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pregnancy after 40

Life, PART TWO…

I can’t believe I skipped a year. A whole year without writing! How is that even possible? Life as I knew it in my 30’s, 20’s and childhood is gone. I feel as if I’m entering Part Two of my story. Part One was exciting and all… but I’m really looking forward to this next segment.  I feel it has much to offer.

I’ve used this blog to write about my dogs, my journey of trying to have more kids, an outlet… Somewhere along the line I struggled with writers block. I love writing. Despite my occasional grammar errors or misspelled word, I have written because it was something I found much joy in.  So here I am, recognizing my dry spell and thinking it’s time I put an end to it. I am not sure what “direction” I want to take my blog, but it’s going to be reorganized.

 

Me and Miss J

Me and Miss J

This is my life now:  I no longer have my chocolate labs. Sadly Lola passed from cancer and Lulu went back to live with my ex, where she is spoiled and receives all the attention and room to roam that she deserves.

I am no longer an office worker who longs to roam free… I now roam free daily. Well, as free as my two toddlers will let me! I am now a full time mom, who dabbles in social media management on the side.

My partner in crime, Scott, works from home as well. Though he is more nocturnal and spends his time working through the night and sleeping through the day.

I now have all my kids at home.  My oldest, an adult, and my youngest, TODDLERS!

To show respect for Scott’s veganism, we have a meatless household.  Though I am not a vegan, when you live with one it sort of takes on a life of its own and because it affects my life, I’ve been getting educated on the topics of food – nutrition, where it comes from, and how to make it tasty!

And speaking of eating, I’m still on a mission to lose my baby weight from my last pregnancy.

These are just a few of the things that I spend my days thinking about.  These are the things that have meaning to me. So, these are the things I will be writing about—what it’s like being this “older” mom of toddlers, all the interesting things I’m finding out about food and recipes, what it’s like to live as a cougar-ish woman, and pretty much anything that is going on in life.

So this is to be the ice breaker.  And now….  PART TWO of my blog!!

 

Sing, Sing a Song…

Dublin

Dublin, no doubt planning on how to fool me a fourth time…

I’m not saying there has never been night time singing at my house, because there has; I usually save it as a desperate measures method of the nighty-night-night-time routine. Those nights when he needs  a little something extra to push him into the world of zzzzzzzz. Usually I break out the ABC song, which will surely cause problems for him later on in life. You know, like when he is school aged and his teacher wonders why learning his alphabet is putting him to sleep in class…

The thing is, I am what I like to call a subconscious singer. I can remember lyrics, but only subconsciously.  For example, consider this typical scenario:  I’m driving, I’m singing, I’m driving, I’m singing…. When all of a sudden it hits me, “I’m totally nailing this song! Listen to me sing the shitz out of this song!” And at THAT moment, when I consciously realize I’m singing, THAT is the moment when lyric amnesia kicks in.  So the ABC song is my go-to, I’d better not forget the lyrics song. The day I forget the lyrics to the ABC song is the day that I’m truly an “advanced maternal age” mom!

The last few nights of weaning has meant that I’ve had to break into song and I think the ABC song has worn out its welcome. I also know two lines from Rainbow Connection and Close to You, but even I get tired of hearing myself sing those lines over and over.  The only other song I really know for sure is BINGO, and even that has me losing my place several times during a round…

Am I at: clap-clap-N-G-O, or am I at clap-clap-clap-G-O…GAHHH!!!!! 

I suppose I’m going to have to study up on toddler songs. Meanwhile, perhaps I should consider bringing in a cheat-sheet.

In other news: weaning has been going great! We’re three nights of boobie free sleep! He’s down to just nap time nursing. However, he’s already figured out how to work the system: he acts like he’s ready for a nap, he’ll nurse for about 15 min’s, all the while acting like he’s going to fall asleep…. and then like magic, he’s rejuvenated and wiggles out of bed to go play. He did that three times before he REALLY went to sleep for a nap.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But fool me three times and I figure that boy is pretty darn wily and will figure out how to get boobie time one way or another!!

Adventures in Weaning

Dublin and Juniper

My D-Man and Juniper

It was some gawd-awful hour in the middle of the night and I was nursing my little D-Man for the 3rd time—that’s right THIRD TIME—and that’s when it hit me, it was time for me to wean him for reals. I’d been threatening to do it for a few weeks before that, but hadn’t managed to pull the trigger yet. He’d been teething and refusing solid food, so he was relying on nursing more than usual. But that night, THAT NIGHT I decided that despite his teeth not being all the way in, IT.WAS.TIME.

Extended nursing isn’t for everyone.  I do not blame a woman one bit if she decides to close up shop after the first bite. Having your boob used as a teething ring, not so fun, I totally understand, I totally get it. Nursing a baby is one thing, but nursing a toddler is a lesson in endurance, patience and pain management.

I want to come clean and admit something: I didn’t do the extended nursing thing because I’m some sort of wonder woman, no… I did the extended nursing thing because boobies are the BEST TOOL EVER! They fix boo-boo’s, they are sleeping pills, they are anti-depressants…. They are magic. Take that away and I am left with an almost empty bag of tricks! That is why I nursed so long. However, that night I reached the point where I was willing to give up the magic boobies , because they were no longer worth getting beat up over…

On that particular night I had my pony-tail pulled, like he was ringing a dinner bell. “WAKE UP WOMAN, I NEED A SNACK!!” is what I think he was trying to tell me, but since he still doesn’t say much, I think he was improvising and the hair pulling got my attention pretty fast. He was in fine form that night. I got kicked in the face several times during his nursing gymnastics; my nursing equipment experienced the painful twists and turns that happen during that sort of circus routine.  Though he wanted to nurse, he was being very particular about where my hands were, so my hands kept getting swatted when they touched him. I think they were getting in the way of his wiggling. He so LOVES to wiggle!! He also didn’t want to be looked at, so he kept pushing my face away. FINALLY, after much kicking, wiggling, twisting and PAIN… when he fell asleep, I did my usual freeze-in-position-for-the-count-of-twenty and then rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep… but couldn’t, because that’s when his little sister woke up and it was her turn to nurse.

It was while I was nursing Juniper that I researched online how to wean a toddler… I came up with a game plan and this is how it played out:

Night one:  LEMON

I started the night out as normal. He nursed to sleep on my lap downstairs and Scott later carried him up to bed. I was tired and didn’t feel like dealing with the weaning thing, so like I said, it was business as usual. He woke up and nursed once, twice… and it was during the third time that half way through, I said with determination, “I’M GETTING A LEMON!!!”  So I went downstairs and squeezed lemon over my nursing bits and headed back upstairs to my little D-Man. He went to nurse, pulled back and made the I-just-tasted-a-lemon-face, tried it again, pulled back and made another face and then….  he rolled over and went to sleep!!!

Night two: LEMON

I lemoned up and it was pretty much a repeat of the first night and he went to sleep, sans nursing.

Night three: LEMON

“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me…”

He latched on, but what… WHAT?!? He DID NOT STOP NURSING!! Noooo, he nursed, he only pulled away to spit out a bit of lemon pulp, but other than that, it was nursing as usual… apparently he somehow built up immunity to the taste of lemon!

 

Night four: BANDAID

20 years ago I was in a similar situation, trying to wean a persistent nurser.  The magic tool I used to dissuade her from nursing?? Bandaging up and telling her they were broken.   Sooo, I decided to give that another try and found the biggest bandaids we had in the house, bandaged up and when it came time to go to sleep, I informed him that mommy’s boobies were broken. He didn’t believe me, so I let him see for himself. After giving them a once over, he opted for cuddle time instead.

 

We are two nights in and so far we have had two nurse free nights… Tonight will be a biggy, will we make it three nights in a row?? I sure hope so. Juniper is a GREAT sleeper and if we can just get Dublin to sleep on his own, I might have some solid night sleeps in my near future!! YAY!!!!

If we tackle the weaning, what’s next on the agenda?? Adventures in solo-sleeping… coming soon! 😉

Music Class

My spirited Sonora-nora-bug. Check out the shirt-- she modified it herself.

My spirited Sonora-nora-bug. Check out the shirt-- she "modified" it herself.

I’m sitting on the floor, in a circle, with all the other moms. The instructor sits on the floor too, playing a guitar. All the other babies and toddlers sit on their moms lap, quietly. I look around at these moms and wonder what the hell they’ve been giving their children?? Melatonin in their bottles?? Valium laced teething biscuits?? I want to know their secret… because, as I look into the middle of the circle and see my spirited 17 months old, he’s about to break out some of his finest dance moves.

When I signed my little D-Man up for music class, I had visions of his giggling delight at learning songs and playing with all the toddler instruments. My vision didn’t include me having to get up-and-down, like a very pregnant teeter-totter, from a sitting position on the floor to running around the room to referee my sons wild curiosity of all the other kids, the music instruments hanging on the wall, the blinds, the light switch, the piano, the taller-than-him bongo drum…GAH! I’m suddenly exhausted just having this flash back!

After a few classes of the above scenario, I convinced Scott that it would be GREAT bonding time for him if he started taking Dublin to music class. After all, Scott was a music major in college and the only one who knows how to read music and play instruments in our family. What better bonding experience would there be than one where he shared the love of music with his son. HA! I was persuasive and he did start attending music class with Dublin…for a few weeks. Somehow the ball got bounced back to my side of the court and after complaining about Dublin freaking out in class, he persuaded me that it would be good to see if Dublin’s energy was different when I attended with him and again I found myself working up a sweat in music/my-aerobics class.

This is where my “advanced maternal mom” perks kick in. Poor Sonora, my practice child, taught me that this spirit doesn’t go away. You can try to tame it, but working against it just ends up frustrating you and your child. When Sonora was young (and for that matter, I was young too) I was so worried about what other people thought. Why was mine the only child who couldn’t seem to sit still on the piano bench during music class?? Why was mine the only child who seemed to race through the song and didn’t keep up with the rest of the class?? Why was mine the only kid not reading?? Was she a trouble maker?? Was she just in need of one time out after the other?? Again, I have to say: my poor Sonora, having had to carry that burden of being my first child! In retrospect I can see things much clearer and now that I have a son who seems to be following his sister’s footsteps, I can confidently move forward knowing that if I nourish his spirit, I’m not going to be morphing him into some kind of hooligan. How do I know?? Because Sonora turned out awesome! She went on to make Honor Band in her middle school years, after finding her love of classical music by way of the flute. Sure she may have been dragging her feet and had many crying episodes while trying to learn how to read, but seemingly overnight she seemed to have a light go off, where she saw how reading might be fun and went from NOT reading to having to be skipped up three reading grades and landing in the 4th grade reading class… she’s never looked back. She became an avid reader and at it continues until this day. She now works in a book store and is well versed in so many books; she has no problem directing her customers to books of their interests. Yeah, she’s all that!

I don’t know what this next kid will be, this one brewing inside of me… but I have a feeling that she’s going to take after her siblings. I think I better buckle up, because I have a feeling it’s going to be a wild ride!!! As for Dublin and music class… I think I need to find one that plays “house music”, has a bubble machine and allows free access to the drums!

Luck be a lady…

Me and my progeny...

Me and my progeny...

Sometimes it hits me – I have a toddler. AND I have a 20 year old. AND I’m in my 40’s. AND… if Luck be a Lady and I’m that lady… I’ll be knocked up again, soon.

That’s right, glutton for the punishment that those small packages of little humans can dish out, I’m not feeling “done” yet in the producing progeny department. I’m scared, because of all the statistics out there… yadda yadda yadda… I heard them all before during the last go around with pregnancy. I was scared then and I’m scared now, but regardless, with the support of my partner in crime (shout out to Scott) we’re going to try for another one. I feel incredibly blessed to have this 2nd chance at parenting younglings. I’d forgotten how much I love being a “mommy”. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a “MOMMMMMM!!!” (usually accompanied by an eye-roll.) And I take a lot of pride in the fact that I’ve been able to get one amazing daughter to the age of 18 without too many scrapes and bruises to her physical and mental self. In fact, I think getting her to that “finish line” gave me the courage to try it again. Sort of a, “I didn’t screw it up too bad the first time, maybe I’ll get even better with practice….”

All ready I see that I’m a different mom in my 40’s than I was in my 20’s. My 20 year old parental self would sanitize all that was within a three feet radius of my little Sonora-nora-bug. If another kid touched her toy, I’d discreetly place it in my diaper bag, segragate it from the “clean toys” and hand Sonora a new toy (from the clean toy section of the diaper bag, duh!). Sonora never touched the carpet in her early non-crawling months. She was always on a blanket. Only ONE SIDE of that blanket ever touched the floor… and I could go on and on like this. Oh, but I could… I will openly admit I was a bit of a freak.

Jump ahead 20 years and I am happy to report that with my 2nd child I am no longer a super freak, not super freaky. In fact, recently I was doubled over laughing having just witnessed Dublin offer the dog a baby biscuit and, after the dog already gummed it, reneged on the deal and stuck it right into his own mouth. Doggy germs and all. Also, if that’s not enough to point out how far I’ve come, I even allow Dublin to sit… in…a..grocery..basket… without putting him in a protective bubble first!

All of this makes me wonder where I’ll be in another 20 years, because there is no way I would have guessed 20 years ago that I’d be here!

B is for Baby…

Meet Dublin!

Meet Dublin!

I’ve been trying to write this blog for the last 9 weeks…but I’m finding it hard to write with just one hand! Why one hand?? Because the other arm is busy holding my new little man!

Yes, my beautiful bundle of joy has arrived. Packaged in a 7 pounds, 8 ounce, package. I’m too tired from every two hour feedings to process that I am now a parent again! No time to think, only time to do!!

My little bundle is taking a nap and I’m going to test the bounds of how fast I can type, in order to fill in the gaps of the past 9 weeks:

After hearing the statistics regarding “maternal advanced aged” placenta’s falling short on the job past the 40 week mark, I was going to take no chances and agreed to the advantages of being induced at 39 weeks. I set the date for October 28th, because it was a Friday and would be convenient for grand parents to visit. Though, I truly believed he’d show up before the scheduled date. He didn’t, I was induced.

October 27th I went to work, as usual, came home… and packed for the hospital. I went to bed early, but sleep eluded me. I couldn’t believe my journey was finally coming to the finale, that the finish line had arrived.

To recap the crazy journey that lead up to this date: I’m a sorta cougar. I met and fell in love with a man who is a decade younger than I. On our first date we discussed the fact that he wanted kids in his future and I had my tubes tied. After celebrating a year together, we decided to pursue starting a family together. We met with a doctor to discuss our options… IVF was touted as the best option, but a tubal reversal was also brought up. Tubal reversal was the cheapest option (though, by no means cheap!!) and though the statistics said that having a tubal at my age didn’t put the cards in our favor, we decided to roll the dice and go for it. I had the surgery and month after month we tested negative for a pregnancy. We heard about a study that offered “free” IVF (though it really was to cost around $4000, which compared to the normal $20,000 of IVF makes it feel sorta free) and decided to try for it. After having to go through several testing procedures, we were accepted into the program. I made arrangements with my work to take off the necessary time off and we were at the start line, just waiting for my cycle to start, when I ended up with a positive pregnancy test.

Every bit of the 9 months I was pregnant I didn’t take for granted the fragility of it all. Every day I worried that we wouldn’t make it to the finish line. And even once that wonderful day arrived, I was still nervous and feeling anxious.

It had been 19 years since the last time I was in the maternity ward. The last visit, I woke up in labor, my water broke at home and once I arrived at the hospital it was only about 3 hour before my daughter arrived. This go around I knew it wouldn’t be so fast. I arrived on schedule at 8 a.m. By 9:30 they gave me the little pill that was supposed to get things started. My doctor arrived at some point in the morning to let me know what to expect for the day. I was told that I was probably going to start feeling things in a few hours and could hopefully expect the arrival of my son sometime that night.

My daughter, Scott, his mom and his dad were my visitors for the day. I forbid food to be eaten in the room, because I wasn’t allowed to eat any solids (in case of C-secion). I spent my time walking in circles around the halls of the maternity ward and peeing (he was resting on my bladder until the very end).

Sometime around 6pm-ish my doctor walks into my room and after I smiled and said, “Hi”, he replied, “Tis isn’t what I wanted to see… “

I guess I didn’t seem like I was in pain. But I was, I just hide it well. In fact, the nurses didn’t believe that I was really in pain either. They said that even though my external monitors showed my levels being really high, the contractions were probably measuring less severe. They said they’d put an internal monitor to more accurately monitor my contraction levels. Once the internal monitor was put into place, they found that my contraction levels were actually measuring more intense than the external.

Ha-ha! Boo-YA!

After that… all hell broke loose! My contractions intensified and next thing I knew, they were scrambling saying that they didn’t know if the doctor would make it on time. He did. Though, in all the excitement, the room hadn’t been prepared.

All the while, I am busying myself with pushing. Pushing. Pushing.

While pushing. Pushing. Pushing. I felt EVERYTHING. The song “Ring of Fire” (Jonny Cash) played in my brain. And the thought “I’m NEVER doing this AGAIN” occurred to me more than once.

I pushed and pushed and pushed. Believing the doctor when he said, “you’re almost there… “ And he wasn’t lying, because I was almost there.

At 7:25p, on October 28th…. our son, Dublin, arrived. He weighed in at 7 lbs, 8oz, and was 20 inches long.

He’s wonderful and beautiful… and healthy. I feel like I have won the lottery. I’ve never been so tired in my entire life… but I’m also over the moon in love with him.

Life is a crazy journey. Who woulda thought I would try to have a baby at 40. Who woulda thought I would succeed!! YAY ME!

Feeling Lucky

For the past 13 weeks and one day I have been “cautiously optimistic”, tempered with a lot of fear. Though I got off easy with the first trimester symptoms (morning sickness, what’s that???) I think those around me would have traded in my crabbiness for my having a few pukes in the toilet.


13 weeks! This is the last week of my first trimester and in one week the “honeymoon of pregnancy “starts. Isn’t that the magical period that brings back my energy, when I will make less bathroom trips (hallelujah!), and most importantly: miscarriage rates drop significantly. WHOOT!!!


I feel so amazed and blessed that I’m actually knocked up and it’s sticking. When I revisit the statistics, the ones that talk about the percentage rates of woman who get pregnant after having a tubal ligation reversal, then combining those rates with the statistics of woman of a certain age (cough40cough), not to mention some other unmentionable fertility factors….. It just makes me feel like I should have had sex AND played the lottery on THAT fateful night.


I still feel fear, but it’s not nearly as strong as it was for the past several weeks. It still feels unreal. Sure, I’m getting “bigger” and starting to show, but instead of feeling pregnant, I just feel fat. Though don’t you dare insinuate that I’m fat, because I’m hormonal and won’t take kindly to it! Only I’m allowed to imply I’m anything other than svelte. I think that’s in the pregnancy rule book, somewhere.


The biggest change since my last blog entry is my newly acquired Doppler. How cool is that?!?!? I won it off an auction on EBAY. Now, despite not being able to feel the baby yet, I sure can hear it! And no, I am not OCD’ing my heartbeat checks! You’ll not find me checking the heartbeat a dozen times a day, most of the time it’s just once a day that I take a quick listen and that’s enough to keep me feeling tranquil.


I think most people at my work know I’m pregnant, if the stares at my stomach are any indication. I suppose at some point I’ll wear some sort of “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant” tee-shirt and squelch any remaining doubts on the curiosities of my expanding waist line.

Seeing Double….

A funny thing happened on the way to IVF….. I wound up pregnant. I know, that was such an incredibly cliché thing to do!

So here I am 8 weeks, 5 days, pregnant. I am still living in disbelief and a bit of terror. One of my first thoughts was, “What. Have. I. Done.” It’s almost like I got so transfixed with the trying aspect of getting pregnant, that I really didn’t see beyond that. I mean I DID… but I didn’t. It was the dream that seemed a bit unattainable. Seriously think about it, I can’t even mend a garden hose and yet a doctor was able to sew up my fallopian tubes, after having had them lie around twiddling their thumbs for over 10 years, and on top of that, to have them…. WORK!?!?! And at my age. With my numbers. Disbelief.
Soooo…. Here I am, pregnant. Wow.

I didn’t NOT write about being pregnant because I was trying to follow some first trimester announcement protocol, no… it is simply because I’ve still not exhaled. I’m still holding my breath, though with this blog I hope to exhale a little bit.

We were literally waiting to start the IVF cycle when I found out I was pregnant. I don’t even know what possessed me to take a pregnancy test, perhaps it has just become such a habit and it built itself into my cycle routine. Whatever the reason, there I was taking a pregnancy test in the middle of the afternoon. I was ready to toss it with disgust at another single line staring back at me, when I realized that I was being greeted by two lines. TWO LINES!!??!! I was shocked. Sonora, who was heading out that weekend for Florida, had JUST said to me, “I bet you end up pregnant and don’t need IVF…” That girl was eerily correct!! That night Scott, Sonora and I go out for a “goodbye” dinner for Sonora and afterwards stop and buy another pregnancy test, this time a digital one. I say that I’m going to take it in the morning, but of course I don’t wait and take it immediately when we get home. The next day there are four tests all lined up in a row…. All saying the same thing: Pregnant.

3.5 weeks and Scott and I are at the doctor’s office. The doctor is shocked that I even took a test. He even asked me why I took a test so soon and I just sort of shrugged and laughed, which was much better than having to admit that I buy them in bulk and take them like they had become my new hobby.

Since 3.5 weeks was too soon to see anything on an ultrasound, the doctor sent me for blood work. My HCG levels came back and yup… pregnant! Feb 22nd they were 323 and on the 25th they jumped to 1453! (They’re supposed to double every couple of days.)

5 weeks in I developed a HUGE cold. Obviously I didn’t take anything for it, just spent the weekend in bed blowing my nose and feeling miserable. 5 and a half weeks in I am feeling better, but decided to stay home from work and get a little bit more rest. I was walking to the kitchen when I realize that something wasn’t right. I was bleeding. I called my doctors office and they told me they could get me in later that afternoon. I just knew that I’d lost the baby. I sat down on my sofa and cried….

Later that day in my doctor’s office, the doctor dimmed the lights and performed an ultrasound. And we got to see that the baby was located in the right spot and after magnifying the image, the doctor said that he could see what looked like heart activity. He said this made him “Cautiously optimistic” and things were probably fine and the baby was ok.

I spotted for a week and a half. Each day that I spotted I was miserable. Scott was patient with me as I had several emotional ups and downs. We didn’t want to lose the baby… though I knew that if we did, it was probably some genetic issue and it “would be for the best.”

7.5 weeks in and we have another doctor’s appointment. This time there is no doubt about seeing a heart beat! The baby is the appropriate size and has a heartbeat. The doctor tells us that after seeing a heartbeat, the risk of miscarriage goes down…. However, because of my age- there is still a higher risk for me. But, again, he’s optimistic.

Today I’m 8 weeks and 5 days. I’m still scared, daily. We’ve already announced it to friends and family, already posted a picture of the ultrasound on Facebook…. And have already received the cautionary warnings that we’re announcing it too soon. But here’s the deal: We’re celebrating the life that is inside me RIGHT NOW. Because as of the last doctors visit, this baby was alive. What if things don’t work out?? Well, then they don’t work out. But we’ll know that we did get to enjoy the little time I had being pregnant with this baby. Not for everybody, but this is how we roll. And that makes me happy. Because it’s too easy to rest in that familiar space of fear, at least for me.

I know my risk for miscarriage is higher than the average under 35 year old. And I don’t think I’m above complications. But when do you say when?? I can list off several examples of women who have sadly experienced miscarriages from 5 week to 8 months. And I find it easy to dwell on these, with pure terror… but, at some point I need to give my neurotic self a break and say, “whatever will be will be…. “ And instead of being on some morbid death watch…. I’m going to try and be optimistic that it IS going to work out. And instead I want to focus my terror on things to come, like childbirth (OUCH!) and terrible two’s (AWK!) and having a teen in my 50’s (AHHHHHHH!!!!).

7.5 Weeks

7.5 Weeks

Ms. Potential….

Potential… such an optimistic word. So hopeful. So encouraging….. yet, so not guaranteed.

That first date, that job interview, the artistic abilities displayed… such potential….. but really, what really counts is the view in retrospect: did the relationship pan out past the 2nd date, did the job interview land the job, did the artistic abilities reach their…. potential…..??

Potential, so optimistic a word…. but still, until the end, a gamble.

I’m so excited about tomorrow’s appointment. We’re going to a fertility clinic to discuss our potential participation in an IVF research study… IF we’re accepted into the study, we’ll receive FREE IVF treatments!!!

Translation: IVF normally costs anywhere from $15-20,000!!

IF we are accepted into this program, it will be like winning the fertility lottery. It’s just feeling too good to be true. Potentially a very interesting kick off to a new year!

New years always offer such potential, a clean slate….. a great starting point. And right about now I would be writing my list of New Year’s Resolutions, but this year I’m just not feeling it. Instead, I’m feeling a bit more introspective and have decided to write a list of questions that I want to answer by the end of 2011. So, with all the pomp and grandeur of an official New Year’s Resolutions list… I here by give you the list of things I want to answer in the coming year:

1.Where am I living?
2.What job do I have?
3.Did I get pregnant?
4.Did my pregnancy take?
5.Did I have twins?
6.How did Sonora like Florida?
7.Did Sonora extend her stay with the Florida program?
8.Did I lose anybody I love?
9.Did I meet any new friends?
10.Did I get in shape?
11.What books did I read?
12.Did I have an epiphany?
13.Hows my relationship?
14.Did I go on vacation?
15.Did I finally use my passport?
16.Did I learn a new skill?
17.Did I continue to bite back?
18.Did I train my dogs?
19.Am I happy?
20.Did I make a difference?

Infertility is a misogynistic disorder….

This “rant” is not based on anything but opinion, since I didn’t fact check one ounce of this brain spew…. it’s just an observation from a slightly bitter and very barren me.


Infertility is totally sexist. Yes, it affects couples, but really the majority of women I come across on the sites are the one’s being treated for and actively engaged in fighting infertility. Infertility, for the most part, is quite a misogynistic condition.


For one thing, the mere act of aging and turning another day older will guarantee another step towards the inevitable decline of a woman’s ability to conceive. But for a man…. as long as he can still get jiggy with it and hobble to the bed (couch or kitchen counter) he can procreate to the grave!


I have male counter parts who are dating with the same age gap as I*…. but the struggle to conceive would be inconceivable, if say, they were to wake up one day and decide they wanted to pop a few more progeny out.


(*10 year gap, for those keeping track)


I am in the midst of another “lets not try” month. I suppose we’ve only had two of these. This one is easier because I have the potential IVF looming in the near future. As I filled out the chapters of paper work the fertility clinic sent me, I had to look up where I was at in my current cycle. This was a forced cheat and I am not to blame for having to “pay attention” for a moment as to where I am ovulation wise. It’s funny, one look at the fertility calendar I keep and my brain instantaneously runs off with the facts, figures and statistics…. the good news is that even if I wanted to jump in and start “trying” this month, the fertile time frame has already past. Yes, a mere second and my brain figured that out. And that is a good example of why I say that infertility is directed at woman. What man passes his significant others fertility calendar and has any idea what in the hell he is looking at, or does calculations as to whether or not IT (bow wow chicka bow wow) should be on the agenda for the evening.


I don’t want to be in this place of trying for another 2 years…. I give mad props to the women out there who have hung in it for that long, I’m just not going to be one of them. I’ve decided that I’ll give it a go for a year, maybe a year and a half…. but after that, I’m not going to call it a night.


When I say that I don’t consider myself to be infertile, I mean it. True, my age might dictate that I’m less than fertile… but I think that I am far more impatient, then infertile. I don’t want to be 43 and pregnant. I don’t want to be 42 and pregnant… I want to be 40 or 41.


People always say that there are “options”…. but friggon hell, not only is infertility sexist, it’s damn expensive too! We’ve already spent some serious CHAching on this quest…. and I feel fortunate that we even had the money to spend. But we’re not a bottomless pit of money and our bank account is not that of Celine Dion.


The appointment with the fertility clinic is one week from Monday….. and I hope that we come away with some idea of whether or not we’re going to be able to participate in the research program or not. I’ve already decided that if we do get to participate in the free IVF program and if it doesn’t take, I only want to pay out-of-pocket one more time for IVF and probably with donor eggs. After that…. I think we need to look into adoption.