be enormous. We thought that maybe I'd plateau and end up a more normal size. Nope. My combination of wicked shortwaistedness + unimpressive abdominal muscles = spherical me. Of course I'm just as delighted as most people who have spent two years willing themselves into precisely this state would be. I am starting to feel a bit... unwieldy. My darling darted away from me in the supermarket the other day to go and grab the peanut butter (my peanut butter, that I craved). As I saw her slim, graceful frame slipping 'round the corner into the next aisle, I felt an impotent rage. I lumbered, huffing, behind her. "Don't just run off like that," I snapped irritably. With her usual vast good humor, she assessed my rolling, panting figure, petted me and gently said "okay, I won't."

Hey I got a new layout. In case there are any of you who actually aren't reading this through an RSS feed... I dunno, I'm a bit conflicted. I absolutely love the look of it, but is it less readable? Please feel free to weigh in, I won't be offended.

This day in history. One year ago today, I had just gotten the results of my second beta for my first, ill-fated pregnancy. They weren't great but weren't awful; 74 at 14dpo, with a doubling time an unimpressive 67 hours. I was heading into the really painful part of the OHSS.

OHSS symptoms: completely miserable. Can't walk, eat, or breathe properly. My stomach looks like I'm six months pregnant. In fact, when I got my blood drawn today (for the second time today, third time this week) the technician thought I was six months pregnant.

One year later, here I am, actually six months pregnant. The word "grateful" does not suffice. I am not just full of gratitude, I am saturated with gratitude. I have been pregnant for 157 days (okay, technically, for five of those days the lab down the street was pregnant). Every single freaking one of those days I have felt again the pure shock of gratitude at my own outrageous luck. Even more so, now that we're (just) past 24 weeks, and each day that passes represents a tiny incremental increase in our guy's chances of survival.

I would never say that the two years, three IVFs, miscarriage, untold number of dollars (I refuse to calculate it) and loss of so many other things from my life were "worth it". But I do wonder if, had this pregnancy not been prefaced by all of the above, I would feel my gratitude so very keenly and continuously.

I've had some severe mood swings, and when I say "severe" I mean "full on snotty hysterical sobbing." Usually accompanied by my wailing "I don't even know why I'm cryyyyyyinnnnnngggg." But even when I am full of dread and misery I am strangely aware that This is not real. My reality is happy. Soon I will be back to reality. And you know, I always am.