A Year Ago Today...

...could have been my babies' birth day. I've had in my head all day long how this could have been the day they turned 1 year old, but I am so thankful that it is not.

Last year on December 20th, I went to the hospital with preterm contractions. I was sent home after the contractions were "controlled" that afternoon. However, apparently they were not because bring-me-to-my knees contractions showed up that evening despite the terbutaline, forcing me to call my husband (who was grocery shopping at the time) in hysterics and beg him to come home and bring me back to the hospital. That day was the scariest day of my life- even more scary than the day my house was on fire (with me and my doggies inside). I was only 26 weeks along- past 50% viability day, but not past danger by any means. I remember very vividly rocking back and forth on my knees, griping the couch armrest, pleading through my sobs that it was too early and praying fervently to God to keep them in longer as I waited for my husband to get home. My dog stayed close by my side until he got there. My husband later told me that he ditched the almost-full cart in an aisle before he raced home.

I spent the night in the hospital while the contractions were finally held at bay with an increased dose of magnesium sulfate. (Ugh- I remember so well how wicked that stuff was.) It was a scary, scary 24 hours, but Sam and Anna hung tight. There were threats of strict bedrest until I delivered, threats that I would have to stay at the hospital longer than 1 night, and my husband was given a tour of the NICU by a NICU nurse (I think to scare him into making sure I stayed on bedrest). Ultimately, winter break from school gave me a change to lay low and recuperate. With no more contractions after that initial 24 hours, I went back to teaching two weeks later (with my OB's okay) until I chose to stop teaching at 35 weeks.

My cervix of steel earned its keep that day- helping me hold out to a C-section I elected for at 37 weeks- 11 weeks later. After December 20th, 2009, I never thought I would make it that far, and I am forever thankful that my babies were able to remain inside as long as they should have. I will never forget the vivid memories of my preterm-labor scare at 26 weeks and I will always be thankful that December 20th is not their birthday! Cause for a celebration tonight, since we aren't celebrating a birthday, right?

Avoiding the Obvious

I haven't felt much like making a post in the last week. I think it's because I don't need to get the school stuff/daycare stuff/dog stuff off my chest or vent about all of it- I just need to spend as much time as possible NOT thinking about it to survive. I've been in a crummy mood. If I created a post, it would have gone something like this:

"Sam and Anna have had a horrible time falling asleep at bedtime lately, which I suspect is because I was at work 3 days last week and they just want to be held by me because they miss me, instead of chillin' alone in their cribs . They've always been pretty good at bedtime sleep until now. On Thursday I had to work from 8 am until 8 pm and Sam was so distraught with my absence that by bedtime, the only way my husband could get him calmed down was to wear a shirt of mine while running the blowdryer. Then Sam woke up at 4 am for his MOTN feeding (which I did- huge mistake) and he didn't want to leave me, so Sam and I hung out on the couch from 4 am until 6:30 am when his sister woke for the day. Since they are resisting bedtime simply because they want to be held, we resorted to full on CIO (cry-it-out) Sunday night out of desperation. We decided the only way to break the cycle was to not hold them. That sucked, but worked. After two days, Sam and Anna are no longer crying/being held off and on for 4 hours after bedtime. I drank a lot of wine, and cursed the fact that I felt the need to pile more upon my plate. Oh, and Sam ate horribly most of the week because he doesn't eat as well for anyone but me.

Work sucked, but I managed, knowing that I would have 5 days in a row to be at home after the 3 days of working. That ended today. Tomorrow school starts. Boo-hoo. It sucks leaving two babies without you that you did everything short of move mountains to get. I don't have enough words for how I feel, and like I said- I do better if I just try to not think about it. So that's all I'm going to say about that

Benelli's days are numbered. My husband is calling the vet tomorrow to see when we can make an appointment to bring him in. This royally sucks because I always said I would take several days off of work when he died, and what teacher can take off the first few days of school? Imagine trying to keep a happy kindergarten teacher smile pasted upon your face when your dog is dying and your two precious miracles are spending their days without you. This might just be my best beginning of school yet.

The combo of all of the above created another anxiety attack Sunday night. This one was a doosy. I might have just found the combo of things that is more than I can handle at one time.

So in short, this week we did CIO, Sam will probably not eat well again, I go back to work full time permanently with co-workers that are not nice people, and we will probably be killing our dog (my first dog). My week is shaping up to be one awesome, stellar week."

Now who wants to think about, type, or read that? So instead, I will share with you my first belly photo from a year ago, and my brave belly shot almost exactly one year to the day later, taken this week. Not too bad, I think. I may have not met my goal of all pregnancy weight lost by the first day of school, but according to my scale last night, I am only 2 pounds away from that. Not too bad at all. (Focusing on the good, focusing on the good...)

5 1/2 months post-partum twin birth at 37 weeks. (Here's a bang photo for you, Kerri)

9 weeks pregnant with twins, sucking the bellah in as much as possible (same pants as the above picture but a different color)

9 weeks pregnant with twins (letting it all hang out)

1 Year Ago (part 2)

I woke up early that morning and just laid in bed vacillating- do I or don't I? I didn't whip out the pee sticks the day before to my husband's surprise, but it still scared me so much to have the finality of one pink line or two. Anyone who's done an IVF cycle knows the feeling- for the first time in a long time, you have hope (this could be it) and there is the chance that only one pink line will show up, obliterating that hope- so it's just nice to be in the land of I'm-possibly-pregnant for once. But yet, there could be TWO pink lines and all you've prayed and wished for could come true and you want that moment too. When to test (or if) is a hard decision to make after an IVF cycle.

It was a Saturday and our beta was on Monday. , I knew I would test before the appointment at some point because I wanted time to process whatever the result was going to be before having to talk to someone about it. The last thing I wanted was to choke back tears as I told a nurse thank you over the phone. I wanted to do it on my terms when I felt like I could best handle the result. Plus, I wanted to be the first to know- not some lab tech.

I woke up around 6:30 am (unheard of for a night owl like me) dreaming about testing and with a full bladder. After hemming and hawwing, I finally decided that was the sign I needed that it was the right time to POAS. I tiptoed to the bathroom. Despite my heart loudly pounding in my chest, my husband slept without stirring, blissfully unaware of what I was about to do.

I peed. I was shaking. I stared at the test. And there it was, the holy manna for IF gals: the elusive double pink lines. I immediately covered my mouth (I guess to keep from shrieking?) and then looked at my reflection in the mirror, because I wanted to see my expression. My face had a look on it that I had not seen in an extremely long time. I'll never forget the look of pure joy oozing out of every smile crinkle and sparkle in my eyes. That was one of the most magical moments of my life.

I didn't cry tears of happiness- I think because I was in shock. What I remember next is tiptoeing back into our bedroom to do what I had dreamed about for so long- I climbed into bed, hugged my still sleeping husband and whispered in his ear. "Jake- You're going to be a daddy."

He woke up, I told him and showed him and then we spent a lot of time cuddling in bed, allowing ourselves to vocalize all those thoughts about having a baby and being parents that we had packed away a long time ago. He went back to sleep after a while, but I just couldn't. I keep walking into the bathroom to look at the HPT over and over again. It was a perfect way to start our weekend. I knew there were a lot of ways this could end badly, but I promised myself that for the weekend, I would revel in the feelings that a BFP had brought us and not let the worry enter my head. I knew very well that this could be the only time in my life that we would see those two lines whether it resulted in a successful pregnancy or not, and I wanted to experience it the best way we could.

I was pregnant.

1 Year Ago...

...this was a very busy and monumental week. A year ago today, Sam and Anna each went from a single egg and sperm to a creation of rapidly dividing cells. A year ago today was my egg retrieval. By this time in the evening, Sam and Anna had started growing. Five days later, Sam and Anna (and their sibling) looked like this:

(Our first baby picture)

Reflecting on this today brought all sorts of choked-up-mommy-moments. Reading Guess How Much I Love You as our bedtime story made me tear up at the last line- "I love you right up to the moon- and back." I won't deny that Sam and Anna got quite a few extra snuggles and kisses today. I know I would do anything to have them back then, and I would do anything for them now. I'll never forget my infertility story that made their appearance in my life a possibility, but today it was a little more in the forefront of my mind amid diaper changes, crying babies, and formula bottles. A year may have gone by, but those emotions and experiences are anything but faded.

My egg retrieval was in the early morning, and it went pretty well. I remember feeling somewhat surprised at how relatively good I felt, considering 22 eggs were harvested from my body. I even felt up to going to the local firework display that night. It was the next day that OHSS hit and I was in crippling pain for a few days- surviving on the couch with OTC pain killers that barely made a dent. As the week went on, we were given the news that only 3 eggs fertilized and would make it to transfer. 3 out of 22 was a sobering number- but not surprising, since our problem was the ability of my husband's sperm to fertilize my eggs. We were very gung-ho to transfer all 3, but expected our RE to be a bit more conservative and suggest 2. To our surprise, he suggested transferring all 3. This IVF was truly our Hail Mary then, because there were no blasts to freeze- and no money to have a try-again IVF cycle. This was it. Our only chance at biological children.

I won't deny that I sometimes think of the one embryo that didn't implant. Although triplets would have been more than we could handle, I wonder sometimes if that other embryo was a boy or a girl. I wonder which one in the picture we have was the one we lost (and also in that vein, which one is Sam and which is Anna). I wonder what that child would have looked like, or do when they grew up. I wonder where that embryo fits in.

I think I will always quietly celebrate this day as a sort of second birthday/creation day for my children. July 5th will always hold a special place in my heart. It was the day that God's plans for us became more than just a promise of good things to come. Sam and Anna were baptised yesterday (more on that later), and although it was just a coincidence that the dates were so close together, I find it very meaningful that almost 1 year to the day that God gave us Sam and Anna, we had their baptism. It's hard to find a better way than that to say "thank you" for making your dreams come true.