Symptom Spotting

Today I have my check up with my doctor to see if I’m cleared to rejoin society. Needless to say, I’m anxious. Not only is my baby extravaganza this weekend and I’d like to go to it, but I would really say good bye to this whole pre-term labor panic.  Just a few more weeks and I could get down to regular old “I’m going to have a baby” panic.

Of course, there is nothing better for an anxious mama than to lie around all day, alone with nothing but her thoughts. If it hadn’t been for this weekend’s pre-term labor scare, I would chalk most of this up to pregnancy just being weird. Instead, I sit here trying to read the tea leaves of my body. I’ve found guessing if you’re in labor is a lot like trying to guess if you’re pregnant. Ah, those heady TWW days… When indigestion is mistaken for implantation cramps, and hormonal fluctuations had more to do with PMS than anything else.

So far I’ve freaked out over back pain, abdominal pain, and contractions.

So far I seem to have back pain because I’ve been sitting in bed or on the couch for over a week, and contractions that appear to be Braxton Hicks.

The abdominal pain is the one that has me scratching my head. Once I determined it was just gas. Yes, a nice fart releases a lot of tension. I also wonder if this is just more round ligament pain– it feels a lot like pain I had earlier in my pregnancy when my belly was starting to grow. And I have a sneaking suspicion Chick had a growth spurt in the last few days- I can tell because my skin feels tight and my belly feels heavier.

Or I’m going into labor. Again.

This is maddening.

I head to my appointment in just 2 hours. There is no way I could have a baby in 2 hours, is there?

Not LMAO. Not Even a Little Bit.

And now is the time on Sprockets when we wait!

(Oh, Mike Meyers… you’re timeless…)

I’m 3 days away. 3 DAYS. I’m mostly sure I’m not pregnant, but then again what do I know? I’ve never been pregnant before, so maybe this is what it feels like.

Alas, PMS symptoms and early pregnancy symptoms are so similar. (Because nature thinks this is funny.) I’m rational enough to ignore these symptoms, and yet human enough to want an answer NOW.

This TWW has been fine, really. I have developed a new coping skill– extreme exercising. There is something to be said for forcing yourself out of your own head and into your body. I ran almost every day last week. I went for a 2 hour hike this weekend. And I lifted weights. No kidding, I picked things up and put them down.

The added bonus is that everything hurts, so I can’t misinterpret anything as early signs. They are most likely signs of my mania, and that isn’t going away anytime soon.

In annoying family news, Mr. Ostrich’s sister is up to posting inappropriate things on Facebook again. I’m mostly fine with it because a) she usually keeps it about herself, and b) it’s pretty darn entertaining, in a totally voyeuristic kind of way. It’s like watching The Jersey Shore unfold in my Facebook feed. But yesterday, my dear sister-in-law posted some image that’s been going around FB: “Be Someone’s Crazy Aunt.” She tagged both me and Mr. Ostrich and writes “I would love to be!!! LMAO!!!”

Note: I am not LMAO. Nor am I ROTFL. Nope, not even LOL.

Long back story here, but Mr. O’s family has been after us to have babies since before we were married. Yes, BEFORE we were married. I’m not one to stand on morals, but I always thought there was something weird about that. Like “I’m not so concerned about your ability to commit to each other, as long as you pop out a few cute babies for us.”

So here we are, 10 years later. Still very much committed to one another. Still very much in love. And still selfishly not producing children for them to be Crazy Aunts/Uncles/Grandmothers/Grandfathers/Cousins to.

Mr. Ostrich has told a few people on his side about our IF woes, but not every one. He comes from a large, extended, nosy-but-well-meaning family. He is a private person, so has wanted to keep it to himself mostly. Evidently, he has not told his sister. (For reasons I will not go into, I respect his decision.) Of course, in the meantime she continues to be in-your-face rude, though without even knowing it.

It doesn’t make me mad, as much as it makes me wonder. There are so many things we “assume” people can do. Or will do. Or even want to. I mean, let’s say that Mr. O and I decided not to have kids, based on some principled stance on overpopulation. (Whatever, I’m setting up a hypothetical, okay?) Should we have to make an announcement? Like the opposite of birth announcements, maybe. “We are pleased to welcome no children to the world. Ever. Join us in this celebration.”

At some point, I thought people who just mind their own business and stop asking. But these are not people who seem to understand boundaries or subtleties.

In the meantime, I wait.

The One in which I Coach Myself

Officially one week into the Two Week Wait. And I’m twiddling my thumbs a little bit. Someone should make hold music for your uterus.

Oddly, I take a bit of comfort in saying to myself “I am not pregnant.” Because at this moment in time, I am not. Best case, I’ve got a fertilized egg. But that doesn’t mean anything until it settles in for a 9 month residence.

This approach does an excellent job of keeping me from second guessing every little twinge. Hm… my boobs are sore? That could be anything because I’m not actually pregnant.

To be clear, this is not defeatist. And even if it is, it manages to keep me from being a nonfunctioning weirdo for two weeks. I’ve tried that approach. It doesn’t do anyone any good.

You may recall that I was ecstatic to get a referral a few weeks ago. For a second, it seemed like the healthcare gods were not raining on my parade. Well, those wily healthcare imps are at it again. There is a 2 month wait to see my RE. Whoooomp, whooooomp….

I’m not sure if that is “normal.” It still seems too damn far away, frankly. The blessing is that I get to take 2 months to get comfortable with the idea of infertility treatments. I was so hoping that we weren’t headed down this path that I have neglected to do my hyper-spastic research.  Another bonus: I have plenty of time to price out this shit with my insurance company. They are such colossal morons, it’s nice to have this kind of lead time. Besides, you all get two more months of my manic blog posts about pain and misery! Everybody wins! (Note the heavy sarcasm, please.)

In the meantime, I need to find things to do with myself. When I am not bemoaning the state of my cobwebby womb, I am a coach for a girls running team. It combines my favorite things: running and angsty teenage girls. I seriously love how dramatic they are. It’s insane.

We had practice yesterday, and it was miserable. Among many, many terrible things, it poured (Cue screams of “But my hair is getting RUINED!!!”) There was a ton of complaining, and begging that we just cancel practice. One girl was really loud about it when we first took off on our run. I turned to her and said “Oh, we’re running today. The only thing you can decide is how you’re going to do it. Sure, you can complain about it, but that’s your choice.”

This makes me sound like a baddy, but COME ON. It’s a good life lesson, am I right? She seemed to think so, because she sucked it up and completed the run with a lot less whining. (And probably silently cursed me with every step, but whatever.)

So here I am, patting myself on the back for being such a good coach when I realize I have not been taking my own damn advice. I do think perhaps this lady doth protest too much about the shitstorm I’ve found myself in. The bitter truth is that I am on this journey. I can’t change it, but I can decide how I will carry myself through it.

Like a motherf-ing boss. That’s how.  *mike drop*