Dreaming

In my dreams, if there’s ever a sex scene, what usually happens is like a PG-13 movie: there’s kissing, touching, maybe a bit of skin showing, and then everything fades to black. The next scene is the “after” bit, where we’re in bed with the sheets pulled up. All the good bits are left to my imagination, but it’s obvious that some hot monkey love took place.

Not last night. Last night I had my very first ever full-on, no holds barred, orgasm in a dream. Absolutely fantastic. The weird thing is , though, is like in a lot of my dreams, I was aware that I was dreaming. So I KNEW that I was dreaming and getting busy, and I was wondering if I’d actually O before the dream scene changed… and I did, and it was good.

My libido has been super-charged for a couple of weeks now, and I guess it’s all that extra blood flow and whatnot going on down below. I find it quite ironic that I’m not sick or nauseous, I actually have an crazy energetic sex-drive even though it’s not that mythical second trimester yet, and I’m single. There’s no lover lucky enough to get to take advantage of my slut-level randiness.

::

Last night was the first O dream, but I’ve had some really interesting dreams in the last week or so; at least, they were interesting enough to me that I remembered them upon waking, which is sometimes really hard for me.

Some of them were those realistic-type dreams. You know, the kind that’s so banal and everyday that it truly seems real? Well, in one, I dreamt that I woke up sneezing and got a bloody nose in the middle of sneezing. This led to me blowing mini-streams of blood all over my white sheets and pillowcase (even though the sheets at that time were actually green). I woke up for real a second later, and immediately reached one hand up to my nose, while turning on the light with the other hand so I could see how bad the blood was on the linens. There was, of course, no blood.

In another dream, I’d gotten up from bed and gone into the kitchen to get something to drink. There was a little bit of orange juice in the fridge, so I finished it off, then went back to bed. Flash-forward to my real awakening in the morning, when I was going to the kitchen to peruse my breakfast choices. Before I opened the fridge, I was mumbling about there being no more orange juice, and I really wanted some orange juice. Lo and behold, there was orange juice in the fridge. These dreams really mess with my head sometimes, but I find them interesting. In that, sometimes my brain is processing the most basic occurrences, but they still get a full cinematic event.

::

Slightly more interesting, but still weird, was the dream I had about me and my dream-fiance. We were college students, and the dorms were co-ed. The dorm rooms also happened looked like rows of stadium seats, and there’s just no way for me to explain that and have it make it any sense.

Anyway, the “rooms” were for 3 people, so my fiance and I were looking for a likely candidate to share a room with us. Apparently my fiance was bisexual, and we were into threesomes, because we were checking out all the cute guys to find one who appealed to both of us, obviously hoping that our close proximity would lead to more than just a friendly relationship.

I found a really cute guy, the three of us became roommates, and all was well… for a dream-while. Then I discovered that my fiance had decided he was just gay instead of bi, and wanted to be with our roomie exclusively. I had a big ole country fit, threw his ring at him, and left them still naked and going at it while I looked for another dorm room. Weird.

First OB Visit

My first official OB appointment went well this morning, except for the fact that it was about -40 degrees F in the office. The initial tests showed NO signs of infection, not even a yeastie beastie. Yay! However, the NP is sending specimens off to the lab just to be absolutely sure.

Because I like free stuff, I signed up for the Sim.ilac baby club thing. As a first trimester sign-up, I was supposed to get a free pregnancy journal, but my doc's office was out of those, so I got the third tri sign-up gift of a travel/toiletry rollbag. And it had a big bottle of RTF formula inside, which will thankfully still be good when Juniper comes along.

This is still so surreal to me, people. It's like I told the nurse today, "I'm an expert in TTC, but this whole pregnancy thing? This is a completely new ballgame." I'm 9 weeks pregnant, have had 2 betas and 3 ultrasounds, and still don't quite 100% believe that there is a baby inside me. It still just doesn't seem completely real. I'm stupidly happy, but still somewhat stunned.

I think that my starting to sign up for pregnancy and baby clubs/offers is my first step towards true acceptance and belief. At first I was too afraid, as if I would be jinxing myself if I started that stuff too early. Now, though, I've decided that I am pregnant, and so deserve to indulge myself in all the silly things I've always wanted to do. Coupons, samples, free baby stuff? Send it my way! I want it all! If Something Bad happens, then I'll have a lot of free stuff to pass on to Lila. See, it's all nice and macabre and normal.

A Christmas review

When the family was gathered and socializing on Christmas, in that nice pre-dinner chatting phase, my mother looked at me and whispered, "Can I tell them my news?" HER news. Ahem. Right. This is the same woman who told me straight out, if not quite in these words, that my inherent value as a person had diminished, and that my greatest worth now was to be an incubator for her grandchild.

I arched my eyebrow and retorted, "Do you mean MY news?" And then, without any plan, ceremony or ritual, I hollered out, "By the way, I'm knocked up. I'm 9 weeks pregnant." It wasn't quite how I'd planned to share my news with the family, but then again, I wasn't sure I was going to tell them just yet. Because despite the perfect Hal.lmark moment of telling the entire family I'm pregnant on Christmas day, I'm still only around 9 weeks. And have had pieces of paper that say "threatened abortion" in my RE's office. And now have a possible weird infection (more on that later). So I was feeling apprehensive about sharing the news, but with my mom's stage whisper about "news", I pretty much felt pressured into telling.

Hence the super countrified, red-neck announcement. I felt like that blonde actress on "My Name is Earl": "Hey, y'all, guess whut? I missed my monthlies, and now I'm all pregnified."

::

In my family, I'm in a weird, solitary position. I'm quite a bit younger than one group of cousins, and a bit older than the other group of cousins; so, I was in the middle and never quite fit in with either. One group babysat me, while I babysat the other! But the younger set is in a branch of the family that doesn't really come to the family dinners, so I remain in the minds of everyone something of a "baby" of the family.

After my announcement, one of my male cousins-by-marriage-- whom I adore, and is a cut up-- whispered to me, "You're pregnant? Ewww, that means you've been doing it." Throughout the evening he would pop into whichever room I was in and sing, "Kim's gonna have a baaaaaby!"

While my news was met with joy, that joy was accompanied by disbelief. No one could quite believe that I was pregnant since I'm the "baby"--despite me being closer to 40 than to 30-- and I don't think that anyone wanted to think of the "baby" having sex. My family has no idea of my infertility struggles, or that I used known-donor sperm to get pregnant. I see/speak to most of them 4-5 times a year, and it isn't exactly a topic you discuss with acquaintance-level people, even if they're relatives!

::

I had two female cousins, at different occasions, ask me what color the baby would be. One male cousin (the same one I mentioned earlier, who sang to me) tried to come to my defense--even though the defense was about as lame as the questions-- saying, "Well, she's black, so her baby will be black. It doesn't matter what the father is; if one of them is black, the baby is black."

Ouch that not only one, but TWO, relatives even asked such a thing. A part of me understands. I am different from my family, have always been different. Imagine being 16 years old, deep in the heart of Dixie. You happen to adore "The Rocky Horror Picture Show", Dead Kennedys, Poison, and A-Ha. And you've just gotten a Mohawk. Oh yeah, and you're black. If you want to be around people who like the same things that you do, your friends are going to be mostly white.

So over the years, my family has gotten smart enough to know that there's a pretty good chance that if I ever had a child, there's a 50% chance the father would be not-black. Still, I couldn't believe that I was asked the question, that it should even matter enough for the idea to be vocalized. Since I never said anything about being with someone, it should have been clear that I was having the baby on my own; so, to me, it doesn't matter what/who/where the father is, it's MY baby.

Want to know what's really sad-funny? I have had moments like this many times over the years, where members of my family have asked questions about the race of my friends, significant others, etc., or made comments about "those" kind of people. Yet I have never had a comment like that from my not-black OR black friends, not in all these years.

::

The night before Christmas eve, I had the mother of all BMs, and it was lovely. I know that sounds gross, but anyone who is/has been pregnant knows how magical a good BM can be sometimes, when vitamins and nature have you slowed down and stopped up.

Anyway, I was doing part one of the wipe, where you do the front bit. Having been a TTCer for many long years, I'm still in the habit of checking to see what's on the tissue. Well, there happened to be a huge gob of mucous, which I assume had been dislodged by the all the pushing action going on. Problem was, it was yellow-green. I know that yellow-green= double plus ungood when it comes out of your vajayjay.

There was no weird smell, no itching/burning, no pain. I've been having some mild cramps, but then again I'd been having those all along. Other than that one episode, there's been no more weird cootchie-snot. Still, the worrier in me is now half-convinced that I have some strange infection that's going to give my baby flippers for arms.

This of course had to happen over the holidays, when everything is closed. My OB office finally opened up today, and I called and begged/cajoled an appointment for tomorrow morning. My OB is on vacation (of course!) for about a week, but I'll get to see someone else in the practice. I really don't care, as long as they can do the procedures to check me for infections.

Ultrasound pics to date

Okay, so I've talked about the various ultrasounds, but haven't posted any pics. I finally scanned them, so here they are.

12/4/07, 5w6d. Heartbeat= 102 bpm

It looked much cooler live. I could see the membrane, yolk sac, and the flickering of the heartbeat.

12/11/07, 6w6d. Heartbeat= 115 bpm. CRL= 5.8 mm.

I had no idea what I was seeing, other than recognizing the flicker of the heart.

12/21/07, 8w2d. Heartbeat= 169 bpm. CRL= 18.3 mm.

I love today's pic! Juniper is all spread-eagle and like, "Whoohoo! Look at my junk! You can't tell what it is yet, but lookit!"

It is so unbelievable, how much has changed in just a couple of weeks. There are arms and legs in there! And a Big Giant Head, over on the right.

I think Juniper looks like a gummy bear, with that big head, and little stubby limbs.

Third u/s

I had my last appointment with my RE this morning, and it was weird to realize that I won't be going back to that office for a long time, if ever.

Baby Juniper surprised all of us, and proved that I was right about how far along I'm supposed to be. Both the RE and the u/s tech said that a measurement at this point (7-8 weeks) would be more accurate than the measurements a couple of weeks ago. If you remember, the measurements two weeks ago put me almost a week behind, and would have made me 7w5d today.

Well, Juniper was nicely spread out, head and bottom clearly seen (not to mention arm and leg buds), so the sonographer got a great view to measure CRL. She also did the sac size, yolk sac, and checked out my hematoma. She even looked at my ovaries, which the other tech hadn't done in my previous ultrasounds.

The final verdict was 8w4d, with a variance of +/- 2 days. I reminded my RE that by ovulation I should be 8w2d, and he agreed that that was a perfect dating for me; he also gave me back my original due date. So here's all the info I remember from today's final RE visit:

8w2d ultrasound
CRL= 18.3 mm (measuring 8w4d)
FHR (fetal heart rate)= 169 bpm
EDD= 7/30/08

My hematoma is below the baby, close to my cervix, and is smaller than it was 2 weeks ago. My RE is completely unconcerned about it, but says that I'm free to come in or call if I experience any more bleeding or spotting. In the last 2 weeks, I've only had 1 solitary dot of brown-tinged cm, so I'm feeling pretty good. RE also says that at this point, considering growth, heartrate, and all that good stuff, I have a less than 5% chance of miscarriage, even with my spotting episodes, so that's reassuring.

So now... it's off to the OB!

Embryo nicknames

In response to some name comments: I have no idea why, and of course there is a 50% chance I'm wrong, but I have been feeling "boy" from the moment I discovered I was pregnant. That's why all the nicknames I come up with are masculine; feminine names don't even register in my mind, because of course it's a boy.

I always thought I'd prefer a girl if/when I ever had a child. Now that I'm pregnant and for some reason think it's male, I'm excited about the prospect. I guess, to be honest, I don't really care about gender as much as I thought I did. I'll want to know what the gender is, of course; it just won't be a disappointment, whatever the tech says!

Notes for readers!

I've been out of town on a family holiday trip, and it was marvelous. Upon my return, I knew I would immerse myself into another glorious holiday celebration for the entire weekend, and was looking forward to it like crazy. In the 12 hours or so between the two celebrations, I decided to glance briefly at my email, and really wished I hadn't: some self-righteous (yet cowardly, since it was anonymous) person had decided to leave a message of vitriol on my blog.

The main focus of the diatribe seemed to be because I mentioned massive drinking on Thanksgiving, the day before I knew I was pregnant. The big worry was about FAS, as said Commenter apparently works with young children who were born with FAS and FAE. The problem was, it wasn't just concern being aired; it was a vicious attack on me by someone who, once again, hasn't the balls to identify themselves or engage in discourse.

So to any and all who were wondering, I have one word for you: hyperbole. If you don't know what it means, then get a dictionary and learn something about language and writing.

And not that it's anyone's business, and I feel ashamed that I'm defending myself, but anyway--- if you actually know me, and/or have read my blog over time, you know my "drinking & partying" habits. Which, in effect, basically means I have 1-2 drinks, if any, at all events, and am then done. Because I am single, and always have to drive myself home. Which means I can't overindulge, because I always have to make sure I am safe to drive.

And speaking of being single, Commenter mentioned that, as well. It seems that because I am single and currently unemployed, not to mention being an obvious alcoholic, I am apparently unfit to become a parent. Well, I don't really feel like being literary and mature anymore, so I'm going to say FUCK OFF.

I am pregnant for the first time in my life, and am emotionally high-strung. If you are a stranger and don't have anything nice to say to me, then keep your fucking mouth shut. If you're a friend and have unkind things to say, then do it privately in a one-on-one situation, not in my "journal".

Either way, there will no longer be any anonymous comments allowed. All comments will be moderated. If nastiness continues, then I will disable comments entirely. My emotional state is easily shaken right now, and I just don't need this kind of bullshit right now.

Does Commenter actually think that I am not aware that this is not the most economically propitious time for me to be pregnant? Of course I know that; I don't need an anonymous slag pointing it out like some 19th century do-gooder trying to show the poor tenement women the errors off their ways.

I also know that the cycle that I became pregnant was the least likely cycle for success in ages... and yet it was the one that worked. All the cycles I did while employed, and using fancy doctors, and drugs, and expensive tests, none of them worked. But the time I decided was the last cycle, where nothing more intricate than a vaginal insemination occurred, and I got pregnant? I tend to really hate it when people put hints of "otherness" on everyday events, but part of me can't help but think that I was supposed to get pregnant when I did; that even if Something Bad happens, there's something I'm supposed to learn from this.

I don't know, I'm rambling again. Anyway, even though Commenter pissed me off for several hours, I had a fantastic week, both with friends and family. It's Christmas time, one of my favorite times of the year, and I'm enjoying it. It doesn't take money to share love.

Second u/s

Irony of all ironies: even though I KNOW when I ovulated and have been dating my pregnancy accordingly (6w6d today), today's u/s, CRL and heartrate measurement all date Li'l Cooter's age as 6w2d... which actually corresponds to my LMP date. So, according to Dr. McHottie, my new due date is August 3, instead of July 30. Dr. McH says he really doesn't know why there's a discrepancy, but that nothing about this process is exact; that even women who do IVF and know EXACTLY when their embryos are transferred, have discrepancies when they have dating u/s. The most likely scenario is that Cooter was a late implanter, but we'll never know.

Because I've had some issues-- namely, pains & cramps, spotting/hematoma, low progesterone, and Bubba Jr. being a bit smaller than expected, I'll see Dr. McHottie one more time, in two weeks, before he releases me to the ob-gyn. I know that it's a technicality, and that it's helpful in working the insurance company, but it's freaky as hell to look at my paperwork and see the words, "Threatened Abortion".

On a happier note, Tripp is 5.8mm, has a heartrate of 115 bpm (up from 102 last week), and is measuring 8w2d. As soon as I have a chance I'll get the pictures scanned and posted.

Last but not least, since I have no idea what I want to nickname this little one, I've just decided to call it whatever pops into my mind. So far, it's mostly southern nicknames, but who knows?

BFP pics

Even though this is really late, here are my BFP pics for posterity's sake.

This is the first one, which was peed upon at the crack of dawn, the day after Thanksgiving. It was also the day after generous gin & tonics, but that's a story for another day. Like, when I'm explaining to little Rutherford why he was born with his heart outside his body. Anyway, this is on Friday, Nov 23rd, 16dpo, with FMU (first morning urine):

The next day I was still in shock, and peed on another test "just to be sure". Here's the test from that Saturday evening, with something like, the sixth urine of the day:

I Heart Raisin Bran & Healthy Bowels

I realized that I unknowingly lied the other day about cravings. I didn't really see it as a craving, but it hit me this morning: I've been satisfying a "craving" for almost two weeks now. I am addicted to Raisin Bran. Also oatmeal to a small degree, but the main culprit is Raisin Bran.

If I do not have Raisin Bran for breakfast, then I will have it for lunch. If not for lunch, then it will be dinner. I don't think I've gone more than 36 hours at a time without getting a RB fix. That stuff is like crack to me. And to think I've been wondering why I haven't had any problems with my bowels. Hah! With all the oat & bran fiber I'm eating--coupled with the 4 million ounces of water per day that I'm drinking-- it would take a miracle for me to get backed up.

(knock wood)

Cravings?

Dinner= vanilla milkshake + BBQ pork rinds.

That even sounds nasty to me, but it sure was nice going down. Here's the thing, though: I didn't crave pork rinds with a shake. I wanted a shake AND I just happened to also want some pork rinds. I didn't want to choose, I wanted them both equally. I do believe this was my first instance of craving.

Now I understand that pickle-and-ice-cream legend. Eat up, baby; soak up the southerness! All I need now is a Moon-Pie, an RC cola, and a bag of Funyuns to send my unborn child right on the road to being nicknamed something like "Cooter" or "Bubba".

~*~*~*~*~*~

On an unrelated note: I have a super-nose now. I don't know if this is simply a side effect of quitting smoking, if it's because of the pregnancy, or if it's from both. But I am super-sensitive to the scent of cigarette smoke, and in a weird way: I like the smell of someone smoking, but the smell of them AFTER they've smoked is completely repellent.

As in, if I'm on a patio and someone is smoking, I find the scent of the smoke wafting on the breeze wonderful. But the moment the cigarette is put out, the person who was smoking suddenly smells like they rubbed a dirty ashtray all over themselves, and it's very icky to me. Weird.

Tummy sleeping

Sometimes the most silly things pop into your head. Last night as I was about to drift off to sleep, I thought, "Wow, you'd better enjoy this while you can. Before you know it, you won't be able to sleep on your tummy anymore."

Yes, I am a dedicated belly-sleeper. 60% of the time I sleep on my tummy; 39% finds me on my side. And that rare 1% is back sleeping, which usually only happens when I have a cold and can't breathe, so I sleep on my back, propped up on 19 pillows.

Honestly, though, it's already somewhat uncomfortable to sleep on my tummy, although it has nothing to do with my uterus: it's the boobs. They've gone from my normal huge, to gigantic and sore, and I have to do some creative pillow positioning to be able to sleep on my tummy without the weight of my body causing horrific agony as I crush my own breasts.

The tiniest heartbeat

Yesterday was a busy day. I had a cardiology appt. in the morning, then had to work in a nap, and finally the u/s at 3pm. The u/s went well, and I saw a little blob: one gestational sac, one yolk sac, and one baby-blob. The little blob-- already showing off advanced skills-- was showing a heartbeat at a mere 5w6d. What a gifted little ink blot! I've toyed with calling "it" Rorschach, but too many people mispronounce it, and it drives me nuts.

Anyway, things look good, except that I have a subchorionic hematoma. Of course, that explains the spotting I've been having: some of that blood is making its way out. My RE was supremely unconcerned and very optimistic about things, telling me that at least 25% of normal pregnancies have spotting and bleeding, and are just fine. Of course, I still worry about what percent of pregnancies have bleeding that AREN'T normal pregnancies. But for now, I'm trying not to worry to much, and just to coast on the feeling of a good early u/s.

Because of the bleed, my RE is allowing me to go back next week for a follow up u/s. Of course I'm taking him up on it! I know that once I leave the world of fertility specialists, and enter the world of regular ole OBs, weekly/bi-weekly ultrasounds become a thing of the past!

MoM: Depeche Mode (remixed)

So, this one does double duty as it not only pays homage to one of my favorite groups since I was about 16, but also is a great example of the techno I love(d) so much. Oddly enough, I like this remix of "A Pain that I'm Used To" much more than I like the original. Go figure. I'm a whore for a good dancin' tune.

So freaking tired

We got some new DVDs in the mail the other day, and one of them was "Ocean's 68", or 13, or whichever number the new one was. As it's been a while since I last saw O11 & O12, I decided that a rainy Sunday was perfect for a marathon of testosterone.

I got halfway through O11 and nearly gave myself a concussion when my noggin began to dip as I fell asleep, and it headed for the surface of the coffee table. It's really sad when you're falling into an uncontrollable sleep at 1pm. And that's after sleeping a full 8-9 hours, too. Well, minus a couple of bathroom breaks, and the obligatory punani-pessary insertion.

Two days until my first ultrasound, where I'll get to see if there's really something in there. I know that sounds completely stupid, but I honestly don't think I'll believe that I'm pregnant until I see something on the ultrasound screen. I know I've seen two positive home pregnancy tests, had two positive--and properly increasing-- hCG betas, have achingly sore breasts, and can barely stay awake more than 4-5 hours at a time. Still, there's a part of me that won't relax until I see a splotch on the u/s. Two more days.

Month of music: Duran Duran

I still get slightly breathless watching them (and Adam Ant, of course) in action. Good grief, when I was 12, I never noticed how much dark-haired Simon LeBon looked like Elvis... but I sure see it now. I guess he lightened his hair so much after this that the resemblance was lost, and that's a pity. There's nothing wrong with lookin' like the King, nothing at all.

Simon couldn't really dance, British boy that he was, but he had the lips and a bit of Elvis swivel going on, and that was enough. Here's "Planet Earth".