I meant to do a followup to that financial post, but then I got distracted. By gestation. Go figure. If you’ve been following along on any form of social media, you probably know all of this, but hey let’s put it in one spot right?
Funny thing. I did NOT want kids all through my 20s. Was reasonably certain I would never change my mind, but who knows? Hormones be crazy right? Well, turns out, yes. Hormones be crazy.
Around 30, a few things happened. 1) I was dating someone who expressed an interest in having kids in the future. Because I was Good Girlfriend I promised to keep an open mind. 2) I turned 30. And that thing about hormones? Duuude. Hormones be CRAZY.
So I switched teams.
And I’m kind of irritable about it, because one of my LEAST favorite things to hear was “Oh, you’ll change your mind.” Yeah, so I did. So what? I would have changed my mind either way, and having some patronizing dickbag being all dickbaggy really didn’t help. And y’know what? Lots of people DO NOT change their minds. It’s funny, of the women I know, about half of them have kids, and the other half have NO INTEREST IN HAVING KIDS WHATSOEVER. Strange, I know very few women who want kids who don’t have them.
Benefit of being in my mid-30s, I suppose.
So, to everyone on team no babies: I apologize for switching teams and giving dickbags more ammo to tell you what you really don’t need to hear.
This part may get a bit graphic, I apologize in advance.
So about two years ago, I stopped my birth control (an IUD for those playing at home). And went to see my doctor because prior to birth control, I never really had what most women refer to as a “monthly cycle”. As it turns out, one of those is required for procreation, being part of the reproductive system and all. They said “well, let’s see if it comes back on its own”. Sure enough, haha, no. So I got referred to a specialist, who was lovely, and very quickly diagnosed me with PCOS. Which honestly could have been figured out before except that the vast majority of women with PCOS are much, much heavier than I am, and I kind of dismissed the idea based on that. Ignoring the fact that I have EVERY OTHER SYMPTOM. Well then.
So they started me on metformin, a drug for diabetics. (Oh yes, I’m also insulin resistant and pre-diabetic. That’s fun too.) Except my RE told me under no circumstances was I to start that drug before the wedding as it has some, uh, unpleasant side effects. Digestive side effects. Know what I mean? Not the sort of thing you want in a pretty white dress.
I started it after the wedding, a little over a year ago. Well. It made SOME difference, but not really enough. 40-90 day cycles (where I’m not convinced I was ovulating anyway) are not the easiest to work with. So after a few months of that futile irritation (And PMS. Oh my god, I’d forgotten PMS… HORMONES BE CRAZY.) I tried to make an appointment with my specialist again only to find out I couldn’t see her for four months. That was the day after my 34th birthday. There may have been tears.
I asked my doctor to refer me to my preferred fertility clinic, Olive Fertility. And oh, OH! What a wonderful place. Already having a diagnosis and almost a year of treatments that weren’t working, we were able to move on pretty fast to a regimen progesterone and clomid.
And the third cycle worked. Holy. Shit. I honestly didn’t believe the first test, was reasonably certain it was just an evaporation line. Except the second one was positive too. And then the blood test to confirm. And the second blood test. And despite women with PCOS having a much higher chance of miscarriage… my two early ultrasounds also showed a perfectly healthy little bean with a heartbeat going thumpitythumpitythump.
I’m currently about 13w4d pregnant, and I’m due right around Christmas. We found out last week (thanks to a very expensive but mind-relieving blood test) that we’re having a boy.
I’m still a little in shock about that last part. Every single old wives tale (plus a whole lot of mama intuition) and I was pretty sure I was having a girl. Feels a little like switching horses midstream! Oh god, we have to think of boys names!
There’s a bit of “controversy” (or more to the point, nobody can really agree) about when the first trimester ends. I chose to go with 14w being the start of the second. Which means I’m about 3 days away. And I CAN’T WAIT. I have had the WORST flippin first trimester. Every side effect you can imagine, I’ve had it. I have thrown up in many an unusual place. I dragged my nauseous ass all through Iceland, and it was an utterly fantastic trip, but I don’t want to think about how much time I spent napping.
I worked SO HARD at getting pregnant, I feel like the biggest whiner in the world. Isn’t this supposed to be a magical time? Aren’t I supposed to be some smugly serene earth mother with flowers in my hair?
Because all that’s in my hair is a little backsplashed vomit. This is about the least magical I have ever felt in my life. I am so envious of pregnant women who had easy first trimesters that I kind of want to kick them and scream a little. JUST A LITTLE. Don’t worry, I don’t have the energy for that anyway.
It’s all for a good cause. Honestly, my feelings are all over the map. I’m excited. I’m nauseous. I’m scared. I’m elated. I’m hungry. I’m GROWING A PERSON INSIDE OF ME AND HOLY CRAP THAT IS THE WEIRDEST AND COOLEST THING I HAVE EVER HEARD OF. But mostly I’m hungry.
So that’s what I’m up to. In the meantime, I think I’ll go eat. Time for third breakfast!