Tag Archives: parenting

Pregnancy #5

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.


So Long, 2017!

I’ve rarely been happier to say goodbye to a year, but the flip side is that I’m looking forward to a fresh start in 2018.  Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version of 2017, and what I’m looking forward to in 2018:

The Good

  • My son.  He continues to delight and amaze me every single day of his life.  This week at home with him has been truly lovely.  He’s starting to have the patience for longer books (Dr. Seuss’s ABC, Angus and the Ducks, and Do You Speak Fish? are three current favorites), and his sense of humor is just wicked (this week it’s all about the yes/no questions and giggles: Is this hairbrush your dada?  NO!!!!  Is this pillow your dada?  NO!!!!  Is that doggie your dada?  NO!!!!  Totally cracks him up every time).  We have a Solar System rug in his playroom, and he loves running from the Sun to Jupiter to Neptune upon request, and playing Solar System Twister by trying to stand on as many planets as possible at the same time.  He likes to play hide and seek, mostly by hiding in plain sight and dissolving into giggles as we pretend to search for him (Is S under the table?  Is he in the bathroom?)  I could go on and on, but I’ll stop. 🙂
  • Work stuff.  My first postdoc got a job offer!  This was a huge deal, since I have been worried that he would not get an academic job and would be forced out of academia after which I would have been convinced that I ruined his career by bringing him to my rinkydink little college for a non-traditional postdoc opportunity.  Instead, he was offered a potentially permanent job that he would most certainly not have been qualified for before working in my group for four years.  I am so happy for him.  And I shouldn’t jinx it, but my year of supervising three thesis students isn’t going as badly as I feared, and I think they’ll all have high-quality theses come May.  There’s also a light at the end of the tunnel for a really big invited review paper that I’ve been working on for about a year now — it should be done by the end of next week.  It’s a ton of work, but will have high impact, and I’m pretty proud of it.  And as I wrote a few days ago, I totally rocked my 5th-year pre-tenure review and am optimistic about the tenure process that will start next fall.
  • My support network.  Having difficult years really makes you notice all the wonderful people in your life who are around to help you through the crumminess.  First prize goes to my amazing husband, of course, but I’ve also got prizes to hand out to other relatives and friends as well — the list is long enough that it makes me feel good about where I am in life right now.  Having a kid hasn’t totally squelched my important relationships as I feared it might.  I’ve been leaning on them a little more than usual of late, though, so I’ll have to make sure I’m giving back in the new year.

The Bad

  • Two miscarriages.  Recurrent Pregnancy Loss diagnosis.  Ongoing testing with no answers yet.  Coming up on a year of TTC living baby #2.  Oh, and the due date for my first post-S pregnancy is coming up this week.  Blargh.
  • My father died.  I had a complicated relationship with him, which has made it tough to sort through my feelings about his death, but the short version is: it sucks.  I think my grieving process has been largely focused on morbid thoughts about the mortality of my son and husband (also myself), which is not fun.
  • My mother had major surgery two weeks ago (a hip replacement).  Recall that I am ruminating on mortality, so it freaked me out emotionally right from the start.  My mom also lives a two-hour drive away, which is better than a plane flight away, but since she lives by herself she really needed help.  I made three round-trip drives in a week (one overnight stay the day she came back from the hospital, plus two day trips).  Thankfully, she’s on the mend now and I can relax a bit.  But I’ve really been feeling the whole “sandwich generation” thing this year.
  • Work-wise, this fall was a survival semester, in the sense that I phoned it in on a lot of teaching stuff and was kind of a crappy collaborator on a couple of projects.  Mostly I managed not to be too crappy at any one thing, which I feel like I can be at least a little bit proud of when you consider how my semester went.  Another part of my grieving process seems to be occasional irritability, which is out of character for me, and there are a couple of emails I wish I hadn’t hit “send” on — although I have to say that the people on the receiving end did basically deserve them, even if I am usually more diplomatic.  Oh, well…. I don’t think I burned any bridges too badly.  And I did an OK job of circling my wagons and prioritizing critical stuff like my research group and paper drafts, so hopefully I managed to mostly insulate my professional list from my personal problems.

The New Year

  • Getting back on the TTC wagon.  In a way, it feels good to have a fresh start after this most recent miscarriage, and to know that I’m back with the RE who will keep a really close eye on everything and do whatever she can to help us conceive the living child that we’re dreaming of.  I had visions of being a normal pregnant lady at my local OB’s office, but the silver lining of being abnormal is that I get more support and reassurance and can work on developing a plan.  I’m optimistic about our chances of success, since S is proof positive that my body is capable of carrying a baby to term.  I wish I could see the future and know how long it will take and what we’ll have to go through to get there, but I’ve been through enough at this point that I’m also feeling relatively calm and confident that I can just go with the flow for a while.  I am definitely in a much better place than I was three years ago after the loss of our daughter.  It seems like I shouldn’t be, since I’ve had three times as many losses by now, but for one thing I have S, and for another thing I’ve developed a certain amount of resilience.  I have hope for 2018.
  • The push to tenure.  There’s a certain narrowing of focus that happens when you’re less than a year from putting in your tenure packet. I’m in a good place right now: I already have a really solid portfolio of work, and I have a bunch of things in the pipeline, and I know what I need to do before next fall.  I’ve already done most of what I need to do, and the rest is in process.  Some of it is dependent on other people (like my students), but not too much.  I’ll be working hard this year, and I’ll have to prioritize like crazy, but the tenure process is another thing that I’m optimistic about for 2018.  I am so looking forward to submitting my tenure packet next fall and knowing there’s nothing more that I can do.  I think I’ll feel good about the body of work that I’ve accomplished on the tenure track.
  • The adventure of parenting.  I know people say the twos are terrible, and plenty of people will tell you that threenagers are worse, but you know what?  I’ve loved every age and stage of S’s life so far, and while there are certainly challenging moments/days, the thrill of seeing this little person growing up into himself more than outweighs the difficulties.  I am more crazy in love with this kid than I ever knew I could be, and I am looking forward to seeing what new skills and interests and ideas he develops in the new year.  I’m looking forward to getting more insight into his odd little mind as his communication skills improve.  And I’m looking forward to more snuggles and giggles as the toddler years wear on — I know that all too soon he’ll be too grown up for mama snuggles, so I’m soaking up every moment of it while it lasts.  I also love watching my husband surprise me with his parenting ninja skills, and I fall in love with him again every day as I see him growing into an amazing father.  He is so creative and funny with S that it just melts my heart.  Our family is so beautiful right now, and I hope that it will always stay that way — or perhaps even grow in love with a new member on the horizon.

And that’s the year!  Happy 2018 to everyone.  My hope for you all is for a brighter year full of love, laughter, new memories with your loved ones, and wishes coming true.

Miscarrying and Hypothesizing

Well, I opted for medical management of this miscarriage, and it’s proceeding slowly.  I took the first round of medication Friday night, and not much happened, so I took another round Sunday morning, and finally things are moving.  I don’t think I’ve passed the main pregnancy tissue yet, but hopefully soon (I was so afraid it was going to happen in the middle of my lecture yesterday!).  I’ve got another week before they’ll start pushing a D&C on me, which I’d like to avoid if possible since I have adhesions from my first pregnancy.

In the meantime, I’ve started to do some research on causes of recurrent pregnancy loss.  I’ve already been tested for clotting factors and some of the immunological stuff, and other than being heterozygous for Factor V Leiden it all came back normal.  But it’s hard for me to believe that FVL is the only culprit, since it’s not associated with an increased risk of 1st trimester loss.  The main thing I haven’t really been evaluated for is heritable chromosomal issues, like a balanced translocation in my husband and me — but I find it hard to believe that that could be the source of our woes, since we know that two of our four pregnancies at least have been chromosomally normal, including the daughter we lost in the 2nd trimester.  It’s also not particularly associated with 2nd trimester loss.

There are actually very few issues that are associated with increased risk of both 1st and 2nd trimester loss.  But one thing that I read about immediately clicked for me, and now I am anxious to talk about it with my doctor on Tuesday.  You’d think that with everyone looking at my uterus in every which way over the past four years someone would have brought it up before now, but I’m about 95% certain that on one of my recent ultrasounds the tech noted a slight septum that she didn’t think was clinically relevant.  But anatomical abnormalities like a uterine septum are one of the most common — and most treatable — causes of recurrent pregnancy loss.  They are also one of the few etiologies that causes both 1st and 2nd trimester loss.  The ASRM guidelines on recurrent pregnancy loss note that the likely mediating factor causing 2nd trimester loss is abnormal placentation, which was the leading hypothesis for our daughter’s death.  It just all makes so much sense!  If I have a slight septum that isn’t bad enough to cause total infertility, but is enough to cause poor blood flow to the embryo/fetus, it would explain why I keep getting pregnant but keep losing the pregnancy, sometimes early and sometimes late, even in the absence of chromosomal issues.  It at least seems worth asking about, since the prognosis for treatment is really, really good — there are some studies where the live birth rate jumps up to like 85% (normal!!!) after surgery to correct a septum.  I would love to have an 85% chance of a live birth, instead of the 75% chance of miscarriage that I seem to have had in my pregnancies so far.  Maybe my doctor will tell me I’m nuts and that this slight septum can’t possibly be causing my problems… but I feel like I have to at least bring it up.  And if my regular OB doesn’t listen, I have an appointment with the RE on the 28th and will bring it up again then. And again and again until someone listens and has a real conversation with me about it.

I’m just ready for someone to take this problem seriously and stop telling me it’s just bad luck — it seems so clear that whatever is going on, it’s more than just bad luck.  One 2nd trimester loss… maybe?  But that’s already really bad luck, since it happens in only ~1% of pregnancies.  Two losses?  OK, fine, a single first-trimester loss out of three pregnancies does seem within the realm of normal.  But three losses out of four pregnancies, including a loss in the middle of the 2nd trimester?  How can people keep attributing this stuff to bad luck?  I mean, I know it’s not always possible to find a cause, but it would be so much more helpful if someone would say, “Look, your history is crappy and indicates a problem.  We don’t always know what the problem is or how to solve it, but here are the things we can check for and here’s why I do or don’t think that each of them might be a problem for you specifically.”  That’s what I want.  Why is it so hard for doctors to talk to patients that way?

Anyway, that’s where I am now.  Waiting to finish miscarrying this pregnancy, walking around, acting like everything’s normal in the meantime, diving back into the literature on pregnancy loss to try to find some answers about what’s happening to me.  This semester has just been so hard, with my dad dying the first week of the semester and my third miscarriage happening in the middle of the semester.  I’m kind of amazed that I’m still functioning, but at the same time I really don’t think I can take any more, and I’m having to bite back yelling at people or bursting into tears all the time.  I have very little patience for anything even a little bit trivial right now, which is really not the frame of mind I should be in during advising week for our freshmen, who are freaking out about their schedules for next semester.  I also can’t handle any kid-related stress, and when my toddler was clinging to me at daycare dropoff yesterday I actually started crying right in the middle of the toddler room.  I don’t think the teachers noticed, and I got myself out and to the car before I really let loose, but I wanted to cling to my son as much as he wanted to cling to me!  You’d think I’d be used to pregnancy loss by now, but I don’t think you really ever get used to it.  Having a living child makes it easier, for sure, but it’s still awfully hard.


Day 3 labs and my dad’s memorial service

I swear I’m not as much of a grumpy gus in real life as I am on my blog, but I sure do feel like I have plenty to be grumpy about these days.  I thought I had left most of the bitterness of pregnancy loss and infertility behind me, but we’re now six months and one miscarriage into trying to conceive our second living child and I just today saw the second pregnancy announcement from a friend/acquaintance who is five months pregnant (which is how pregnant I would be right now if I hadn’t miscarried), and my dad’s memorial service was last Saturday, and we’re heading into midterm season which is no more fun as a professor than it was as a student, and I am GRUMPY about it all.

As part of the conversation with my OB about how to go forward with trying to conceive after my miscarriage in May, she offered to repeat my Day 3 labs, which I haven’t had done since before my daughter was conceived — I figured that if they were normal, I’d be more comfortable trying on our own a little longer, but if they indicated low reserve I’d want to head back to the RE sooner rather than later.  The results came back this week, and my FSH and estradiol are both normal (8.8 and 49, respectively).  My FSH was 8 before, so things don’t seem to have changed much there (although I do always worry about inter-cycle variability).  My AMH was a bit on the high side — good for egg quantity/quality, but apparently a potential indicator of cysts or PCOS.  Which makes total sense to me, because it seems like every time I get an ultrasound someone tells me I have a cyst and they’ll “keep an eye on it” and then they never do and then I mention it whenever they do another ultrasound and they’re like, “oh, huh, you do have a cyst… well, it looks normal, but we’ll keep an eye on it,” and then nothing happens.  I also wonder if my borderline high AMH levels are related to the fact that I get wicked ovulation pain these days — I don’t even really need OPKs anymore, because I can tell 2-3 days before the OPK turns positive that I’m starting to ovulate, and by the time I get to ovulation day it hurts to sit down.  Anyway, who knows?  My OB mostly just brushed it off (I didn’t actually get to talk to her; she left a message and said to call if I had questions and I haven’t gotten around to it).  But at least my eggs aren’t rotten, which was my main concern.  So that leaves us in purgatory of trying and trying and wondering when to go back to the RE.  I think I’ll probably wait it out until January — that would be seven cycles of trying post-miscarriage (since it took me >2 months to get my period back after the miscarriage), 10 months since we started trying after our son was born, and it would also be past the window of inconvenient due date timing (since I’m planning to submit my tenure materials next November).  Seems like a good time to step up our efforts.

In the meantime, I held my dad’s memorial service last Saturday.  It was so strange.  I still don’t really believe that he’s dead.  Most of the family got together, and it was nice to see everyone.  In a way, it was one of the more pleasant family funerals since nobody was really all that sad, since nobody was really that close to my dad — sounds weird to say it that way, but it’s the silver lining of my dad’s depressing life during which he worked hard to alienate himself from pretty much everyone in the family.  My uncle is a minister, and he planned most of the service.  He did a nice job — told some stories about my dad that were funny but didn’t totally whitewash the seedier sides of his personality.  It’s got to be disconcerting for my uncle that he’s now led funeral services for his parents and two of his three siblings, but you’d never know it from the way he was up there talking and laughing and playing Grateful Dead songs (which my dad definitely would have appreciated).  My son, S, was the star of the show, if that’s a thing that one can be at a funeral.  He was dancing along to the Grateful Dead songs, peeking over my shoulder at a family friend and saying “Boo!” during the service, and when I got up to give the eulogy he held out his arms yelling “Mama, mama, mama!” until I just picked him up and let him sit on my hip while I spoke and he tried to disassemble the microphone.

I had some really nice moments with my dad’s old friends who told me stories about the good old days when my dad was actually a functional human being and did some really important welfare reform work — like, welfare reform that influenced policy decisions across many states and also the platform for one presidential campaign that my dad worked on.  It was all before I was 5 years old, so I don’t really have any memories of those days, but it was nice to hear about how he used to be really driven and dedicated to helping other people.  I don’t know what happened — part of it was being diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, although that’s clearly not all of it.  As I mentioned before, there were drugs and alcohol and abuse involved, and I’m pretty sure there were some undiagnosed mental health issues too.  Not depression/anxiety so much as narcissistic personality disorder with perhaps a touch of sociopath, if I may armchair-diagnose my deceased father.  Anyway, it was good to hear his friends remember how he used to be, and to hear stories about him that I hadn’t heard before.  Since he died a lot of my sadness has been related to the empty life he led, particularly towards the end (I won’t elaborate on some of the things I found while cleaning out his apartment, but they were incredibly depressing) and so it was nice to hear that there were other parts of his life that were more fulfilling than the parts that I had the front row seats for.

So, that’s where we are now.  Making arrangements for the funeral and my dad’s affairs has been eating up my life since he died ~3 weeks ago, and with traveling back home on the weekends and my phone ringing off the hook I’ve been very behind on work and it’s been very stressful.  I’ve still got a stack of grading to be done, but I’m keeping up on the essentials, and now I finally feel like I might have a tiny hope of catching up — not that any academic is ever truly caught up, but at least I hopefully won’t feel that I’m constantly dropping balls and letting people down.

One sort of interesting thing that happened this week is that on Monday I was apologizing to one of my masters students for not answering an email that he had sent on Friday — I said that I didn’t want to play the sad card, but I did want to explain that my father’s funeral was Saturday so I just didn’t look at my email all weekend.  He said, “Wait, your father’s funeral?!” and I realized I hadn’t actually told him that my father had died, even though it had come up with all the other members of my group at one point or another.  But after that student found out, nice things started happening all week — the grad students in our department all signed a sympathy card for me and chipped in on a gift certificate to a local restaurant, and then “the students” brought surprise baked goods to our research group meeting today.  When I walked in and said, “Well, this is nice!  What’s the occasion?” they said, “We just wanted to do something nice since you do so much for us,” and it just about collapsed me into a weeping puddle of goo right then and there!  I have strong suspicions that this masters student who found out late goaded the other students into action — it fits his personality, and he’s a non-traditional older student, already married, so he’s significantly more mature than the other students in our program.  But it is clear that all the other students eagerly piled on once someone initiated, and I am grateful to all the students in our program — and my research group — for their kindness this week.  Even though it’s a little awkward, it’s nice to be treated like a human with feelings and shown a bit of appreciation occasionally (not that that’s why I do what I do, but it’s still nice when it happens!), and at a time like this it means even more than it otherwise would.  Our tiny department has all the pros and cons of small town living, but the way people support each other is one of the biggest pros there is.


Bad news

It seems like there’s a lot of bad news these days.  Destruction in Texas and the Carribean.  The increasing threat of nuclear weapons.  The government rolling back protections under Title IX and DACA — one of my handful of freshman advisees this year admitted to me that she is a DACA student, and she is scared stiff.  She’s an amazing kid who had a tumultuous childhood first growing up in Guatemala with her grandparents, and then being sent to live with her parents in the US when she was in elementary school.  She was a shining star at her US high school, and is now a freshman at a top liberal arts college who is studying to be a pediatrician.  She loves working with young kids, and used to take care of toddlers at her church growing up, and is applying to work at the campus daycare where my son goes.  THIS is the kind of truly amazing young woman our President wants to deport?!  I am so angry on her behalf, and on the behalf of all of the kids who did nothing wrong, often everything right, and find themselves rejected and under threat by the only country they have ever known.

On top of all of that, I got some personal bad news yesterday morning: my father died.  It was very sudden and unexpected; he’s had multiple sclerosis for almost 30 years but was healthy otherwise, and it seems that he just died in his sleep sometime Wednesday night.  I’ll apparently never get answers about what really happened either (i.e., was it a heart attack or stroke or what?), since in cases like this they don’t do an autopsy unless there’s suspicion of foul play.  So, I spent yesterday afternoon on the phone with everyone: the paramedics, the police, the funeral home, my father’s landlord, the county probate office, my entire family, and the few of my dad’s closest friends that I knew how to contact.  Yesterday was a total blur, and today I have a bit of a breather before traveling home this weekend to start making arrangements for his funeral and figuring out what to do with all of the financial stuff and his physical belongings.

I have really complicated feelings about this loss.  My father and I weren’t close.  He abused drugs and alcohol when I was a child, sometimes in my presence, was verbally abusive, and made me feel unsafe on a number of occasions.  I had occasionally wondered what his end of life would be like, what I would do if he wound up needing more intensive long-term care than the disability services he had used for decades.  In a way, it’s a relief that it ended this way, although I feel guilty for feeling that way.  But I also know that he would have wanted to die in his sleep rather than have a long, slow decline to death.  And, I do have some good memories of him when I was young.  I know that he was always very proud of me and my accomplishments, and that he was delighted by the birth of his grandson.  He’s my father, and while over the years I’ve already done a lot of mourning for the father I would never have in my life, I’m finding that, surprisingly, there’s still some mourning I’m going to need to do for the father I did have.

For the moment, I’m just taking it from one day to the next, with the practical side of me figuring out what needs to be done while the emotional side of me wrestles with the aftermath (particularly at 2am last night, alas).  Since my parents have been divorced for 25 years and I have no siblings, it’s clear that I’m the next of kin and it is my responsibility for making decisions and arrangements.  My mom has already offered to help however she can, of course, but legally it’s my responsibility.  I feel very unprepared, and wound up googling various iterations of “what to do when someone dies” and “checklist for when a parent dies” yesterday just to even get a sense of the scope of what happens next.  And today, with nothing concrete to accomplish, I’m sitting in my office not focusing and writing a blog post while pretending I’m going to be able to keep up with the crushing workload of the start of the semester (oh, and with a major deadline for my research next week too).

Anyway, I do take solace in the fact that this I know that this is the way my father would have wanted to die, even though he would probably have preferred that his death be later in life (he was 68).  I’m doing my best to respect his wishes and the needs of my family as I make arrangements for his funeral and what to do with his body.  I’m feeling grateful that I have so many wonderful people jumping to support me, including my husband, mom, and cousin, a couple of my wonderful colleagues at work, and friends (even though I haven’t really told any of them yet — I’ve got a couple of rock-solid awesome friends who I know will have my back once I can muster up the energy to pick up the phone again).  I’m also grateful for my snuggly, goofy toddler, who is still totally oblivious to grown-up sadness.  Playing with him last night after daycare was the best medicine by far.  I am lucky enough to have a village that will help me get through this difficult time.


Plan G

I think I’ve written about 5 or 6 blog posts by now about our newest fertility plan developed with the help of our doctors, so I think we’re on about Plan G by now, right?

This week marked two important appointments in our family life: (1) the 3-month follow-up visit with the OBGYN after my miscarriage in May, and (2) an official evaluation of S’s speech by our state Early Intervention program.

With the OBGYN, basically it was just a discussion of whether or not my periods have resumed normally since the miscarriage (answer: yes, although it took a while so I’ve only had one), and discussing a plan for moving forward.  Since I got pregnant so quickly last time around, my husband and I are a little more relaxed about trying on our own for a while.  But, also since I got pregnant so quickly the last time around, we didn’t have time to do the tests the RE had suggested to check my hormone levels to help figure out a course of action.  Since I’ve still got at least two conditions potentially affecting my fertility (irregular periods, which I’ve had for a while and have now gotten pregnant with three times so they don’t seem to be that much of a problem, and my scarred fallopian tubes, at least one of which is clearly still functional), it’s a little hard to know how to balance trying on our own with upping the ante on the infertility side of things.  Our fertility history is neither the greatest nor the worst, so it seems likely that I’ll eventually be able to carry another pregnancy to term… but I’m also approaching 35, so we don’t want to mess around too much.  The OBGYN said she’d just run the Day 3 labs herself, and I thought that sounded good because assuming they’re normal I’ll feel a little bit more relaxed about ovarian reserve and might be more comfortable trying on our own even as I cross the magical age 35 line into Advanced Maternal Age (gasp!).   Since we’re traveling to visit our in-laws this week and I’m expecting my period sometime in the next couple of days I might have to wait until next month to do the labs, but no biggie there.  So, at least for now, the plan is for us to try on our own for 6 months assuming the Day 3 labs are normal, and then if nothing happens head back to the RE for a new plan.  We’ll see how it goes.

The Early Intervention evaluation also went well.  The two evaluators who showed up at our house Tuesday afternoon were lovely — clearly experienced, comfortable with each other and with kids, and very thorough.  They ran S through a whole battery of tests checking every area of his development.  Other than a brief intervention from me when S decided it would be a good time to chug-chug-chug his train into the dog who was minding her own business sleeping on the living room floor, he behaved very well and wasn’t too shy with the evaluator even though he’s usually shy with new people.  The upshot is that he has a mild speech delay, something to keep an eye on but not bad enough to qualify for state services.  The tests confirmed what I’d thought, which was that there’s an enormous gap right now between his comprehension and his production.  He scored 95th percentile in receptive language, but only 9th percentile in expressive language.  The evaluator told us that there’s some evidence that having good receptive language skills is one positive predictor of a kid who will just outgrow a speech delay with time, although of course it’s not guaranteed.  They are sending us some materials in the mail about how to help encourage his speech development, but she said we’re already doing a lot of the big things like encouraging communication with sign language, reading to him, and exposing him to the rich environment of daycare where he’s around other kids who are talking more.  They also recommended that we talk to our pediatrician about having his hearing tested — the evaluator said that even though his receptive language suggests that he’s hearing just fine, she’s seen other kids that “fooled” them in the sense that even though they understood a lot, just a little tweak in their ability to hear got them to distinguish much better between different speech sounds and really set them off on a language spurt.  So, we’ll work on getting that set up when we visit the pediatrician next week.

Otherwise, we are having a lovely visit this week with my in-laws in the Midwest.  Traveling with S this year is just infinitely easier than traveling with him as a 6-month-old last summer — seriously, after our visit last summer I wasn’t sure we’d ever come back, but now that he’s a curious toddler who just wants to soak up every bit of attention from his doting grandparents and play with all the toys that Grandma has been scrounging off of Craigslist and enjoy zoos and parks and other such outings… he’s having a blast, which means I’m much more relaxed too.  I still find it really hard to let Grandpa and Grandma take charge, especially where safety is concerned.  They wanted to take him for a ride on the train this afternoon, and I just couldn’t stand seeing Grandma holding him up quite *that* close to the tracks while the train was pulling into the station, and then when we were walking through a really crowded place later I just didn’t want to be more than arms reach away from him because I was afraid he would get lost in the crowd, and I couldn’t help but grab his hand anytime he wandered more than a couple of steps away from them.  I know Grandpa and Grandma are very careful with him, but somehow I just can’t keep myself from worrying all the time.  I mean, I worry about leaving him at daycare, but (a) I do it every day so I’m kind of used to it, and (b) usually I don’t have to watch other people take care of him while I hang back.  I also know Grandpa and Grandma aren’t as quick or steady on their feet as my husband and I are, and they don’t know all the ways that a toddler can be quick and wriggly, so I hover.  They freak out about all the wrong things (like when he’s walking in a goofy way down the sidewalk and Grandma thinks he’s going to fall over when he’s clearly not), and don’t know to worry about the actually dangerous things (like the fact that he has zero sense of self-preservation and is liable to fling himself out of their arms when they hold him out to see the train, or dash into an impenetrable crowd of strangers with no warning).  I try to control myself, but I can’t help it.  That’s been the hardest part of this visit, honestly.  But it’s still a major improvement over last summer when nobody was sleeping and S cried the whole time and then Grandma cried because she was so sad that he was so sad while visiting her.  Looking back, I’m pretty sure he was getting like four teeth at once and going through a sleep regression on top of the travel stuff, but at the time I was afraid we’d broken our baby and that this cranky miserable sadness was going to be his personality forever.  Ha ha, first time parent kookiness. 🙂 This year he’s back to being my sweet little boy, and I love seeing him so happy with his grandparents.

One thing that helps is that he is finally saying “mama” (which is basically his only recognizable word other than “uh-oh,” “up,” and “yeah”) and it’s the sweetest sound in the whole world.  I mean, I know that seasoned moms can get annoyed by constant cries for “mama, mama, mama!” but for me, it’s still very new and incredible.  When he reaches for me and says “Mama!!!” it just totally melts my heart.  He knows who his mama is, and he makes it clear that I’m his rock (with Dada as an acceptable substitute most of the time).  Being his mama has been the most special relationship of my life, opening a completely new dimension into my understanding of love, and to hear him call for me and know that he feels towards me at least a little of what I feel towards him is just pure magic.  This is such a special time of life with our little boy.  Even as I navigate spending time with in-laws and plodding down the long and winding road to completing our family, every so often I step back and just marvel in amazement at the wonder of this little human we created.  He’s incredible.  He’s just a normal toddler, but to me, he’s the biggest miracle of creation.  Parenting seems to be an exercise in turning the most mundane things — diaper changes, snack time, waking up at 4:30am with a jetlagged ball of energy — into the most miraculous parts of being alive.  I know some moms are bugged by the old ladies who tell you to “enjoy every minute of it,” but when a checkout lady at Home Depot gave me that line last week, I was able to reply honestly, “Oh, I do… almost every minute!”  I really do.


Talking about Family Planning with Students

Last week the senior faculty member in my department hosted his annual 4th of July barbecue for our department — all the faculty, their families, and all the students who are here doing research for the summer were invited.  It was quite a crew (for a liberal arts college), with 30 or more people hanging out in his backyard, munching hot dogs and (veggie) burgers, and splashing in the pool.  It was a beautiful day with some really great people, and I love that my department is such a welcoming and family-friendly place (this is one of several regular events throughout the year at which partners and children are explicitly encouraged to attend).

I was sitting on the grass with my son on my lap.  He was contemplatively munching on a veggie burger.  We were surrounded by students.  They were commenting on how much he’s grown since the last time they saw him, how long his hair is (it’s in these amazing platinum-blond ringlets right now since we haven’t cut it yet), asking what new things he can do, etc.  Then, one student busted out with “Are you going to have more kids?”

I gave my stock response: “We’ll see!”

Another (perceptive) student said: “It sounds like maybe you say that a lot.”

I laughed and said, “You’re right!  A lot of people are curious.  Almost as much now as when my husband and I first got married and we got lots of questions about when we were going to have kids.”

Another student said, “It’s kind of a personal question, isn’t it?”

I said, “Yes, it’s personal.”

The student who asked in the first place apologized.  I told her I didn’t mind, that I was also very curious about things like that when I was her age.

It was a brief twinge of discomfort in an otherwise lovely day.  I kept turning it over in my head.  I almost wanted to tell them why it was personal — to tell them about the daughter we lost before our son was born, or the fact that I’ve been pregnant three times with only my son to show for it, but I didn’t want to spoil the festive mood.  On the other hand, I feel that we generally do our young people a disservice by being so closed-mouthed about the realities of pregnancy loss and infertility.  I teach my students lots of things, and sometimes they learn from me whether I want them to or not — I know that the students have been keenly interested in my life since I revealed that I was pregnant with S (the students were also keenly interested when I was pregnant with his big sister, although that generation has all graduated by now).  I also know that for all the young women, I am the sole example they have of a female professor in our field, which can feel like a heavy responsibility.  I want them to be encouraged by my example, not daunted.  But I also want to prepare them for challenges they are likely to face.  There were about 8 students sitting with me on the grass during this conversation — odds are that several of them will experience miscarriage sometime in their lives, and probably one of them will experience infertility.  Is it better to prepare them, or to let them find out for themselves?  I made a choice in the moment, a choice that felt right to me at the time, but I could imagine having handled it a different way.

For now, I educated them that asking questions about fertility plans is personal.  I’ll save the conversation about pregnancy loss for another time.