What no pregnant woman wants to see.

Written June 16, 2013.

Thursday night, Jeff and I were enjoying a lovely and unexpected evening together at home (as his show had been canceled). We'd just finished up the grilled fish tacos (shark for Jeff--but, since that's too high in mercury for me, I'd stuck to shrimp) and were getting into the first half hour of a new BBC America miniseries when the pregnant lady needed to go to the bathroom. And that's when I saw it for the first time: pale pink on the toilet paper.

I've never seen spotting in either of my pregnancies, aside from one brief round for which we had an explanation. This time, the spotting was completely unexpected, a potentially terrifying color, and preceded by mild cramps throughout the day. I surprised myself with my calm as I told Jeff what was going on and then called my nurse to leave a message for the morning. Like me, Jeff remained even keeled, logically walking through possible explanations--but his sense of peace came from a lack of worry whereas mine came from a resolve to bolster myself and prepare to endure the same heartbreak for a third time. After discussing possible effects on our weekend plans and checking in with M to let her know what was going on, we curled up on the sofa to pray. We boldly asked for the miracle we desire with all our hearts but also honestly submitted to God's will; we prayed for minute details (like my ability to get a good night's rest) and big-picture ideas (like our road to growing our family). We reminded each other that we are tasked, in 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, to "be joyful always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances for this is God's will." (Oh--and we let our God know that we were more than a little frustrated with Him and His will at this point, because we figured he knows our hearts anyway, so we might as well put it out there.)

By Friday morning, small prayers were answered: the pink spotting had changed to light brown (which is a good sign) and I'd slept through the night. Our wonderful nurse called at 7:15AM just to calm my mind, then immediately called back once she'd spoken with our doctor. We determined that there would be little to see on an ultrasound that morning (and any attempts to do so would just irritate my cervix further), so--knowing that there's a 24-hour nurse on call Saturday and Sunday--we agreed to wait the weekend out and go in Monday morning.

It's now Sunday night. In the last 72 hours, not much has changed--Jeff remains even-keeled, I continue to try to take deep breaths, mild cramping and pulling sensations continue around my abdomen, and there's still brown (and occasionally pink) spotting. But we have made it through this weekend. Together. I am not too anxious about tomorrow morning's ultrasound (which should help determine, even at this early stage, if this pregnancy is headed down a path towards viability), a fact which surprises me. Rather, this is just another stage in our journey and, like so many of the previous ones, looking too far into alternate futures only sends me down a rabbit hole from which I can't easily return.

So, instead, it's just more waiting.

Another Two Week Wait

Written June 13, 2013.

Those familiar with the world of trying to conceive--and particularly those familiar with trials that infertility brings--are all too familiar with the 2WW (the acronym we use in online communities). The brief biology lesson (because I needed one when we first started trying in July 2011!) is this: the "typical" woman has a 28 day cycle where she ovulates on or around day 14 and will know by day 28 (or sometimes even earlier) if she's pregnant. For the first 14 days of a cycle, she tracks her temperature and calculates her fertile window--or, in my case, she goes to monitoring appointments and gets nightly injections. Once ovulation has been confirmed--or, in the case of a medicated cycle, the Ovidrel trigger shot has been given and the IUI has been completed--she enters the dreaded Two Week Wait: a period of quiet anxiety and endless questioning. Every twinge, every temperature dip, every food craving is analyzed to see if it might indicate pregnancy. In the case of my doctor's office, in the 2WW, I was also required to "act pregnant," meaning no alcohol, no sushi, no hot tubs, no caffeine, and the list goes on. But, if those two little lines show up two weeks later, it's all been worth it.

Yesterday, we completed our third and final beta blood draw. Our numbers were good--they doubled once again within the 48 hour window that they're supposed to, and my doctor declared that I no longer needed to have my arm poked at 6:45AM. Instead, I was allowed to schedule our first ultrasound for sometime in our sixth week of pregnancy; given Jeff and my schedules, it will be on Tuesday, June 25, when I'm 6 weeks, 5 days pregnant. But that's nearly two weeks away, so here I am again, exactly where I was in November/December 2012.

This early in pregnancy, there's not much to tell me that things are going well--or, really, that anything is going on at all. I'm exhausted--but Jeff would tell you that I'm always prone to a 9:30PM bedtime. I'm ravenously hungry--but I would tell you that I'll never turn down food. So this turns into another two week wait, a time of quiet and reflection as we anxiously await our first chance to see our little one.

Waiting is hard.

Resentment and Relief.

Written June 10, 2013.

This is hard to admit, but I'm promising myself I'll be honest in these posts that share our emotional journey as we start this third pregnancy. So here's today's dose of honesty: I resent being pregnant again.

Let me be clear: I don't resent the baby growing in my belly. I don't resent the expenses and pain it took to get us here. I don't resent my amazing husband or the handful of friends we've asked to support us in these early days. But I resent actually being pregnant again and not knowing what will happen tomorrow or next week or next month, yet assuming the outcome will be the same as it's been before. I resent the loss of innocent joy and naive hope. I resent the fact that Jeff and I seem unable to attach to this pregnancy at all, in spite of our solid first beta and "beautiful doubling" number today (my nurse's words, not mine).

I want so badly to fall in love with the little life inside of me, to give it a cute nickname, to plan the adorable way we'll tell our families in August. I wish I could blithely peruse baby websites and daydream about nursery themes. Instead, though, I find myself googling statistics on successful pregnancies after multiple unexplained losses and nervously asking my doctor if I can start taking baby aspirin, just so I can feel like I'm doing something different this time around. I can't get past wondering if I'll have to endure another D&C before we go to London in July or simply waiting for the other shoe to drop--and the potential shoes are infinite, with all the knowledge I've gained in this journey.

Someone told me the other day that they simply couldn't fathom what Jeff and I have been through, enduring the "double hells" of infertility and repeat pregnancy loss. We try not to think of it that way, and Jeff is always good at revising my vision so the glass appears half full. This is simply the road we have to walk today, and there's no point in dwelling on why it's the one we were put on.

There is a tiny glimmer of... something, though. The relief today of knowing that my betas are doubling as they should be, the kindness of my nurse who patiently listened to my terror and readily agreed that starting a baby aspirin regimen would be good for my mind (even if it's not necessary for my body), the loyalty of M, who came over for several hours this evening just to distract me by watching The Carrie Diaries.

I wish I knew what the next post title will be, but I have no magic ball. Instead, I'll have to be content with finding the glass a little more full tonight than it was this morning.

A Little Lovebug?

Written June 6, 2013.

Two lines.

Two.

Twice--once yesterday afternoon, once this morning.

Two.

Jeff saw them, too.

Two lines, saying a little lovebug just might be growing in my belly.

The first time we did an IUI cycle, I took a home pregnancy test two days before I was scheduled for bloodwork. It was stark white, and it put me into a frenzy for the next two days. I wavered between thinking I'd just tested too early to knowing the truth--that the cycle wasn't successful. When the call came after bloodwork, with it came the waterworks.

The second time, I didn't test at home--because I had every pregnancy symptom in the book already. I was trying desperately to convince myself it wasn't true (so I wouldn't be disappointed), but the reality was that I knew the IUI had worked. When the call came in, Jeff and I were so exhilarated that he screamed and I dropped the phone--we just "knew" this had to be the one. As you know, though, that ended in waterworks, too.

This time, I don't have a single symptom--other than exhaustion (which I can also chalk up to the hectic pace of the end of the year as a teacher). This time, I broke the rules a bit in the two weeks after the IUI--I kept running (though I slowed my pace a bit), went on a crazy camping trip (with an infection, nonetheless!), and even took sips of Jeff's beer or wine here and there. As a result, with M. coming over for dinner last night, I decided to just take a test at home so I could "rule out" pregnancy and enjoy a glass of wine. But those two little lines had something different in mind for me.

Jeff and I aren't excited--yet. We still believe it might just be a trick, a blip in hormones caused by something other than pregnancy that turned that second line pink. Jeff says he's holding out for the bloodwork Friday--but I'm holding out for August, when I'd be out of the first trimester. Last night, my brain started running wild, thinking about what time I'd take off at school and when I'd be able to tell colleagues, friends, and family, but I quickly reigned it back in. I've gone down that rabbit hole twice and had to crawl back out when it all fell apart. I'm not ready to do that again.

So, for now, the little lovebug is our little secret. Or at least we hope there's a little lovebug to have as our secret.

A Small Moment

I've written about my beautiful "work backyard" here before--it's remarkable what a stunning campus I have the pleasure of working on. Since yesterday was my first full day back teaching summer school, I decided to take a stroll on the paths after my day was over--just enough space to breathe and clear my mind before Jeff arrived to bring my home. What I found was nothing short of amazing.

This was not the result of my attempt to get close to them, but merely the result of their trusting that I'd stay on the path while they stayed in the woods. What a sweet, special moment for me!

Oh, Canada!

I should preface this by saying that Jeff and I have had the incredible opportunity to take two amazing trips this summer. The first was to England to visit our dear friends, T & J, to see the Globe Theatre, and to take a "jolly" to Cambridge. (I know, I know--that blog post will be forthcoming!) The second was a road trip from New Jersey to New York to Connecticut and then all the way up to Canada. Along the way, we stayed with friends and family--and with friends who might as well be family. But Canada was something all on its own.

Me and Jenn, wearing the matching hat and cowl (beautifully knitted by her!)
 that were awaiting my arrival as a "Welcome to the Frosty North" present!

In this blog post from last November, I wrote about some of the incredible women who I've met through an online support group I'm part of. The women there are brave and strong, having faced incredible grief and pain in the face of struggles with infertility and miscarriages, and they've collectively taught me so much--not just the technical details of how to deal with a first round of injections and an IUI, but also the amount that there is to be gained from the losses of the babies who we all love so much. Each time I receive a card, an email, a text, or a package from one of them, I'm reminded of Blueberry and Beanster, of the overwhelming gifts they left me in these women I've grown to love so much.

The closest friend I have from that community is Jenn. She's from Canada, and she's grieved the losses of three sweet angels while also navigating life as a young wife who is constantly striving to be the most incredible, creative, supportive homemaker imaginable. From the moment Jenn and I started responding to each other's posts, I knew there was something special about her--and special about the bond between us. Despite the decade that separates our ages, she is one of the most mature, thoughtful, encouraging, supportive women that I've ever encountered. She was a rock for me through the dark days following the loss of our Beanster, and she never fails to know exactly when I need a text message to make me smile in the midst of a tough day. Starting late last fall, we joked about a potential visit to Canada, even planning out the routing on Google maps. And then came the Christmas card that invited Jeff and I to visit anytime. And then came the plans of a summer road trip. And then out went the email: "Could Jeff and I really come for a few nights in August?"

But I'd never met Jenn--heck, I'd never even talked to her on the phone! Was I crazy? Was there any chance that such a supportive, inspiring, giggly, joyful friendship would be the same in person as it was in the electronic universe?

When we arrived in Jenn and Dan's driveway last Monday afternoon, my nerves were at an all-time high--my tummy was sending out audible SOS signals, my palms were sweating, and Jeff was doing all he could to keep me from bouncing out of my seat. And then I heard Jenn's voice, and all the anxiety melted away--this was my friend--one of my best friends--and it felt like coming to a place we'd known our whole lives to spend time with the friends we'd known for years. We could rest in their presence, for they are that unique brand of friends who one simply calls "family."

To describe our trip in detail would take far more time than I have before dinner (and far more concentration than you likely have to read it), so I've decided to distill it down to three of my favorite "categories," presented as photo stories below. (And don't miss out on the Canadian version of the events from Jenn's blog here!)

Hatching a Plan

When Jeff saw the hen house on Monday afternoon, he immediately began to dream of fresh eggs the following morning, and Jenn and Dan's brood of 12 hens was only too happy to oblige!

First, an egg basket...

Then, a walk to the hen house.

A quick peek into the "egg doors" reveals...

Productive hens!

Jeff got a turn one morning...

While I patiently waited for the next.

And that, folks, is how you crack yourself the freshest egg sandwich we've ever tasted!

Canadian Must-Haves

We were prepared for several of the must-haves in the land where Dunkin' Donuts hardly exists at all, but others took us by surprise!

Ask Jenn, and you can only have poutine in Quebec.
But she planned a stop at the Hippy Chippy chip truck--which is the best Ontario has to offer.

Thank goodness pronouncing it isn't a pre-requisite--
but enjoying its grav-y, curd-y deliciousness is a must!

Canadians think Smarties are M&Ms. They're not.
They're small versions of out-of-season Cadbury mini eggs.

Smarties may not have it over M&Ms,
but Tim Horton's has got Dunkin' Donuts beat, hands down.

Milk in a bag. A BAG.
Jeff literally stared into the fridge for a full minute, befuddled.

Locking to the Lake

When Jenn and Dan suggested a day on the boat, we were thrilled--no one loves being out on the water like Jeff! But the huge surprise was the historic Peterborough lift lock. Think of it like being suspended in a giant bathtub, built over a hundred years ago, 65 feet up in the air. Reassured? It's okay--Dan helped restore it for the 100-year anniversary, so it's perfectly safe.

To get our sea legs, Jenn and Dan trained us on the smaller locks
leading up to the lift lock.

See Tory, all calm and adorable? No idea what lies ahead...

See Jeff, all brave and manly? No idea he'll need that bravado in a few minutes...

High atop the lift lock, Dan bravely peers over the edge.

High atop the lift lock, my laughter gives me an excuse to look away from the height!

In all seriousness, though, we adored our experience in the lift lock and our day on the boat altogether, complete with Jenn's delicious homemade picnic and Dan's excellent knowledge of the locks themselves. Can we do that trip again next time, eh?

And there you have it: our Canadian journey, in miniature highlights. Leaving our incredible new old friends was difficult, but our final "family photo" remains saved on our phones, ready for a viewing whenever they seem too far away. 

And next summer will be here before we know it!

Our family of five--including the beloved Mia (who stole Jeff's heart!)

Baked Baby Eggplant Parmesan

Last night, it was time to tackle "Dinner B: Eggplant Parmesan." Though I've halfheartedly made chicken parm before, I've never tackled the eggplant version. Add to that the challenge of a husband who doesn't love eggplant, and I was a bit nervous. However, the adorable baby eggplants gave me the courage to experiment!

Before I start, a disclaimer: this recipe turned out okay, but not great. The textures were too mushy, in my opinion; the breadcrumbs lost their crunch in the baking with the sauce. Since I'm not an expert at this sort of recipe, I'm not sure how I'd modify--except that maybe I'd keep the sauce on the side for dipping and just serve the eggplants topped with breadcrumbs and mozzarella. I did use two main recipes for inspiration: this one about baby eggplants and this one for baked eggplant parmesan.

Ingredients (for 4 servings):

20 baby eggplants, fresh (I had 17 from the Farmers' Market)

1 package fresh buffalo mozzarella (round)

1 jar good marinara sauce

1 cup dry Italian breadcrumbs

2 cloves fresh garlic, minced

1/2 tbsp parsley, dried or fresh (chopped)

1/2 tbsp basil, dried or fresh (chopped)

1/2 tbsp oregano, dried or fresh (chopped)

1-2 tbsp fresh grated parmesan cheese

2 tbsp olive oil

Salt and pepper, to taste

 

Step 1: Preheat oven to 375 degrees. 

Step 2: Rinse baby eggplants, slice off green stems, and slice in halves lengthwise.

Step 3: Rub a bit of kosher salt onto the flesh side of the baby eggplant halves (to draw out some fluid that can be bitter). Let sit 15 minutes. (Don't skip this step--it really helps with flavor!)

Step 4: While the eggplant is "sweating," toast the breadcrumbs in a pan on the stove under medium-low heat for approximately 8 minutes, stirring throughout. (I thought this step was silly--but it really made the topping tastier!)

Step 5: Dab off drawn fluid from surface of halves and score flesh, without piercing the skin at bottom, into a criss-cross pattern (this will make grooves to press bread crumbs into).

Step 6: In a mixing bowl, combine toasted breadcrumbs, herbs, garlic, grated parmesan, and salt and pepper. Add the olive oil, enough to make the dry mix combine but not saturate. Mix well.

Step 7: Press a small amount of dry mix onto the surface of the eggplant halves, working it down into the grooves. Coat the surface well with more of the breadcrumb mixture.

Step 8: Coat a large baking pan with non-stick cooking spray (or olive oil). Spread eggplant halves (topped with breadcrumbs) in the pan. Bake in preheated oven for about 10 minutes, checking for tenderness by piercing eggplants with a fork.

Step 9: In another large baking dish (or four smaller dishes, as I did), spread marinara sauce. Place cooked eggplants on top of marinara, then top with mozzarella cheese. 

Step 10: Place in the oven for approximately 10 minutes (until cheese is melted).

ENJOY!