It’s been quite a week at our house.
Sunday and Monday we started to notice a weird rash on S’s face. I put Aquaphor on it and forgot about it until I picked S up from daycare on Tuesday, and his daycare teacher told me he’d been scratching himself all day and seemed really uncomfortable. “I think he has allergies,” she told me. Then it clicked. I’d been on amoxicillin for a week, courtesy of a nasty bout of bronchitis / sinus infection, and we’re still breastfeeding twice a day. S had a reaction to amoxicillin when he was four months old, but his pediatrician had downplayed it and told us it was probably just a viral rash and not a true allergy. Well, apparently it was a true allergy.
I frantically called the pediatrician’s office and my doctor’s office and after a couple of hours. From the pediatrician: give him Benadryl for a couple of days, no breastfeeding for 48 hours after my last dose of amoxicillin, and bring him to the ER if he gets worse. From my doctor: don’t stop the amoxicillin since your bronchitis was so bad (although the next day they called back to say that I could stop it after all, ugh). By this point, we were already looking at a minimum of three days without breastfeeding, only a week and a half before I was to leave for a five-day trip. It was unfortunately abrupt and not at all the way I’d wanted to do it, but it seemed like weaning was in order. It’s after his second birthday, and I didn’t want to confuse him or stress him out with an off-again, on-again breastfeeding relationship. After one evening of extreme weepiness and irrational irritability towards my husband on my part, I’ve been OK. S has taken it well. Surprisingly, he is more insistent about asking in the morning than at night, but there has been no crying or tantrums. He accepts it when I say, “Mama has a boo-boo and can’t nurse.” The first time I told him that, he looked really sad, but then I said, “big boys who don’t nurse get an extra story at bedtime,” and he brightened considerably. So, I guess we’re doing this.
OK, OK, clearly I’m dragging out the punch line of the post. I’m really glad I decided not to risk the MRI contrast this week after all. My period was due on Wednesday, which came and went with no signs of a period at all. I know my cycles inside and out at this point, so I was pretty sure yesterday, but I waited to make sure it wouldn’t start today, and then stopped by the drugstore to buy a test on my way home. Lo and behold, two strong lines, right away. Here we go with pregnancy #5.
After I told my husband, I called my mom. I told her I was pregnant, and her immediate response was, “You didn’t tell me!” Oy. 🙂 (I went on to point out that I was in fact telling her at that very moment, and I had only found out myself about five minutes before, so I’m not sure when exactly she would have liked me to tell her!)
At the moment I’m just sort of going with the flow (though not literally, thankfully!). I’m not really excited yet, I’m not really scared yet… it’s just another positive pregnancy test. My fifth. I’ll feel a little sheepish when I call my RE’s office tomorrow, because she had told me to hold off on TTC until the hysteroscopy was completed, but she told me the day after the OPK turned positive, so it was just a bit too late. Hopefully I haven’t doomed myself to another preventable miscarriage and the delay of the surgery that would have fixed the problem.
With every positive pregnancy test comes a little bump of hope. Smaller each time, I think, but still there. Wish me luck.