stuff to say v2.0

picnic

maresi — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 17:39:00 +0000

We went to one of the best beaches in the country (seriously, a couple of years ago, it was rated #1) on the spur of the moment Saturday and had a little picnic. It was perfect – it wasn’t too hot, Henry had a blast in the water and sand, and the food was delicious. It was capped off with a lovely sunset.

Doesn’t Henry look SO tall?

I know this was wrong to do. But come on, look at that cute tush!

Everything tastes better when cooked and eaten outside.

Even Henry agrees.

This is the payoff for the insanity of Florida summers.

On another note, I’m seriously considering moving from Blogger. I hate not being able to reliably upload photos, the limits for blog design with the “new” Blogger templates, and other crap too dumb to mention. Any non-Blogger… ummm, bloggers out there have any good advice? I don’t want to pay too much for a service, but I might be willing to pay a smidge for better and more blogging options. Let me know in the comments, please.

dearest father…

maresi — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 17:01:00 +0000

Hi, Dad -

Remember all those years ago how we all laughed when you sneezed really hard and threw your back out? You were in a lot of pain and all we did was think it was ridiculous that something as silly as a good sneeze caused all that trouble?

Yeah, I’m pretty sure that if I knew just how easy it was to have a sneeze throw out your back, I might not have laughed at your misfortune.

Sorry, and I love you very much.

Maresi

how much is too much?

maresi — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 14:26:00 +0000

Congratulations, Lindsay (and A, for getting the ball rolling)! You correctly guessed that I could survive for the rest of my life by solely eating corn on the cob with butter (or I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, whatever). I’m amazed. You might remember Lindsay was one of my travel companions when I went to Greece last year in January… she recently got married and has bee-yoo-tee-ful pictures up on her blog, which you should check out.

Anyhow, what is it about corn on the cob with butter? It’s just so freaking good. I seriously could eat so many ears it’s almost gross. Timon told me I should enter a corn on the cob eating contest. We grew up near a farm from which you can buy corn that’s been picked mere hours before you put it in your mouth. We’d sit on the deck and husk (de-husk?) it and bring the paper grocery bag of husks and silk up to the old silo we used as a compost pile. The cobs would make their way there after dinner and sometimes I’d go look at them the next day to see if any animals had stripped off the few kernels we’d left behind, which they usually had. I’m sure my sister gets good corn now in her midwest state, but this is the best in my memory. Hopefully when we go to CT for my cousin’s wedding in July it will be ready for me!

Thanks for playing, everyone!

nice tries

maresi — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 14:38:00 +0000

If you’re just joining us, read the post below, item #3.

It’s not pizza. (Although I love good pizza.)
It’s not tacos or anything mexican. (Although I love good mexican food)
It’s not ice cream sundaes. (Although I love ice cream sundaes.)

I should clarify that this has nothing to do with the pregnancy. I would have chosen the same item at any point in my life. It’s a totally normal food that almost everyone has eaten after they get teeth. Another hint – it’s nothing processed. It is the only ingredient in the food, and it needs to be topped with something, also very common and frequently used.

this and that

maresi — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 23:41:00 +0000

1. Today at the grocery store, the bagger heard my request for single paper bags, please, as “put things in lots of plastic bags and then in paper bags.” That is annoying. Then he picked up each paper bag by the top inch, ripping each one as he put them into the cart. We use paper grocery bags for our kitchen and bathroom trash, which saves space (no giant garbage can in the kitchen), never smells bad (they’re small so we take it out more frequently), and puts a few less plastic bags into the landfill. Which brings me back to what I wanted in the first place.

2. I just sneezed, and I felt like my insides were turning out – like all the stomach muscles and my uterus were torn asunder. I don’t remember feeling like that when pregnant with Henry. Other moms, any thoughts?

3. I have to confess something: I could probably live forever on one food item (with its proper topping), and never get tired of it. I ate two and 1/2 of them tonight, and probably could have eaten 5 more easily. But you have to guess what it is in the comments… I will give you one hint – it is NOT junk food. SHOCKING, isn’t it?!? Good luck guessing!

12 weeks

maresi — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 13:38:00 +0000

Try to ignore the shadow of my stomach on the counter/cabinets. It makes me look a smidge larger than I actually am. But, I am feeling a little big. I know this girl whose asshat ex-boyfriend once gave her a morning hug, then pinched the skin around her waist and asked her, “Feeling a little big today, hon?” She is extremely thin. I hope she kicked him in the privates. Oh, and Timon & Henry brought me those tulips from the Saturday Morning Market last week, and they’re just now starting to droop. (The tulips, not Timon & Henry.)

part 4

maresi — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 17:00:00 +0000

Well, thanks for all the feedback, and for the encouragement to keep going in telling what’s turning out to be a mini-series length… um, series. Yeah. I’ll try to wrap it up today, so this might be a smidge longer than the others. I don’t get why the fonts are all crazy in this post. I’ve given up on trying to decipher Blogger’s inner workings.

Okay, when we last saw our heroine she was in a state of perpetual panic, clinging to the edge of sanity with her increasingly weak grip. That week between appointments was a looooooong one. I had read a book that encouraged us to tell people, even when facing difficulties and possible miscarriage, so that we’d have strong support if the worst did happen. That really resonated with us and so we told our parents and closest friends that we were expecting and what we had been going through. It felt good to talk about it. On Thursday of that week, I very sadly read about the loss of a baby on one of the blogs I frequent. Later that night I got a phone call from a friend of ours (who didn’t yet know we were pregnant) that they too experienced a miscarriage that day. She was 16 weeks but the baby looked like it passed away at just over 12 weeks. I was devastated for them, and (I hope this doesn’t seem terribly selfish) it only increased my fears that we would be next.

Somehow we made it to Monday, Feb. 4. Timon came with me, and the first thing they did was get me in the ultrasound room to take a look. Lo and behold, there was out little sea monkey, heart beating away at 171bpm.

We relaxed a little. We met that day with the nurse-practitioner and she went through the basic first OB appt. routine – taking my medical history, giving advice, answering questions, and of course, my favorite, the bloodwork. I apparently have shy and/or high-maintenance veins. They don’t like to be invaded. I have had more bloodtests in the last month or so than in the rest of my whole 30 years combined. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

I felt only slightly more calm after this visit. We still didn’t want to tell anyone for fear of the same thing happening to us as happened to our friends. I know it might seem irrational because I’ve read that after you see the heartbeat, there’s only a 5% chance of miscarriage… but like I said, there was no peace about this baby yet. Every twinge I felt and every hour that went by that I wasn’t nauseated was agonizing. (You might never understand that desire to feel nauseated – for some reason it was a reassuring sign that I was still pregnant, despite how uncomfortable I was.)

So now, I’d been needle-stuck on 2 visits so far… once for the progesterone level, once (well, actually twice) for the normal initial bloodwork. They have to find veins in my hands to get each precious drop. One of the nurses and I have now developed a fun relationship – we joke that I would be the only person to survive any kind of slashing or stabbing, because I just bleed so darn slow. Grim humor, I realize. But you have to laugh at something, or you’ll cry at everything when you’re going through something like this. Henry got a weird rash that his pediatrician thought might be 5th disease, which is particularly concerning for pregnant women. So of course I had to get bloodwork (3 vials) to make sure I hadn’t been exposed. That was just a few days after my visit on the 4th. Then, for some bizarro reason I still don’t understand, my initial bloodwork showed a positive result for Hepatitis B, an STD that I sure didn’t test positive for 4 years ago when pregnant with Henry. The health department even called me to tell me this, and the very-sensitive employee really nicely informed me that my husband might have been unfaithful. It never even occurred to her to reassure me that this might be lab error. So I had to get stuck AGAIN for 4 vials this time to do all the necessary retesting. This was just about one week after the 5th disease test. The nurse now laughs at me when she sees me sitting there in the lab (another reason to love my practice, the in-house lab draws) because she knows what whoever happens to be sticking me is in for.

I had the least eventful visit at almost 12 weeks last Friday. I had agreed to do the Nuchal Translucency testing, which measures a fold at the base of the baby’s neck and also involves (2 vials this time) of bloodwork – YAY! I don’t necessarily feel as if we’re at any increased risk for Down’s Syndrome which is what they’re looking for, but our insurance pays for it, and who am I to turn down another chance to see the baby on the screen? The baby looked WONDERFUL, s/he was jumping around and giving us a great show. You can see that photo in this post. Then I had my blood drawn, was weighed (I’ve lost a pound) and met with the OB for about 45 seconds. All the HepB retesting came back negative. She was going to try to track down the reason for the positive HepB test with the lab. Turns out that recently the standard quantity of antibodies present required for a positive test was lowered, and they’ve had increased numbers of false positives. I have to go get one more bloodtest, this time at the major lab because the sample has to be frozen to rule it out once and for all. I’m not worried about this in the slightest.

As you know, we’ve told everyone now. I’m gradually calming down. It’s been nice to enjoy watching my abdomen expand, to have Henry kiss my stomach every chance he gets to say hello to his baby, whom he is CERTAIN is a boy (I haven’t gotten a clear vibe yet). I will have a long, hot summer ahead. I consider this minor at the moment, when I realize what the end result will be. Nights are difficult for me with the nausea. I’m definitely in maternity clothes (the second child basically pops out immediately – I feel and look the same today that I did with Henry at 20 weeks). I want to ask you for any prayers you can spare that all will continue to go well. Thanks for sticking with me this far.

part 3

maresi — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 14:04:00 +0000

Sorry to leave you hanging for ONE WHOLE DAY. I actually didn’t figure anyone reading would want to keep slogging through these long posts full of all these um… details. But let’s carry on, shall we?

That last appointment was on a Wednesday. I tried to take it easy for the next couple of days, but didn’t have any more significant bleeding. I was feeling okay. On Sunday I woke up to shower for church and discovered bright red blood, and quite a bit of it. I completely lost my mind. Timon was wonderful, putting me back to bed, making phone calls to various praise band members to let them know I wouldn’t be there – I don’t think I’d told any of our friends yet about being pregnant. I spent the day in bed and on the couch, alternating between praying and sobbing. I’m sure I scared the heck out of Henry, being all hysterical – but he was an angel. He kept laying next to me throughout the day, stroking my cheek, asking me if I was okay, telling me he loved me. Despite the crisis I thought was inevitable, that day with Henry was very, very special.

I left a message on the OB nurse’s voice mail about this new bleeding – it didn’t continue throughout the day, but was still present. They called me fairly quickly Monday morning and had me come in for a check-up. I met with the OB first (one I hadn’t met before) and she said that between my symptoms and the progesterone level they had taken the week before being VERY low, that it was likely that I was going to miscarry. She was very compassionate. They quickly got me into the ultrasound room (this is one of the best things about this practice is their in-house ultrasound tech) and Timon and I gripped each other’s hands, preparing to see no heartbeat.

BUT, praise God, there was a heartbeat! It was faster than the ultrasound the week before, about 140 bpm, and there was measured growth – this time the baby measured 6 weeks, 3 days. We did not get a picture to take home this time. The OB said that it was good but guarded news. Because of the bleeding and low progesterone levels, she would not change the diagnosis from the week before. She wanted me to start progesterone supplements, a lovely medication that I hope you all never have to experience. Studies are few and results are mixed as to whether or not this supplementation even works. Some doctors won’t even prescribe it. I am convinced that it helped – after 2 days, I had ZERO bleeding and that has continued to this day. What happens is when you are a normal ovulator, after the egg is released and fertilized, your ovary produces enough progesterone to make a cozy home for your baby in the uterus until the placenta is fully formed at around 10-12 weeks. I am not a normal ovulator due to the PCOS, and so my levels were very low.

My first regular OB appt. was scheduled for one week later. They promised to do another ultrasound that day to check that baby was still hanging around and looking good. I was happy that the baby was okay at that moment, but I was nearly paralyzed with fear, thinking that for sure, the worst was just around the corner. I could not be happy or relax, ever.

…to be continued…

part 2

maresi — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 16:46:00 +0000

I hope you’ve read part one of our story… I want you to know that I’m telling our tale not to garner any sympathy or extra attention, but to hopefully help you all understand more about our experience with infertility/threatened miscarriage. There’s lots of sharing going on here, but I can’t really tell the full shebang without the nitty-gritty TMI. Sorry. But not really. And I fully know how blessed we truly are to have a pregnancy to write about at all. During the past year I’ve read a LOT of blogs written by women who’ve been trying to have a baby for 5 or more years, having to go through painful hormone shots, IUI, IVF, the use of donor eggs, had miscarriage after miscarriage, and other awful crappy stuff. They are true warriors and deserve all the respect in the world and as many prayers as we all can muster.

So January 10 I saw definitive proof in the form of 2 pink lines on two normal pregnancy tests. But of course I had to try the digital test to be convinced. When that word popped up on the screen I gave a little jump, grin, and fist pump in the air. Then I put that photo up on the desktop of our computer so that Timon would see it. He didn’t even know I’d taken the tests. When he came home from work he saw the screen and was as overjoyed as I was, of course. I emailed my sister, too, who knew what we’d been going through and were about to go through with the Clomid. I’m sure that Timon had been frustrated by the difficulties we’d been facing in his own way but I’m not sure it was as intense and acute as my internal emotions had been. I got many more comments from well-intentioned but essentially thoughtless people like “When are you having another kid?” or “Why aren’t you guys pregnant yet?” or “If you just relax, it will happen.” I can’t tell you how much these remarks hurt to hear, despite the fact that most people didn’t know what we were dealing with, and they couldn’t possibly have known that what they were saying was a dagger to the heart each and every time. It’s a really personal thing to go through and most people don’t know what to say, so they say what they think we want to hear. So we didn’t tell many people. If you ever have another friend who is dealing with infertility, click here and here for some very helpful things to say and do, or even more importantly, NOT say or do.

Anyhow, I called my OB to make a first appointment. It was for Feb. 4, when I’d be nearly 8 weeks. But on Jan 22 I saw what every pregnant woman fears the absolute most… blood. It was light and pink, which I’d experienced one time while pregnant with Henry. But of course after trying and waiting so long to get this baby I freaked. I called the OB office, and they had me come in the next day. I had an ultrasound and saw the tiniest of babies… who measured 5 weeks, 6 days and had a beating heart (100bpm). The nurse practitioner had them do a couple of blood tests, including my progesterone level. She told me it was all probably fine, and that she’d see me at my Feb. 4 visit. Official diagnosis: Threatened Miscarriage. But I got to bring this picture home:

(that little blur on the right side of the black spot is the baby.)

I was sure this would be the end of it – just like in my pregnancy with Henry, I’d have this little spotting and then I’d be totally fine. But no, there was more crap to come.

…to be continued…

sit right back and i’ll tell you a tale (part 1)

maresi — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 23:25:00 +0000

SO… I guess some of you saw the big news in our last post announcing the presence of a 4th family member, currently residing in-utero until September, God-willing. Despite what the movies/tv/cautionary tales will tell you, it really isn’t that easy to just get pregnant whenever you want, and that sometimes even when you do you just can’t enjoy it for fear of disaster. About a year ago, we decided it was time to give Henry a sibling. I went to the DR, got checked out, and fully expected to be back in a couple of months for my first OB check-up. Well.. not exactly. July went by, September, November… We realized that something was definitely awry. I went to my doctor after a 45 day cycle and after several appointments, blood tests, and an ultrasound I was diagnosed with PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), which causes infertility in many, many women. I was alternately dismayed and relieved by this news – dismayed at the possibility that we couldn’t conceive on our own but relieved because at least we knew something was wrong that could maybe be treated. I was given a prescription for Clomid, a drug that stimulates the ovaries to properly release an egg (often more than one!) and instructions to wait 5 weeks to start taking it on day 5 of my next cycle.

Well, the weeks dragged by… we hemmed and hawed over whether or not we should take this medicine – could we handle twins (or more)? Is this messing with God’s plan for our family? It was agonizing. I had finally made up my mind to try the Clomid. It was about 5 weeks later when I was to start progesterone to throw my cycle into gear. I decided that I’d better do a pregnancy test to be absolutely sure that it was okay to start this medicine. It was January 10. This is what happened:

Ummm… what?!?

… to be continued…