Oprah She Ain’t

WELL.

I was going to post about how I had the honor of meeting the fabulous Erin over at The Vicious Cycle of Cycles and her awesome hubby  last weekend and how fun it was to have them over to meet the babies and see the Twinapalooza in full effect.  I had them come down to watch a feeding so they could get a better idea of what it’s like to have two babies…I wanted to stress the joy and excitement and that YES, it’s a hellava lot of work, but LOOK! Even with an almost crippling anxiety disorder it’s still FUN and aren’t boy/girl just the bestest ever?!?!  But of course BeBop had to open his pie hole and be all, Oooooooooh GAWD, the sleep deprivation!  I wish someone had been honest and warned me!  So I’m warning you…it’s HARD. And I’m tired and waaaaahhhhh! And if we’d been sitting at a table I would have kicked him under it, but instead I tried to divert their attention back to the guacamole and LOOK OVER THERE CUTE BABIES LOOK!

But they were great and I’m so glad we can be friends and I look forward to hanging out together once her babies are born and be the Twin Freak Shows parading around the greater Bay Area with our ginormous strollers that enable the babies to arrive approximately two minutes before we do at any given location.  And, as an extra special bonus you all simply MUST head over to her blog and beg her to post her recipe for the DELISH "enchilasagna" she brought (along with chips and BEER and adorable onesies for the babies, how great is she?!?).  It was so yummy and I thought we’d eat it two nights in a row (YAY! No cooking!) but it was so good we devoured the entire thing that very night.

So, anyhoodles, I was going to post all about that but then I watched the Tyra Show today.  THE Tyra Show, people. The one I was sort of asked to be on and then sort of unasked to be on.  First of all, the title of the show was Motherhood At Any Cost with the tag line, "See how far some ladies are willing to go to have their own biological child."

It was such a weird, uneven show. 

First of all, The Bachelorette Trista Sutter came on to talk about her struggles to get pregnant.  1) I do applaud her for openly discussing the issue.  Not many ‘celebrities’ (and I know, loose definition there) are willing to publicly discuss problems conceiving and I think if more people did, there wouldn’t be such a weird stigma attached to it.  But 2) Trista did get pregnant after an HSG, not fertility treatments per se, which is not to discount how hard her journey to motherhood was for her and her hunky husband Ryan, but STILL, I couldn’t help but think some of the motivation for her appearing was to sell her new line of diaper bags and perhaps that crazy ovulation predicting watch-thing she kept mentioning by name.  Is she also selling that?  I know, I’m such a freakin’ cynic.

And fo’ shizzle they HAD to include a brief but painful (for me) discussion of Trista’s recent US Weekly cover  entitled "How I Got My Body Back!" which is just a hideous and very painful slap in the face (and the still super-sized GUT) to any of us who haven’t gotten our bodies back and don’t have any hope of getting our bodies back within the next century. And by then it will be too late so who frigging cares but…where was I?

Oh yeah. Reality TV stars Trista and Ryan…

Truth be told I would have liked to meet those two in the green room, I can’t lie.  And does anyone else think it’s so weird that Jackson has the same onesie her son Max had on? And that I too opt for the baby layered look by putting on a long-sleeved onesie under the GAP one? And that I swear Max and Jackson could almost be twins despite the fact that BeBop and I do not, unfortunately for both of us, bear ANY resemblance whatsoever to Trista and Ryan? 

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No one else thinks that’s weird?  Ok.  My bad.  Moving on…

The next guest was a woman so desperate to have a baby she’s lying to her fiance (who’s not ready for kids) about taking the birth control pill.  Once she made the staggering confession that no, she doesn’t actually take the pill consistently like she says she does, the camera panned to the audience who was all, oooooohhhhhh, and they shot a close-up of a woman with her mouth agape, oh-no-she-did’t practically written across her forehead.  The poor fiance was then dragged out, only to be told on national television his beloved has been lying to him. And then it seemed like Tyra did her best to break them up.  Is it just me, or did you all think that too?

Tyra did speak to a couple in the audience who has undergone some kind of fertility treatments, but they didn’t elaborate, only casually mentioning they had already taken out a third mortgage to pay for whatever it is they did, which they didn’t even discuss.  And their response to the ever-helpful, ‘did you ever think of adopting?’ question posed by Tyra elicited the ever-annoying* ‘we wanted a baby who was a product of us and our love…’

BLECH.

Blech to that annoying and condescending question that almost all of us have to hear countless times during our long and painful journeys to become parents ("D’oh!  Adoption?!?  Why nooooo, we never thought of THAT!  What a convenient, easy and affordable alternative!!  Not to mention speedy and free from complicated paperwork and sometimes even the prospect of international travel.  And totally without risk of heartbreak. GAWD what would we do without you Tyra!?").

To emphasize how totally awesome it is to adopt (even though: see tag line above,WTF?!?), at the very end she paraded out the editor of some magazine who turned 40 and decided to adopt as a single woman.  Who then dragged out her adorable but clearly frightened two-week old baby whose startle reflex was quite developed as she quivered and shook her little baby arms in response to the bright lights and deafening applause she was subjected to.

I can now totally understand why the producer I spoke to asked me if I could say something like, "You have to go on living your life…" to someone struggling to conceive.  Can you imagine?  Coming from ME, the poster girl for NOT living her life while trying to conceive. 

What’s this?  I just received a new text message:

I am a pot.  U R blck.  U suk.  U R an a hole.

They didn’t really talk at all about fertility treatments or the lengths intelligent, well-adjusted women will go to to have a baby.  They didn’t talk about the social stigma attached to undergoing fertility treatments.  I was hoping for a frank and eye-opening discussion of the pain we all go through, month after month.  And what that does to our self esteems, our outlooks on life, our marriages, our lives. And what about an informative conversation about the medical options that exist, without the ‘did you ever think of adopting’ question thrown out there.  I would have preferred not to have been ‘compared’ (as a woman who underwent five years of fertility treatments) with a woman who is lying to her fiance in the hopes of getting pregnant even though he’s made it perfectly clear he DOES NOT WANT KIDS YET.

But I guess that was too much to hope for.

I guess in many people’s eyes, we are the same:  the infertile woman, the single woman who chooses to adopt, the deceitful woman who lies to her future husband.  I guess we all DO go to desperate lengths, but it seems a shame to talk about all of us in the same conversation.  We do share the dream of becoming a parent, but to put all of us in the ‘Motherhood At Any Cost’ box is simplistic at best, insulting at worst.

*And not to be all judgey McJudgey, but I just don’t like people to knock adoption by saying that the only way to have a child who is a ‘product of their love’ is to conceive one.  I think for many people adoption is a fantastic alternative and that a family started this way is still a product of a couple’s love.  But to each his or her own and I shouldn’t be such a buttwipe, I know.  Sleep deprivation makes me more of a witch than normal.  (But don’t tell Erin I said so!)

A Year Ago Today…

…I was complaining (what ELSE is new??) about beginning my IVF cycle and starting to take birth control pills. 

It was the opening salvo in our last stand in the long battle to become pregnant.

Here is some of what I wrote that day:

Q:  How Do You Make A Hormone?

A:  Refuse to pay her.

BOOOOO.

That’s bad even for ME and I have frighteningly low standards. In case you haven’t noticed…

But seriously, how DO you make all of these hormones required for
the IVF cycle??  My GAWD people, the drawing up of fluid and the
powders and the vials and the syringes, OH MY.

I just about fell off my chair when I read through all of my
instructions from Dr. Z.  Is this puzzling and overwhelming for
everyone just starting her first cycle, or is it me?

If it’s me, you can tell me…

I am hoping that from the outset it all looks very scary and
confusing and quite painful, but once you’re in full swing it all falls
into place and starts making sense.

Is this what happens?  IS IT?!?!?  [shouted in quaky voice with veins bulging in neck.] [Not a pretty sight, I might add.]

I feel like crap today and I’ve only taken one birth control pill.
ONE. I have taken one little teeny tiny baby step in this process and I
already feel like my body can’t take it.

PA-THETIC.

I was whining and flailing around in the kitchen today at work, all
flustered and pale and suffering from a migraine.  Always the drama
queen, it was obvious to anyone within a five-mile radius I was ill.

But you know those people who just cannot let you be ill?  They just
have to share in your misery and steal your thunder?  God I hate those
people.

The annoying super nerd guy in my office  came into the kitchen,
took one look at me and said, "Oh are you sick?? I feel terrible too. I
think I have the SAME thing!"

"Really?" I snorted in response.  "So you recently grew a
faulty uterus and a bunch of marginal-at-best eggs??  And even though
you want more than ANYTHING to be pregnant you started the birth
control pill last night?? Because if the answer to that is NO, then I
highly doubt you have the same affliction I do!"

That shut him up.

So I am taking to my bed chamber…flouncy nightie and
marabou-trimmed slippers and all, to wait out this headache.  And hope
that this isn’t the start of a very, very long few weeks.

And coming soon…the winner of the Name This IVF Cycle Category Contest. 

You people crack me up. Thank you for bringing some levity to this whole thing.  What would I do without you?

And here we are, one long year later…and still, I ask myself, what would I do without you? 

Thank you all, so much, for commenting and e-mailing me after my last couple of posts.  Many of you said you had no experience with PPD, but wished me luck.  And others of you wrote such understanding and supportive comments (and e-mails) it literally brought tears to my eyes. And that’s NOT the post partum weepiness talking.

Today Jax was crying in his crib after I put him down for a nap.  If he’s fussy, I’ll let him work it out for a few minutes.  After play time, as soon as he starts yawning or getting fussy, I’ll swaddle him back up (with a hearty "I’m gonna swaddle you SUCKA") and put him down.  This often works, today it didn’t.

His fussing soon went to Def Con 5, and I thought, what the hell?  I’ll change his diaper and see if that helps.  He was literally shrieking in Parker’s ear, since they sleep side-by-side, and although she can usually block out his monkey screeches and sleep through anything, I was afraid he would wake her.

So he had a wet diaper.  And after I changed it I held him up and patted his back, saying, "hey, maybe you have to burp… ???"  And seconds later he let loose a belch so loud it could have come from a Stanford frat boy after shot-gunning a six-pack of beer.

"What the HELL?!" I asked Jackson.  "How did I think of trying THAT?"

Maybe I CAN do this job, I said to myself, maybe I can

(I know, it’s sad when a single burp is what I’m building my Mom Confidence platform on, but HEY, it’s a start, right??)

And now…SELF-INDULGENT MOM ALERT!!  SELF-INDULGENT MOM ALERT!! 

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PS  Go to www.parenting.com to waste your own time making a self-indulgent fake cover like I did!  Good LORD, do I really have this much time on my hands?!?

Lexaprojectile Vomiting

And that was ME, not the babies, of course!

So that didn’t work out so well…THAT being the Lexapro, which seems to have brought on the World’s Most Severe Migraine.

I didn’t just have a migraine, people, that migraine HAD ME!

Why didn’t you warn me?!?

Oh yeah, right.  I begged asked you not to.  Silly me.

After a few days on the lowest dose, I came down with this awful migraine, complete with vomiting…and… OHLORD the vomiting.  It lasted all night and into the next morning when BeBop had to place an emergency call to my Mother, who rushed over to help me feed the babies since he had to get to work.

It was terrible.  It was baby-throwing-in-the-Boppy-so-I-could-run-to-the-bathroom-and-dry-heave awful.

So onto my next plan, which is to see a real live psychiatrist, instead of the nurse practitioner, and investigate a whole range of options, since I seem to have a hard time ingesting these meds. (Did I tell you I started Effexor a few weeks ago and that also made me really sick?)

But, I am feeling better.  Whether it’s a few days on the ‘Pro or a coinkydink or some placebo effect, I haven’t had the daily anxiety that plagued me for months.  So I feel like I have some time to check out different options and come up with a plan.

In the meantime, the babies are doing great.  At 9 & 1/2 weeks (MYYYYYY how time flies when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown!) they weigh the exact same, 10 pounds, 11 ounces. 

I take the 2:00 AM feeding and BeBop does the next one around 6:00 and then heads off to work.  I wake up and try to down a cup of coffee before they get up and then I do the 10:00 AM feeding which is followed by play time.

We listen to music and they sit under this jungle-themed contraption with music and lights and Jackson loves the hell out of this thing, but it’s a bit much for my little Peanut.  She prefers to ‘read’ with Mommy which entails me showing her pages from one of those newborn baby books with the black and white images and reading some of the most inane words ever put to paper:  Did you feed the baby?  YES!  I fed the baby!  What a wriggly giggly thing!  I usually make up my own words:  Mommy has anxiety issues!  Does Mommy need a spa getaway?  YES!  She does need a spa getaway… to make it a little more interesting.

They loooove their swings and so do we.  I swear when those suckers run out of batteries I practically have a conniption.  Parker has just noticed that while swinging, there is a mirror directly above her head.  She stares and stares at herself making little cooing sounds, while I encourage her by lamely repeating "Who’s a pretty girl? Who’s the pretty girl?" over and over again, to both of our delights.

It’s odd to look back over the last couple of months, to see how far we’ve all come.  I was so sick and scared when we got home from the hospital, and between the hourly (at least) crying jags and the anxiety, I could barely function. 

I am still getting my Mom Legs as I call it — still trying to find my way through this incredible maze.  Every day is different, and just as I think I have a routine or a rhythm down, things change and I’m forced to try something new.

The babies are so good, but sometimes we have the Double Baby Meltdown.  This usually happens when I’m running late to feed them, which starts with me changing one and putting him/her in the swing and then changing the other one and putting him/her back in the other swing and heating up the bottles and then placing them on the Boppy pillows to eat.

Then begins the three-ring circus known as feeding time when I prop the bottles up and burp one and then the other, a couple of times each, until they’re both finished and then I stare at them, wide-eyed (me, not them), and ask what they want to do next.

If you were to visit, you might very well hear the following yelled from one room to the other: ONE MOMMY, TWO BABIES! ONE MOMMY TWO BABIES!  HOLD IT TOGETHER PEOPLE!!!!

This happens when I am busy changing one of my little angels and the other one is losing his or her shit in the other room.

(I am convinced that if either Jax or Parker follows in my footsteps and seeks out any kind of therapy in the future, they will share with the therapist that somewhere, deep in the recesses of their brain, they hear an odd statement over and over again that sounds a lot like "One mommy, two babies" and they don’t exactly know what it means…)

This so does not come easy for me.  I like things to be planned out, I like to know what to expect.  I prefer to study and prepare and know what’s coming. I like to believe I know what I’m doing.  I like to feel competent.

In short, I am ill-suited to this new job I took on a few months ago; I am still woefully unprepared for the promotion from Pregnant Gal to Mom.

But I try my best, each and every day.  And I’m grateful, each minute. I still sneak into the nursery and watch them sleep, side by side in the crib.  And I stare at these two little miracles and still can’t believe that after everything, they’re here.  And that they will be here, with us, for the rest of all of our lives.  That the four of us will walk through this world, together.  That I’ll help them take their first steps and drop them off at school and one day when her hair grows back get a matching Katie-Suri haircut with Parker and make BeBop teach them to drive and wait up for them at night and, hopefully, be here to see them find partners and have kids of their own if they so choose.

It’s been a crazy, wild journey so far and yet, we’re still at the very beginning.