once again, I need to get over myself

I've done a bad thing. I don't feel the need to go into the gory details, but I yelled at my MIL and she ended up crying. It was a stupid situation; I was jetlagged, Kali hadn't slept in days, Mr. December wasn't there to act as my buffer, and (according to all sides) MIL was really pushing me in a particular conversation. So I exploded.

In the aftermath, she has revealed to Mr. December that she doesn't feel I respect her. It makes sense, in that she seems to always be looking for ways to gain my respect: she lists all the creative things she does with Kali, tells me about the wonderful activities she went to with her sons at this age, etc, etc. My reaction to all of this has revealed to me a stunningly ugly part of myself.

The more she ingratiates herself to me, and the more she seems to beg for praise, the less respect I have for her.

This is the opposite of the way I feel about other people. Usually when I see that someone has a particular weakness, whatever it is, I feel slightly protective. I go into "therapist" mode and do whatever I feel I can to alleviate their discomfort. Not so with MIL. I just feel the need to be tougher and tougher on her in the hope that one day she'll push back and reveal that she does have some self-esteem and possibly even a backbone.

As I said, it's an ugly reaction. I'm ashamed of it, as I am of my failure to show her the respect she deserves as my MIL. Respecting one's elders and one's parents is not optional, and yet I've neglected my obligation in that regard.

I'm not sure what to do. Whenever I look at her, I find fault. I try very hard to just not speak in her presence. I find myself biting my tongue. And yet a lack of disrespect is not the same as showing respect. She deserves respect as the woman who raised the man I love. Why can't I give it to her?

There will have to be a follow-up post; this one is getting long. I'll close with a call for suggestions. Real ones, please, respectful ones. I've got plenty of snark in me already when it comes to MIL. I need to tame it. Can anybody help me?

doubt

I'm here, we travelled and came back in one piece, and I'm still pregnant - 13 weeks, 4 days.

I've been dealing with a lot of doubt and guilt lately. Doubt that I can handle two kids, and guilt that I'm not even enjoying the one I have right now.

There. I said it.

Thing is, I don't do toddlers well. Sure, I'm fabulous with them for a couple of hours, but the day in, day out routine of constant (destructive) activity, alternate defiance and clinginess, and outright tantrums just wears me down. I can't count the number of times I've put Kali down for a nap because I'm tired... of her. I feel like a terrible mommy.

Yesterday I sat down and read my blog, starting from Kali's birth. I was so smitten with her. I loved every moment, even the poopy ones. The fact is that I do infants really really well. I have mad skillz when it comes to newborns. Reading the blog again reminded me that once upon a time I felt competent and fully in awe of my daughter. I need to get some of that feeling back.

And I have to say, Kali is an amazing kid. She's gorgeous, for starters, and she talks a mile a minute (this is both good and bad, I'll admit). She's obsessed with Finding Nemo right now. She still sucks her thumb and lays her head on my shoulder when she's tired, but when she's not... watch out! She's into everything. She thinks my maxi pads are giant stickers. She knows where we keep the popsicles and how to access them (note to self: buy a lock for the fridge). She's never met a puddle in which she didn't want to splash. She's lively and adorable. I love her, and sometimes I can't stand her.

Someone knock some sense into me. I know I'm lucky beyond belief. I just need to feel it.

Thank God I don't have to.

We're okay, folks.

No clue what the spotting was about, but the little June Bug was waving at us today. We saw fingers. FINGERS!

Measuring one day ahead, at 10w0d, and the heartbeat is 146. Cervix is closed and very long. Everything looks perfect.

My heartrate is still on the way down... I didn't sleep much last night and I was pretty wound up.

Thanks for the well wishes and offers of help. Anyone who wants to knock me out until the second trimester is welcome to come over with a baseball bat.

I'm going to bed. Here's a picture to tide you over.

I can't do this again.

I'm spotting.

Before you ask, no, we didn't have sex. I did put in my progesterone, but other than that nothing has been in or out of there in a while. I don't see any mundane reason why this should be.

It's more than just a bit of spotting, it's a smear of pinkish red on the toilet paper. It took five or six wipes to get it to disappear, only to reappear the next time I (obsessively) went to pee.

This is eerily familiar, like my pregnancy with Squishy, we've already seen a very reassuring heartbeat. As with Squishy, we're scheduled to fly out of town at the end of the week. Last time I flew to Spain even though we knew our baby was dead. This time I won't be flying if the news is anything but reassuring. I might not be flying if the news is reassuring, either. As much as I'd miss Mr. December, gone as he'll be for three weeks, I wouldn't like to miscarry in a foreign country. Not again. Not with a toddler.

I'll call the clinic as soon as I wake up tomorrow and beg my way in for an ultrasound. I'll update you promptly after that. Needless to say, I'm totally freaked out.

I know that there are women who spot or even full-out bleed through their pregnancies and deliver healthy babies... that's not making me feel better, though. A good ultrasound tomorrow would still only tell me that as of this second, nothing is wrong. Nothing about the second after that, or the next day, or the next six months.

Holy shit, I'm scared.

Confession

Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It's been eight days since my last blog post.

We went back to the clinic today. My heart was, once again, in my throat - but that's okay, because the embryo's heart is exactly where it should be, beating 150 times per minute. That's a pretty awesome heart rate, if you ask me!

Dr. Eyebrows first said the length indicated an age of 8w3d, which was NOT okay with me, seeing as this was eight days after we measured 7w5d... and then he got a better image and announced that it was more like 8w6d. So all is well. The little embie that could is looking an awful lot like a gummy bear. Mmmmm... gummy bears!

We got a couple of pics and some hugs from the doctors and nurses. One of my favourites said she'd better be the first person to hear about the birth, after the grandparents. I'll try to remember to send them a card this time.

I can't in good conscience call this embie either Phineas or Barnaby. Those names just have to go together. Instead, given my due date, this little one will henceforth be known as June Bug.

That is all.

141

It's a heart rate, not a beta.

We just got back from an ultrasound at the clinic. There's one embryo (only one, thank God), measuring 7w6d, with a heartrate of 141 bpm. Everything looks normal.

I still feel more than a little anxious. I need to breathe. I need to focus. Maybe I just need chocolate.

We didn't get a picture... their printer was not working. Okay, not so much not working, but it had become disconnected from the computer and they didn't know how to reconnect it. Dr. Eyebrows asked if I'd like to come back next week and see if we could get a picture then. I take it from his astonished laugh that my "yes!" was pretty forceful.

So... good news, but somehow I'm not feeling it, and hey, you'll get a pic next week.

Hormonal much?

My MIL is spending the day with us, playing with Kali.

Her voice is grating on me. Her habit of over-pronouncing words is driving me to distraction. Kali is young, not hard-of-hearing. I'm pretty sure she can hear all the sounds in that word, given the fact that she can SAY it correctly. I'm just sayin', ya know?

And I'd appreciate it if grandparents were just a bit more able to focus on one activity at a time, instead of talking about all the fun things they're gonna do next. 'Cuz Kali was eating her omelette very nicely until a certain someone mentioned reading stories... I'm just sayin'.

And really, Kali is pretty independent for a toddler. Please do not hover while she climbs the junglegym. She's been doing it by herself since August. Also, it's hard to climb when somebody else's body is just an inch away from yours. I'm just sayin'.

It is difficult for me to conclude my business with the window guy the insurance sent me when someone else keeps butting in with questions of vinyl vs. wood. We've already made the decision. This is my house, and I reserve the right to know my own mind. It's rude to start asking pointed questions obviously aimed at trying to get me to reconsider. I'm just sayin'.

I guess what I'm really just sayin' is that I need to get out of this house, or else MIL does. I can nap through pretty much anything, but sadly her strident voice does not fall into that category.

jeans

So, I don't have a problem with maternity clothes. I don't find them super-expensive, many of them are really nice, and they fit me well. But for some reason, this time around, I could not find a single pair of maternity jeans that looked good on me. Instead I headed over to Bl.uenotes and bought a couple pairs of sexxxxy jeans that actually looked good. I've been holding them together with elastic bands ever since.

Today I converted my pair of ultra-low-rise flare jeans into maternity jeans. This is what I can do when left to my own devices for, oh, say 1 hour:

With apologies to Stacy...

Sorry. I didn't mean to leave you all hanging. Believe me, I'm not going to abandon the blog. As this pregnancy progresses you'll all be privileged to hear my snarky rants. I promise.

As I've learned before, the best way to change the situation is to blog about it. Since my last post I've had no ovary pain, and even though I still seem to have a rather large belly, I don't feel bloated anymore. In fact, I don't feel much of anything. I'm pretty symptom-free.

And yes, I just typed that with the goal of not being symptom-free for much longer.

I shouldn't lie or exaggerate. I have been getting odd attacks of "I'm so hungry, if I don't shove some carbs in my mouth NOW then I'm gonna puke". But they haven't been frequent, and I can't deny that I'm remembering how desperately nauseated I was at this point in my pregnancy with Kali. Frankly, I found the daily vomiting a bit reassuring.

This time around, I've managed to find myself a midwife. For those just joining us, when I was pregnant with Kali I called all the midwives in the city the DAY I got my BFP. They were all full, not taking any more clients. I was put on waiting lists and ended up in the care of a (wonderful, very competent) family physician. This time I called the day I saw those two shadowy lines... and today I met my midwife. It was a great meeting, but I'm not in the mood to describe everything right now. Suffice it to say, I'm pleased with my choice.

Okay, I will comment on one thing. She asked for the date of my LMP. Accustomed to doctors and their stupid wheel, I gave her the fabricated date I figured out by counting backwards 14 days from my egg retrieval. And then... my jaw dropped as she asked whether I have a regular 28-day cycle, or whether there's any other reason to believe that the wheel might not be right. I was in shock! I just reassured her that my cycle was tightly controlled throughout the IVF process, and that the clinic has not said anything to contradict the due date that we've figured out. Which is, incidentally, June 30.

And, having (mostly) caught you up, off I go to relieve myself of the restrictions of pants. I need to spend some quality time with my sewing machine, some stretchy material, and my favourite jeans.

Mild OHSS?

So, really, this bloating is not cool. I look pregnant - my belly is round, instead of the lumpiness I'm used to. And I have sharp ovary pains periodically, like ovulation pains, but worse. They especially happen if I twist while turning over in bed.

Is this mild OHSS? Should I be concerned?

In other news, my stomach seems to be unhappy... is it still called morning sickness if it's exiting the other end?

As Mr. December often reminds me, I'm so gross.