Last weekend, S and I spent a lot of time at our hospital’s childbirth preparation class. I wish I could say it was helpful. It was actually quite irritating. First of all, being in a room with ten other pregnant couples nearly gave me a panic attack. It seems that many of the babies were surprises, and it made me feel resentful of having to go through all that we did to get here. Who knows, maybe one or two of the other couples struggled to conceive as well, but nobody talked about it. I always wondered if the pain of IF would go away once (if) we were able to conceive, but no. I still feel like a freak, and I’m angry that I have been nervous and anxious throughout this pregnancy, unlike the blissfully ignorant couples around us those days.

The couple we got paired with aren’t due until the end of February, and they finished their nursery months ago. She seemed shocked that we weren’t ready still, and it was all I could do to not to make some comment that something could still happen and the baby could die, because it happens, babies die. Shit happens. Bad things happen to good people. But really, there was no reason to ruin her day.

The instructor was a very nice woman, but she repeated things over and over and over. She would talk about something, we would watch part of a video, and then go over everything again, AND AGAIN, as if we were idiots. I understand that different people learn differently, but this was ridiculous. It might have been informative if you were an alien from another planet who had no idea how humans give birth. When people did ask questions, it became clear that she really didn’t know much. She was very clearly anti-epidural, while trying to sound like she had no opinion either way.

S missed watching the football game and was in a bad mood and constantly checking his blackberry for score updates. We debated not going back after lunch, but we had our pillows and blanket in the room. It would have been more useful and less waste of time if they would just let you borrow or rent the dvd that they show. That was the only informative thing for me. I wanted to see actual gory birth, the stuff they don’t show on A Baby Story. I wanted to see what delivery of the placenta looked like, and that sort of thing. She didn’t even really go through breathing techniques much. I am very glad we hired our doula!

At almost 35 weeks, I am definitely feeling more uncomfortable, but at the same time, I am not ready for this to be over! I’m getting sad that I only have 5 or so more weeks of being pregnant. I love feeling the baby move. I love that I have been lucky enough to experience this. I don’t know if I will ever get to be pregnant again, and I want to savor every minute left. Even the times when I can barely walk after getting out of bed to go pee for the 6th time that night. Even the sharp pain in my pelvis that I get when I walk up and down the stairs. I’ll miss the waddling and the comfy maternity clothes. I’ll miss this special time preparing for her arrival. Of course, I am so curious about this little person and I can’t wait to meet her too. It’s a strange yet wonderful place to be.

Question – when should I start washing baby clothes? I haven’t washed a single thing. Is it still too early? I haven’t taken the tags off a single item of baby clothing. Everything from the pack n play to the breastfeeding pillow are still in their packaging/boxes. Blankets are still bundled up with tags.

The nursery is still unfinished. Nothing on the walls, no curtains. We have the crib and glider and ottoman set up, but we still need to move a dresser in there and set up the changing area. The closet is packed with my craft and sewing stuff. I should take a picture and post my progress. Maybe I just need some people to be accountable to.

Ok I think I got my “nobody loves me, waaah” rant out of my system. I need to stop whining and get over it.

I got the H1N1 shot today at my almost 34 week appointment. I was shocked that they had it. I had kind of given up hoping for the time being, since my county seems to be particularly messed up with supplies and is mostly giving them out at mass clinics (which I refuse to go to). My arm is sore and I feel like poo, much like with the seasonal flu shot I got last month, but I am glad that it is one less thing to worry about.

I have a new worry. It is open enrollment season right now, and my husband’s employer is not offering our current health insurance next year. We found out yesterday that it is being replaced with a much crappier and more expensive option. We expected to pay more, but were hoping to keep the same insurance coverage, but that is not possible.

Of course, this new shitty insurance will take effect Jan 1. I’m due December 25th, so I could easily go a week over and be completely fucked as far as insurance coverage goes.What happens if I go into labor and the hospital on 12/31 but deliver on 1/1? Which insurance covers it? We’ve met our deductible with our current insurance, and I’ve already paid our portion of the obstetrician fees, so it could end up being A LOT OF MONEY if she is born on or after January 1st.

I’m not even sure if my OB is covered under the new insurance. At my appointment today, I tried to feel her out for her thoughts on induction. Is it terrible that I’m thinking about insurance and money over my baby’s timing of going into labor naturally? But here’s the thing – they can’t possibly let me go much past a week over, and if it is a difference of just a few days, why not induce a day or two early and save potentially many thousands of dollars? I feel bad, but hell, I’m going to be miserable by that point anyway, it’s the holidays, let’s just get on with it.

Am I terrible for thinking that?

 

As I kind of expected, it was not a very good day. I’m sure my attitude made it worse. Not one person managed to send me a card for my 35th birthday yesterday. I got several messages on Facebook, and three phone calls. My husband rushed after work to buy the only cards I got. I guess I’m old fashioned, but when did a wall message on Facebook become an acceptable way to recognize a milestone birthday of a close relative or friend who lives far away? My mom and sister didn’t even manage to send me a card. To be fair, they are both insanely busy right now, but still. 35!

One old friend of mine turned 35 a month ago and I felt like an ass that I couldn’t travel across the country to be there for her very large party. To make up for that, I sent several thoughtful things to her, timed such that they would arrive on her birthday. Not three days late. Not two days early. I found three perfect cards that reminded me of specific times in our long friendship and I put effort into writing them out. For another relative’s recent milestone birthday, I worked for weeks on a 20 page large scrapbook/collage thing of all of my various memories of her and times of her life. Again, I made sure it arrived on her birthday, because I couldn’t be there in person. Both of these people called me yesterday in the evening and left a voice mail with some version of the same bullshit “I have a card for you but I just can’t find it,” or even better, “I guess I’m not a card sending person anymore.”

Wow. That hurts. I am a loyal friend. I work hard to listen and be there for the people in my life, and things like my 35th birthday being forgotten or unacknowledged by many of the people in my life makes me feel like I just don’t matter. Maybe it’s a good lesson. Maybe I should look at this as a new phase of my life where the focus shifts from my old family and friends to my husband and soon to be daughter. No more spending time and money trying to come up with thoughtful birthday and Christmas gifts. No more running out to the post office to buy extra postage for a square envelope and to mail them out on time. No more putting effort into maintaining relationships that clearly don’t mean much to the other person.

Yesterday was shitty in other ways too. Physical therapy hurt and took forever because my physical therapist was teaching a student. There was far too much pulling my yoga pants down too far and poking and pushing on my tailbone while I laid on my stomach on two piles of 4 pillows. They had me do too many very tiring exercises. I left feeling like I had been hit by a truck, when normally I leave feeling better and in less pain.

S got home and we couldn’t decide where to go for dinner. He wasn’t in the best of moods, and I think he resented having to give up time in the evening to meet with the doula. We finally went to a restaurant that we both normally love, but by then, the mood was sour. The doula meeting took 90 minutes when I thought we’d be out of there within 20. We fought in the car on the way home. We sat in silence the rest of the 15 minutes home while I felt very sorry for myself and let silent tears fall. We got home at 9pm. I couldn’t wait for the day to be over so I got ready for bed and tried to fall asleep.

I’m sure that my wacky pregnancy hormones are at work here, and that doesn’t help an already shitty big bad birthday.

Oh, and roadkill. I can’t stop crying for each and every dead animal I see on the road, and there seem to be a lot this year. Squirrels, raccoons, possums, deer, and the occasional cat and dog. I start worrying about how long it took them to die, and if they were in pain.

Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be turning 35. Ugh, how did this happen? It seems like just yesterday I was drunk on a beach in Mexico turning 30. How have the past five years gone by in a heartbeat?

Now I get slapped with the advanced maternal age label, more gray hair, and the sad physical signs of getting older. I’m not a vain person in the least. I’ve never been a pretty girl or very high maintenance, so I shouldn’t be too concerned with the signs of growing older, right? Why is it now bothering me that my hands are starting to look like witches hands, increasingly veiny with dry elephant skin? Silvery hairs popping up in between visits to my hair stylist? Fine lines around my eyes? It disturbs me that I am starting to care about these things. I’ve always wanted to be one of those sassy, vibrant, kick ass women who grow old unapologetically, that are still out digging in their gardens in their 80’s, and traveling to new and strange places until the very end. I have a feeling that those women don’t worry about dry skin, fine lines and gray hairs.

Tomorrow will pass with no big celebration. I have a couple of boring appointments, and then in the evening we are meeting up with our doula because it was the only time that worked this week to meet her.  Then FIL is having a big surgery the next morning, so all energy will be on him and his recuperation for the next good while (as it should be).

I don’t really normally care all that much about birthdays, but this is a big scary one. I don’t want a big party. The greatest gift I could ever have is kicking my bladder right now, and it is wonderful. The trip that S and I just took was kind of my birthday present, and that was great. I don’t know why I’m feeling so blah about this day.

I guess maybe I’m feeling a little lonely, because not many of my family and friends have even really mentioned my birthday coming up. If it gets forgotten, if no one sends a card or calls, I will be pissed. My mom told me yesterday that she was still trying to come up with an idea for what to do for my birthday (way too late to send anything across the country in a day or two). My own mother can’t even pull it together to do anything for my actual birthday.

What I would like is for someone to sit with me and remind me of all the beautiful things that getting older brings, none of which I can think of right now.

I think sometime this week or next, I’ll try to schedule a massage, and maybe a pedicure, and treat myself to a new pair of shoes that might actually fit my ever expanding feet this winter.

We are still on our trip. It has been a nice adventure. I’ve held up in the car better than I expected. We have seen a lot of interesting things and been to some beautiful places, and we still have 3 days left.

One thing that has been fun is that we have bought a few things for baby Bird this trip. At one national park, we got an adorable stuffed animal goat. At another, we got a stuffed possum. It is cute and ugly and awesome all at the same time. Today, we were walking up a decent hill to get to one site, and I was going rather slow. It was partly because it was on slippery pine needles, partly because I can’t take very big steps (being so off balance and all), and partly because my lungs are awfully compressed and I get winded easily. S looked over at me and said “I wish I could hold the baby for you for a while so that walking would be easier.” Then he got a big smile on his face and said  “I guess that will happen soon enough though!”

We can see movement from the outside now. At first I think it kinda creeped S out. We were at a stop light and I said “ooh, look at my belly now” and sure enough there was a series of waves, ripples and thumps. It looks like there’s an alien in there. Now I think he is used to it. He’s touching my belly more lately, which is nice, because for a long time he didn’t seem too terribly interested in waiting to feel movements.

I feel like this trip has been a nice time for us to spend with each other before life changes dramatically, but there hasn’t been much talking about things. I’ve tried to get him to talk a bit about his childhood, his parents, and about parenting in general, but as usual, it’s like pulling teeth. He has never been good about talking about feelings, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Sometimes it kind of hurts my feelings that he is so closed up about things, but other times I can be rational and understand that he just doesn’t work that way. He is a person of action, not talking.

He has been very thoughtful and mindful of my comfort on this trip. Last night he told me that he had been kind of dreading this trip because he was afraid I would be miserable, but that I’ve been surprisingly easy to travel with still. I am glad that I am not an unpleasant travel companion.

I think the hardest part for me is lack of sleep. Last night I got up every 90 minutes to pee. I know that it is nature’s way of preparing you in advance for caring for a newborn, but I don’t like it. Every morning I get up feeling tired and resentful that I need to take the first shower because it takes me longer to get ready and pack up. But I do it, because S is doing all of the driving, and I take little cat naps here and there in the car.

 

Thank you guys for your supportive comments on my last post! I think I really needed to vent. As of now, we are still going with the name we like. The more I think about it, the more pissed I get. But, you know, it’s really not worth the energy. I’m trying to let it go and not care what anyone thinks about us using the same name. Somehow I will let the people close to us know the story behind it.

So on to a new topic. S and I are on a trip. Our last trip alone. We like to go on road trips and see new places, and that will definitely get more difficult with a little one. This trip that S planned is particularly ambitious. We will be driving a little under 3000 miles in 8 days and going to a number of different states/national parks/monuments/museums. I know what you must be thinking. At 32 weeks, my bladder has about the capacity of an apricot. As much as I love going places, I have been dreading that part. Today we drove just over 500 miles and we stopped for bathrooms at least 8 times. We saw several interesting places today though, and I napped here and there on the drive. I made sure to drink plenty of water and have lots of snacks with us. I feel pretty good today. We’ll see how I do on subsequent days in the car.

 

*edited to remove some harsh words*

A while ago, S and I decided that we were not going to be discussing names with people. We didn’t want lots of “helpful” input on the decision. It’s one of the few things that we actually have control over, since so many things were out of our control during the whole infertility process. Plus, if you share your name, you risk someone else stealing it. We all know of someone who took someone else’s favorite baby name. We figured that it would be tough, but we’d keep things to ourselves when we decided on a name.

Now, it has been tough, with close family members especially. The whole “we haven’t decided” response doesn’t go over well with parents and siblings. They want to know names you are considering. We eventually started telling people that it will be a surprise. Before we decided not to share with people, I mentioned to a very close aunt of mine just two of the names we both really like, knowing and trusting her not to tell anyone else. She is not a gossiper and has always been pretty supportive. She was one of the few people we shared our infertility journey with.

Now here comes the drama. My cousin (her son) and his girlfriend are expecting a surprise baby. She already has two kids from a previous relationship. She is 18 weeks pregnant now, and they just found out they are having a girl.

A few days ago, I get a text from the aunt asking how high up on our list is the certain name, because that’s what her son and the girlfriend like for their baby. Reluctantly (because we aren’t telling people), I wrote back saying that it’s way high up on the list and is S’s favorite. My cousin sends out an email to the entire family the next day announcing the pregnancy (they had kept is a secret until now from the rest of my family), and announcing that it’s a girl and that her name will be XXXXXX, which is THE NAME that my aunt knows is our favorite!

She’s only 18 weeks! She can’t call dibs on that name when I’m due months and months before her! Now by them announcing the name to the whole family, I am going to look like the asshole when we name our baby that. What the fuck do we do?

I don’t think that my aunt spilled our name. According to her, her son and gf liked the name and my aunt told them “oh you might want to wait, Birds and S are strongly considering that name.” This was weeks before they knew what they were having. The girlfriend (who has been kind of a bitch in the past already) said something to the effect of “well they better not use that name because that is what we are going to use if it’s a girl”. They KNEW it was  likely our choice for the baby’s name and they did this. That makes me want to still use the name. You CANT do that. You cannot call dibs on a name that you know someone else who is having their baby four months before you is likely choosing.

Now I’m almost wishing that we had shared our names early on so that everyone would know we were considering this name. But then you run the risk of someone stealing it blatantly anyway. And I’ll admit, I am a bit annoyed that they got pregnant with an accident and it took us a shit ton of time, energy and money to get here. We fought and fought for this baby, and we may not get to have another one, and why should we have to change to a backup name because they have “claimed” the name this early? I feel a bit betrayed by my cousin, who really has been like a brother to me in the past. What is he thinking?

Do I even care what our family thinks? Some might think that WE stole the name because we had been so quiet about names. No one knows about this passive aggressive move that my cousin and gf are pulling by “announcing” the baby’s name when she is barely 4 months along. They might well change their mind. Or maybe the ultrasound tech was mistaken and it really is a boy. Who knows what will happen in the next 5 months.

Is it even a big deal if we choose the same name? Honestly, we live across the country from each other and might see them once a year. Do S and I care if we look like assholes? Am I being ridiculous?

I passed the 3 hour test! Yay! Before my appointment, I got a call from my OB’s partner with the results. She gave me some shit about the MFM that I saw, basically a “see I told you what he would say about metformin” thing. I had to put on my assertive voice and say “Yes, but I also spoke with Dr. Z from that same office about it and she is more open minded about metformin and has had patients stay on it before, and she is leaving it up to me. She just wanted to make sure I was aware of the potential risks, and I completely understand that. So, I will be staying on metformin.”

My fasting level was 78, 1 hour was 140, 2 hour was 130, and 3 hour was 78 again.

She said my results were well below the cutoff for GD, but that since I took the test while on metformin, I will have to stay on metformin. Um yeah, that’s what I just told you, lady! She asked if I had a home glucose meter and I said no, but I’d be happy to start checking it if they would give me a prescription for one. She suggested that in a month that they will have me eat two hours before my next appointment and that in the office they will check my blood sugar.

My actual appointment later today went well. I lost 3 pounds since my last appointment two weeks ago, which is good because my weight was frighteningly up at that appointment. I’m blaming it on water retention and the change in weather requiring a shift from light summer skirts to heavy jeans. So at almost 32 weeks I have gained about 22-23 pounds. I had hoped to keep it to 25 pounds for the entire pregnancy, but with 8 weeks to go, I doubt that is going to happen. Oh well. It could be a lot worse.

My regular OB spent a long time talking with me, which was nice. We talked about the metformin and my choice to stay on it. She thinks any benefit from the metformin has passed, but will let me stay on it if I want. I’m measuring a week and a half ahead. Baby’s heartbeat was 150. My blood pressure was fine. We discussed pain control options during delivery. She answered all of my questions and didn’t make me feel rushed. Overall it was a good appointment. I am relieved that I don’t have gestational diabetes. I am relieved that I feel okay about my doctor again. Now I can find something else to obsess about.

I was very upset after my appointment with Dr. Asshole. After some tears of frustration and self pity, and a good long nap, I collected myself and wrote an email to the very nice and very helpful genetic counselor from the same office. I explained my frustration with the doctor, that I had done a lot of reading on my own about the safety of metformin, and asked if she had any ideas for me. It was a good move, because the next day I got a message from another MFM specialist at the office. The genetic counselor had spoken to her about me.

It took a few days to catch her on the phone, but we talked and while she was not completely  thrilled about me staying on metformin, she was more open minded than the other guy. She said she has had patients stay on it with no problems, but that they still prefer to use insulin and glyburide to manage GD because the effects of metformin on the fetus are still unknown. She said she would leave it up to me, and I said I would like to stay on it. It was a relief to find a doctor who was ok with it. I just hope that I don’t develop any sort of complications and end up having to see Dr. Asshole again. I hate that man and I don’t ever want to see him again.

I took the three hour glucose tolerance test yesterday, on metformin. It was rather unpleasant on a number of levels. First – the hunger. I often get up and eat something in the middle of the night now anyway. Making a pregnant woman fast for that long is just cruel. I seriously contemplated eating my lip balm at one point. Second – the needle pokes. Now, these were not as bad as I anticipated. I went to a nice lab, and lady who took my blood four times was great. I was worried about how it would work to take blood from each arm twice, but she found a vein all 4 times with no digging and no massive bruising. It didn’t even hurt that much.

The most unpleasant aspect was how the massive dose of sugar made me feel. I had the lemon lime flavor and I chugged it down with no problem. About thirty minutes in, I started feeling awful. Heart pounding, shaky, dizzy, nauseous, and a good headache. The waiting room was filled with old ladies waiting for mammograms. I had brought all kinds of amusements for the three hours – some knitting stuff to work on, several books and magazines, but I couldn’t do anything. I asked if I could lay down in the recovery room that the lab tech had told me was available if I needed it. I laid down and put my sweater over my head and closed my eyes until the next blood draw. And the next. And the last. “Don’t throw up , don’t throw up, don’t throw up,” I kept saying to myself. Somehow I got through it. S picked me up and we went to lunch.

I was supposed to see my OB today and was hoping she would have the test results, but they canceled my appointment because she had a delivery to attend. I will find out tomorrow. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for good results.

Two words: fucking asshole.

Yeah, the maternal fetal medicine appointment did not go well. Wait, I should clarify – the ultrasound went great. Baby looks great, no evidence of what we were worried about, she is growing well, moving well, and measuring a week ahead, but not gigantic or anything. It was the doctor himself who was an asshole.

I met with the genetic counselor first, and she was great. After discussing family histories, I mentioned the metformin thing, and she said oh yeah, the doctors are metformin friendly. She is a type 1 diabetic and she totally understood how being off metformin could cause me to fail the test.

But then I meet the doctor. He does not “believe” in metformin. He said I absolutely should have gone off of it at 12 weeks, that there was absolutely no reason for me to be on it still. He refused to even look at the 20 different journal articles I brought in, saying that “all kinds of stuff gets written up in journal articles”. He thinks PCOS is not “real” and that there is no connection between PCOS and IR and no need for metformin. He told me that my good HbA1C result is “meaningless”.

He said that he could not condone my use of metformin as a “lifestyle drug”, after I explained that it has helped tremendously with my PCOS symptoms and fertility. He said that I did not need metformin. Period. That I should not go back on it after the pregnancy is over. Oh and don’t even get me started about the baby aspirin. He thought I was insane for taking something “without empirical evidence that it was needed for a clotting disorder”.  Hi asshole, I’m not losing another pregnancy or two to wait for the testing that could show it might help. The cycle I took baby aspirin is the cycle I got and stayed pregnant. My RE said it couldn’t hurt, and it may have made the difference.

I tried to argue my points. I thought that I made very valid arguments, but he is SO FUCKING biased against metformin that he was completely unreasonable. At a certain point, I just shut down completely so that I wouldn’t start crying.

He wants me to go off the met completely, then a week later do the 3 hour glucose tolerance test. If that test shows that I am diabetic, he wants me to go on insulin or glyburide (which by the way does not seem to be any less ‘unsafe’ than metformin, as it crosses the placenta and additionally has a risk of hypoglycemia and higher weight gain).

I don’t know what to do. It’s not like I can shop around for another high risk specialist. I had to get a referral to see this motherfucker, and now he is going to tell my OB that I shouldn’t be on metformin. I have enough metformin to get me through the pregnancy, but I don’t really want to have to do it against doctor’s advice. I am so incredibly sad and frustrated. This guy was a closed minded bully. I don’t think I could find another OB at this point, if my OB will only go with what this jerk says. Do I keep taking met and pass the 3 hour test and stay on it on my own? Do I go off it and develop gestational diabetes because that’s what THE DOCTOR says to do?

I’m gonna go cry and take a nap.