Tag Archives: mom by choice

Parenting reflections on day 72

Posted in Reflections by

I’m exactly 72 days into parenting. 10 weeks and some change. At this particular moment I’m sitting at Whole Foods, large latte and muffin beside me, while a dear friend is with my little prince. I’m rested, showered and happy to be out. And —finally, reflecting on motherhood. Lesson number 1: reflection goes out the window when you’re a new mom. Who has the time to reflect? Life is a daily grind and a constant shuffle of strategic attempts to keep your baby fed, sleeping and dry. Success is momentary: I got the baby to sleep (bonus points if it’s in one of the actual sleeping designations versus in my arms); he seems full, he had a good poop, a good burp, good toots … the fanfare over bodily functions is no small thing! Success also comes in the form of a shower, getting out of the house, a lovely stroller ride where my little one doesn’t scream his head off and a successful stroll around the house or Target with Eliot in the ergo. I don’t even feel reflective enough to say, “it’s the little things” because it IS the little things—they are BIG things, and every triumph is in earnest these days.

That said, today I’m reflecting. I’m reflecting and eating a piece of cake masked as a muffin (german chocolate muffin, seriously Whole Foods?) because really I’m celebrating my most recent success, which is a sleep schedule. For 8 consecutive days I’ve put Baby E down at 8 PM and he’s slept, minus two brief feedings, until 8 AM. I know enough to know not to get too attached to the good or the bad during these changing baby days but still [for now] … if I’m dealing with a good sleeper, this is a game changer. (I can’t help the optimism; it’s in my DNA!) When Eliot (and I would think this goes for ALL babies) gets good naps and good sleep at night, the world is a better place. Cue the chirping birds.

A few words about Eliot: He’s such a delight. He’s giving away smiles in spades these days and mostly just looks at me and the world around him with these big, curious dirt-brown eyes … like he knows something the rest of us don’t. He loves taking baths with me—loves being submerged in the water; he’s pretty chill with most people and often calms down when we go outside—the great equalizer, much like his mama. I can get lost with him most days in the  cocoon of our home, listening to The Wiggles and reciting the nursery rhymes and rhythms I’m learning in baby yoga, provoking smiles and coos. Yesterday at BYOB (bring your own baby) Yoga another mom looked at us both and said, “He’s starting to look so much like you!” I just smiled, thinking of my little adopted embryo doppelgänger. What a little miracle, all of it.

It’s not all baby bliss. I get board. I get lonely. Occasionally I get blue. I’m impatient and cranky on days where the whining doesn’t seem to let up. But the mainstay of my mood has (thankfully) been one of optimism and gratitude. The love is real. And oh so sweet.

I’m heading back to work next week. Leaving my little cabbage with his “manny” (male nanny) starting Monday. His manny, who happens to live across the street, truly loves my little guy, which is the main comfort for a going-back-to-work mama. I’ll be working in three hour increments so in a way I’m dipping my toes into a world outside of baby. Still coming home to nurse. And before I know it he’ll be a quarter of a year old, then a year old, then in high school … make it stop!

If I have any true reflection from the past 72 days it is this: Parenting is a LOT of work. Babies are all need right out of the shoot, and unapologetically so. The crying jags are real; the witching hours (for us 5 PM-7 PM) are real, and the hormonal sways are real. But when I can totally surrender —generally what baby wants, baby gets —and maintain my sense of humor when plans are thwarted or baby makes a sport out of crying, the sweet moments are the sweetest of my life. And tomorrow is always a new day.

That’s all I got. (Literally. My time is up. Have to go relieve my friend and feed the baby!)

babyeliot-6

Designer baby musings

Posted in Pregnant by

Hello blog. It’s been a while. In pregnancy news I’m 6 1//2 months prego. In vegetable terms, baby Eliot is as big as a head of lettuce, although nothing about my waste resembles a cute little salad. It’s more like a balloon filled with little rockets that fancy going off and landing right between my breasts. Ode to the sweet, sentimental butterfly flutters from a few weeks past … my womb has turned into a playground and I have an active and curious little monkey in there.

Still over the moon though. Mostly.

The second trimester was pretty sweet. All the meds, shots, bruising and fatigue from the first trimester IVF cycle have been forgotten and forgiven. First lesson in parenting, I suppose. As the third trimester descends upon me, so does reality. The actual pregnancy (ouch, OMG, EASY TURBO, is that an elbow or a foot pounding into my ribs?!), decorating the nursery, finding the perfect nanny, the right diapers, the 101 on strollers, carseats and all baby things with gadgets, reading birth stories and parenting books (my favorite so far) … three months is a blink of the eye! In the heat of August my little designer baby love will be here. Eliot Michael Hart. I can’t wait to meet him! Speaking of my designer-love: If you remember from the last blog, I did an embryo adoption. That means that I am the recipient of another woman’s labor of love. The story has been told to me (from my doctor’s office) like this: a woman wanted a baby. Unable to produce one herself, for reasons of which I’m unaware, she found a Latino egg donor and an Irish sperm donor that she assumedly liked, had an embryo created in a pea-tree dish, did the ET (embryo transfer) and didn’t get pregnant. Distraught by her outcome, she didn’t try again and put her leftover embryo’s up for adoption. Enter: me. Lately I’ve felt particularly indebted to her, for giving me this gift. I’ve wanted to meet her, to thank her, although as my friend E pointed out, it would probably be very hard for her to meet happy, perky, basketball-bellied me. I suppose it’s a bitter-sweet mercy for her, to stay anonymous.

And a nod to embryo adoptions: This is my story, for now. Soon it will be more of Eliot’s story. And it’s a good story. There’s redemption and mystery; it’s progressive and filled with love, friends, humor and support; parts are bitter-sweet —no second parent, anonymous donor’s Eliot won’t be able to track down; most of the story is still unfolding. But in my research of embryo adoptions or “snowflake babies,” for the more sentimental than I, I’m learning about how new this way of having a baby really is! A quick history: in 2004 there were 213 babies born this way. President Bush invited them all to the White House, as these were the days when stem cell research was a hot topic, and adopting the embryo’s versus sending them off to science was all the rage in pro-life circles. According to my Internet research, as of 2013 there were 3,500 adopted embryo babies born in the U.S.A. I’m sure the number is much higher now, but STILL! I feel a small thrill to be a part of this budding new alternative to having a family. Most go through adoption agencies, with intensive home studies and social workers. I didn’t do any of that. There are 200 infertility clinics in the USA that do embryo adoptions and my then-doctor happened to be one of them! After getting to know me for a year of trying the old-fashioned way—IUI’s with a sperm donor, he recommended this option to me. It took me a minute to say yes. A minute and six months. But I did and well, here we are. Here I am. Sitting on my screened in porch on the quintessential spring day, eating local strawberries with my laptop and beautiful belly bump in tow.

I never would’ve thought I’d be so happy and content during the unfolding of Plan C in life. But I am. Lots of people are. We dont’ get what we want. We cry, then wipe our tears, and the sweet mystery is this: there’s still so much happiness and gratitude left for the taking. Maybe even more, since much of the entitlement and expectations drop off after a while. It doesn’t all feel like forced capitulation anymore. I said yes—when I almost said no, to am embryo adoption. And why this doctor (who offers embryo adoptions!) versus the other clinic in town—a flip of the coin, at the time. Life is coming together in such an unexpected way. It’s my norm at this point and the moments of lamenting a more conventional path are small. I do long to find companionship in this journey someday, even now, and sweet “daddy moments” I observe well me up a bit… but it doesn’t take away from my current love story. Baby Eliot has my heart–even in utero, and being single has not compromised any of the love or anticipation that I feel, which puts me in the universal pool of motherhood: single, married, partnered, biological child, adopted at birth or as an organism. It’s all the same journey of love. Mine is connected to a pregnancy and motherhood, but I don’t think this kind of grace is limited to child-rearing. Rather, it’s having the courage to keep going; Plan C, D, E or Z — to keep choosing a love story … there are myriad options waiting on us.

Bambino Time / Take Two

Posted in Pregnant by

Hello long lost blog. It’s been a while … a little over a year, to be exact. Well, in that little-over-a-year I got pregnant. So, that’s exciting! It’s a bit of a miracle story, how it all went down. Here’s the scoop:

After my last post I took a break for a few months and then saddled back up to the sperm donor sites last February. I went to Australia for a few weeks, came home and tried again. This time with shots and meds … the whole bit. Didn’t get prego but I did get discouraged and started to wonder if this was really my path.

At that point, May 2014, my doctor suggested an embryo adoption. This is where the potential mother adopts an embryo left over from another person’s IVF cycle. They are referred to as “snowflake babies,” which may be a bit cutesy for my personal sensibilities, but I digress. He recommended this as it’s a lot cheaper than IVF (around $12k versus $$40k) and I’d have a higher success rate, since I DID have post-40-year-old eggs. It was a lot to take in. After that appointment I jumped in a car with three girlfriends for a road trip to Asheville, NC, cried a bit, grieving the newest hand dealt—0 DNA versus 1/2 of my DNA, and then we started listening to 80’s music and cracking up and essentially, I put the whole baby drama aside.

I moved into a beautiful new house, played interior decorator for a few months, got on with my summer and courted a little around-the-world romance with a bloke I’d met in Australia.

And then.

I got the call. On Thursday, July 31st actually, two days before my 42nd birthday. That night I was hosting a party for 30+ people for visiting friends from Australia. My cousin from L.A. was coming in for the weekend. It was going to be a bustling birthday weekend!

“We have an embryo ready for you. Do you want it?”

“Uh…”

They sent me limited info, including: picture of the egg donor and her biological child. She is petite, hispanic, sweet smile and her child is beautiful (looks to be around six in the picture). They sent info on the sperm donor—profile from California Cryobank: Irish, dark hair and eyes, 5.11”, lawyer, plays guitar, good teeth, no picture. Not a couple. Both donors. Both want to be kept anonymous.

Of course I had so many questions. Mainly, who put this DNA together if it’s not a couple?! Apparently another woman did. Was she single, gay, married; why did she hand pick this egg and sperm donor? I don’t know her story. What I DO know is that she didn’t achieve pregnancy, and instead of trying again she decided to put her leftover embryo’s up for adoption.

Cut to: Me. At work, getting a voicemail from a nurse, whilst in-between clients, asking if I wanted this embryo.

I eventually said yes. We set an appt for two weeks later. And then I said wait. Too much, too soon. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for an IVF cycle—four months of daily inter-muscular hip shots, 3 vaginal inserts a day, 8 pills a day. And so much money … I held off until November, still a bit ambivalent but glad to know that there was an embryo out there, mine for the taking, if I wanted it.  Literally days prior to the revised appt (now in Oct) I decided to say YES to this unconventional option in front of me.

And I did it. A month of birth control, hormones, stomach and then hip shots, blood draws … all in preparation for the big ET –embryo transfer day.  My friend K went with me to the hospital.  I signed lots of papers, was given a Xanax, taken to a room with lots of nurses and my doc came in and implanted two embryo’s in my uterus. My nearest and dearest brought food and company during the four days of bed rest following the transfer. I took shots and suffered sore, bruised and lumpy hips. In the middle of the night on week two, when I got up to use the rest room I took a test, on a whim. I fell back asleep before I saw the results. The next morning whilst brushing my teeth I looked down (I’d forgotten I’d taken it) and lo and behold, two lines.

Still sleepy, I called my friend K. “I think I might be pregnant.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s two lines. OMG!”

And that was the grand moment of discovery.

I went to Arizona the next day for Thanksgiving break and told my family. I was happy but the fatigue was so unrelenting it was hard to feel much of anything, besides sleepy and zoned out. My family started to excite over the first “designer baby” in the family. I played happy too.

Meanwhile, I was having a little bit of buyers (or rather, psuedo-baby-making) remorse. I was so sore from the shots, tired beyond belief, moody and bloated from all the pills and the guy from Sydney lost interest after the pregnancy news … two weeks in and I already wanted my “old life” back! Be careful what you ask for.

My saving grace was history. I have a history of loving children, and of wanting them. On my faith journey I would pray that all that love and affection would kick back in. And finally, it did. When I started bleeding.

Six weeks in I bled. I tried not to worry. After three days of spotting it turned bright red, which is the opposite of okay when you’re pregnant. I left work in an emotional frenzy one afternoon for an emergency ultrasound, to see if the pregnancy was still viable. J, my loyal colleague, held my hand in the sonogram room as we waited TWO HOURS for my doctor to come in. The ultrasound showed an embryo sac. I cried tears of relief.

Two days later I bled profusely, worse than a menstrual cycle. Blood clots. Cramps. I was so scared, panicked really. I knew I was having a miscarriage but it was so confusing as my hormone numbers were so good two days earlier, the embryo sac was there, with my developing baby. My only hope was that it was a vanishing twin. I was miscarrying the second embryo. When we did the ultrasound—K holding my hand, both of us crying, the embryo sac showed up. So did a healthy little heartbeat! 147 bpm. What a strange sensation to be grieving and then rejoicing with the same set of tears.

It was a “vanishing twin” and although I was relieved with the sight of one healthy embryo, I grieved my second baby. All so surreal, really. Two babies for six weeks.

And then there was one. And there’s still one. With ear buds, developing vocal chords, a huge noggin and a strong heartbeat.

I’m now on week 13.  Baby is the size of a peach. Just a few more shots ALLELUIA, pills and vaginal inserts. Placenta is taking over and no need to artificially take care of the baby anymore. I’ve finally made it into the normal-pregnant-woman’s club versus the high-risk IVF pregnant one.  Next week I get the release from the infertility doctor and will start seeing my midwife from here on out.  Have gained lots of breast weight so far, but that’s about it … so more “porn star” than “pregnancy glow” at this stage as I’m still waiting for a little baby bump.  Dreaming up nursery themes, researching parenting philosophies and lamaze classes and feeling like a pregnant cliche, as I ate two jars of pickles JUST this past week!

Mama bear is thrilled in her core, that this little mystery miracle baby is living and growing and manifesting inside her; inside me. God willing, I’m having a baby when I turn 43.  Due date is August 6, 2015. My birthday is August 2, 1972. “I’ll be a grandma having a baby,” I joke with my friends.  Always a truth in jest …

Life is so strange. And I’m so very grateful.  Oh, and he’s a BOY! Here he is, week 13, showing off his junk.  Ultrasound was from this morning! I’m over the moon.

The Score

Posted in Trying to get pregnant by

Negative Pregnancy Tests: 5 / Me: 0

I’m clearly lagging behind here.  The good news is that I feel a bit positive about it right now.  Maybe there is a plan that eludes my current sensibilities.  Thats what I’m banking on, anyway.  It’s getting exhausting to be chronically depressed and disappointed, so I’m trying a new tactic.

Here’s an update in this journey that I’ve affectionately named: The Everyday Life of a Sperm Sleuth.

I’ve asked exactly three people to be un-frozen sperm donors: a local good friend, a new African friend and a dear friend’s gay cousin, who lives out of state.   In each scenario I had a “buckle up” moment with the guy, and then plead my case.  I may be so bold as to say that you haven’t really lived until you’ve sat with a grad student from Ghana at a local coffee shop and popped the big question: May I have your sperm? I’ll pay you.

Yeah, I did that.  Three times.

For truly legitimate and thoughtful reasons, each of them said no.  But my Ghana friend now thinks Americans are even more audacious than he assumed when coming to this country, and we did go see Delivery Man together.  He rolls his eyes when I lament about my once-in-a-lifetime-shot at birthing a biracial baby.  I laugh when he rolls his eyes because Africans aren’t, culturally speaking, sarcastic.

I’ve not taken a true break until now.  I’ve intended to but the past few months I’ve made quarterback decisions to try again.  And by try again I mean scurrying about in the final pre-ovulatory days to find a new donor (goodbye days of thoughtful and prayerful dedication to my perfect sperm counterpart) and getting all the moving parts aligned: cyro tank fed ex’d, predicted ovulation sorted out and coordinating the schedules of my A-Team inseminators.  In a way, I’m getting a leg up on the multi-tasking that comes with children.

Also, it helps when life-beyond-trying-to-get-pregnant is happening.  I had a lovely, spontaneous trip to NYC a few weekends ago with a new friend.  I’m in Washington DC right now with old friends. And honestly, getting pregnant artificially has taken a back burner.  For now.  I’ve decided that my Christmas present to myself is a true little break (back into the medicine cabinet Mr. Thermometer) from temping and being an expert in the nuance of cervical fluids.

I’m assuming I’ll be back in the baby-making-game in 2014, but for now I’m wiping the scoreboard clean.  Let’s hope for a better season next year.

meltdowns, hormones and gratitude

Posted in Trying to get pregnant by

I know, I know … it’s been a while.  In fertility-talk I’m another cycle down and gearing up for round three of Project Pregnancy sans a Man.

I’ve been discouraged.

Perspective is not the easiest part to grasp when you’re 41 (I had a birthday in August) and on the fertility/infertility roller coaster.  I’m reminding myself this is only my third try and most people having sex try at least this long to get preggers before the BFP (big fat positive).  I haven’t blogged because I’ve felt full of complaints … and what does another woe-is-me add to the world, the blogosphere, my life, or yours?  This is my current path, for better and for worse, and I’m doing my best to just get on with it — with gratitude (I’m trying, truly!) — since, financially speaking, I have the means to get on with it (for now).

In August M the midwife did an IUI at home, which was a sweet time indeed but didn’t produce a baby.  Last week I went to the fertility clinic.  It was a bad day.  Doctor showed me his 20-year-old wedding pictures, which I wasn’t interested in because I wanted to talk about my fertility not his days of being ‘thin like me,’ (his words). I went to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription and the pharmacist couldn’t understand the nurses script (according to him she had talked too fast in her VM) so I left empty handed. Day went on like this.  I had my first true meltdown that day, with the support of P in the afternoon and S in the evening.  (My meltdown came in two acts.)  I was also — insult to injury — PMS-ing.  Thank God for good friends through this process! 

Emotionally, I was overwhelmed.  Primally, I was ornery that my little plan didn’t work.  One day I wanted to tell Baby Dirks (we’ve affectionately named him after his donor look-alike) that Aunties E, M, S and K helped bring him into the world.  I wanted to be pregnant by now and have a baby at the end of March.  I had it all planned out (dammit) and, per usual, Plan A has turned into Plan C and may go all the way to Z for all I know.  Funny that we still get tripped up by this tried and true reality.

Still, hope has resurged and I’m feeling positive right now!  Although the doctor tells long-winded rabbit trail stories about all things not related to fertility, he’s aggressive and wants to get me pregnant; for that I’m grateful.  Also, his nurse is really nice and we’ve become friends.

I’m going to be jacked up on hormones this month.  Taking synthetic estrogen now (a big dose).  Will do a trigger shot to induce ovulation next Friday.  A big dose of pseudo progesterone after the IUI to help strengthen the uterus lining (I think). Four doctors office visits to do vaginal ultrasounds (to observe the growth of my egg follicles) and blood work, along with acupuncture three times a week.  I’ve had more needles in me that past two weeks than I have my entire life.  I’m that girl that’s never too sickly, has never broken a bone or been to the hospital  …  for which I’m so grateful! (See how that works?)

Sadly, I’m a little weary of my donor.  I’ve used four vials of his sperm so far.  I’m giving him one more shot before I move onto another donor.  There are five reported pregnancies with his sperm, which keeps me going back. I know he CAN get women pregnant … maybe not me, though.

I recently bought a new piece of art for my office.  It has a lyric on it from a favorite Mary Oliver poem.

Tell me,

What is it you plan to do with

your one wild and precious life?

This makes me smile, gets my tenacious little self out of the pity pool and back to the business of my ‘one wild and precious life.’  Gentle perspective, staring at me every working day.  For this, I’m grateful.

Baby Daddy: #13403

Posted in Trying to get pregnant by

Hello Blog,

It’s been a while.  How’ve I been?  Oh, fine.  Lake day with great friends (jumped off a very high cliff!).  Weekend in the mountains with different great friends.  Back.  Working.  Waiting for some test results from the doctor, which will determine how I’ll get inseminated (at home or at the fertility clinic).  Picked sperm-donor (!!).  Simultaneously doing my life and waiting for it to dramatically change.  Normal fare.

I have a little crush on the profile of my sperm donor.  According to California Cryobank he is rugged and outdoorsy but knows his way around literature and food.  His favorite book is Infinite Jest and he wants to go to Spain to better understand Don Quixote. He grows French herbs in his backyard (herbes de provence, chervil and savory) since they are hard to find at the grocery store.  He’s 6.4 and played football in college; was smart in high school (4.3 GPA) and (I’d like to think) “preoccupied” in college (2.9 GPA).  The staff at the sperm bank claims that he is a ‘more attractive version of Dirks Bentley.’ But what set him apart from the other seemingly amazing young men that are giving away their seed for cash (yeah, there’s still that) is that he seems really funny and down to earth.  Like someone I’d enjoy hanging out with, who would cliff jump with me or be a good date at my dinner club: he seems compelling, with a twist of dry wit and a dash of self-deprecating humor. He’s currently a Spanish translator.  Grew up in a Baptist church.  His dad was a famous baseball player.  Good bill of health from grandparents forward.

All this and more for $650 per vile of sperm?  

Sold to the 40-year-old mother wannabe!

And still; who knows?  Half of my potential baby’s DNA is from an Internet profile, including: a three paragraph written essay, a 10 min audio interview, a few childhood pics and an extensive medical and family medical history.  When did my visceral and virtual lives become so intertwined??

I’m excited.  I find myself day dreaming. Who is this guy that is going to help me create a little being?  And the he or she baby?–Already a little love mystery to me.

It feels strange to me that my whole life is still a potential trajectory.  And that nothing has actually changed, except what I want and what I’m after.

Artificial Insemination is NOT for the Birds

Posted in Trying to get pregnant by

Let’s start with the acronyms:

TTC (trying to conceive)
O (ovulation or orgasm? I still don’t know)
IUI (inner uterine insemination) not to be confused with ICI (inner cervix insemination),
G (total number of pregnancies)
P (total number of delivered pregnancies)

I could keep going …

I’m learning a new language.  Really, I’m learning a new everything: a new way of thinking about parenthood, a new way of managing expectations and thinking about finances; a new way of getting pregnant (the least sexy part of this whole process!), a new way of relating to men, my friends and myself.  New reading. (If you could see the things I’m Googling these days, such as: ici home insemination and orgasm. I know, right?!?) Hopefully, a new life.

Two nights ago I spent almost an hour on the phone with my cousins friend in L.A. who used a frozen sperm donor eight years ago.  I’d had a long (but good) day of seeing clients and was walking around the lake with my dog, blathering on about all things sperm. (Still weird.)  I had a thousand questions and, lucky for me, she had a thousand answers.  She told me about “Mom’s by Choice” the on-line community of single parents, and sibling registries where you can see if your potential child has 20 half-siblings running around.  We talked about the lonely bits of raising a child by yourself, along with the endless supply of love you gain, and all the vulnerability you learn to withstand.

I left the conversation grateful but exhausted.

I keep coming back to an email my friend J wrote me earlier in this process:  Love, is the thing. Isn’t it? You want a child biologically but you want the love of a child, and a child to love. That’s the essence. That’s the thing to concentrate on. Everything else is dross.

Love is the thing.  I have to remember this when I get overwhelmed with exacting my knowledge of ovulation, calendar matching it with Fed Ex-ing frozen sperm, not KILLING the sperm in the defrosting process, or SPILLING it during insemination.  This strange, expensive process … it all comes down to love.  And really, don’t we all do crazy things in the name of love?