Be careful what you wish for...

Is anybody still out there reading?

I really should start this entry apologizing for my absence and telling you all how much I've missed you. And as much as both statements really are ENTIRELY appropriate, well, I have bigger fish to fry. Ugh. Fish. Frying.

You see...just the mere THOUGHT of a fish fry is going to send me running for the bathroom, for oh, about the fifty gazillionth time.

I'm pregnant.

As my step-dad likes to say...AGAIN.

Yup, preggo number five. (Wasn't that a song?) But let me start from the beginning, shall I? Hold on a sec though. I need a sip of ginger ale.

Nope, not helping.

It all started after miscarriage number four. Mr. Blogger and I decided the hell with this "just keep trying" bullshit and after meeting with fertility specialists and undergoing even MORE tests, we finally came to the decision to go through IVF.

We were supposed to do it in May, but our financing fell through. Then we were shooting for July. I began some meds, we started using condoms (VERY odd for people trying to get pregnant, but we did as we were told) and all was full speed ahead.

Until May 21, 2006. Yes, my little beanie, I know EXACTLY when you were conceived.

SOMEBODY forgot to use one that night. And SOMEBODY else had absolutely no idea where she was on her cycle, given that she was for once relieved of the obsessive record keeping. But well, what can you do. Oops. I mean really, what are the chances, right?

Actually, I KNOW the chances. I was watching a program on couples trying to conceive through IVF and one of the women was my age. She went through SIX rounds of IVF with no luck and then ended up using donor eggs. To quote the announcer, "The chances of Mrs. Infertile conceiving on her own at her age is FIVE PERCENT".

FIVE.

I'm sorry, did you say FIVE?

I immediately began to cry.

So when, a couple weeks later, we were heading off to a weekend trip to L.A., I started noticing I sure was having to use the bathroom an awful lot. (Ahhh the days when using the bathroom a lot only implied frequent urination...such times of innocence.) Hmmmm. And I was getting a bit of heartburn. Double hmmm.

Now, as I stated before, I've been through this part before. A second trimester? Nope, never. But I've at least had a few weeks of joy in my time.

I know the signs. And I had a funny feeling. So we picked up a First Response on the way up to my aunt and uncle's where we were staying for the weekend.

Saturday morning I bounded out of bed after the fourth time of getting up to go to the bathroom that night and decided to try. The line was really really faint. But it was there. Sunday morning, same thing. But a little darker.

I have now decided to trademark the name Most Fertile Infertile Woman on the Planet®.

The following week I had jury duty, and of course I was chosen. I even told them I was pregnant, hoping that would help me in some way, but nope. They apparently wanted someone who pushed past the elderly and infirm to get to the restroom when they finally called a break.

And in that time, I still had to make it to two blood tests to see if my beta levels were rising. They did. And that made me very happy.

But I know a thing or two about being happy at this point. It never lasts. Ok Mom and M-I-L, SORRY. It never lasted BEFORE.

But here's where the interesting turn of events takes place.

I have always enjoyed being pregnant. I've never been sick. EVER. At the most, I get heartburn and that's nothing a couple Tums won't fix. I'm usually just hungry and tired.

Well the pregnancy goddesses have decided to laugh in the face of the one who once wrote THIS. Just skip down to the last line if you like. Now you may laugh as well.

OH MY GOD have I been sick. All the pregnancy books list a litany of digestive issues you MAY experience while pregnant, and may I say, overachiever that I am, I've had 'em all!

I can't decide if the puking or the mind-numbingly painful constipation is more fun. Either way, it is AWFULLY hard to concentrate at work. (Oh my compadre in puke...I feel for you...I really do.)

And frankly, after the Weekend of Puking A Go-Go, that's why I'm home today.

My doctor ordered an early ultrasound for last Thursday so we could see what was happening at this particularly worrisome point in my pregnancies, and I was pretty excited about it until we got there. The screen was away from me, the tech didn't say a word and I was told to call my doctor for the results. What the hell?

Only today (yes, I had to wait FOUR FREAKIN' DAYS for the results) did they tell me the following, and I quote...

"Confirmed intrauterine pregnancy of 6 to 7 weeks."

No. Really. I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THAT YOU BIG DORKS!

The nurse said at a scan that early, that's all they're trying to establish. It's not ectopic and it's the correct size. I thought we'd see a heartbeat, which I know other women have at this point, so I'm now of course worried and PISSED. The nurse on the other hand, thinks everything is just hunky dory, given my beta numbers and now the scan.

EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, LADY.

The big day of the Big Ultrasound is July 6. I am so nervous, my knees are knocking already.

So today I am 7 weeks and 1 day, which is longer than it lasted last time, but not as long as others. That Big Ultrasound has been an arbiter of doom on many an occasion, so if I can just get through that with good news, well, that will be a first.

In the meantime, I tell myself that it's GOOD to be sick. And worry will get you nowhere.

One of these days, I may just believe it.