We’ve been getting a lot of questions about when we are going back to Texas for an FET—AKA, to try for a sibling for Olivia, or what should really be called Operation Attempt This Shit Again.
You know. Hormone injections. Mostly in my ass. Doctor’s appointments. Vagina cams. Stomach being twisted into knots because something isn’t going right—usually it’s that bitch Estrogen. Travel plans. And you know, there’s that whole uncertainty that the hours spent planning, executing and praying for a sibling may all go down the shitter—along with several thousands of dollars that we won’t ever see again.
I hate being infertile. I hate it. Fuuuuuuck.
Ok, seriously. We’ve been getting questions, and really, we’ve been getting them for awhile. And when I say awhile, I mean while I was still pregnant with Olivia. A legit inquiry, I get it, but it does lend a certain air of freaking out about the whole thing.
I’m going to save all that for another post, but today I wanted to talk about something I’ve talked on here about before.
It’s no secret that infertility messed my body up. When you go through what I’ve gone through to get a baby, you don’t get to come out of it looking like you did when you got married and still thought babies came from sex.
(They don’t, by the way. Write that down.) At least they don’t always and sorry to disappoint, but there will be no surprise pregnancy coming from yours truly. So Texas. So FET. So we attempt this shit again.
Infertility messed my body up, but so did pregnancy. And then by the time I had a newborn I was so focused on the whole keeping her alive aspect of parenthood that I didn’t think about myself. And then when I had a 15 month old, I had discovered Aldi makes really good french onion dip and it’s been downhill like that for awhile now.
I need to lose weight before we do another transfer. I haven’t worked out, save for the walks outside, in about 2.5 years. I had preeclampsia and a C-section. I’m grossly deconditioned. Pathetically deconditioned. And I don’t know how I would handle another pregnancy. I don’t know how I would handle preeclampsia—since there’s a high probability I may get it again. And it actually makes me quite concerned.
This isn’t an intro into bringing you into the painfully boring journey of weight loss for me. I’m just saying I’m needing to make a change sooner rather than later in order to be in the best condition I can to prepare for the possibility of another pregnancy.
I joined the YMCA this weekend. I’m glad I didn’t have a membership since Olivia had been born because there is no way I would have gone. But now I’m drawn in to the free child care. And you guys, Mama needs a freaking break. Join my email list and I’ll delve into a little more about that there. So I justify the $50/month price tag by simply stating it’s $50 a month in child care. Pocket change, right?
I went Sunday and did a core conditioning class and WHILE it was physically awful, it felt good working out again. Sweating from something more tedious than carrying Olivia up three flights of stairs. So I think this will be a good thing. I hope it is.
It will be. I haven’t brought Olivia since she was developing a bit of a cold, but I’m hoping today we can get back there and I can drop her off for a bit.
Here’s a throwback to January 2013: My first IUI. Back when I thought crossing my fingers would be good enough to get pregnant. Ah, Grasshopper. How young you are. How skinny. How adorably naive. Let’s get back to that, shall we? Well perhaps that, but a bit older. And a bit less naive.
You can find more of this week’s #MicroblogMondays posts by clicking here.