Dreams are just dreams...

BUT...I had one last night in which I started bleeding profusely. You know, from my lady region. I'm guessing this is just a symptom of the fact that I am preparing myself for bad news on Tuesday. It's happened to so many of you, why not me? Am I a special princess or something? Okay...I totally am a special princess, at it happens, but bad things happen even to special princesses. Like that one time my favorite pony got eviscerated by a dragon--there were charred pony guts everywhere. Huge bummer.

Anyway, here's what I'm hoping for this weekend.
1. That Bun Bun grows and thrives, that I experience no evidence to the contrary.
2. That my fucking cold goes away and I get some motherfucking sleep.
3. That all of you get pregnant. Yeah, even you, JB, and even those of you who are already pregnant. I don't want to hear your complaints. Just do as you're told.

Ha!

Last night I was bragging to Mr. Bunny about the fact that I get to experience the miracle of life growing within my body.* He said, Yeah, well, you're merely a vessel for my seed.

I love that man.

If Bun Bun is alive and well at next week's ultrasound, I'll see if Mr. Bunny is okay with me telling a few friends. (Weirdly, neither of us is particularly interested in telling our families!) Part of me is really looking forward to telling BFB. Part of me doesn't want to. Maybe I'm afraid she won't understand that my pregnancy, should it continue, is not going to be like hers, all carefree and shit. That what I've been through--minor as it is compared to many of your journeys--is not going to be erased just because I get to move forward. Or maybe I just don't want to hear all her assvice. Whatever. I'll cross that bridge if I'm lucky enough to come to it.




*You know, today, at least...as far as I can tell.

Grey days are still grey days

I know some of you feel that any sign of complainy-like-behavior from a Miraculously Pregnant One is an insult to those still striving, plus an invitation to the fates to kill the Pregnant One's baby, and perhaps all babies everywhere. I hear ya, I really do. However, I wonder if we don't do each other a disservice by putting a brave face on this experience. I hope I can express some things that are not exactly rainbows and puppies without filling your hearts with hate. Perhaps if I enclose them in a impenetrable wall of gratitude, the babies of the world will be safe. {I'm so grateful to be pregnant} Today is a grey and rainy day. I just slogged through the rain to a meeting that no-one told me wasn't taking place anymore. The thought of teaching a roomful of listless disease vectors who don't want to be there any more than I do just makes me want to cry. I haven't slept well in a million years, and am utterly useless. I don't like vomiting (I've started vomiting) and perpetual nausea. (I keep thinking, I'll never drink again!, then remembering I'm not hungover!) My cold won't go away. My house is a mess because I'm too feeble to pick up, and my husband is too lazy and oblivious to take over my duties. {I'm so grateful to be pregnant}

I'm not looking for sympathy or anything, just telling it like it is. Plus, it's been a long time since that ultrasound, and it becomes difficult to imagine Bun Bun is still in there. I'm not exactly worried, just incapable of really believing in a good outcome.

Chapter 12

When I was finishing my PhD, I got this book called The Academic Job Search Handbook. I skimmed the whole thing, then read the first couple chapters on preparing your materials and so forth. I figured I'd never get past those chapters. (In fact, the first time I opened it, I happened to find myself in the section entitled handling negative feedback, and I expected to spend most of my time right there.) But then I got interviews! So I read the chapter on interviews. And then I got an offer! So I read the chapter on offers! And next year I may get to read the section on changing jobs after you don't get tenure!

When I became officially infertile, I got Mel's Book. I skimmed the whole thing, then read the first couple chapters on being diagnosed and the section on IUI and so forth. I figured when the time came, I'd read the section on IVF. And perhaps later the chapter on adoption and the one on living child-free. Unlike the job search book, I expected to have need of most of the sometimes grim territory Mel's book covers. Except for chapter 12, the chapter on pregnancy. But after my third beta, I had the amazing experience of skipping ahead to that chapter. (And it genuinely felt like skipping ahead, like I might get to read some fun stuff now, but I'll for sure have to come back and read the chapters on pregnancy loss, IVF, etc...There might be a quiz, you know.) As with the rest of the book, there is some sound advice to be had. The part that struck me the most was this. Mel says that while it's normal to feel a crapload (paraphrasing...) of anxiety, you don't want to look back after your pregnancy and think If I'd known it was going to work out fine I'd have spent more time enjoying the experience. And that while it's normal to feel deeply reluctant to believe it might work out, if you lose your baby, it won't be the happy memories that hurt you, it will be the loss itself.

I don't know if the latter is true. It seems like those of you who have had losses suffer extra when you think about those happy moments. So maybe she's full of shit. But her general suggestion is to live your life as though you're going to have a healthy baby. It seems like a reasonable approach to take, and I might try it.

Meanwhile, can I just note how totally bizarre it is to have people giving me advice on something pregnancy-related? Really, really, really weird. And, today: no bleeding, no cramping, no reason to think Bun Bun is dead. Long may it remain thus.

Nature, your plan does not make sense

Since Monday, nausea has coated my entire day like a greasy film. Thus far it's just resulted in some regular gagging, but no actual vomiting. (I did steal some air sickness bags on my recent trip and have one with me at all times in case I need to puke in class. Oh, and this morning I also woke up with a cold. There's a constant trickle of snot down the back of my throat (YUMMY! Custard, anyone?) which has increased the retching to every five minutes or so. Hrraaccck!) The only thing that keeps the nausea even remotely at bay is eating something every few minutes, but eating is not what you want to do when you're constantly gagging. I'll force some raisins between my clamped-together jaws and every fiber of my being will scream out, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, INSANE LADY? DO NOT PUT THAT IN HERE! On the one hand, this is clearly a crazy arrangement. On the other hand, it's par for the course given how utterly bizarre the whole conception and gestation business is.

Am I complaining? Of course not--I'd do anything for Bun Bun, including purchasing a product called Queasy Drops. I have no pride. How could I, locked in my office, gagging over my trash can?

Another romatic vision dashed

So when you finally get pregnant after not-really-that-long-when-you-are-able-to-have-some-perspective-on-the-whole-thing, you get to experience things you've read about and dreamed about so wistfully. Like telling your partner about a positive test. As you know, that was not the romantic vision that I'd anticipated, and I don't care. But one of the next thrilling events is supposed to be telling your loved ones, right? You think about who you'll tell first and how excited they'll be and blah blah blah.

Well, I blew it. You see, I had coffee with the Lady Professors. I'm fond of the Lady Professors, and we're close enough that they know about my struggles, but we're completely not Real Friends. We're Close Work Friends: you know a lot about each other, but don't really want to take things to the next level. Before going to meet them I told myself, Bunny, you're going to want to tell, but you mustn't. And I tried to keep the conversation away from myself, but LP1 starting really pressing about my reproductive plans. And before I was able to stop myself, out came the truth. On the one hand, no big deal. I'd want them to know if I had a miscarriage, so it's not that I'm worried about telling them so early. On the other hand, why does a random group of women know this amazing secret?

(In case it's not obvious, you guys are not a random group of women. Your my Special Secret Anonymous Friends! Even though that sounds like I'm touching you in your private place and trying to convince you not to tell your parents.)

Also, I can't tell Mr. Bunny I spilled the beans. He's enjoying the just-between-us nature of the situation and would feel betrayed. So I feel like a terrible lying traitor, too. This is probably coming off all waaah, poor me, I told the wrong people about my pregnancy! I DO realize this is not a genuine problem. I guess I'm just eternally surprised that Life ≠ Imagination.

I haz two hearts

With the aid of modern medicine, Mr. Bunny and I made an embryo with a heart. Bun Bun (that's our embryo's name, and he's male for the sake of simplicity) is measuring 6w6d, right on target. I actually forgot what his heart rate was, as I was too busy being amazed. I've never felt anything quite like I did when I heard that sound. I've read so many of your descriptions of that moment, and I've certainly imagined it, but it defies all expectation.

I'd like to blather on about how badly I want this experience for those of you still waiting, how desperately I want Bun Bun to grow and thrive, how pleased with himself my RE was...but I have a shit ton of grading and class prep to do before I'm off to teach. So for the moment... me = dumbfounded.