On December 21st I wrote a post all about how our struggle with infertility has led to some changed expectations for us as a family and for me as an individual. Through the two years of trying to conceive baby number two I felt as though I was on an emotional rollercoaster - some days excited and optimistic, some days depressed and miserable and feeling like a failure. A lot of time was spent trying to convince myself that it would be ok if we only ever had one child, as we have such an amazing little guy, and other days were spent feeling so sorry that I wasn't able to give LP a little brother or sister....
As I wrote that post I was expecting a visit from good old "Aunt Flo" at any moment, just in time for the holidays. I was certain that her arrival was imminent and tried to focus on the events ahead of us like Christmas and our trip to Las Vegas instead. We were planning to enjoy our holidays and then jump back on the "trying to conceive" wagon with all of the injectable medications, visits to the doctor, rubber gloves, test tubes, and syringes that would involve.
But a day later, "Aunt Flo" was still a no-show and was officially two days late.
I'd stopped buying pregnancy tests every month as I was over having my heart broken every time one came back negative. I remembered reading, however, that in a pinch you could use an ovulation predictor test which I just happened to have a few spares of. Apparently the hormones you create when you're ovulating are just a tiny bit different than the hormones you create when you're pregnant, and while you can't use a pregnancy test to predict ovulation you CAN use an ovulation test to predict pregnancy (at least, according to some people you can. Google it enough and you'll find plenty of people who say it's not accurate.)
And so, on the afternoon of December 22rd I dusted off an ovulation test and did the deed. And a line showed up indicating ovulation (or in this case, pregnancy). Back to Google I ran, trying to figure out if I was just imagining things or being crazy. Still trying not to get my hopes up, I ran out to the drugstore and picked up a box of pregnancy tests - a three pack. I came right home and took one. Positive. Took another and it was positive too.
What? For real?
When Paul got home that night I told him, very calmly, that it was possible I was pregnant but that of course given our history of chemical pregnancies it was also pretty likely that I wasn't. I went for a blood test the next morning (after taking my final home pregnancy test- positive!) and they called that afternoon to say that my hcg levels were at 100. Not good, but not bad. They wanted me to come in again the day after Christmas for another test due to my prior history.
So we waited. We listened to Christmas music, played Santa, waited, opened presents, cooked ourselves a fancy Christmas dinner, and waited some more. We were leaving to visit Paul's brothers in Las Vegas on the 27th so we packed for the trip. And we waited. I tried not to think about it too much but it was eerily similar to the other times we waited only to get news of yet another chemical pregnancy.
The morning after Christmas I woke up early to get another blood test before the lab closed at 9 a.m. They called back later that afternoon and said my levels were up to 400 and everything was looking very good.
I guess Santa didn't know how to get that present down the chimney.
Since then I've had 2 ultrasounds at the fertility specialist and saw the baby's heart beating. They said it looked like there might have been a twin (!!!!) who sadly didn't implant but that the surviving baby looks very healthy. I was sent back to my regular OB last week and am now scheduled for regular monthly appointments until this little one hopefully arrives at the end of August.
(Yes, there's a baby in that picture- this was at 7 weeks along so not much to see yet!)
Today I am 11 weeks pregnant. The baby is the size of a kumquat. And I still haven't quite wrapped my head around the whole thing. Two years spent trying, crying, praying. Two years of blood tests and tubal tests and emotional tests. Two years of chemical pregnancies. Two years of trying not to cry when I saw a pregnant lady on the train. Two years of holding my friends' new babies and wishing I was holding my own. And now, this. At the end of this summer, fingers crossed, we'll be a family of four.