I’m so happy to announce it here: Pink is pregnant. Yes, as in the singer. One more thing: damn her.
Matt and I have been talking about the jump to IVF, and have been wishy washy about whether to try a couple more rounds of IUI (artificial insemination) before we moved on. IUI is affordable. It’s easy – a few shots here and some pills there and wham bam thank you ma’am. He’s been hemming and hawing like a regular ol’ horse when it comes to IVF, but last night I opened an email from one of his family members about Thanksgiving, and it detailed five (five!) births with photos that occurred over the last year. It really was lovely, but we were watching It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and my laughs became sobs (and I think blubbery snorts, but frankly that’s a bit embarrassing).
We decided then and there that yes, it was time to bring out the big guns.
It’s little things like that, that get me: simply being around others' children, discovering a Facebook “friend” was pregnant (two minute cry) to sitting around a table with women who are talking about their children (and they all – all – have children). That warrants a couple more minutes on the woe-is-me-ometer. I even got mad at Celine Dion when she announced she was pregnant with twins. I know: I’m horrible. But I don’t hate any of these women – I’m just plain old envious. Women who say “it just happened” or “we weren’t even really trying” are a giant enigma to me: who is this breed of woman? What do they do that I don’t? How can I be like them?!?! I can only hope their fertility will rub off on me.
In December it will be 1 ½ years of trying. I don’t think I’ve ever tried so much or so long for anything: I mean, I’m an inherently lazy person. Recently I’ve found it hard to sit down and even watch a movie, so you would think this has been trying, and it has – but hasn’t. My doctor appointments are so routine to me. I also see the same two ultrasound techs and I love them as we gab and investigate what, exactly, is going on in there: we both giggled last week when she said it looks like I have a good egg reserve and I exclaimed, “Well; we gotta get those babies to HATCH!” This is all down as I’m naked waist-down and she has her, uh, instrument, in me. (I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have an ailment that didn’t require me to undress from the waist down. Doesn’t an allergist appointment sound pleasant? Or an ear, nose and throat doctor?)
One thing that does scare me is knowing that IVF may not work, and we have finite chances. Getting my monthly “negative” call after an IUI is one thing, but after you put all your eggs (HA! LITERALLY! God I kill myself sometimes.) in one basket – that must be the lowest low. I already thought-out a plan for Matt to execute if it is negative that I conveniently entitled, “Babies Are Stupid, Anyway.” It will involve Chinese take-out. Lindt chocolate, and some jewelry (I’ll leave the picking out for him, but lord knows I want it so bling-y and shiny that it blinds me from my sorrows). Just kidding. Well, mostly. You know me: I’ll probably just settle for the take-out.