Everything Else

Yes, yes, the staycation photos are coming, but first I thought I'd take a minute to sit down and write about all the stuff that I've not taken the time, or made the effort, or wanted to think about enough to write about over the past, oh, month or so.

Basically, we've been stressing here over a variety of issues, starting with the fact that we're about broke. Not can't-buy-food, gonna-lose-the-house broke, but shopping-at-Aldi-and-clipping-coupons, about-to-use-the-second-mortgage-to-pay-the-first broke. Which is way too broke for my taste.

I know we've been damn lucky to have made it this long without a real income from me, and we couldn't have done it without significant help from my parents, and from some lucky timing on a few different things that have come through just when we needed them.

In fact, every time we've been thisss far from having to start using that home equity line of credit to pay for basics like mortgage and medical and oh shit, how much did we spend on groceries this month? we've had something work out just right to save us for a bit, to buy us a little more time.

But this time, we're looking at about three weeks to an empty savings account, and not a lot promising on the horizon.

I am doing some web design work, and at a great hourly rate, for which I am very grateful, and without which we wouldn't have made it this long, but it's just not enough hours to cover what we need.

And, I have the online store, and it brings in some money, but again, not nearly enough.

So, wrapped up in the same stress about what I need to do to bring in more money, is the question about school for Peeper. When we first started really stressing about the money, I was also worrying about whether we were doing the right thing by not sending her to preschool this year, but now that she says she wants to go, I'm worried about how we're going to pay for it, and whether it's an extravagance, given our current situation.

And we're not at all certain exactly what she might be doing in a couple of years, for kindergarten or beyond. We have lots of options on the table, including the neighborhood public school, the local Montessori, and the local school district's co-enrollment virtual academy. Of course, every option has many pros and cons, and many things that we feel like we should be doing now! right now! to get her (and us) prepared.

The school question is very wrapped up in the financial question, because for every option, we have to consider some combination of factors like the possibility of tuition (with or without financial aid), the feasibility of me continuing to not work full time, the limitations on our family time because of Shrike's work schedule, and so on, and of course the answers to each of those questions are in directly conflict with each other!

To some extent, I feel a bit less pressure about that since she's expressed an interest in going back to Mother's Day Out in the fall (in three weeks, actually!), in that at least I'm not worrying that she should be going, and we will begin to get a feel for how she does in a sort of "traditional" (albeit play-based) classroom., and whether or not that looks like a good fit for her, and she will begin to get used to being away from us for longer periods (that's the part we're worried about, of course, given how it went last time around).

But, as I said, it just adds to the financial pressure, because there's another hundred-plus bucks a month (and more next year, if we go to three days, as we probably would) that we don't have.

Oh, and she says that she does want to take dance class again, so that's another thirty-something a month, plus how many pairs of shoes for her feet that seem to be a new size every week these days.

Yeah, I don't think I can clip that many coupons.

So, the best (least unacceptable) "solution" that we have been able to come up with is for me to start substitute teaching a few days a week.

Well, actually, our first choice was for me to do more web design work, so I hit up a couple of different companies, hoping to pick up at least some of their overflow or maybe even a part-time position, and found out that they had both just hired new developers. Day late and a dollar short, as usual.

So, back to the subbing thing. I started filling out the online application, and before I'd even gathered and submitted all of the materials, they called me to set an appointment for filling out paperwork, which I did today.

School starts on Monday, but I still have a few more hoops to jump through before I can actually start teaching, including the drug screen, which I can do just about any time, and a physical including a TB test, which I may not be able to get for a couple of weeks, unless I can grab one of those last-minute appointments that the doctor's office fills at 7 am.

This is far from an ideal solution - hell, it's far from a solution - because even working three days a week, I won't make enough to fully cover what we need (and I really don't want to work more - if I were going to work full time, I'd do something that paid more), we haven't quite figured out how I'm going to manage even that, logistically, because Shrike needs to leave for work around 2:15 pm, and the secondary schools dismiss at 2:50. Even if I were at the one closest to our house, it would be hard to get home before 3 pm.

Shrike's parents say that they can watch her for that hour or so of overlap, but they are pretty busy and it's hard to line things up with them ahead of time, let alone getting a call at 7 am, as is pretty typical when you're subbing.

I'm sure we have friends who would offer to help, and if it were a one-time thing, I'd take them up on it, but it's going to be multiple times a week (assuming I get as much work as we need me to) and I wouldn't feel right about that unless I were paying them and, oh hey, there's even less money that I'm bringing home.

I'm also just not thrilled about the prospect, in general, because I hate the idea of being away from Peeper three days a week, even if two of them are the days that she's in school. Of course, it makes sense to try to work those days, rather than when she's home, but I feel like I'm going to miss out on a lot if I'm not there for the drop-offs and pick-ups on most days.

And then, there's that whole thing about how I taught for nine years and quit because I kind of hated it. I love teaching people things (which I was reminded of when I was at the Learning Center), but I really did not enjoy pretty much everything else about being a public school teacher.

Some of that will be better as a sub (if one kid is a little shit, you don't have to see him day in and day out, and no preparation or grading to do) but some will be worse (all the kids are little shits for a sub, and walking into a classroom completely unprepared every day).

Right now, we don't really see any other solution, though, so I guess that's what we're going to do for the time being. I have to keep reminding myself that subbing is not like a full time position, and I'm not committed for the entire school year. If something else works out, or if we just can't make it work for our family, I could quit at any time.

So, I'll start subbing (although I still don't know how we're going to juggle that hour in the afternoon), and Peeper will go to Mother's Day Out (and hopefully handle it better than she did in the spring), and in December, we'll apply for financial aid with the Montessori school, just to see if that is an option, and I guess we'll just have to use some of the line of credit to cover our expenses, as needed, and hope that we don't get in too deep.

If I do go back to work full time in a couple of years, our first order of business will be to put any leftovers from my paycheck into paying that back down, and then worry about building back up some savings.

So that was the big stress from a few weeks ago, which has certainly not been eliminated, but is a little more
resolved-ish now that the subbing and MDO issues are sort of decided, but over the past, well, I don't know, forever? it seems that between those sorts of things, and my web design work and my MOMS Club responsibilities, and Peeper and trying to keep the house from getting too out of hand, and trying to put food on the table a few times a day with a variety of fruits and veggies, and shopping for said food, and hell, I don't know, breathing, it just seems like everything, every. damn. thing. is just so fucking much.

I have too much to do to even see where to start, and even when it's clear what needs to be done, it's just so overwhelming.

A couple of weeks ago, I talked to Dr. T about it and asked her, "Is something wrong, or is this just me? Can I just not handle all this, am I just that lazy, or am I depressed? I don't feel sad all the time, and I'm not unable to function, I'm just completely fucking unmotivated, and unproductive and overwhelmed. Should I consider an anti-depressant? How bad does it have to be for medication to help?"

Her answer was, "I think you're there."

So, as soon as we got home, I called my doctor's office and, would you believe, she was able to see me that afternoon. I had to take Peeper with me, so we didn't get into too much discussion, but she did agree that I would probably benefit from the medication, and by evening, I had a dose of Wellbutrin in me.

The next day, I set only one goal: To get the sink emptied. Several hours and four dishwasher loads later, it was finally done, and I have been able to pretty much stay on top of that, which is great.

It's only been a couple of weeks, so I don't know that I'm really feeling the effects of the medication yet, but it has helped somewhat do just know that I am officially "not just lazy" and that "help is on the way."

During our staycation, I felt better than I have in ages, I think because I was completely ignoring all those responsibilities and commitments, not even answering the phone or checking emails, so all I had to think about was Shrike and Peeper and what fun thing we were going to do next. It was wonderful, and as much as I loves mah Interwebs, it was actually kind of hard to turn that computer back on, knowing that all those things would be waiting for me.

Over the past couple of days, I've been so-so. The house is a big mess (but not the sink, so that's something, right?) and I just finally got a big MOMS Club thing taken care of that I probably should have done a few days ago, but I've also been trying to limit our (Peeper's and my) screen time (although I've cheated a bit with my phone today), and not had "computer time" until right before dinner.

Amazingly, she's taken it pretty well, and both nights she chose a half-hour Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and actually got up and walked away when the episode ended, rather than that "I told you one more!" (after already watching way too many) that I was getting last week.

So that's meant a bit of a reprieve from the pressure of feeling like a have to respond to and deal with everything immediately, and also it's meant that I'm actually spending more time interacting with Peeper (even if it's just hanging out reading or something while she plays independently), rather than both staring at our respective computers.

This morning, in fact, Shrike went to check her email to make sure that it was okay for her to go into work a bit late, because my paperwork appointment was at 2 o'clock, and when Peeper saw her, she said, "But Mommy, all the computers are off!"

I don't know how long that will last, or what rules we'll settle into, but for now, it's been a bit frustrating at times, but probably a good thing, overall.

But still mostly overwhelmed by pretty much all of the above.

I wish I thought the medication were going to put money in the bank, clean my house, or solve all our other dilemmas, but maybe it will at least give me a little better grip on handling all those things.

I sure hope so.

Words of Affirmation

So, I actually already knew this, having read The Five Love Languages (actually, I think Shrike read and summarized it for me, and I listened to the audiobook of The Five Love Languages of Children), but Dr. Facebook has confirmed that my "love language" is "Words of Affirmation:"

Mark Twain once said “I can live for two months on a good compliment.” Verbal appreciation speaks powerfully to persons whose primary Love Language is “Words of Affirmation.” Simple statements, such as, “You look great in that suit,” or “You must be the best baker in the world! I love your oatmeal cookies,” are sometimes all a person needs to hear to feel loved. Aside from verbal compliments, another way to communicate through “Words of Affirmation” is to offer encouragement. Here are some examples: reinforcing a difficult decision; calling attention to progress made on a current project; acknowledging a person’s unique perspective on an important topic. If a loved one listens for “Words of Affirmation,” offering encouragement will help him or her to overcome insecurities and develop greater confidence.

I've never realized it before, but now that I think about it, one of the things I enjoy most about blogging is the affirmation that I get from my readers.

When I write about something I'm struggling with, everyone from Shrike and other family members to complete strangers leaves me comments of support, and I find that incredibly helpful.

As I said earlier, I also talked about this anemia thing on my baby lead weaning forum, and I wanted to share what some of the mummies there had to say - both in terms of support and advice. (I hope I'm not going to get in trouble for reposting these comments!)

Whozat, repeat after me 'I am a fantastic mother'. You only need to look at your FB pictures to see what a perfect little family you three are, and how loved Peeper is by both her Mummies.

Neither of my children have ever had their iron levels tested. I'm pretty sure that they'd both be on the low end, as non vegetable eating vegetarians The point I'm trying to make here is that you weren't worried about Peeper before you went to the docs and got the blood test, the levels are only slightly low, so really you shouldn't be worried about her now. Give her the nasty vitamins, I'm sure by the next blood test she'll be fine.

You are a great Mummy, so is Shrike, and Peeper is a very lucky girl to have you both. Don't beat yourself up about the iron thingy, there'll be plenty more things that make you feel like the worst mother in the world ever soon enough {{{{{hugs}}}}} from me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ok, first of all, back off yourself.

it is not true that all deficiencies are caused by a lack of nutrition. sometimes, it's caused by a lack of absorption. also, it could be caused by a max-use in the body, meaning that she may need more iron that usual.

your assumptions about breastmilk and even non-fortified foods are sound, and obviously she's just under or a little lower than they like, and it's not as if she's in a danger zone. so, you've done well.

but, to get things up higher, i would do a few things just to help out. i mean, it can't hurt to do these things

here is what i would do (instead of vitamins, personally, but with vitamins is ok too):

1. as a BFing mother, i would increase my iron.

BM does adapt to provide everything a baby needs (including increasing iron, and other nutrients as the child's need increases), but it can only give as much as *your* body can put in it. you may not be getting enough in your diet to pass along, particularly if you are menstruating again.

this leads to

2. i would begin to cook in an iron skillet ASAP.

this increases iron in everything that you eat. the iron (as ferrous salts) from the pan gets into your food and there you have it--instant vitamin enriched. it works wonders.

3. increase iron rich foods.

most fortified foods use ferrous salts which are very accessible. vitamins that we take often use this a swell. but in our foods, we have heme and non-heme iron that we're dealing with.

as a vegetarian, i know one can get more than enough iron without meat, but most of it is non-heme iron. this does require the vitamin c to help absorb it, and so you're doing right in that for sure. vegetarian sources of heme iron include dairy products and eggs. obviously, meat is rich in heme iron, so it wouldn't be a problem to increase this.

aside from this, i would increase the fat content of meals overall for myself (as a BFing mother, we need more fat than we often think we do), and i would also increase the fats for the baby. adding fatty foods like olives and avocados can do wonders for nutrient absorption in general.

good luck! soudns like she's doing great and will continue to thrive under your excellent love!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

aw man, now you've given it to me...

dd2 was prem, but i cannot make her take the vits. they STINK. based on this i might try to give her some iron, though, it's a bit nicer. called 'sytron' over here, maybe you could ask a pharmacist?
interestingly, dd LOVES red meat, absolutely goes mad for it, so i've always hoped she was taking care of her iron thing by herself.

sometimes i'm just glad we don't have the money in this country to go looking at babies' blood... my dh was prem nearly forty years ago, he never had any of this fussing and he's a fine specimen of manhood.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

STEP AWAY FROM THE MUMMY GUILT.

You have no way of knowing that things would have been any different had you chosen to wean with purees. I have bumped along borderline anaemic all my life - some people just are like that.

You sound like you have some good practical plans to ensure she gets more iron in her diet - and yes - she will very soon take off with the eating thing which will help. Lentils are also a great source of iron so crack out the lentil burgers and the Lentil Cheese wedges!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I just looked at your blog and wanted to say how gorgeous and peachy she looks. She'll be fine. I'm sure it's really down to her birth circumstances and it's only on the low side and US paediatric system is known for running expensive tests which may flag up borderline cases. Good in some ways, but it unnecessarily fuels mothers' guilt.

I can only say I share some of your pain. My baby girl (incidentally born on the same day as yours, and my birthday too, and at 35/6 weeks) was tiny (5lbs) and although she put on a good amount of weight to start with that tailed off a bit and she's dropped two chart lines. I have persisted in ebf but deep down think to myself "if only you put her first instead of your ridiculous principles, you could have topped her up with formula and she'd have put on a decent amount of weight".

F*cked up logic, but I still think it.

She's lovely, ditch the guilt and enjoy her.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And just to prove that I don't get all my advice from the interwebs, Dr T had this to say, when I directed her to my "Anemia" post:

Whozat!! I hope in the time since you wrote that post and read responses, etc., that you have release even more of this particular (irrational) mother guilt. Believe me, I get it. We're programmed (and reinforced) to feel that way, and it is healthy to ask those questions like is there anything I could have done differently. However, this is not worth ongoing obsessing over!! Thankfully the vitamins exist, she doesn't mind them, and the level at which she's low is marginal! SHE'S FINE!

There are so many issues in parenting, and certainly you could drive yourself absolutely nuts with *perseverating* over each decision ad nauseum. It's just so not necessary, and takes energy from other areas that are more important! WE've got to find a way for you to RELAX on some of this stuff.

LIsten to everyone around you who cares and respects your choices: You're a GREAT mom!!!

And while examining and making thoughtful choices is part of what makes you great, you can back off on the re-examination about 10-fold and still hit the "great mom"
mark!! ;-)

Take care.

Wobbling

Thanks, everyone.

Of course, as I said in that last comment, there's a good bit of hyperbole in yesterday's post and, of course, I am sort of making fun of myself because I know that I'm being irrational (so that's good, right) - but I obviously do feel more than a little guilty about it, or I wouldn't have come up with all that stuff to write.

Intellectually I know we're doing a good job, but it's so hard to not question or feel guilty about every little thing.

With this, it feels like I "got caught" because I wanted to do things differently and ignore the "rules" and then it turned out that it might have caused a problem.

Does that even make sense?

Blogging about it really does help - the introspection and the venting and especially the positive feedback from the the few people who actually read it. So thank you all for that.

I posted pretty much the same thing on the baby led weaning forum, and of course, got lots of support and suggestions there.

My new British friends have a great phrase (they have a lot of great phrases, actually) when they are feeling like this - often in reference to losing confidence specifically with BLW, but with anything really -

They say that they are "wobbling" or "having a bit of a mummy wobble."

The other phrase I like is "slummy mummy." That's what you are when you do things the lazy way, or the "easy" way or the "way that would shock and appall the 'proper' mummies," like picking food back up off the floor and giving it to the kid.

But I digress :-)

So, yes, I know in my head that I'm being silly and letting this (and many things) bother me too much, and questioning myself too much, but ...well, there's really no "but" is there? I just am.

Sigh.

Thanks for listening while I do it.

Anemic.

The doctor's office called back, and Peeper is a little bit anemic.

The nurse said that, according to the full lab test her hemoglobin is 10.4 and they want it to be around 12, and her hematocrit is 31.6 and they want it to be around 35.5.

I asked about those numbers, "I thought the nurse told me yesterday that the hemoglobin should be between 10 and 12? Or was that for the screen, and it's a little different when the lab does it?"

(Sometimes these things change from lab to lab.)

She said that, "The in-office screen was right on, it was 10 and the lab said the same thing."

Um, no. Because I'm sure I didn't make up, "She needs to be at least 10 and she's 9.4" but whatever.

Point is, they say she's a little low and want us to give her 1 ml/day of PolyViSol with Iron.

As it turns out, we actually had an unopened bottle of that. I do not know why. Maybe we bought the wrong kind before?

Anyway, Shrike got the call from the nurse (and I called back later for details) while I was tutoring, so she found the vitamins and gave her a dose and it went down just fine.

She didn't fight it or complain or anything - although Shrike did bring her in for some goody right afterward, to wash the taste out of her mouth.

(Shrike tasted the vitamins before giving them to Peeper and confirmed that they are still nasty.)

So, sigh.

I supposed that, especially if she's not going to fight us and make a scene about it (or she might, now that she realizes what we're giving her!), we'll give her the damn vitamins.

The nurse said it can take a couple of months for the iron level to come up, so we'll just recheck it at her 12 month (!) well-baby appointment.

I really hate this.

It's not about giving her the vitamin drops - although I do hate that, too, because they taste so bad - but I hate that she needs them.

You know, just today, I was teaching a student about deductive reasoning and syllogisms.

Here's an example:

Given
All dogs bark.
Big Galoot is a dog.

Therefore
Big Galoot barks.

Easy enough, right?

Okay let's try another one:

Given
Nutritional deficiencies are caused by receiving inadequate nutrition.
Babies get all their nutrition from their parents.
I am Peeper's parent.
Peeper has a nutritional deficiency.

Therefore
It is all my fault and I am the Worst. Mother. Ever.

See how that works?

How about another:

Given
Premature and low-birth-weight babies are at increased risk for anemia.
Peeper was premature and low-birth weight.

Therefore
I should have seen this coming, so it is all my fault and I am the Worst. Mother. Ever.

And one more:

Given
Most people feed their babies iron-enriched rice cereal.
I decided that Peeper don't need no stinkin' rice cereal.
Therefore
Well, I think you know were I'm going with this one.

In my defense . . .

(I said that to Shrike earlier, and she said, "It's not a trial . . . I was going to say 'you're not a witch,' but I just couldn't get my tongue around that one.")

. . . Peeper's hematocrit was just fine when she was discharged from the hospital after her surgery, at 4.5 months old.

Immediately after surgery, it was low, but then they gave her back that was in the bypass machine when she came off of it.

(She'd already gotten a unit of donated blood to up the volume enough to fill the machine; that amount was then left over.)

So, whether she started off okay that morning, or if she was already a little depleted before surgery (possible, because she probably started with less of a reserve than normal) it seems like they got her spiffed up to normal before sending her home.

So, I guess I assumed that we were starting with an appropriately full iron-tank at that point, despite her prematurity and low birth weight.

Perhaps I was wrong.

I feel like we feed her iron-rich foods pretty often, as well as vitamin-C rich foods (which help the iron to absorb), but I guess we have been slacking a bit on the meat lately.

I suspect it has more to do, though, with how little of what we offer her actually ends up being swallowed.

Which, for the most part, is fine, because she gets (I thought) everything she needs from breastmilk and "food's for fun until they're one," but I suppose that doesn't apply to iron.

Especially if she was less tanked up than she ought to have been, from the get-go.

Looking at it objectively, I can see that it's really not that big of a deal. She's only a tiny bit low, and this is just when they start even checking it, so she's not likely to have been low for long, so it's doubtful that any actual damage has been done, and it's not a big deal to take some vitamins and make sure she's getting enough.

But, of course, it's hard to look at it objectively.

It's hard to look at it any other way than, "I decided to feed her this weird way, and now she's anemic and (all together now, kids) it's all my fault, and I am the Worst. Mother. Ever."

Shrike did her best to rein me in and make me stop making myself crazy about it.

She pointed out that "nobody eats like they should," and that we both take vitamins - including iron - so what's the big deal if Peeper needs to, as well.

In fact, back in January, when we were in Texas, we stumbled upon a Red Cross blood donation truck, and Shrike was going to make a donation, partly because she's just a good person but also to get us "blood insurance" in case Peeper needed some with surgery.

They wouldn't take her blood because the initial screen showed her to be a little anemic.

She was nice enough this afternoon to try to convince me that perhaps it's some sort of genetic malabsorption issue, and therefore all her fault, but I'm not really buying that.

(She is now taking a daily multivitamin which contains the full recommended daily allowance of iron for a woman her age.)

I, on the other hand, do malabsorb lots of stuff because of my gastric bypass surgery, but everytime I've been tested, I've got plenty of iron - sometimes it's even a little on the high side.

So, at least it's likely that I've been putting all that I can in my milk.

Well, I suppose that's something.

(Or, at least I was high on iron when I was very conscientious about my protein intake. I'm more willy-nilly with it now. Although I'm quite sure I was tested for anemia at some point during pregnancy and nobody ever told me there was a problem, so I suppose I was fine.)

(Interesting note, if you've not already read LadyKay's comments on my earlier post: Pregnant women need a lot of iron, but lactating women need much less - more like the levels required by men or post-menopausal women. I'm assuming it's actually matter of menstruating women needing more than everybody else in the world.)

So, I guess if we were introducing solids the way "everyone" else does (mumbling: and the way our doctor recommended) it's possible she wouldn't have this problem, and if she did, at least I would feel like "Well, watcha gonna do?"

On the other hand, as Shrike also pointed out, if we were to be shoveling a bunch of rice cereal down here, she might not be anemic - but would she be as happy as she is with picking up fruits and veggies and meat and gnawing on them?

She also pointed out that it's a lot easier to get a milliliter of nasty liquid down her than a bowl of blechy mush.

Also, LadyKay tells me that (25 years ago, at least) Cheerios have as much iron as the rice cereal does, anyway.

(Now, she just needs to perfect that pincer grasp so she can get more Cheerios into her mouth and less in her lap!)

So, I suppose it's nasty vitamin/iron drops for now and we'll see how she's looking when she's a year old.

At that point, she should be actually eating a lot more solid food, and taking in a lot more iron in her diet, so hopefully we can ditch the vitamins and she'll be able to hold her own.

But I'm still sure that it's somehow all my fault.

Spoke Too Soon!

That Daily Peep photo from the wee hours is of Peeper lying on the floor giggling, after having fallen over backwards.

That really doesn't bother her, nor does she seem to mind falling over to her side, catching herself and ending up on her tummy.

(Except, of course, that then she's mad that she's on her tummy.)

What she does mind, however, is losing her balance when standing up (despite the fact that she's holding Mama's hand!), falling over and bonking her head on the side of her crib.

That requires many tears.

Mostly from Mama.

She actually settled down pretty quickly, was laughing at a toy within moments, and seems to be none the worse for the wear this morning.

If you look very closely, she might have the slightest bit of a bump on her forehead, but it was hard to tell exactly what part of her head took the blow, so I'm not even sure about that.

I, on the other hand, freaked the fuck out.

There were tears, there was the rushing to the freezer for ice, there was cursing and the blaming of the crib.

("Why do we even own this stupid thing?!")

There was mostly the blaming of myself because, not to put too fine a point on it, but she was holding on to my hand. I was supposed to be keeping her from falling down. She fell down anyway, and hit her head.

In what universe is that not All. My. Fault?

Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex (D-MER) and Me

From D-MER.org

Defining D-MER: What It Is
Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex is a newly recognized condition affecting lactating women that is characterized by an abrupt dysphoria, or negative emotions that occur just before milk release and continuing not more than a few minutes.

Preliminary testing tells us that D-MER is treatable and preliminary research tells us that inappropriate dopamine activity at the time of the milk ejection reflex is the cause of D-MER.

Clarifying D-MER: What It Is Not

• D-MER is not a psychological response to breastfeeding.


• D-MER is not nausea with letdown or any other isolated physical manifestation.


• D-MER is not postpartum depression or a postpartum mood disorder.


• Lastly, D-MER is not the "breastfeeding aversion" that can happen to some mothers when nursing while pregnant.

How D-MER Presents: What Mothers Feel
The negative emotions, or dysphoria, that a mother with D-MER experiences often manifest "in the mother's stomach" - a hollow feeling, a feeling like there is something in the pit of the stomach, or an emotional churning in the stomach. Mothers report varying types of emotions with D-MER ranging from dread to anxiety to anger, these emotions fall on the D-MER spectrum which has three different levels. The common thread between these levels, is the wave of negative emotions or dysphoria, prior to letdown, when nursing, expressing and with spontaneous letdowns, that then lifts within another 30-90 seconds, and then usually repeats with each letdown.

A key piece of D-MER is that a mother with D-MER feels absolutely fine except just
before her milk starts to flow. D-MER is a brief feeling, not more than 30 seconds to 2 minutes, only and always beginning before let-down. This is not postpartum depression and most of these mothers feel perfectly fine except for that pre-milk moment. A brief interval after the negative feelings appear, the milk begins to flow.

D-MER can easily go unrecognized since

1. some mothers have so many closely spaced letdowns per feeding that the feelings do not have a chance to dissipate before the next D-MER is upon her, making her feel that she experiences on long D-MER through most of, if not all of, the feeding


2. many mothers do not physically feel a letdown in their breasts and so does not connect the feeling as to being just prior to letdown and


3. given the fact that D-MER happens with spontaneous letdowns as well, a mother may not immediately connect the way she is feeling to being a breastfeeding phenomenon.

I first read about D-MER a few months ago, maybe in January or February, and I recognized it immediately as something that I was experiencing, on the mildest end of the spectrum.

This level is described on D-MER.org as: [italics mine]

A sensation of a pit/hollowness or sinking in the stomach
An urge to "get away"
General negative emotions
Feelings of being hopeless
Feelings of being apprehensive

There's a long list of other feelings that "level one" moms describe; below are the things from that list which sound like what I experience:

Fatigued A "twinge" A "pang" Tearful Worrisome Depressed Nervous Guilt Introspective

Trepidation Sad Fear Angst Exhaustion Despair An inability to cope Oversensitive Ill at Ease

Weepy Concerned Bothered A fear of having failed (not any more, but very much so before Peeper learned to nurse)

In fact, I had identified, with the first few weeks that Peeper was actually nursing (by our trip to Texas, at which point she'd been nursing for less than a month) that I quite often got what I can best describe as an "oh shit" or "I've fucked up" feeling in my gut, just as she started to nurse.

I had attributed it to leftover emotional baggage from the pumping. In retrospect, I'm sure I was feeling it each time I pumped, but since negative feelings were totally justifiable then, it never struck me as odd.

When I continued to feel it when Peeper actually nursed, it did strike me as out of place, but I figured I was just still associating letting down with the negative feelings I had about the pump.

When I read about D-MER, those feelings made sense, and it was helpful to have a reason for them, and to be able to say (usually), "Oh no! What's wrong?! Oh yeah, that's what it is, and . . . now it's gone. Whew."

I didn't really think too deeply into it, but I am now realizing that maybe I don't always recognize the negative feelings as D-MER and dismiss them as I shoud, and I've started to put together that perhaps this is, while certainly not the root of, at least exacerbating some issues that I've been having over the past, oh, I dunno, seven months or so.

The weird thing is that I've never had negative feelings about breastfeeding.

About the difficulties we had getting started, of course, but never about Peeper breastfeeding.

That, I love.

Even when it seemed like that's all she did all day, and even when I would think, "Are you kidding me? Again?!" I still couldn't say that I didn't love everything about it.

I love the connection that she and I have because of it, I love that until recently (and other than that bit of formula that, yes, I will always regret) I built her all by myself, and I love that, for all its imperfections, in both form and function, my body is doing exactly what it was designed to do, nurturing her both physically and emotionally.

So the breastfeeding itself, I do not feel negatively about one bit, but I do often have negative feelings that occur while I am breastfeeding.

(Of course, one could argue that there are many things that "often happen while I am breastfeeding" because I am breastfeeding so much of the time!)

It occurs to me that many of those times when I let myself get insecure about my parenting, and start fretting about whether we're doing things "right," or when I let comments from less-than-supportive people get to me, or when I just get scared about, well, everything, it's very likely that I'm actually experiencing D-MER and letting the feelings take me on that trip toward negativity, before I recognize that they are, in fact, false emotions.

When I'm not actually in the middle of it, it's pretty easy to recognize that if Peeper is sleeping in my lap, and starts to stir, and I offer her a breast, and she latches and settles back down, and I then immediately begin to worry about whether I'm nursing her "too much" (does such a thing exist?) or making her sleep "too much" (ditto) or just "making" her nurse (not possible - tried it for six fucking weeks, remember?) to make her go back to sleep, because I'm just too selfish to want to deal with entertaining her when she wakes up (and what kind of a mother does that make me?!) that, yeah, just maybe that's some crazy talk being inspired by the feelings of dread and guilt and anxiety that are produced by a dropping dopamine level when she latches and my milk starts to flow for her.

So, I'm trying to remind myself of that. When she's nursing and I get that feeling in the pit of my stomach, I tell myself, "Yep, there it is. Just ride it out. And, there it goes. Okay, we're all good now."

"Ride it out," is a good metaphor for me, because it reminds me of a rollercoaster or something like that. Literally, because the stomach feeling is similar to what you feel when the coaster drops, but also figuratively, because it is a false emotion.

A rollercoaster or a scary movie or a haunted house is "fun" (not for me, but I hear some people like them) because you get to experience the "rush" of fear without actually being in danger.

I try to think of it that way, and try to experience the "wooooo" in my belly and think of it as "ride" that I'm on that will be over in just a few seconds.

What's a bit trickier, though, are the D-MER episodes that come with "spontaneous" letdowns, when it's not so obvious what's going on, and therefore, I'm even more likely to "believe" the feeling and justify it.

I suspect this is probably happening more than I realize.

Let's think it out. . . .

Quite often when she is nursing, I suddenly feel the "oh shit" in the pit of my stomach, and the next thing I know, she goes from barely sucking to gulping. I've felt no physical sensation of the letdown in my breasts themselves, but I felt D-MER and then there was more milk, so it's obviously happened.

And often, when she is not nursing, but she's crying, or I'm looking at photos of her, or thinking about her, or cats are yowling, and I do feel the letdown sensation, which was clearly triggered by some sort of non-physical stimulation.

D-MER.org also says:

Touching, feel good times and food raise oxytocin, as well as some kinds of stress. In these situations a D-MER mother's oxytocin may be raised, triggering a letdown. Part of the letdown includes the precursor of D-MER. This means it may feel like the situations are causing the feelings, which cause the letdown, but that is not the case. Instead it is the situation (of stress or family or food) which causes the oxytocin surge which triggers the milk ejection reflex, which starts with a drop in dopamine which is what causes the D-MER. This happens whether or whether not a mother feels the letdown physically in her breasts, as many mothers don't. So uncomfortable feelings/negative emotions do not result in a letdown. So if a mother is feeling D-MER type feelings on and off throughout her day, unconnected to nursing, the feelings are the sign that the milk ejection reflex has been triggered by either a conditioned reflex (sound of a baby crying) fullness of breast (oversupply or missed a feeding) or by emotion (stress or pleasure.) In these situations it is still D-MER and the feelings are not a valid emotional reaction.

So, how often might I be having spontaneous letdowns that I don't feel physically, but with which I am experiencing D-MER and not identifying it?

How often does it happen that, say, someone other than me or Shrike is holding Peeper, and she's crying, and it's all I can do not to snatch her from their arms and "fix" her, and the longer it goes on, the more stressed and anxious and angry I get about the whole situation.

Or how often am I anxious about a stressful situation, related to Peeper - her medical adventures, for example, or an encounter with a less-than-supportive person - or not, and I get way more upset about it than I rationally feel like I "should."

No, I certainly don't think I can blame all my insecurity, anxiety, over-sensitivity to criticism and post-traumatic stress about our early breastfeeding experiences on D-MER, but I would imagine that it can't be helping matters a bit.

As much as I totally love breastfeeding Peeper, as thrilled as I am that it has worked out so well for us, as devastated (and there is no other word for it) as I would have been had it not worked out, as 100% certain as I am that it is absolutely the best thing for her and me and our family, and as strongly as I feel about continuing as long as she wants and needs to, it has, for many, many reasons, been just fraught with anxiety for us from day one.

I do not think that any of this anxiety was caused by D-MER (see My Breastfeeding Story), but it does occur to me now that it has probably been exacerbated by it, at many points along the way.

So, what to do about it?

D-MER.org lists three levels of management options, from lifestyle changes, to natural treatments, to prescription treatments.

I don't think that what I'm experiencing requires prescription-level treatment, but if I did decide at some point that it would be appropriate, the suggested medication is Welbutrin, which I've taken in the past and tolerated well, so that's good to know.

The natural treatments suggested include some herbal stuff, but also DHA which I've been taking since pregnancy, for Peeper's brain development, and tryptophan-containing foods which, ironically, include dairy. Great. Might I have actually increase the D-MER when I went dairy-free!?

The lifestyle changes include education about D-MER, which I think is definitely the most important thing - just knowing what's causing the negative emotions is a big help.

They also suggest distraction, including "surfing the internet" while nursing. Well, I'm always in front of my computer when I'm nursing, so that's obviously not helped, but I have noticed that I don't experience the D-MER as much if I'm in the middle of a conversation, or something like that.

I guess that's why it's never impacted my comfort level when nursing in public. I suppose I'm distracted enough by whatever else I'm doing that I don't notice it. In fact, now that Peeper can latch by herself, I can get a boob accessible, and get her intp position, latched and nursing while sitting in a restaurant, talking to Shrike, eating, or hell, ordering, without missing a beat.

It also seems that being well-rested, well-hydrated, and getting adequate exercise can be helpful. Well, I do drink lots of Kool-Aid.

And what to do with all this information?

I'm not really sure just yet. I know that it had helped to just recognize what's going on, and to remind myself what it really is that's making me feel the way I do, when I start getting freaked out about things.

Of course, I will also be talking more with Dr. T about it, especially as it relates to my interpretation of what might actually be D-MER episodes during spontaneous letdowns.

(This has been in the back of my mind for a while, but I finally remembered to mention it to her in like the last five minutes of our last session. It wasn't until afterwards that I really got to thinking about it and figuring out some of the bigger picture.)

And I guess we'll see how it goes from there.

(Internal) Bottle Battle

I heard back from Learning Center Online last week, and they are ready to get me started, but we have to figure out how to find me ten essentially Peeper-free hours a week to do it.

Ten hours per week – at $10/hour – doesn’t sound very helpful (especially given that I can make $30 - $60 / hour doing website development, on my own schedule, with Peeper in my lap, or at my breast, or squawking all she wants), but that ten hours will get me insurance.

Between not paying what I am now for insurance and the money I’ll actually bring home after insurance (much cheaper than now) and taxes, it should be a net gain of almost $600/month, which is pretty significant.

Our preference, of course, is do it while Shrike is home so she can handle Peeper in the other room. The catch is that, until summer, most of the hours are evenings or weekends, so we’re going to have to cram all ten into Saturday morning before she goes to work, and Sunday and Monday, her days off, so that's a lot of hours in a day.

In a perfect world, I'd have her just bring her to me to nurse, but I can't have her audible in the background, so that’s really not likely to be an option. I'm thinking of setting up to work 2 hours, have an hour off, then work 2 more, but it’s still likely that she’s going to need to eat somewhere in there.

Which means that it’s time to reintroduce the bottle.

And I absolutely hate the thought.

In my rational mind (such as it is), I know that, at almost fifteen weeks old, and after almost ten weeks of breastfeeding – almost nine since her last bottle – a handful of bottles a week is not likely to mess up her nursing.

The other thing that I know, rationally, is that having the bottle option available will allow me to be away from Peeper for more than an hour or so, which will be good for everyone.

It will allow me to do the Learning Center Online hours, of course, but it will also allow me to get a break from the 24/7 parenting that I’m doing right now.

As much as I’d rather be doing nothing else right now (and I mean nothing else – not just nothing instead of, but nothing as well as, either) it’s still grueling, and I could use a break sometimes.

Shrike being able to feed her will mean that they will be able to have a lot more one-on-one time, which will go a long way toward getting her back to where she’s as used to, and as happy, hanging out with her as with me, so I can get even mini-breaks, like an uninterrupted bath or nap.

More importantly, it will also go a long way toward getting them back to the level of attachment that they had back in the early weeks, when she was doing essentially all the feeding.

Of course, back then, I was the odd mom out, so I have an idea what this is like for Shrike right now.

If we could just get to the point where Peeper is as bonded with Shrike as she was then, while still being as bonded with me as she is now, we will have one very happy little family.

And one very lucky little girl.

Of course, having people other than Shrike being able to feed her will mean that Shrike and I will be able to be away from Peeper together for more than an hour or so, which will give us a chance to have some grown-up time, which will definitely be good for us.

It will also give Peeper a chance to spend more time with Shrike’s parents and her sister (our first-string babysitters), whom I know are anxious for that to happen.

But I still absolutely hate the thought.

It’s completely irrational, I know.

I totally get, and totally agree, that all those things I just said are good things: me being able to get a break is a good thing, Peeper and Shrike reconnecting is a good thing, me and Shrike reconnecting is a good thing, Peeper bonding more with her extended family is a good thing.

But I cannot get past the bottle thing.

I don't think I really fear them anymore; I just hate them.

Oh yeah, and I hate that fucking pump, too. And, although I do have a good bit of milk in the freezer from the bad old days, I'm going to have to start pumping again.

All the awful things about the first six weeks of Peeper's life (and, of course, things weren't all awful at all, but for me at least, there was a lot of awful stuff) are, in my mind, all connected to the bottles and the pump.

Bottle / Pump = Failure / Rejection / Pain

Why it can't = Challenge / Perseverance / Overcoming, I don't know, but it doesn't.

Now, I know damn well that this is a totally different situation.

I know that Peeper and I have more than proven that we're capable of successful breastfeeding exclusively - in the nearly nine weeks that she's not touched a bottle, she's increased her weight by almost fifty percent, we're obviously doing something right.

I know that giving her the occasional bye-bye-bottle (that's how I've decided to think of them, because they will only happen when Peeper and I are bye-bye from each other) is completely different from exclusively pumping, or even from supplementing out of nutritional necessity.

I know that this is not a last resort to address a problem, it's a conscious choice that will make our lives better and more convenient.

Except that I really don't feel like it's my choice.

I feel like the Learning Center Online opportunity - and, in particular, the insurance that it will get me - is really giving us no choice but to move forward with the bottles now, rather than later.

And I am not ready.

I'm going to do it.

I have to.

But I'm not ready.

We do have a plan, though. We've actually already sort of begun the process.

On Monday, Peeper, Shrike and her sister went out to lunch, while I stayed home. I nursed her right before they left, and a soon as they got back. She slept most of the time they were gone, and was pretty chilled out the rest of the time.

Me? Well, I survived.

In the two hours they were gone, I ate lunch, changed the litter box (maybe the second time I've done it since the embryo transfer?), emptied the trash cans and took the toter to the curb, emptied and refilled the dishwasher, put a load of clothes in the washer, put away a load of clean clothes, made the bed, and IMed with a Facebook (and real life) friend about it all.

(No wonder Shrike wants to be able to take Peeper and go more often!)

The next morning, I ran an errand while Shrike and Peeper stayed home. I was only gone about an hour, but it didn't go quite as smoothly. She was asleep when I left, and when she woke up, she cried until I got home. (And then some, actually.)

I know her lack of object permanence makes this moot, but I couldn't help feeling bad about having snuck out on her.

It was as though when she knew they'd left me at home, she was fine, but when she couldn't figure out why I wasn't coming when she cried, she was not so fine.

I know, I'm projecting a lot more rational thought on her than she's probably capable of, but I still felt kind of like a shit.

The next step in our plan is a big one. Saturday is my monthly Democratic breakfast, and I had planned to take Peeper with me, but I've decided to leave her home with Shrike.

And a bottle.

I had discussed this all (ad infinitum, ad nauseum) with DoulaK (and LadyKay and Dr T and, bless her heart, poor Shrike) and asked her opinion on what bottle to use, or if there was another practical option (not really, because, while Shrike might be willing, it's really too much to ask her mom or sister to finger feed or cup feed or anything like that).

She recommended the Adiri bottle (right), because it's very breast-like, and less likely to inspire thoughts of "Hey, this is much easier than those things Mama has!"

It looks great, and we might order some later, but I found some BreastFlow bottles (left) at Target, that seem to be very similar, available at Target and about a third the price.

We bought one of those, and a couple of their stage one / slow flow nipples.

After a couple of days of just glaring at them, as they sat on my desk in their boxes, a few minutes ago, I put them in the dishwasher to get ready for Saturday.

Before then, I need to either thaw a cube of breast milk (I froze it in ice cube trays - about 1 oz / cube - and then bagged them up by twos and threes.) and make sure it's still good (It ought to be fine for at least three months, or as long as six months. I think the oldest of it is probably from late November.) or I need to pump.

As much as I hate the idea, I am actually almost leaning toward pumping, just to get that over with, too (tear off the whole fucking band-aid at once, as it were) and because I'm a little unsure about the frozen milk being as good.

(On the other hand, if she doesn't find the goody-milk-in-a-bye-bye-bottle quite as yummy as the goody-from-Mama, I suppose that would be just fine by me.)

We need to make some plans for more Mommy and Peeper time next week, probably with a bottle or two along the way.

Then, the big test (short of me starting with Learning Center, for which I'm theoretically aiming at the beginning of March) will be next weekend, either Sunday or Monday when we're planning to leave Peeper with Shrike's parents so we can go out to dinner for Valentine's Day and our anniversaries. (Wedding February 10, 2001 / Met in real-life February 12, 1998)

As luck would have it, we have a $50 gift card - and a "buy one entree get one free" coupon - for a nice restaurant here in town, where we've often gone in the past for such occasions, so we can get dinner and a few meals worth of leftovers for nothing!

We had discussed taking Peeper with us, but I think that a date night is a really good goal to work toward, and a really good excuse to give ourselves (okay, who am I kidding - to give me) a deadline for making this happen.

Oh, and on that same trip to Target earlier this week, I also picked up a box of MilkScreen strips, because if Peeper's hitting the bottle that night, so am I.

Weight Check

We got Peeper's weight checked this morning, and she's now at 6 pounds 10.5 ounces, which is a gain of seven ounces in the past six days!!!

(I guess that's what the extra-fortified-with-Christmas-cookies-and-Hershey's-miniatures breast milk will do for you.)

The nurse showed the weight to the doctor, and told me that she was, "very impressed."

Please tell me that I'm not the only one who takes this so personally.

I mean, yeah, yeah, yeah, growth is important to her health, and all, that may be why they say we're tracking it, but, really, I know that it's just a way of quantifying my worth as a mother.

Even more so, of course, now that I'm not only making all her food but feeding it all to her, too.

After all, if she doesn't grow as much as they want, it's obviously all my fault, and I'm the Worst Mother Ever, right?

On the other hand, when she gains more than an ounce a day, over the first full week of exclusively breastfeeding?

My boobs totally kick ass.

Dream Lover(s)

Have you ever seen an episode of a sitcom in which one character dreams that his or her (usually her, it seems) spouse did something bad, and then takes it out on the spouse the next day, in real life?

And it's all silly and ridiculous, because who would actually do that? 

Me, that's who. 

Well, sort of. 

It was the wierdest thing. 

Once I woke up, I knew, intellectually, it was just a dream, and she'd not actually done anything wrong, but I guess I had my "mad" hormones all riled up, because I still felt, physically, angry. 

But, on the other hand, I was also so relieved that it was just a dream. 

I couldn't decide whether to wake her up and yell at her, or wake her up and tell her how glad I am that she's not actually the asshole that I was dreaming she was. 

Okay, so I didn't actually take it out on her the next day, but I did take advantage of the fact that when I got up to go to the bathroom (because I'm pregnant and I was awake), it woke her up, so then I could I make her stay awake long enough to hear about the whole dream, which went something like, "And then you, you, you. . . . I can't believe you . . . . How could you. . . ?!?"

Oh, were you wondering what it was that she did in the dream that was so awful? 

See the post title. Yes, lovers, plural. She had two of them.

And it all came to light regarding the belatedly-reported-to-me results of her "infectious disease" testing from the egg donor screening. 

(Um, yeah, as though they wouldn't have mentioned that to us at the time! But the dreams, they make no sense.)

So, you can understand why I was so pissed, right? 

Right? 

Anxiety

So, you know how I've said repeatedly that we're confident that things will go smoothly at our hearing tomorrow, and that it should just be a formality, and that we're not worried about it and yada yada yada?

Well, I'm evidently more worried about it than I knew, because I had a dream about it last night.

It wasn't an actual court hearing, but a meeting of probably six or eight people, each of whom was judging us in their specific area of expertise, to decide if we were worthy of both being Peeper's legal parents.

One had even had our cars inspected and told us that we had to put antifreeze in there before we could move forward.

Evidently people who don't put antifreeze in their cars are not responsible enough to be parents?

Decisions

What is it about being half-way through pregnancy that suddenly makes me think that we have to:

1. Register for a childbirth class
2. Hire a doula
3. Find childcare
4. Take over and revitalize the local chapter of La Leche League

this week?

No, we've not actually accomplished any of those things, but suddenly, I'm stressing about all of them.

Doctor's Orders

Dr T is on our Peeper Report email list, which received an update on Thursday, very similar to what I posted here. We got this reply from her today, and it was such good advice that I wanted to share it.

Let me begin with YAY on your (Peeper's real name)! I LOVE the name, and her photos look great. She looks like an actual little person now, awesome!!

And now to the managing your anxiety part.

Even though they have guidelines for what is "expected" in terms of growth, there is plenty of room to account for individual differences. Babies DO develop at different rates, and I'm sure sweet Peeper is just where she needs to be. There's plenty of time for her to "catch" up with where they think she should be.

Unfortunately this kind of experience frequently comes along with high medically-managed pregnancies. Sometimes too much information is really not helpful, and given your baseline anxiety, you are prone to interpreting stuff with a negative skew. Any hint of something not fitting exactly into the mold they have in mind, and you are freaking out.

So BREATHE!

Work hard to think positive thoughts and bathe that girl in optimistic energy; KNOW she is doing what she needs to do.

I mean honestly, when you consider her mamas, is it any surprise that she's opting not to do exactly what THEY say she should!?!?

Everything is fine; everything will be fine.

The more you tell yourself that, the more true it is. Try not to spend any more energy on picking apart each word the MDs have said.

Go with the "don't worry" message. I know, I know, not easily accomplished, but then again, neither was this child's conception!!!

Shop, breathe, relax, whatever. She needs that just as much as you & Shrike!

Take care!!!!

See you soon.

This is why she is worth every penny that we our insurance companies pay her.

Crazy Time, Again

It's been more than two weeks since our last check on Peeper, I have an ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow (at which we hope to find ouf if s/he is a she or a he) and of course, there's that whole elevated AFP thing - all of which adds up to make one crazy, fret-ball Mama.

Despite the fact that I can poke my belly and feel that my uterus is expanding (and maybe see it too, but it's hard for me to judge) and that I'm peeing every twenty minutes, and that I've had no signs of anything bad going on, of course, I've once again managed to work myself into a state of ridiculousness.

Actually, I'm not specifically too concerned about the whole AFP thing (thanks so much, LiPA, for the "another false positive" comment - that was irrationally comforting!) but more just the general angst that I've had everytime it's been a while since we've checked in on the little guy. Or gal. (Ask me tomorrow!)

Which is a whole 'nother issue.

As anxious as we are to find out what sex Peeper is, on some level, I think I will kind of miss the not knowing.

Not so much the being in suspenders (as Shrike says) over it, but the more possibility of it being either.

We are not particularly hoping for one or the other, and are much more concerned to see that all Peep's other parts are there and in the right places and properly formed than we are about which parts are between his or her little legs.

There is, of course, our aforementioned completely shallow preference for baby boy clothing - which is balanced, on the other hand, by the fact that we're girls and are marginally more comfortable with the idea of parenting a girl - but we really don't have a preference, per se.

I know that we'll be thrilled with either, and I'm sure that within a few days (if not of finding out, then certainly of birth) we won't be able to imagine life any other way.

That said, whichever Peeper turns out to be, I think that there will be, at first, a bit of - well, maybe disappointment isn't the right word - but a bit of loss for the other option.

Especially given that we know that the embryos transferred were one of each, as excited as we will be to find out about the boy (or girl) that we will are having, I think we will still, to some degree, grieve the girl (or boy) that we aren't having.

Not just specifically "Not-Peeper" - that actual embryo (but, yeah, that too) - but the potential of having a child of the other sex.

Right now, we can imagine life with our little boy or with our little girl, but after tomorrow, we'll have ruled out one of those possibilities, and that's a little bit sad.

Well, not completely ruled out.

We did realized a few weeks ago that, despite the fact that (given our ages, and the expense) it's very unlikely we'd be able to have another biological child, that door isn't completely closed on having a second child.

If, a couple of years down the road, we decide that Peeper really needs to have a little brother or sister (or we really need to have one of each - or maybe even another of the same) there is always the possibility of adoption.

It's certainly not something we're interested in pursuing right this moment, and likely never will, but it helps to know that the option exists.

Of course, once Peeper is here, we very well may decide that's plenty for us, but at least that will be a decision that we make, and not one that's made for us.

In the meantime, though, unless little Peeper is being shy (that would be just our luck), about 14 hours from now we should (hopefully!) have some reassurance about his/her health, and should know whether the #1 banned toys at our house are more likely to be guns and swords or hoochy-mama dolls.

It's Crazy Time, Sprout!

It's been a little over two weeks since our most recent peek at Peeper, and there are four days to go til my next appointment (I don't expect an ultrasound then, but probably a listen with the Doppler), so it's about that time again.

You know, the time when I start freaking out because I've haven't had any proof at all for days - days, I tell you! - that all is well in there, so how could I possibly know that Peeper is okay?!?

Here's the basic pattern that I've been in for, oh, the past 10 weeks or so:

• Consult a medical professional and see positive pee stick / positive beta / rising beta / ultrasound images of an actual live human residing inside my body.
• Feel incredibly relieved and reassured.
• Blog / email / tell the entire world that all is well with Peeper.
• Coast for a few days, feeling great about things.
• Be asked 534,322 times by well-meaning friends and associates, "So, how are you feeling?"
• Answer that, "I'm feeling just fine. Quite normal, actually."
• Begin to wonder why I'm feeling so damn "normal."
• Wonder why I'm not having any of those legendary awful pregnancy symptoms that one hears so much about.
• Begin to think that it's all been a cruel trick, an elaborate conspiracy, or perhaps just a pathetic fantasy.
• Think about how completely stupid I'm going to look when the jig is up.
• Fret, worry, act like a general all-around nutball.
• Consult a medical professional and see positive pee stick / positive beta / rising beta / ultrasound images of an actual live human residing within my body.
• Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Yep, it's big fun for all involved.

Shrike and I have decided that the "other side" of Gestation Island (you know, over where the headhunters live) is Crazy Pregnant Land.

I like to head over there as often as possible.

Shrike's not so much a fan.

I think it's a combination of the general, all-around surreality of it all, the "you can't have a dream!" expectation that I tend have and, most concretely, how asymptomatic, and quite frankly, how damn (dare I say it outloud) easy pregnancy has been for me so far.

With so few symptoms, I've not got much to go on but the ultrasounds (and thank God there have been so many of them) so, while I know it's completely irrational, I do think that it's at least a little bit understandable (maybe?) that I would doubt the reality of the situation.

There's also this related prior experience that I keep being reminded of, which has to be contributing to my craz-ee-ness:

Several years ago, when MamaCat was just a WannaBeMamaCat (well, okay, I wanted her to be a MamaCat; she didn't have a whole lot to say about it) I fixed her up with a nice young tom cat (owned by a lady who went to church with LadyKay, so I knew he came from a good family) and arranged a little romantic rendezvous for the two of them.

Actually, first there was a brief, not-so-romantic visit at his house, during which she hid behind the couch for twenty-four hours, showing zero interest in him. We decided she was on her way out of heat, and I took her home to wait for the next round.

In a couple of weeks, the mood struck her again and this time, KittyDaddy CatDaddy (™ Shrike) spent Thanksgiving weekend with us, and let me tell ya, he had plenty to be thankful for by the time he went home - if you know what I mean, wink-wink, nudge-nudge.

(MamaCat, maybe not so much. Do you know about the barbs? I'm assuming this is why she turned around and smacked the shit out of him as soon as he finished doing his biz-ness. Every time. Kind of kinky, those kitties.)

Any-whooo. Her paramour went home, and I assumed that: a> she's a cat, and b> she just had a long-weekend of repeated kitty-nooky, ergo, make room for kittens.

On the advice of my vet, I started feeding her kitten food and vitamins, and soon she started putting on weight (she was pretty skinny to start with), and didn't come into heat (typically, she was in and out about every two weeks) so I figured I was going to have some grandkitties in a couple of months.

As the weeks progressed, I did wonder when she was going to start getting a belly, rather than just generally "filling out" and when her nipples were going to "pink up" as my feline pregnancy calendar (what? you got a problem with that?) predicted.

Then, about six weeks into her "pregnancy," she started acting like she was heat.

What the fuck?

I took her to the vet, and he confirmed that she was in heat, and was not, nor had she ever been, pregnant.

(Two theories - either she didn't have enough weight on her to be ovulating, or CatDaddy wasn't quite ready for the big leagues, as he was still fairly young at that point.)

Because of logistical concerns, I waited a couple of weeks til her next heat, invited him back over, and nine weeks later BoyCat, GirlCat and two their brothers arrived.

In that situation, all's well that ends well, but I sure felt stupid that I'd been thinking my cat was pregnant - and telling everybody that she was pregnant - and maybe kind of wondering why she wasn't showing many signs of pregnancy, but still just going right along with the whol "she's pregnant" thing for weeks.

(The weight gain is easily explained by the kitten food, although I don't know why she skipped a heat cycle or two.)

Within a few weeks of their second honeymoon, her nipples pinked right up, her belly got all hard and round (I have a very cute photo of her a few days before they were born, standing up on her hindlegs, in profile, looking all the world like a furry little pregnant lady.) and I could feel the kittens moving around in there when we snugged at night, and sometimes I could see them moving - from across the room.

Yep, no doubt she was really pregnant this time, and I felt even stupider for getting tricked the first time around.

Now, of course, MamaCat hadn't peed on any sticks, or taken any blood tests, or had six fucking ultrasounds, by four different doctors at three different clinics (really now, could they all be in on the conspiracy?) so the analogy doesn't really hold up very well, but the whole "I'm being told that I'm pregnant, but not seeing the symptoms I expect" thing is just a little too deja vu for my comfort.

(Keeping in mind, of course, that I'm crazy. Which makes it much more understandable. Right?)

Of course, if I really go through the list of possible pregnancy symptoms with a fine-toothed comb, more and more do start popping up, that I actually have experienced:

• Fatigue - more extreme in the first few weeks, better now (just like the books say)
• Sore boobs - again, this is much less over the past few weeks (just like the books say)
• Shrike tells me that my boobs are bigger (bras were already getting snug, so hard to judge)
• I do seem to pee alot.
• And cry alot. Over really stupid stuff. Like anything a little, tiny bit mushy on TV. Or in a song. Or a book. Or my imagination.
• Shrike says I'm little grumpy. (Bitch.)
• I suspect that Peeper may already be eating my brain.
• Maybe, maybe, possibly, my pants might be starting to get a teeny bit snugger in the tummy, at least when I first put them on in the morning.
• And, I suppose all those betas and ultrasounds ought to count for something, huh?

On the other hand: no nausea, no food aversions, no smell-sensitivities, my pants still fit, I could go on and on.

I know, I know, I know that I should count myself very lucky that things have gone so smoothly and been so easy, so far (especially given how damn complicated it was to get pregnant in the first place) and I should apologize to all the pukey pregnant gals out there for not fully appreciating it, but I'd like to think that I'd be a little less crazy (at least about this) if I felt more pregnant.

I know I'm being completely irrational, and that your logical arguments probably will not make me any more secure about Peeper's well-being, but I'd certainly appreciate any stories that anyone might have of a> completely normal, successful, yet primarily asymptomatic in the earlyish stages pregnancies, so I can be reassured that one can feel completely "normal" and still be completely pregnant and / or b> your own ridiculous, irrational pregnancy fears, so that I can feel a little less crazy, in comparison.

"How Are You Feeling?"

I've already answered that question about a thousand times in the last two weeks (asked mostly by Shrike) and I expect to hear it about a zillion more times over the next 34.5 weeks.

And that's fine, because it's very sweet of people to ask. (Especially Shrike.)

Typically, my answer has been that I feel, "fine, so far," because I do.

Or, depending on who's asking, I may add that, "I'm tired and my boobs hurt," because I am, and they do.

But that's just the physical report. Only poor Shrike has been subjected (so far) to the full-on freak-out that is the complete answer to that question.

Last week, I found myself going back and forth between being cautiously elated for a day or so after each beta report, and then freaking out for a day, until the next report.

My last beta was on Monday, so it's now been six days with no clue as to what's going on in there, other than the continued tiredness and boob pain.

And even that waxes and wanes a bit, and of course, that freaks me out.

Yesterday, my boobs weren't hurting as much as I would have liked them to (that is, less than the day before), so I was all worried.

This morning, I was thrilled to hop out of bed and have them immediately tell me, in no uncertain terms, to "Stop that shit and move more gently. We're unsupported here, you stupid bitch!"

I tried to explain it to Shrike yesterday, and I don't know if I was really able to express exactly what it is that I'm feeling.

It's not so much the fear that something might go wrong (although I certainly feel that), or that something has gone wrong (feeling better about that, see: hurty boobs), but just that I find it very hard to believe that this is all real.

I could explain away the tiredness and boob pain by the progesterone (I've felt that before), but of course, there's no excuse for four positive, rising betas and a fistful of positive pee-sticks, so I know that I'm just being stupid, but I just can't help worrying that I'm going to go in for that ultrasound on Wednesday, and they're going to be like, "Why are you here? This is for pregnant ladies."

I guess, to a large extent, that this worry is a defense mechanism. As excited as I am, I am also terrified of something going wrong, so I'm having trouble letting myself believe that everything will be fine.

Shrike is trying her best to unfreak me, and to reassure me, (Her: "You're being stupid." Me: "Do you really think so?" Her: "Yes, I'm not just being nice.") but I don't think that I can believe this is real until we see something on the ultrasound.

Even though I know we won't be out of the woods then (although, once we see a heartbeat, the chance of Bad Things Happening drops to about 5%) I think I may at least believe that it's not just all a big trick, and will maybe feel a bit more like an actual pregnant woman, not like I'm somehow faking it.

I suppose time will help with that, anyway, because the Peep(s) will make his/her/their presence obvious enough before long.

In the meantime, I'm just waiting for the ultrasound to show us that all is well - and how many there are - and waiting for some more exciting symptoms.

It's not that I want to feel nauseated, but at least a little nausea or something would make me feel more pregnant.

I guess it all just comes down to a basic disbelief that something this wonderful could actually be happening to us, so there must be a catch somewhere.

Is that nuts?

Mind Games

I know that my chances of ovulating in the next two days, before Dr. B blows town for the weekend, are slim to none.

I know it, because that's what I've told myself eleventy bazillion times over the past week.

But still, I think that somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm expecting it to happen.

I'm afraid that the ridiculously naive, "all will be fine," pee-cup-half-full, Polly-fucking-anna part of my brain is still fully expecting me to ovulate in time, expecting to inseminate this cycle, expecting to find myself expecting in a couple of weeks.

The logical, consider-the-odds, precisely-measure-the-actual volume-of-liquid-in-the-glass part of my brain is, of course, telling me that I'm much more likely to ovulate on Friday (just missing her) or Saturday.

It's telling me that it was silly to even order the sperm this month; we should have just waited for the next cycle.

It's telling me that I should've taken Dr. B's advice to go with the RE from the get-go, rather than wanting to do "one natural cycle first."

What was the reasoning behind that, anyway?

Because we like Dr. B, and we were hoping for her to be the one to impregnate me?

Because, although we've been told that the chance of twins on Clomid is less than 10% and the chance of higher-order multiples is almost none, we're still a little nervous about that?

Because, on some stupid level, I feel like using Clomid is "cheating" and I wanted to at least see if I could do it "on my own" first?

D - All of the above?

Of course, there's still that huge third part of my brain that still feels like this is all just crazy-talk, and all just pretend and speculation and fantasy and that we're just somehow play-acting as "people trying to get pregnant."

In part, I guess it's hard to feel like we're "trying" if we haven't actually "tried" yet.

How can we be trying to get pregnant if there aren't any sperm around?

Maybe once we do our first insemination, it will feel a little more real. A little more like it's actually happening, rather than just something we're talking about and thinking about.

(Granted, talking and thinking about a whole fucking lot.)

I don't know when the possibility of actually having a baby might seem real.

On the one hand, everything we plan these days is based around the idea that I might be pregnant soon, and we might have a baby not-quite-as-soon.

We've already sort of made it part of our reality, even though it's not real yet.

On the other hand, it doesn't seem real at all. It doesn't seem possible at all.

I guess because I've looked forward to being pregnant, to having a baby, for so long - since childhood, actually - that it still just feels the same as that.

It's hard to convince myself that it's any closer to real now than it was then.

Maybe because we don't know that it is.

And, of course, there's that whole thing about how parents are grown-ups.

I don't feel grown up at all. Certainly not grown up enough to have a child!

And yet, the biggest question that looms over this whole process is whether I'm too "grown up" to do it.

Now that we're finally ready, have I already missed my chance? I can't even go there.

My logical head tells me that, given my age, given the one-try-per-cycle with frozen sperm, that we're in for a long haul here.

It tells me to expect several months of disappointment; to be prepared for the possibility of some really big disappointments along the way.

That damn Pollyana side, though, she's doing her best to convince me that I'll have a baby in my arms by Easter.

She's a cruel bitch, that Pollyana.

I'm doing my best to not let her set me up like that, but damn she tells a good story, and it's one I'd love to believe.

How, exactly, does one "hope for the best, and prepare for the worst?"

You would think I would have run out of "hands" and "minds" to hold all my different thoughts about it all by now, but I seem to just keep making more.

As soon as I think I've sorted out how I feel, some other, completely contradictory, feeling surfaces.

What's amazing is how I can manage to keep them all in my head at once. I must be a freakin' genius or something.

("Something" = "fucking nuts")