Let Sleeping Babes Lie...

Your first breath took mine away.

Tubs & Crocket

The new additions to our family are adjusting well. 

Cannaday, or "Crocket" as she's now called, is definitely more social than lard-o cat. Her new favorite place is on or under our bed.

Missy, or "Tubs" has warmed up as well. I gave her a lovely "welcome to the family" kick in the face while sleeping the other night. I had no idea she was under the covers. 

The three of us spent the afternoon binge-watching Big Love. Tubs laid on my lap for hours while Crocket hung out on top of the recliner. I'm really liking these cats. They've got a lot of chill.

I'm not pregnant, so I did the next best thing!

I adopted two cats!

My transformation into a crazy old cat lady is nearly complete. All I need is about three more and fifty years and that should do it.

But seriously.

My husband and I had been talking about getting a pet for our daughter to grow up with. I'm unsure if it's the fact she's a kid or because she came from my genetic material but she loves animals with a burning passion. We discussed a dog but ultimately decided on a cat since we're both gone for long hours from the house at work and, although we have a large yard, we don't have a fence.

Two days ago, we headed down to our local no-kill pet shelter. They had a whole room-area blocked off where you could play with the kitties available for adoption. I was in heaven. One kitty, Cannaday, approached us and was very warm. I also loved another cat, Missy, who was a fat blob of love. She was one hunk o'kitty. I wanted to cuddle her all day. My husband lovingly referred to her as "fat-ass kitty".

We went home after filling out an application. 

After finding out we were approved, the three of us headed down to the shelter today. My daughter immediately bonded with Missy. The two of them fell in love through the bars. I was still loving on Miss Cannaday and having a tough time making a decision. Missy was ready to clobber my toddler child with love and possibly knock her out with her royal fat-ness.

We were ready to tell the volunteers we'd found our match when we found out that Missy was one-half of a bonded pair. If we were to adopt her, we'd have to take her less-than-pleasant sister, Sissy. My daughter seemed to really like Sissy as well, bringing her offerings of kitty toys. We talked it over and decided we'd take the sisters, even though we hadn't planned on more than one animal friend. I felt extra guilty when I found out Cannaday had been at the shelter the longest of her roommates - 6 months. I couldn't figure out why no one had taken her home and I longed to take her too.

Missy was easy for the shelter volunteer to get into a box. Her sister, on the other hand, was less than cooperative. She didn't want to be picked up, even when she was blinded by a thin blanket. The volunteer even tried picking her up by the scruff of her neck, but she was finding it difficult due to the fact she had a fat neck like her sister. It was obvious who had been getting the extra kitty treats.

Twenty minutes later with no success, my husband and I exchanged looks. I wasn't feeling very certain about this decision. My daughter was having a fit running back and forth on the outside of the caged room, trying desperately to let me know there was a "kee kee" stuck in a "baux". I wasn't paying attention until we all heard it - Missy had torn her way through the box, angry and annoyed. I can't say I blamed her. She would have been home with us at that point if it wasn't for her stubborn sister.

While one volunteer went to get a new box, the first one turned to us and said, "You know what? I'm willing to let Missy go without her sister. I don't want to deny her a good home because Sissy won't cooperate."

I was feeling relieved of her decision because I was sure I didn't want a cat that could possibly attack my daughter.

As we were getting the paperwork together, one of the volunteers said, "You know, you were willing to take a second kitty home and I know you really bonded with Cannaday........."

Dot dot dot

Awkward silence.

Oh hell, why not?

We boxed up Miss Cannaday and within five minutes we were on our way. Each cat cost us $30, so $60 for the pair, but that included all up-to-date shots, de-wormings, de-other bad stuff and even micro chips. What a deal.

On our way out the door, I asked a volunteer what the cats' stories were. Apparently Missy and Sissy were in the shelter for a while until an old lady took them home. Within a year, the old lady died and the cats had to be returned. Cannaday was found in the basement of an abandoned house after someone heard kittens crying. She was in there, dirty, with six kittens to feed. The people who found her apparently took the kittens and turned Cannaday in to the shelter. That was nice of them. The shelter automatically fixes all animals they get so we didn't have to worry about either of them getting loose and adding to the cat over-population problem.

So here I am, typing this update with Cannaday lying next to me on the couch. 

Missy hasn't moved from under my daughter's bed since we got home. I nudged a bowl of food under the bed in case she needed a midnight snack.

Which I'm sure she will.

Ha, fat joke. See, I can make that joke because I'm fat.

You shush.

Anyway, both cats will warm up to us. Cannaday's already doing great. I'm thinking about changing her name to Caroline.

Here are their photos from the shelter's website:

Cannaday looking like me when it's that time of the  month and I'm just not dealing with your bullshit.

Cannaday practicing her eavesdropping

Missy being an adorable fat-ass

I love Game of Thrones.

Did I mention I love Game of Thrones?

'Cause I do. A lot.

(15 DPO) - AF is officially late.

But I'm not pregnant. Hmm.

I'm choosing to ignore this for now. I took my last First Signal test - BFN, as expected. AF is late, but I do fluctuate between 28 and 30 days. She'll likely be here sometime today or tomorrow. I hope. Since I'm not pregnant, I just want her to come so I can deal with her needy ass.

I'm choosing not to do Clomid for this next cycle. I'm going to take a break from it and focus on losing weight again. Oh, this sucks.

It's currently 5:00pm as I type this and I haven't gone over 20 carbs today. That's a major success for me, considering I can eat 100 carbs for breakfast alone. I know low-carb works for me and I will do it again. 

In the meantime, I had to go clothes shopping. Yes, had to. It's not something I ever volunteer for. Tomorrow starts the first day of our new uniform at work. I had to spend all my tip money from today's shift on two shirts and a pair of jeans and I am NOT happy about it. Fucking bullshit.

The tops are button-up, a busty lady's sworn enemy. I had to buy size 18, something I'm not happy about but I'll manage. The jeans were an issue, though. My boss said we needed boot cut style but it doesn't say anything about it on the official document from corporate. Me and boot cut don't mix. I always need a size 16-20 but they're tight around my middle and baggy in the ass and legs area. It sucks when you're apple-shaped. I have all my weight in my middle with absolutely NO ass and then skinny chicken legs. It's weird. And it's a very hard shape to dress.

So I bought skinny jeans, the only kind of jeans I can truly wear.

My boss can suck it.

(14 DPO) - My eggo is not prego.

I woke up this morning and took two tests - a FRER and a Clearblue Digi. The FRER gave me the exact same result yesterday gave me. The digi gave me a nice slice of "I-already-know".

Well fuck you very much, Clearblue.

My moods have been all over the place. I'm annoyed, weepy and ready to move past this.

I did take a First Signal with SMU and got, you guessed it, a ridiculously faint line. Jesus, take the wheel here, man - no more super faint "is it there?" lines. Either give me a full-blown line or nothing at all. Sheesh.

Remember how I said I wasn't spotting? Well, now I am. Just a tiny, tiny bit. So I assume AF is rearing her ugly head sometime tomorrow. 

In the mean time, I enjoyed a day out with my husband and daughter. We went to get ice cream and then to the park. I took my camera, like I always do, and snapped a million shots of the two of them. My husband took the camera from me and said I needed to be in some too or I would regret it. 

And I regretted it.

Ugh, beached whale alert.

I decided I would no longer put off the inevitable. I've known for a while now that my weight-loss success from a few months ago had gone the wrong direction. So after seeing the hideous full-body shots of me, I dug out our scale from the back of the closet. The poor thing used to get stepped on daily when I was obsessing over my weight loss. Today was the first time it had seen the light of day in a long time. So I stepped on it ... mind you, this was at 9:30pm so I realize I'll weigh a bit more than I would have this morning ... and goddamnit, I've put 25 pounds back on. Disgusting.

PCOS is a bitch. There, I said it. I can literally eat a fourth of what my average-sized husband eats and I'll still weigh 30 pounds more than him. There was a time last year when we were only 4 pounds apart and I was *this close* to being less than him.... then the weight loss started creeping back up. Oh so slowly. The only reason I noticed it was because I weighed myself every morning after I peed.

Oh but you're not supposed to weigh yourself every day, you silly goose!

When it's super fucking easy for you to put on weight due to a horrible hormone imbalance, yes, you need to weigh every day to stay on top of it.

 I estimate my highest weight was around 250 pounds, around 5 years ago. If you read my original post, you know I used to be 140 pounds in high school. And I'm pretty tall... 5'8'' in fact. So 140 was healthy. I had an hourglass shape and I looked damn good. Too bad I didn't know it at the time... like all melodramatic teenage girls, I thought I was a fat whore. A fat ... virgin ... whore. I don't know.

Anyway, after months and months of extreme dieting and exercise, I got myself down to 205 pounds and then became pregnant. My weight fluctuated quite a bit in my first trimester due to the fact I had hyperemesis gravidarum, meaning I was throwing up so bad I couldn't hold down water. 

I actually kept it up until about six months, but don't worry, my baby made sure to absorb absolutely everything I didn't throw up. I was the hangry-est pregnant lady in the history of hangry pregnant ladies. Hangry.

The day I gave birth, I weighed 224 pounds. 7.5 pounds of that was baby. And I'm pretty pleased to admit I wore my regular shorts the whole summer. I was all baby (and boobs). A few days after having her, I was about 210. I let it go for about a year because I had to go right back to working full-time and I was stressed. New baby, no sleep, you know the drill. Anyway, I got back up to 220 without doing much eating at all. I then went back on a strict diet and exercise plan, along with getting prescribed Metformin from my doctor. During the fall last year, I tried out the no-carb diet, thinking it was a sham. I lost 9 pounds in a week, mostly water weight... but god, it was hard. I stopped that diet (why? I love carbs too much) and I busted my ass at the gym and got all the way down to 190 pounds. I plateaued. I couldn't get to 189.9. I was so aggravated.

That's when the pounds started coming back, like they always have.

And I've been eating poorly ever since, because fuck it. I also had a desk job for the past six months. I quit because working for a bank sucks when you have to refer products to angry old ladies and expect to keep those numbers up all day. So now I'm back to working full-time as a waitress. I'm so glad I kept that job on the weekends... it feels so much better walking again. When I was at the desk job, I could feel myself getting fatter just staring at my screen. However, I walk about 2-3 miles per shift at the restaurant.

After seeing the pictures tonight, I'm ready to try again. I stepped on the scale and saw 215 staring back at me. I know it's bad, my god, but I honestly, truly thought it would be worse. I thought I would see 235 staring back at me. 

And I need to remind myself that my doctor said it was the weight loss and the abrupt stopping of the birth control pills that likely caused me to get pregnant. I'm going to start focusing on my weight again and getting healthy. I have to.

Maybe I will do the no-carb thing again .... it worked the first time and it's really good for women with PCOS due to our insulin resistance. 

I'll keep you updated. Whether you like it or not.

(13 DPO) - Ready to throw in the towel.

UPDATE: SMU FRER with a real squinter later down the post.

 

None of my real-life friends know I'm a POAS-addict. In fact, none of my real-life friends are trying to have kids. My best friend is pregnant after loosely trying for one month. She doesn't know what DPO or FRER mean. She doesn't need to. Pregnancy comes naturally for her. The same thing happened with her first kiddo.

My other friends are all party animals who are too busy getting drunk after work to worry about kids. My close friend said to me the other day, and I quote, "Jeez, I couldn't imagine trying to get pregnant. That sounds like a damn nightmare."

Yeah, I guess it would be.... the poor fetus would die of alcohol poisoning at 12DPO.

Heh. Bad humor.

But really. Sometimes it's lonely here in TTC land. That's why I heavily rely on the encouragement of strangers - other women out there who are in the same boat as me. It can take the edge off.

There is one woman I know who kinda knows what's up. She's young and married, like me, and she also has PCOS - but the skinny kind (I hate her). She's a beautiful bean pole who struggles with infertility. Her and her hubby have been NT/NP for a few years now and she sometimes complains to me about it. She once joked about her husband's cluelessness. She was late for her period and hadn't tested yet. She told him she was late and he said "But ... we haven't had sex for like two weeks! If you're pregnant, it's not mine!" to which she replied, "Honey, you can have sex with someone and a week later be pregnant by them. It happens."

"What? Women are g-damn witches. I tell ya what. Always trying to get their eggo preggo."

Silliness.

So today, I went to her with a photo I took of my SMU test from this morning. I told her I had a friend online who had posted the image and wanted opinions. I hope she didn't see right through that.

She squinted hard and said, "So your friend thinks she sees a line? She's imagining things."

I pointed out where the line was. She said, "Uh, when you told me it was faint, I thought you meant still visible. There's nothing there."

My heart sank. I had women on two different boards tell me they saw the line, yet my real-life friend broke my heart. 

Here's the test in question. It was taken after 5 minutes in natural light, SMU of course. I felt like it gave a better result than my FMU.

If this is a real pregnancy, it's not likely a viable one. When I Google 13DPO faint, super light lines, the lines I see are 100x darker than mine.

Sigh.

The only good news is that I haven't spotted yet. My boobs are still swollen and veiny. My nipples are a little dark, which is new. 

AF is due tomorrow .... ish. Tomorrow or Tuesday. I kinda just wish this was over already so I can move on. Ugh.

On a final note, I think I need to join Peesticks Anonymous. I'm ashamed to admit how many HPTs I've taken over the past five days... only I and my dumpster know for sure. I'll never tell.

(13 DPO) - Is there still hope?

So I was less-than-eager to get up this morning and pee. For one, I had stayed up until 2:30am this morning reading blogs and I know I went to the bathroom at some point but I don't know when. Point being, I woke up this morning around 8:30am and had no idea if it had been 8 hours or 5 hours since my last wee. (I'm not British, by the way, but I do love their word usage!)

I peed in my faithful Oreo cup and dipped my FRER. That was when my husband, of course, came tromping down the hallway, demanding to have the bathroom because he was "running late" (yeah okay) so I had to very quickly dump my pee cup in the toilet and stuff my just-dipped FRER in my sports bra and bolt out of there.

Being the clumsy one that I am, I stubbed my toe on the door and yelled out in agony.

I'm still trying to keep it a secret from him if you can't tell. Here's to a Fathers Day surprise! (crossing fingers)

I'm unsure if the immediate movement would affect the test, but I checked it anyway. I put it up to the living room lamp and swore I could see the faintest of second lines.

 

But I'm probably imagining it. I'm so over this. I've been getting the same result for at least three days now.

What is it they say? hCG doubles every 24-36 hours? I think someone tacked on the 36 just to make women feel better when it's clear nothing is really working out for them. All I usually see are beautiful progressions, starting from 9DPO with a very faint line, getting beautifully darker as each day passes.

It's such bullshit.

If I'm pregnant, why can't I just get a nice fat bold line? I'm so tired of this game.

Time for a pity party.

(12 DPO) - I'm peeved.

I love First Signal tests. They're only $1.00 at Dollar General or $0.88 at Wal-mart. They showed me lines at 8 and 9DPO with my previous chemicals.

I sure hope that's not the case here.

This one was taken this morning with FMU. The line was there in person, but I had to squint to see it. You can see it in the photo if you squint hard enough. I swear I'm the queen of seeing super super super faint lines, especially when I'm looking at pregnancy board members' "can you see it?" posts. I'm usually the only person responding who can see a line. It must be a gift.

Or a curse.

  

Yes, my daughter insists on being in the bathroom with me at all costs. It's something we're working on.

But really, I'm feeling pretty jaded today. I swear if this is another chemical pregnancy, I'm done ... forever.

Okay, that's pretty dramatic. But seriously. I'm so jealous! This past month, I've seen two-three pregnancy announcements among my friends on Facebook per week. I just can't handle it any more. It's hard enough my best friend is pregnant and due when I was due (Halloween). She told me the day after I realized my pregnancy wasn't viable. She didn't know, of course.

My heart can't handle much more of this.

(11 DPO) - Ugh. That's all I have to say.

So I'm getting aggravated.

Shouldn't the lines be darker?

The following two tests were taken with SMU. I set them on the window ledge to get a natural-light photo. The lines were visable in person but oh so light. I'm getting worried about another chemical pregnancy.

I just hope they get darker... I don't know if I can handle more heartache.

(10 DPO) - Can you see it?

I took a FRER this afternoon with a three-hour hold and got this.

Some ladies on a board I frequent seemed to think they see a very, very faint line.

I'm so excited!

My lower back is killing me and I'm crampy. Yes, these are AF symptoms, but they're also pregnancy symptoms.

Oh I hope I don't get my hopes up...

"Oh shit" - The story of my first ever BFP.

So if you're still with me, you read my first post about my fertility struggles.

Oh, you haven't read it?

Go do it. Now. You obviously have nothing better to do with your time. I know you're in your Spongebob PJs, and most likely a Snuggie.

It's okay, so am I.

So let's get to the good part. You now know that I struggled with infertility at a young age. Seriously, most women in their early twenties are prime for baby-making. Not I. My body hates me and probably always will.

I'll get a hystorectomy soon.

 (note: not my kid)

My husband and I wed in December of 2010. Like I said in my last post, our families freaked out because we eloped and got hitched downtown in our hoodies and jeans. It was great. They thought I was pregnant, but sadly, I wasn't. And quite frankly, I find that kinda tacky.

So around March of 2011, I decided enough was enough and I was ready to take charge of my body. I knew my husband couldn't knock me up, but maybe a sperm donor could. But I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and get into better shape. Now, I'm a tall woman, around 5'8'', and in high school I was a very curvy 140 pounds. Healthy. Now here I was, around 230 pounds and gaining, even when I was simply looking at food. 

I joined a gym and poured myself into fitness blogs. I started off slow but got myself to run eventually. I ate 1200 calories a day, which killed me, and chose lean meats and vegetables. The weight came off, but very slowly. I was proud of myself once I got down to 220 pounds.

I started seeing a new gynecologist who prescribed me birth control pills. I hadn't been on them for a few years but I was ready to start getting my period again. I began taking them right away.

April, May, June and July were amazing months. I was losing weight and my period was on time. My husband and I were happy and I was ready to accept our future. I got down to 205 pounds and I was feeling great. Yes, I worked my ass off (literally) and yes, I had to try harder than healthy people, but I was so proud of myself.

Then August came. 

I remember distinctly calling the pharmacy for my birth control refill. They told me to come on down and get it, but I got called in to work a second shift. I worked my shift, then went home and crashed. I completely forgot about the birth control until three days later. Yes, I have horrible memory.

I kept putting it off and putting it off. I finally called them, made up some excuse about car problems, and said I'd be down to get it the next day. The pharmacist said I needed to get my doctor to approve it. I was very annoyed and hung up. I called my doctor's office, who told me my doctor would need to physically see me to approve the medicine pick-up but her next appointment wasn't available until the following week. Me being the impatient little turd that I am, said I would get back to them. I hung up.

Two days later, I got my period. On time. Without the pills.

I was elated. Over-joyed. Ecstatic.

I had read that weight loss in PCOS can cause the period to come back on its own. I felt triumphant and decided maybe I didn't need my doctor OR my pills anymore.

September came, and along with it, some more weight loss and my period - on time. Man, I was feeling good. October came, and so did my lovely period. On time. Oh, three for three? This was getting better every time. My weight loss had plateaued but at least my periods were back. November came and I skipped my period. I started to panic. I took a pregnancy test, hoping and praying, but nonetheless, it was negative. I felt horrible.

December came. My weight snuck back up a tad. I felt down. I was too stubborn to call the doctor, of course.

Around mid-December, I noticed that I was frequenting the bathroom a lot at work. I mean, every 15-30 minutes - and I wasn't even drinking that much! In fact, when I went, I had to strain to get anything to come out. I convinced myself I had a UTI, something I used to struggle with in the past. I groaned and groaned, knowing full well I would have to see a doctor. I had been taking cranberry pills for a few days but it was only getting worse.

 (Note: I tried to find a picture of a woman frustrated on the toilet, but I found this instead. And I liked it. It actually depicts what I would have rather been doing. So now you get to enjoy it too. You're welcome.)

I also noticed that my boobs were a full cup size larger, and pretty tender. This should have been my first sign, but I assumed it was a sign of my impending horrible period. Bring it on, I thought.

My moods were horrible. I was snappy at my husband and mean to my co-workers. I had no patience for anything and I felt like I wanted to cry, scream and eat ice cream. All at once. I knew my period was a day or so away.

But it never came.

This went on for nearly two weeks. I was just about ready to pull my hair out.

My husband and I traveled out of town - 9 hours - to see family for Christmas. I made sure to pack extra pads because I knew I would be needing them. While we were in town, I felt so uncomfortable in  my clothes. I felt horribly rude because I could barely keep my eyes open, even in the middle of the day. I apologized to the family and told them I just hadn't been feeling well.

When we returned from our trip, the first thing I remember was stepping into our apartment and being overwhelmed by the smell of the bathroom. I wanted to vomit. When I went in there, it was sparkling clean like the day we left. I contacted my friend, who watched over our cat during the visit and asked if anything had been wrong. She told me that our cat vomited in the bathroom and she used some bathroom cleaner from under the sink to clean it up. I thanked her.

The smell of the cleaner was horrific and I had to hold  my nose every time I went to the bathroom - which was still frequent and kind of painful.

The next day, our landlord (a private landlord who lived next door) came over and cooked us steaks for our 1-year wedding anniversary. He asked how we wanted them cooked. We both like our steaks rare. I remember stepping outside to smell the steaks on the grill and gagging. The smell was overwhelming, but I didn't want to seem rude, so I kept it to myself.

My husband and I sat down to eat our steaks. They looked amazing but I could only eat two bites before wanting to hurl. Don't worry, it didn't go to waste... my husband made sure of that.

The next day, New Years Eve, I enjoyed a beer and a movie with my husband. I finished  my beer and went for another one when it hit me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up every ounce. Then I went to bed.

On January 4th, a co-worker flat-out told me I looked like shit.

Thanks.

I told her I had the flu. 

"No honey, you're pregnant."

I stared at her. "You know I can't get pregnant," I said. "It's just the flu."

"Girl, you've been moping around here for weeks. When was your last period?"

"October."

"Uh, hello? You skipped two periods!"

"Uh, hello! I do that a lot! You know this!"

"I've been around enough pregnant women to know one when I see one. Despite your pale face and lips, you have a glow."

"That must be some of the breakfast I threw up this morning. Is it on my cheek somewhere?"

"Humor me. Take a test tomorrow morning."

"Alright, if you say so."

The next morning, I woke up and collected my pee in a cup. I dug around in the medicine cabinet and found a Clearblue pregnancy test. It was kinda old-ish but it wasn't expired. I dipped it in the pee for however many seconds, set it on the counter and got up to brush my teeth. Once I was done brushing my teeth, I turned around, ready to face my blank negative and get on with my life.

Only it wasn't negative. In fact, it was very, very positive. There was a bold blue vertical line.

I panicked. My heart was in my throat. I couldn't breathe.

I reached out to touch the test but realized maybe I shouldn't in case it was a dream or a mirage and I really couldn't grab it.

I ran into the bedroom, woke up my husband and probably garbled out a bunch of non-English gibberish. He saw the panic in my eyes and assumed something horrible had happened, like a cat stuck in a tree or the apocalypse. 

"What's wrong, hun? What's going on?!"

"GWYgrmsdfj ... ghywhsgf.... bathroom."

"Bath... room?"

"*#%&@ YES. BATHROOM."

"What, did you clog up the toilet again?"

"JUST GO."

"I swear to god, Kara, I'm not doing this again."

He tromped into the bathroom. I waited for his response.

He came back out, obviously oblivious.

"What's wrong in the bathroom?"

"Counter."

"Counter?"

"YES. LOOK. ON. THE. COUNTER."

He turned around, mumbling something about a spider. 

Silence.

Then a scream.

"Oh ........................ shit."

He came out, test in hand, looking as pale as a ghost.

"Is this for real?"

I nodded.

"Like, real real?"

I nodded.

"How .... I mean ...... we .... how many periods have you missed?"

"One .... two?"

"Oh god. You need to see a doctor. Who knows how far along you could be."

"Two months?"

"We have to call my mom."

Oh no. His mom. I was dreading that talk. I knew what she was going to say.

And she did.

"What do you mean, Kara's pregnant? That's not your baby then, honey."

Wow. Slap in the face.

"Mom, she wouldn't cheat on me. You know you weren't sure I could father kids. I was never tested."

"Well, the test could be wrong. False positives happen. I thought Kara couldn't have kids either."

I was tired, stressed, and anxious. I started Googling false positives. All I could decypher was a.) The fact I used a blue-dye test meant I was obviously new to this whole testing for pregnancy thing and I needed a pat on the head and a "there there" for trying and b.) False positives just don't happen. Like ever.

I knew I needed more tests.  But first, I had to go to work.

I was a nervous wreck. 

The first phone call of the day sent me over the edge.

"Thank you for calling (my restaurant, a family sit-down chain). This is Kara. How can I help you?"

"Hi, yes, I need to order a classic cheeseburger, cooked well, with french fries."

"Okay, will that be all for you?"

"Hmm. Actually, can you throw in some of those awesome garlic cheddar biscuits? I'm pregnant and I am craving them. They're so good."

"Oh ... I ... um.... yes. Sure. We can do that. Your order will be ready in about twenty minutes. Come inside to the bar."

"Thanks!"

(hang up)

Oh god, I can't handle this right now. Oh no. I'm hyperventilating. Oh god.

Twenty minutes later, the lady showed up looking visibly pregnant. 

"Hi, I'm here for the cheeseburger and biscuits!"

"Oh yes. Okay. That will be $9.81 (or whatever)."

"Thanks. I can't wait to eat this thing. I am starving." (she signs her credit card slip)

"So ... how many months are you?"

"Hmm? Oh, I'm about 8 months. He's getting so big and I'm so ready to get him out!"

"....................."

"Um. Are you okay?"

"(breaks down crying)"

"Uh .... honey? Should I get someone?"

"No... sniffle... I'm just ... I just found out this morning I might be pregnant."

"Wow, congrats! That's so ....exciting?"

"My husband and I thought we couldn't have babies. Now I'm so confused."

"A baby is a blessing sweetie! It's going to be okay!"

(poor lady)

"Sniffle... thanks .... have a good day."

That afternoon, I bolted to the pharmacy. I made sure to hold my pee all day.

I rushed back to work, grabbed a disposable cup and had a great pee. I dipped the first test in the cup. The damn thing turned positive before it finished going across the screen. I nearly threw it across the floor. I dipped the second one. Same thing. Both were glaring positives. Now I knew I was pregnant. I sobbed.

My co-worker came in to check on me.

"Kara, honey? What's wrong?"

I slid one of the positive tests under the door. It only made sense at the time.... rather than, say, opening the door. I don't know.

She gasped.

"OH MY GOD. YOU'RE PREGNANT. I KNEW IT."

"Yeah....sniff."

Word at work spread fast. Lightning fast. I suppose the biggest shocker was that I got pregnant in wedlock, something that doesn't happen often around here. Yes, I live in the South.

I made an appointment with my gyno that afternoon, but she couldn't see me for a week.

That week was torturous. I did manage to keep myself off Google. Everything hurt. My uterus ached. I had horrible period-like cramps.... but no bleeding. My boobs were now big enough to be floatation devices. I had gone from DD to an unholy mess of too much boobage. Not that my husband was complaining.

On a side note, thank goodness he believed me when I told him I had been true to him and yes, this was his baby. My mother-in-law would take more convincing. 

The big day came. I was so nervous. I hadn't taken a pregnancy test since that day, unlike the crazy POAS-aholic I would become in the future. It all felt so surreal.

My mother accompanied us, rooting us on.

We stepped into the exam room. I got undressed from the waist down and had a seat. The doctor came in and asked me a few questions. Since it had been a while since I had seen her, I let her know when I stopped the birth control pills and that my last period had been in November. She knew I had PCOS with irregular periods, so it was difficult to determine just how far along I was. She informed me that she would be using an internal sonogram, basically a cold dildo with a sono-pulsating end.

Just the kind of foreplay I needed.

(not).

I laid back, got comfy, and took a deep breath. The nurse cut off the lights. The doctor squirted a pound of lube upon the device and slowly inserted it. It didn't hurt, but damn it was awkward.

My uterus was in full view on the machine. I couldn't see anything, but honestly, who can on those things?

The doc did a little searching. I started to get nervous. What if I wasn't pregnant? What if I had imagined it all? What if my husband had just been playing along to fulfill some kind of crazy need in my psychotic mind? What if I would end up a crazy old cat lady? Why was this happening?

"Hmm. Your uterus is measuring a bit small," the doctor said.

My heart sank.

"Small?" I said.

"Yes, it could mean you're not preg - oh wait! There it is."

I looked up quickly, tears in my eyes.

There was my baby.

My tiny little, seahorse-looking baby. With a tail. And an ... eye ... I think ... and an umbilical cord. My baby. Mine and my husband's baby. Moving around, growing. A living, growing baby.

An incredible miracle baby.

I was in awe.

My husband burst out with emotion, crying huge tears and smiling from ear-to-ear. My mother grabbed my hand and jumped up and down.

"Congratulations, Mr. & Mrs. Thompson. You're pregnant."

"How ... how far along is she?" my husband asked.

"Well, according to the machine here and the measurements, your wife is about 7 weeks, 4 days pregnant. The conception day was likely around December 2nd."

We were grinning.

"Your due date is August 27th, 2012."

I stopped grinning. My husband laughed.

"That's what you get for hating the summer so much, honey."

A whole summer of being pregnant. I didn't care. I was so ready to be a mom. I couldn't stop smiling. When we left, my husband helped me off the curb and into the car. Yes, he was going a little overboard, but I didn't mind. I'd never seen him happier. And damn, I was too.

Oh god. I'm going to be a mother.

To be continued....

A rather lengthy introduction

 Hello!

I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Kara and this is my way overdue, hopeless, aggravating fertility blog!

(or rather infertility)

A little about myself.
This is a little TMI, so brace yourself.

I'm currently 26 and I have PCOS (Poly-cystic Ovarian Sydrome). PCOS is one of the number one causes for infertility in women. Basically, it's a hormone disorder most notably marked by cysts on the ovaries. Cysts aren't normally a big deal - even healthy women get them every now and then. But me? Yeah. I have about 10 on each ovary and they're not budging. Each month, instead of releasing a healthy egg, I create another cyst.

This disorder causes me to have very irregular periods, or simply absent ones. You know that show I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant? I hear people talk about it like, "How could she not know she was pregnant when she missed a period?" - All I can do is facepalm. When you're like me and you sometimes skip 6-7 months of periods, it's entirely logical. Another thing PCOS causes is an increase in male hormones, most notably, testosterone. This can cause a woman with PCOS to grow a full beard. I, thank god, do not have a beard. Or maybe that's just because I shave over that area daily to prevent undergrowth. I'm paranoid.

But can you blame me?

It's fantastically fun. Truly.

Aside from the cysts, I also gain weight extremely easy. My doctor pretty much told me I could eat a grilled chicken salad and walk a mile every day and still struggle to keep my weight down.

Even more fantastic.

And my periods? Yeah. I've had a serious love-hate relationship with good ole Aunt Flo. She hates me. She never visits when she's supposed to, and when she does, she overstays her welcome and wrecks the place. In short, my period's a bitch.

"Oh my god, why are you complaining about not getting your period? I would LOVE that!"

Yeah. Except I'm not a period when it comes, I'm getting 2-3 months' worth of periods (or however long it's been since she decided to show her sorry ass up) - all at once.

A little history.

I got my period when I was 12. I had no way of knowing I had PCOS at the time, something I was born with. I had horrific periods. I would have to stay home from school, writhing and rolling around on my bed in agony. Agony. Midol wouldn't touch it. Tylenol? Forget it. Industrual strength crap from the  back of the medicine cabinet for emergencies? Nada. I had to suffer.

And to make matters worse, the damn thing would last for 1-2 weeks. I honestly thought this was normal. I soon learned that it was definitely not normal.

I was raised by my grandparents and although they meant well, I should have seen a doctor. My grandmother assumed I got my "bad lady days" from her since she went through the same thing. I didn't question her since I respect my elders, but looking back, I really should have asked to see a doctor because it was definitely not normal.

And come to think of it, she had my father and then spent TEN YEARS trying for a second baby before she finally became pregnant with my uncle. Didn't that maybe ring a bell in her mind that this might just be a thing? Like, a real medical thing that I may have inherited (along with her horrible eye sight)?

And then there was school. I still cringe when I look back on my middle school days. Popular girls can be so cruel when they discover you're carrying pads in your purse and not trendy, skinny little tampons. (Seriously, why does that crap matter?). They would point and tease and ask me about my "diapers". Ugh. Little bitches. Oh how I cried.

I once tried to use a tampon, despite my grandmother's rules (Only non-virgins wear tampons), and it was an absolute disaster. It was super-plus and I went through the damn thing in less than 20 minutes. This still applies to me to this day. I only use tampons if it's all I have, and I regret it every time. Do they make super-super-industrial-strength tampons? Because if they do, I might be able to use one for an hour. Can someone hook me up?

So from 12-17, my periods were relatively regular. I would skip one or two but I attributed it to stress due to all the dual-enrollment and advanced classes I was taking.

At 17, I lost my virginity. I went to my grandmother about getting on birth control (for the periods, of course! I didn't tell her! And yes, my boyfriend and I were using protection). She finally agreed.

Sweet, sweet relief. Birth control pills were my savior. My periods came right on time and were light (still not light enough for tampons, but I wasn't complaining) and they would last 4-5 days! I was in HEAVEN. I still cramped, but not nearly as bad. I was praising God I was so happy.

Some time passed. My boyfriend and I broke up and I started seeing a new guy. We weren't as careful (for shame!) and I wasn't as strict on my birth control pills. I was going through a lot and, due to horrible depression, didn't care what happened to me or my body.

We dated for two years. For the final year and a half of our relationship, we didn't use condoms and I was very flighty on taking my pills. My periods became quite irregular but I was too depressed to care. We had a few pregnancy scares, but the pregnancy tests always said the same thing: Negative. At the time, I was very relieved, but I had no idea the pain and heartache I would face once I wanted children.

Time went by. My boyfriend broke my heart and we broke up. I thought I would never love again. Yadda yadda yadda. Seven long months later, I was waiting tables and I met the most gorgeous guy I had ever laid my eyes on. He was 23, single and had an adorable crooked smile. I had just turned 20. It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

Our relationship started out fast. It was a whirlwind romance and we were wild. I told him I was no longer on birth control and we should be careful. He said he was born with a genetic condition causing infertility (which is a lie some guys use to get a lady in bed, but he wasn't lying!). We had both recently been screened for STDs, so we went at it without protection (something I do not recommend!).

Six months into our relationship, we got an apartment together. It was amazing, like being on a honeymoon, even though the place was a dump (we were poor and could only afford the best place on the wrong side of the train tracks!) - that was sarcasm, by the way.

A year into our relationship, my flighty periods became increasingly irregular. I was still suffering from horrible depression, something I still struggle with.  Before, I would skip one period or two at the most.  Now I was skipping four at a time! Of course I assumed the worst - pregnancy. I can't tell you how many negative pregnancy tests I stared at. My feelings were all over the place - I was relieved not to be pregnant, yet I was confused, concerned and anxious about our future. When we met, I was sure I didn't want children, and the fact he was infertile was simply perfect. Now I was questioning things. I loved this man and imagined myself with him forever. But if he couldn't have kids, would I really want to stick around? And on another note, what the hell was going on with me? Why was I skipping so many periods if I wasn't pregnant? So many questions.

I was too stubborn to go to the doctor, of course.

Instead, I researched for hours. It's a good thing I love to read! What I found startled me: I had all the symptoms of a nasty syndrome called PCOS. I had the unexplained weight gain, the inability to lose weight, the disappearing/absent periods, along with a few other symptoms I'd rather not discuss.

I felt devastated. I read that women with this problem often drop thousands of dollars for IVF or even donor eggs. The more I read, the more I cried. I read about one woman's 17-year-old battle to become pregnant. I felt numb.

I went to my boyfriend and discussed my concerns. It was now about two years into our relationship. He told me that due to the condition he was born with, Hypospadias, his "plumbing" was all wired incorrectly and, despite the doctors' best efforts, he would never be able to have children. However, he had never been tested to see if his swimmers were swimming. We assumed that he couldn't have kids because he was with another woman for three years and they never used protection.

I called my soon to be mother-in-law and told her I wanted to know the details because I wanted to have a child with him after we got married.

She laughed at me.

She said it was partly due to genetics (his father was born with the same condition, but not nearly as severe, and his was corrected) and partly because he was born premature. He was born at 27 weeks gestation, which is scary enough, but coupled with the fact it was 1983, my boyfriend was damn lucky to be alive. She told me that the doctors did everything they could to fix his situation. He had three major surgeries before he turned 8, all of them to correct his plumbing just enough to allow him to pee standing up. None of them were successful. She also told  me that his testicles didn't descend when they were supposed to, but rather remained inside of him too long and cooked his baby-making machinery. I'm certainly not a doctor,  but I did ask, "But men regenerate sperm, so what exactly was damaged?" - She told me it was everything else. He would be able to produce sperm, but they would be blank.

I cried and cried. I didn't know what to do.  

He told me he didn't want to lose me and we would do whatever it took to have a baby, even if it meant using a sperm donor. I knew then that he was the man for me and we'd spend forever together.

A year later and many, many absent periods, we were married. We eloped and got married at the courthouse, prompting our families to assume I was pregnant. I wished.

Coming up next: Maybe baby?