Put on a Happy Face

As my husband likes to say, we’re the furthest thing from technophobes.  We’re the kind of people who really wish USB pregnancy tests were for real rather than an April hoax.  Trust us, we’d be all over that.

Alas. At least good old battery power is still a real thing. Which is why I couldn’t resist the digital version of an ovulation kit. 

For starters, otherwise looking at lines might start a schizophrenic episode. “That’s one line.” “No, that’s two lines.” “Yes, two lines, two lines.” “One line!!!”  I’d end up assuming every day was ovulation day.  Just in case.

Second, who wouldn’t prefer seeing time for boogie announced with a happy face?  Exactly.


9 Weeks

I really must remember to unenroll myself from the weekly Baby Center emails…

There I was happy as could be with the thought of starting over when my inbox surprised me with “My Pregnancy at 9 Weeks:” 

Baby Center

Sigh. I didn’t really want to know that my lost baby would have been forming teeth this week or that the sex organs would be developing, even if still not distinguishable.  In another 9 weeks, we’d have known what sex for sure.  And although most days I go on with my life, this thought today completely depresses me.

I already spend enough time postulating girl or boy, girl or boy?  Either would be wonderful.  I now just have to wait 20 weeks to find out, if we’re lucky.  Pray this month is a good one.  The waiting is murder.


Dear Craig:

Is this what happens to women who are desperate to conceive?  We become AM talk radio: all baby, all the time.   Oh, you talk of baby, too.  You also want a baby after all.  But you could speak of our imaginary daughter one second and just as soon be showing me a Think Geek catalog.  There are many things you’re good at at, and one of them is living in the moment.  I’ve never mastered this, always dreaming, always planning.  But I’d like to try.

Today, I wish to only think about this time we may never have again, this time before babies of just you and me.  There will never be enough of it anyway.  As it is, it’s like the lyrics in the Rascal Flatts song I made you listen to incessantly: “I think about the years I spent just passing through/I’d like to have the time I lost and give it back to you.”  In short, I was robbed.  Can you imagine the things we’d have already accomplished together with more time?

Today, instead, I’ll do my best to think solely of the wonders that are adult-only trips to Disney, lazy coffee-laced mornings with no one to tend to, hours that can be devoted (guilt-free) to Super Mario Galaxy.  Of impromptu late night two-for-ice-cream socials with my husband.

Because yes, there is the wanting, but for now there’s the to have and to hold.  For now, that is enough.  More than enough for me.

Forever and ever, your newlywed,


Hatin’ on Latex

Oh the irony.  Having to use condoms when the point is trying to conceive.  But there it is.  We’ve been told to wait at least one cycle before giving it the “good old college try” again and just because you’ve had a miscarriage doesn’t mean your ovaries have quit the business, albeit their timing is a bit askew.  No good going out and confusing them with daily hormones, though bless the pill (you served me well).  So what are you left with?  Latex as the last line of defense.  (That or abstinence.  Go ahead you gluttons for punishment).

Now don’t get me wrong.  I’m glad someone somewhere in the annals of time found a way to turn milkweed into rubber.  And that someone else thought hey!, put this rubber on your penis, keep disease at bay!  But if I’m honest, and allowed to sound like an 8 year old talking about kissing boys for just one second, I think they’re gross.  And really, having to use condoms?  With your own husband?  It’s just not right.

Colourful Candy Condoms

(Colorful picture just to liven things up via ppbaby888’s Flickr Photostream)

The Wait

More than anything, losing our first pregnancy seems like a waste of time. We must now wait at least until a healthy period comes and goes next month, if it comes next month.

We must wait and see if after that period, we can pinpoint ovulation and get conception right that first month ’round: 2 days, give or take. That’s the short window of opportunity: it’s a miracle anyone gets pregnant in the first place.

Then there are the anxious weeks ridiculously waiting to pee on a stick. And more weeks for official test results, which may or may not tell us, this time, what we hope to hear.

When we get it right, when the time comes, I’ll be buying this onesie. Because the wait, having known that had all gone well the first time we’d already be tens of weeks in will be grueling, but I know the outcome, whenever it happens, will be precious.

The Newlywed 10

I’m actually looking forward to this “Newlywed 10” my last issue of Modern Bride talked about. It’s almost three months since my wedding and the scale still lingers somewhere around 112 lbs, which at 5’7, ” according to this chart, makes me “underweight.”

I ignored Dr. S at my pap smear last year when he uttered “starvation mode,” but after our miscarriage, I wonder if fat (or lack thereof), of all things, somehow betrayed me.

I’m putting the rest of my eggs (pun intended) in the University of South Carolina study basket that says “ninety percent of underweight women who had previously been unable to conceive managed to become pregnant when they reached their ideal weight,” even though conception itself was not the issue. I’ll take hope, and ten more pounds, wherever I can get them.