This pregnancy is already so different from Tristan. I find myself constantly fighting down anxiety, terror even. I was practically shaking when she did the blood test. I want this little girl so badly but this world…. It’s changed so much since the last time I was pregnant. The first time I “felt” my little girl was a strange sort of comforting nightmare. There was danger, and I curled her against me and held Tristan curled up against her. I rolled us all over, away from the threat I guess, and for that moment everything felt right. I knew my babies were safe.
My hips and gut are covered in bruises. Well, actually, my right hip has basically been one solid bruise for weeks now. Definitely not happy no one ever told me the injections don’t stop until waaaaaaaaaaaaay after you get the positive blood test. I never thought it would be over 2 full months after the embryo transfer. I’ve known since we started this awful fertility ride that as a precautionary measure I’d have to inject myself subcutaneously through the entire pregnancy. I wasn’t thrilled, but I would even do the horrible intramuscular shots every day if it would keep her safe from everything Tristan has suffered. Wouldn’t even be a hard decision. But wow, I haven’t even been doing them 2 weeks and there are huge bruises at some of the injection sites. I didn’t expect that. Or the small sting that lingers sometimes. I hated all the shots for the egg retrievals with the complicated mixing processes but it didn’t start to hurt until I’d been doing 3-4 a day for weeks. It made sense.
As for my hips, well. I’ve been doing my own injections because in the beginning it might take a couple test pokes (ouch) but I could always find points where the discomfort was pretty mild. That hasn’t been the case for awhile now. Pretty much everywhere I can safely reach feels sharp. Based on my body’s response, I’ve guessed that the sharp pain is due to areas of blood flow. Giant bruises = lots of blood flow. I get masses Jason has to rub and rub to break down. Google says it’s called lipohypertrophy, fat pockets building up at the site of multiple injections. Well, 1-2 injections a day for weeks seems like that’ll do it. Can’t say I’m a fan though. And I’m oh so ready to be done. I don’t cry, but I come close with the tenderness, and I wonder how so many women with so much less real estate are able to power through. The love of a child, even a hypothetical dream, is such a powerful thing.
I feel so grateful. I know I have every rational reason to believe my little girl will grow and be safe and healthy. And yet. I had such an easy pregnancy with Tristan. The fact that it’s been even easier so far in most ways (Jason’s appreciating the prematurely extra ginormous boobs, thank you hormones but also ouch?), well, sometimes it causes more fear than comfort. With both pregnancies I chose to announce basically as soon as we were able to tell our children and parents. Both times the motivation was seeking joy and hope and wanting to lean into the belief all would be well. But this time….it was almost desperate. In less than a week the panic at times became so overwhelming, I needed the joy of all the people who love me to have the tiniest prayer of keeping it at bay.
We did the embryo transfer on a Thursday. The following Friday right before bed I starting having some pretty significant cramping, not immobilizing but deeply uncomfortable. I didn’t have that with Tristan, and it scared me. I fought the urge to cry myself to sleep, terrified this was a miscarriage. I didn’t do the blood test until the following Monday, and I chose not to risk a false negative, let alone a false positive on a urine test at home. The number wasn’t what they wanted, but it was high enough to be positive. I kept telling myself the implantation was probably later than is typical, and that’s why the number was low. I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone but Jason. As a result of the low HCG, I had to test again 2 days later. I remember shaking, but I honestly can’t remember if it was the first or second blood test, or most likely both. And then, even though my levels were increasing as needed, I had to have another test a week later. The level was a full third over the minimum, and I started to breathe.
I am so grateful that if everything can get to the right place (thank you oh so very much appendicitis and peritonitis and cholecystectomy and lysis of adhesions and crazy floating ovaries for all the drama), it is so (relatively) easy for me to get pregnant. I have friends who have suffered so many losses. Thousands upon thousands of dollars for only disappointment and heartbreak. I don’t know why so far it’s finally different for me. Yes, the 3 failed IUIs were a heavy blow. They left a massive dent in our finances ultimately meaning we had to do a loan for the frozen embryo transfer, 2 egg retrievals, and all the medications. By the way, still wasn’t enough. And we’re still paying off my exploratory surgery, though thankfully only 2 more payments to go and we’re already 10% down on the IVF loan. We’ll get there, but oh, how I wish all that money could have gone towards success. But seeing how hard it’s been for us and knowing the odds are now in our favor (not that we’ll ever trust odds again), I wish so badly for similar outcomes for the many amazing people who just want the experience of creating and raising a child.
Perspective can be both valuable and painful. I pulled into the grocery store parking lot today and asked Tristan “do you want to walk or ride?” And it hit me, just how long I feared I’d never be able to ask that question. Sure, I make Tristan push the cart with me to ensure safety in multiple ways, but he can walk around the grocery store. What an absolutely unbelievable miracle so very many take for granted. This pregnancy is the same. I feel terrified I might lose this little girl before I ever get to meet her, or that her life might be full of challenges similar to her brother’s. But the joy I feel being Tristan’s mommy? The peace and contentment and absolute rightness in holding that little boy curled against my chest, the joy in the exhaustion when he reaches out his arms and says “need Mommy”. It hurts my heart a little how that already seems to have evolved from “Mommy loves?” And it’s with the same enthusiasm, but boy I love how he now says “I love you Mommy” instead of just “I love you”.
There is so much more I want for Tristan, but his life and his heart are full of so much love. I can imagine so many good things in his life and I want them so badly, but I can’t imagine anyone ever loving more deeply (and intensely!) than Tristan Steadman Payne. The intensity has us very nervous about the transition to big brother, but I am also so excited. I’m afraid of my ability to meet the physical and emotional needs of two demanding little ones, but I pray I’ll always look for those quiet moments I already cherish so much. I have so many dreams about how this new life will look. I’ll admit, at the top of the list is all my kids living a short drive away, but I know I’ll have to just keep building those special relationships between all my kids like I already do now.
I want to live in the joy. Awesome thing about maternity novelty shirts? They look like regular shirts from the shoulders up! So I’ve been wearing them as much as I can since telling the big kids. I love it! And Tristan now has a few big brother shirts, and you just know that collection is going to grow. It’s so much harder than we like to acknowledge when it isn’t us. It’s so easy to say “just enjoy it while it lasts” but when you know what happens when that bubble pops, it takes a very special type of person who is very different from me to just relish the joy and never feel the fear. That’s just not me.
It doesn’t help that I haven’t even met my doctor yet. I know I get to see my daughter for 2 separate ultrasound over the next few weeks, and that thought is exhilarating. But not having the choice to work with the doctor who delivered my oldest 4, with whom I had developed a solid plan, it’s causing a lot of anxiety. I’m meeting the doctor who delivered my youngest niece, but they rescheduled the appointment to a full month later than originally planned. My sister’s pregnancies have had some slight similarities to mine, and other than hoping this little miss can keep growing until it would be safe to deliver in Nampa, there’s nothing else to recommend any of the options above one another. But knowing he may not be on board with my plan, that I might be almost 12 weeks along and have to start the hunt all over again, it really doesn’t help with all the fear and anxiety. I’m praying he’ll be proactive, and he’ll somehow have answers no one can have, like maybe somehow even though it’s barely been 2 years since my last consult, the medical field has figured out the cure to intrauterine growth restriction.
But I know he can tell me “we’ll monitor the baby” and I’ll say “but…..we did monitor the baby. We got him out because the ultrasound said he was too small. And then he was over half a pound smaller than that. What data are you going to use to promise me you’ll be able to tell if she’s safe?” And I know. He won’t have an answer. Because no one does. And that knowledge feels so paralyzing. I can’t imagine ever having an ultrasound where the fear doesn’t compete with the joy, the wondering if this is the time the measurements are off. I love being pregnant but I can’t think of a single stage of this process, until maybe I’m in my own home holding my perfectly healthy daughter, when I will truly feel at peace. I imagine that moment now with me bursting into sobs, as years and years of hope and fear and grief all give way. But unfortunately I think there will be a lot of similar moments along the way.
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