365 dpo

The one and only time I ever ovulated.
The cycle the RE wanted to cancel, but let me complete "to make me feel better."
30 follicles, ultrasounds every 24 hours, an early trigger shot to ensure that only a few (if any) of the eggs could mature.
Insisting that JD splurge on the last minute plane ticket, no matter the cost.
A trigger shot 72 hours before I was leaving the country (alone) for months.

It is absolutely terrifying to think how close we came to disaster, and how many stars had to align for our miracle.

And in the end, one absolutely perfect baby.

Grumpy already

I just composed a long post in my head about what all those people (i.e. my mother, in-laws, husband, relatives I live with part time, etc.) can do with their advice about ousting the fusspot from my bed after 2 hours of leaning over her pack 'n play and patting her stomach and replacing her pacifier when I knew she'd be asleep in 2 minutes in my bed (as if I was going to go put my feet up and watch TV after she is asleep rather than start 5+ hours of work which must be done ...) when I realized it's started already.

The grumpiness. And this is minor compared to last time. But then of course, this is day one. I am dieting. And seriously this time. As in, low-carbs. Which, to be precise, I find abhorrent.

I feel a bit awkward posting about weight because I'm not a very large person, and I know my 10-20 lbs I need to lose is trivial compared to some people's battles. But the thing is, not being a very large person, I look distinctly pregnant at the moment. To the point that people have both asked if I am pregnant again (um, really?) and asked if I'm "Just practicing" when I carry my baby around.

And then there's my husband, always known for his delicate tact.

When I mentioned that I was feeling a bit plump recently, JD gave me a long stare and said "Did you seriously just notice that you look fat?" No, really. He then proceeded to explain that he doesn't care (which is true, and which he demonstrated by buying me designer clothes for my birthday in my newly expanded size and a new backpack designed specifically for my female curvature (their choice of words, not mine)).

So I'm going with low carbs because it worked so well before (for the long history of my awful fertility diet see posts 1-100 in this blog). Not too extreme, but no more dessert, 3-4 servings of carbs a day and an attempt to eat protein at every meal. Given that I keep kosher (and thus don't eat meat out), travel 2-3 days a week (and thus can't cook for myself) and am gone from home 2-3 days a week (and thus regularly return to an empty fridge and have endless trouble planning meals where the leftovers will not spoil in my absence), my new diet includes lots and lots of hard-boiled eggs, plain tofu, and hard cheese. And nuts of course. What a delight! (Do please note my sarcasm). Oh yeah, and I'm breastfeeding, which makes me ravenous (don't worry, I have consulted the experts about my new diet - I am nothing if not a little touchy about underfeeding the baby as Ms. J has noted before ;-))

In an attempt to sweeten the deal, my dear husband has promised me a present for every week I stay on my new diet. These presents consist almost entirely of items that I need to buy anyway (like a highchair for the fusspot and a new pair of flats), but it's still a nice idea.

As of tonight I am 154 pounds.

And yes, the fusspot is still awake. At 10:30 pm. When she would have been asleep since 8:30 in my bed. And I still have 5 hours of work to do.

Now where were we?

More firsts:
- First bubble bath (complete with mommy and a good deal of photography by JD. Luckily we had a lot of bubbles ...)
- First time TS woke up screaming in the car and I was in such a rush to pull over and feed here that it wasn't until a good 5 minutes into her meal that I noticed we were sitting in the parking lot of a strip club. Directly under a sign for exotic dancers. Starting at 4 pm, of course.

I guess this day had to come

I told my darling husband (then boyfriend) that I had no plans to age on my birthday until I had a baby. Seems reasonable. And so I have been turning 24 on the 24th for several years now.* Which makes this year's jump seem even larger than usual. Here we go 28.

There's really nothing I want for this year. Last year I got pregnant, got married, move in with my husband (after 5 years long-distance) and had a baby. This year? It won't be boring - we have an extended jaunt to Europe planned, hopefully some crawling and first steps, and most likely new adventures in IF - this time based in NYC. But honestly, I have everything I ever needed right now. And for all that I rarely wax eloquent about marriage or motherhood, both are truly incredible.

* And yes, if you met us in a non-work context you'd be far more likely to guess 24 than 28. Maybe it's the fact that I look really young, never wear make-up, rarely manage to scrounge up a decent outfit, and still like to wear brightly colored socks (when I'm not teetering in stilettos) ... or the fact that JD and I can give a fancy hotel room a make-over into turn-of-the-century tenement housing style in under 5 minutes (as we swept into our gorgeous hotel room** tonight I dumped a bag of dirty laundry in the corner looking for an outfit, while JD accidentally tore open the bag of diapers and scattered them on the floor due to someone's fussing, not to mention the fusspot's clothing drying in the shower and the collection of shopping bags, etc. scattered around the bed ...)

** It is so much easier to travel in luxury when you go North in the winter. And definitely easier to manage with a fusspot in tow.

Hello Canada

Just a very quick post to tell you that the only thing better than having a yummy, snuggly baby who is now sitting up with help, grabs onto toys, and loves to kick is having said baby on vacation with you. There's just nothing more wonderful than waking up late (well, obviously not for the first time baby is reliably eating very three hours around the clock) in a king-sized bed with no laundry or dishes or deadlines to meet and a baby lying next to you. It's delicious.

JD is so relaxed on vacation (despite carrying his blackberry and doing work for a few hours both Saturday and Sunday nights, and while we're on the topic I'm obviously only up at 6 am to send a few e-mails ...). And I don't think we've eaten a meal together this many times total since having a baby. Having the fusspot with us actually makes us much more relaxed - there's no point in calling ahead for dinner reservations or setting a tight schedule.

JD is most impressed with my ability to change a wriggling baby on my lap, which is quite necessary both here and NYC. There is sadly an inverse relationship between the small, quirky, vegetarian-friendly nature of the restaurants we like and the chance that they will have a changing table. (Large, American chain like Applebees: definitely a changing table. Cute candle-light pasta place we ate at yesterday night: not a chance). And since I'm breastfeeding, we really don't need to carry anything besides diapers (our first jaunt into disposables has not been so very pleasant - lots of suspicious brown stains on the back of her outfits, but we won't leap to conclusions about the substance) and layer upon layer upon layer for the baby (which reminds me of Tobacco Brunette's description of babies sweltering under baby beer koozie's ... maybe she wasn't thinking of the irresponsible parents who take their baby out for a long evening jaunt post-dinner on a cold, windy night in Montreal because their particularly choice of beverage has made them feel invincibly warm (bet you didn't know they celebrate St. Patrick's day the weekend after the actual day up here - giving us the opportunity to treat last weekend as merely a practice run) ... anyway, I am very glad for our endless variety of layers for the fusspot: we have the mini-fake fur hat with ear flaps, the beer koozie for the stroller, the warmest fleece/coat combination straightjacket ever, a separate fleece onesie ...

And the fusspot has had a number of firsts this trip:
- First passport stamp (At the border when the guards asked if we had anything to declare JD and I chimed at the same time "Just a baby in the back." Sometimes it is so incredible that we have a baby).
- First swim in a pool (she was most puzzled and not altogether pleased)
- First time we've noticed she can now hold a spoon and bang it on the table. This is an important milestone in my opinion, and much ignored by some families (possibly the ones who carry toys for their kids to play with).
- First time she vomited in a museum such that maintenance had to be called to clean up. I wouldn't admit that her parents were busy posing her for a hysterical photo on a museum bench and that's why she had no burp cloth near her, even though she had just finished a large meal in the very same museum gallery ...

Round One comes out ... a wash

Given my utter confusion about which doctor I should even be seeing for my breast issues, I decided to take the easiest option and see the ob/gyn* who could fit me in today and happens to work about a 5 minute walk from where I live.

The doctor seemed rather horrified that my first 3 bouts of clogged ducts/mastitis were not treated, but admitted that she wasn't sure exactly what she would give me to treat them (I have some meds restrictions). In fact, she suggested that next time I have an infection I go to ... her favorite breast surgeon and see if lancing the lump will help. Sounds yummy, eh? And all these doctors wonder why I did not seek immediate treatment when my fever hit 104. At least I know now that there's nothing reasonable to be done to prevent them, and that any treatment option for me is going to be gross. So my guess is I'll keep going with the advil until they get unbearable. Unlike the last doc I talked to on the phone, she did not seem particularly concerned about a festering bacterial infection given the spacing of my fevers.

I am rather proud of myself for being yet again totally oblivious. When I saw this doctor about 2 months ago I thought she was your typical frumpy middle-aged ob/gyn. Two months later thanks to an up close and personal exam of my breasts, it's quite apparent that she's preggers. In fact, going on maternity leave very, very soon. While other infertiles may be bothered by swelling bellies, I will continue to use my super-human powers of obliviousmess to fail to even notice them. Of course, not overwhelmingly reassuring when the very doctor you are consulting about your breast infection asks if you like your LC and if she got get her contact info - she's looking for one for herself in a few weeks ...

Back to work - it's going to be a very long night.

* She was in no way involved with my pregnancy or delivery, but I saw her for a quick consult on bcps when I was 4 weeks post-partum.

doctors, doctors everywhere and not a piece of real advice in sight

It's been a frustrating day of phone calls. After my 3rd round of high fever/red, lumpy breast last week (beats me if that's a clogged duct or mastitis, and my LC doesn't seem to think it matters that much, but I do wish one of the specialists I have spoken to would chime in on the matter) I decided I wanted to see an MD about it.

So I went to my GP who suggested long-term low-dose steroids (here we come weight gain!) and promptly sent me a referral 3 days later to a breast cancer surgeon. Brilliant.

Said surgeon, when I finally reached her on the phone this afternoon, told me she does indeed treat mastitis and would be happy to help 'cure me once and for all' 'just as soon as I stop breastfeeding' (this pronouncement was said in the just that perky tone you might use with a toddler "I will give you a lollipop just as soon as you stop hitting your sister"). I then explained my specific medical restrictions, and she told me to go immediately to an infectious disease specialist (do not pass Go and collect $200), but 'only when you're in the middle of an infection so they can biopsy the breast.' Sticking a needle in your breast, sounds like fun, eh?

So I decided to brave the specialist's wrath and see if I could make an appointment just to talk about the situation. "You poor, poor thing the receptionist said" ... and then offered me her very first appointment at the end of next month (How anyone is supposed to call at least 30 days in advance to get a biopsy while in the midst of an outbreak really does beat me). So that's not particularly helpful.

I then called my GP who suggested I just see the ob/gyn I saw for a bcp script (which of cousre I never filled ...). I happily called her and should be able to get in tomorrow, but they'll call and let me know if that works of if it'll be 2 weeks from now ...

Of course, it doesn't help that I'll be out of the country next week, gone for part of every week for work, and leaving the country for months come summertime, and of course the allergies to common meds doesn't leave that many options either ... but I at least wish I knew which type of doctor I should be seeing (Ob/gyn? Breast surgeon? Infectious disease specialist?) and had some idea of the range of treatments (The very perky surgeon did mention that she has had to have patients 'like me' admited for 2-weeks of in-patient treatment. Sounds like fun with a baby in tow, right?). And then there's the lurking suspicion that either my pain tolerance has gone way up (I am rather proud of the fact that I have taken no meds other than tylenol and advil for a full 12 months - not even a drop of my beloved sudafed for flights) or that my infections really aren't that bad because when it comes to a choice between treating the infections or giving up breastfeeding, well, I'm going to keep right on feeding my baby. And if advil is the only viable option, advil it will be.

But it would sure still be nice to see one of those fancy-pants doctors, rather than relying on Drs. Google and my beloved bloggy-people (hi Io! hi Rachel! hi Ms. J!) for a diagnosis.