Here We Go

This fertility journey sure is insane. You're always on a roller coaster, though some days you find that you've gotten off one ride just to board another one. There's the Hope Coaster, the Depression Coaster, the Anger Coaster. And maybe if you're doing a lot of yoga, meditation and acupuncture, you get a few spins on that lovely, relaxing Ferris Wheel with great views. 

I've been hanging out on the Ferris Wheel for a bit now, I'm glad to say. It's a ride I always enjoy at any kind of amusement park. I just love the feeling of looking out and seeing everything spread out below me. There's so much to see and imagine, so much that is happening below you that you aren't even aware of. If I were getting philosophical I'd try to wrap that into some metaphor for living a beautiful life. But I'm busy at work (yep! I got myself a job about a week and a half ago. Go me!) and don't have a lot of space in my brain for flowery metaphors. 

Turns out it's time for me to board a new ride. I've been so scared that I was going to have to get in line for the scariest ride in the park - one that's sure to shake you about, turn your stomach, make you question what you've done wrong in life, and whether you'll actually come out in one piece - the IVF Coaster. Now, I love the thrill of a good, adrenaline-boosting ride, but I've found that as I get older, these rides aren't really agreeing with me. Last summer I blacked out on a roller coaster in Wisconsin! I've never blacked out in my life. Well... 'cept that night in college... Totally different. But I was so scared by the prospect of that ride that I didn't fully appreciate how it would feel if it turned out that I didn't need to get on that ride. That maybe, just maybe, all the stars would align and I'd be getting on the I-Just-Got-My-First-Ever-Positive-HPT Ride. 

Yeah, it's true. That's my new roller coaster. Here's the proof:

I'm not sure what to make of it still. As I start to think about what may lay ahead in the next 9 months I actually feel like an imposter. Like I'm on stage acting out a part from a script. It's someone else's life. I'm just standing in and pretending to be the girl who needs to figure out when to tell family, when to tell friends, what hospital to deliver at, when maternity clothes will be necessary, how long before someone at work notices. There are some emotional scars that remain, for sure. PTSD? Eh, that's probably overkill.

What's going to make it real? When will I feel safe from the infertility monster? I guess my blood work tomorrow will be a first step. Those hcg numbers will surely tell a tale. But after that? I probably won't feel settled in for the long haul until January. Maybe when CCRM graduates me to my regular OB. The truth is, full-term pregnancy is an honest-to-god miracle. There are so many things that can go wrong. Whether or not you're aware of it, you probably know someone who has had a miscarriage or a pre-term birth. It happens more frequently than most people are willing to recognize in polite company. Because it's goshdarn terrifying and no one wants to talk about it.

Other than feeling like kind of a fraud when J and I talk out loud about The Positive, I'm freaking elated. I took a test at 5:30am on Saturday morning and totally silent-cried in the bathroom as I watched the second pink line slowly darken as the seconds ticked by. I couldn't fall back asleep so I took pups for a walk and then we hung out on the couch watching tv til J woke up. I still wasn't ready to tell him. I was afraid it wasn't real. I'd hidden the test strip under my side of the vanity and kept going back to look at it, as if the line would have disappeared or that I dreamed the whole thing. 

The inspection on our new house was at 9:00am and, being a total novice, I thought it might take 1-2 hours. WRONG! We finished up at 1:30, at which point we took a lunch break. Knowing that the results of the inspection were pretty positive with only a handful of minor fixes, we were ready to appliance shop. But I couldn't keep it back much longer. It felt so anticlimactic to just spit it out and, frankly, the words "I'm pregnant" sounded far too risky in my head. So I asked J to drop me in front of Target after lunch so I could grab something. Truthfully, I needed nail polish remover but I also wanted something to hand over. A concrete object that would tell J: this is happening. We are going to start crib shopping whilst we search for a dining room table. 

I looked for a cute onesie but was far from impressed by the selection. Nothing called out to me as the "right thing." No precious little shoes either. And then I passed a section of monogram mugs. There was a green and white chevron one with a big letter D. And I immediately thought: Daddy. Into the basket for check out. 

As we pulled into a spot for Crate & Barrel, I said to J, "I hope you don't mind but I got you something in Target." He seemed intrigued as I fumbled to grasp the mug in the plastic bag. I handed it to him and said, "This," grandly, "is your new favorite mug."

"OK, but what's the D for?"

"It's for Daddy."

"Well," with kind of a sad and confused laugh, "don't I actually need to BE a daddy first...?"

"Yeah," nodding. "Well, you're going to be."

Poor guy. He didn't know what was going on for a good 10 seconds. And then it hit him like a city bus. His face turned bright red, I'm sure I spotted a little dampness in those eyes, and he grabbed me into him over the console of the car. And then after he released me, he grabbed me back again. For such a stoic and unemotional fellow, that was a much greater reaction than I ever expected!

The rest of the day was full of high fives, hugs, and washer/dryer shopping. We're both still wrapping our heads around this.  My guess is that I'm a little more guarded than he is after all the reading and research I've done this last year+ but I'm still incredibly thankful to have this first step forward. 

And to KRQ: whenever you read this, you're likely the 1st person to find out! So, shhh...That's what you get for following this story ;) Miss you!