Every couple hours, another moment of truth.

This was the joke in mid-June when I was visiting friends in London. I was with them from CD30-CD33, and when we went to the movies one afternoon, on CD31 or so, I commented that every trip to the bathroom, every wipe, was another moment of truth. What would I see this time? I had promised N not to test until we were back in Paris together, and so while Londonfriends tried to cajole me into buying a test, I held out. And I was glad I did, because N and I got to share our own BFP (big fat positive) moment that belonged only to us.

So here I am again, CD31, wiping and wondering, wishing and wanting, visiting the ladies' room regularly, both out of curiosity and because I genuinely have to pee. Nothing yet...

Forty-Eight Hours

So, first thing's first: the Fickle Fertilibitch moved my O-day back to CD19, which means I was 9dpo both Friday and Saturday, and re-dotted my coverline, for whatever reason. This means a few things: that my recommended test date isn't until Wednesday, rather than tomorrow, and, most importantly, that my estimated due date, if I were, magically, to be pregnant right now, is no longer 20 year to the day after my bat mitzvah. And that, my friends, is a travesty.

I also peed on a stick last night. At 10dpo, it was probably too early, but only one line appeared. I shouldn't have done it so soon, but curiosity got the best of me. I need to not do that if I can help myself.

But I guess the good news is that I have not yet begun to bleed. And so, this being CD30, I know that this is not a 29-day cycle. But the Prometrium keeps me from having much of an idea as to when I might have a period if I'm going to, and so the wait continues.

We went to the theatre on Friday night, and saw a show in which there was an unplanned young-people's pregnancy early on. As the couple snuggled on the couch, having decided to be excited about the adventure headed their way, tears began to fall down my cheeks. This was not intended to be a sad moment. And yet, I was so damn envious of them, of that dreamy, cuddled-up time together, that I couldn't hold it in. N and I had just under 48 hours of this bliss, from the Monday night, June 21, after I came back from choir rehearsal, when we got our BFP, until late Wednesday afternoon, June 23, when I started spotting in the port-a-potty at the FIFA Fanfest, where we were watching the World Cup. The spotting wasn't itself a death sentence for the pregnancy, or at least we didn't know that it was when it started, and my betas doubled a couple times the following week, but that Wednesday was when the worry began. I'm so sad for the brevity of our unadulterated delight--my eyes brim with tears to think about it now.

I'm reminded of the spring of 2007, when Paddington, our first dog, age two-and-a-half, devoured a bag of chocolate chips without our knowledge. He was a little guy--only about 15 lbs--and this was 12 oz of semisweet chocolate. As soon as we realized what had happened, we rushed him to the emergency vet. We went to sleep that night having been told that he was on the upswing, that it seemed everything was going to be all right. And then my cellphone rang in the middle of the night, and the vet techs told us that Paddington had taken a turn for the worse. For those few hours, we had been able to sleep, secure in his improvement, and then it all came crashing down. The next day, his organs successively stopped functioning, and we had to put our little boy to sleep. Loss is tragic in any form, but thinking you're out of the woods, whether due to rising betas or a vet's reassurance, and then discovering that your optimism was misguided...that's really rough.

Tea Zone

Here are some things that are true/I know today that weren't/I didn't yesterday:

1. Unless something changes in the next 12 hours, I am not in the midst of a 26-day cycle. Not particularly conclusive as far as what I *am* in the midst of, but it's a start. Non-pregnant cycles since I stopped bcp last October have been 25-31 days.

2. What once was broken is now whole. Yeah, I'm just talking about my coverline. But it does make things feel a little more definite. 9dpo--are we there yet?

And now, about the tea. If you/I thought I was going overboard with the coupla cupsa double-bag raspberry leaf per day, we simply lacked perspective. As I mentioned yesterday, I went to an acupuncturist last afternoon. This guy, whom we'll call Dr. Chinatown, as he is, in fact, an M.D., has been written up as a pretty significant baby-conjurer. N saw him several years back for a sports injury, and so called to get me an appointment. Dr. C was super cute and very nice, and prescribed some pills, tea, and twice- to thrice-weekly needlings through week 16 of an eventual pregnancy. He's open until 7 during the week and during the day on the weekends, and so this ought to be doable. That tea, on the other hand. Yowsa. It looks fairly innocuous, right? Twice a day, one packet of herbs with 3-4 oz hot water. Add honey if desired. Stir, wait for it to cool enough, and drink everything. Sounds reasonable, but that stuff tastes like ARSE! Soooo bitter. Especially the tar at the bottom. I'm going back for more poking tomorrow and am going to see whether I'm allowed to add more water so it's a little less powerful. Dr. C also said I should drink one glass of whole milk a day until I get pregnant. That's pretty antithetical too all my usual liquid dairy choices, but I'm going to seek out a Lactaid version and get to it. And also ask whether it's okay to add the milk to my coffee and put it on my cereal, rather than just downing it straight. I hadn't initially thought that we would pursue acupuncture and Traditional Chinese Medicine as our next step, rather than IUI or injectables, but I'm very comfortable with the idea. I like that we're taking action, without its falling under the heading of Things for Which We Are Not Yet Ready.

And now, to send you off into the weekend, two more reconstructed post-Yogi teabag tab-isms:

• You never have to prove your strength. Saweet!
• Speak if you want your wish fulfilled. Oh yeah? Will do.

Twofer

Well, fancy that. All I have to do is keep waking up at 8ish a.m. to take my temp and recording the results, and the Frenemy does all the dirty work on the space-time continuum. I dutifully entered this morning's data a few minutes ago, and just like that (snap), my ovulation day moved one earlier and I was *two* more dpo than I foolishly thought I was yesterday, before

FF set me straight. It's giving me a test date of the 31st, which is to say next Tuesday, my second day at my new job. Unlike many ladies-in-waiting, I do not automatically test every month, but I guess that if it becomes CD31 and I have not begun to bleed, I will find me a stick to pee on. I waited until CD34 last time, knowing that the progesterone suppositories could have lengthened my cycle, as my doc had told me, 0-3 days, and also because N and I were traveling separately from CD30-34 or so. Anyway...it's only CD26 today, and so this is all premature. Trying to be hopeful and protect my heart all at once; it's a tricky tightrope to walk.

Yesterday's visit with Dr. L. I am pleased to report that he is infinitely chattier in person than he is over e-mail (as any speaking human would really have to be). As we suspected, 6dpo is way too early to test for pregnancy...but what if he had known that it was truly *7*dpo?...He offered us several options of how to proceed, as well as his estimate of our chances of success with each. They look something like this:

1. Continue doing what we're doing (screwing + Prometrium): 3%

2. Clomid + screwing + Prometrium: 5%

3. Clomid + IUI: 13%

4. Injectables + screwing: 18%

5. Injectables + IUI: 20%

N was trying to get a handle on the basis for these numbers: do they apply to couples who have been trying the amount of time that we have? Women who, like me, have a short luteal phase without outside intervention, but a normally shaped uterus and plenty of eggs? Women who got pregnant once already? Who scour the internet for cute/funny t-shirts, but don't shave their legs as often as they might? It just seems as though there are so many variables; how could everything be so cut-and-dried?

I don't know what we were expecting--that Dr. L would take out his pompoms and cheer us on, tell us we're doing great and not to change a thing? I know intellectually the things that we struggling conceivers might potentially need to do if we want to be parents. And yet...N and I have not really opened ourselves to the possibility that that may be us (I know, grammarkids, that it's technically "that may be we," but I don't know if there's a parking spot available outside this nail salon for the Dorkmobile to come and pick me up). Maybe this shouldn't be surprising. I did believe, after all, when I was very young, that my family was too good for chicken pox. The day the Lower School principal came into my art class to tell me my older brother had gone home with it was a big-time disillusioning wakeup call. I was six. So medical denial and I are acquainted. N and I both aren't quite ready for IUI or injectables yet, but on the other hand, what are we waiting for? I felt like maybe Dr. L thought we weren't serious about wanting a baby when we balked at immediately pressing forward with more invasive treatment options, but N didn't see it that way at all. Guess I'm a little sensitive. Along those same lines, I left with the sense that the likelihood of there currently being a pre-baby inside me had decreased as a direct result of this consult, and I'm not sure that's scientifically possible.

So...yeah. Turns out that Dr. L's office can do genetic testing in-house, and we were about to get that party started yesterday, until we found out that, without insurance, the "Ashkenazi panel" (go, Jews!) would cost $1000-2000. So it may not come as a surprise that we're going to wait on all that until after our insurance kicks in. N is also going to go in for a(n) SA in the near future.

And now, for a change...we wait.

Oh, and now that I'm out of the aforementioned nail salon (and also just went and got acupuncture and scads of pills and herbs to brew), I give you...my toes!

I was excited at finally being able to get a light, froufrou color, which I haven't in over a year, because I dropped half a pingpong table on my left foot in May of 2009 (about two weeks

before competing in a triathlon) and had ugly toenail bruises to cover up. There was actually a color on offer called "It's a Girl!" and I was tempted, but figured I'll go for that one after I'm actually confirmably pregso. Which will be...

...when, exactly?

D(octor)-Day: complete with baffling changes in font size!

La la la, still waiting. My temp wasn’t as high this morning as it has been the last couple days, but it was still high enough for Fertility Frenemy to draw a dotted coverline (dotted lest the rise in temperature turn out to be due only to the Prometrium, as studies have shown that fewer lawsuits result from broken than from solid lines) and declare me 6dpo today. I found last night that I was catching whiffs of things that N wasn’t, and entertained myself with a reminder that pregnant ladies have more sensitive noses.

This afternoon is our appointment with Dr. L, the fancypants RE whom we last saw in March, when we were visiting from Paree, and with whom I have been exchanging generally helpful, but dry-as-dust (on his part) e-mails since then. I have no idea what today will hold, nor even what to want from the meeting. I guess a SA would be nice, as our home test measured only motility, I think, and not numbers or morphology. As I’ve mentioned before, the timing is a little odd, it being CD25 and all, but I figured that if there were an opportunity to see him before I start work on Monday, all the better. Is it possible he would do a beta test? Is there any chance of a positive at 6dpo? Seems pretty early to me, but I’m not the one with the M.D.

So now that I’m quite sure I’ve exhausted the entire repertoire of Yogi tea words-to-live-by, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. And so I took all the Yogigems I have read thus far, and from those words, am creating my own: the affirmations I wish were on the tabs of my teabags. A couple to send you forth into your day:

• Your intuition is simply never wrong. Why thank you.
• Swim unconsciously through the impossible. Don’t mind if I do.

And, to balance out that light, airy feeling, a ridiculous sandwich that N ordered the other night (the photo of which came out a little yellower than I’d like):

What we were assuming was a (fried mozzarella) sandwich was, in fact, a fried (mozzarella sandwich)--using the distributive property. Regardless, damn tasty--I had a bite.

And, from the annals of my own consumption, a drink I had last night, called the Sloe & Low. Yum, and oh, so purdy (sorry the pic is a little blurry):

Gin, Maraschino, sloe gin, lemon juice, fresh raspberries and blackberries

Paging Dr. Freud...

I've noticed in the last year or so--although I suppose it's always been true--that my verbal autopilot is crap. If I begin a sentence and my mind wanders partway through, it may not end the way I intended. And so it happened, when I started out attempting to let Nick know that our littler pup wasn't interested in the Flagyl we were giving her to clear up some diarrhea, I heard myself saying: "Winnie really was not up for taking her Clomid." After the last word left my mouth, I just laughed and laughed. I am, as it happens, the most fertile female in my household, as both Winnie and Kitten have been fixed, and so Clomid wouldn't do Queen Floppyears much good. But oy, where my mind goes! Got a kick out of that.

This weekend was fabulous. We spent it with three of my cousins, their two husbands and one boyfriend (one of the above per cousin), their two sons and one daughter, plus their one dog and our two. Plus an aunt and two uncles who arrived in town on Sunday. Cute kids, great conversations with people I adore whom I hadn't seen in over a year, and just plain old ease, love, and support. Sigh. I'm a lucky girl.

A photo to share:

No joke, one of the listed possible side effects for Prometrium is "worry." Not anxiety, not mood swings, just *worry*. Seems almost quaint, doesn't it?

Oh, and my temp this morning was up 0.59° from yesterday's. Guess I'll have to find something else to *worry* about (dammit, Prometrium liner-notes-writer, you caught me!).

Let the Wait Begin

For your viewing pleasure, yesterday morning's opk. I think I more or less caught the surge. Hooray! I took a second test in the afternoon, and the second line (on the left) wasn’t as dark. So…there we have it. Yesterday was CD18 already, and my cycles aren’t generally all that long–between 25 and 31 days since we started ttc–so hopefully the Prometrium Dr. L’s office prescribed will add a couple more days on the end of my luteal phase and give this a chance. We shall see...

CD15

Today's opk: not too impressive. Maybe a little trace of a second line?

Last night and this afternoon's pearls of wisdom from the tabs of my Yogi raspberry leaf teabags:

- If you unconsciously live a conscious life, you can never be poor. What?

- If your word does not reflect your spirit and honor, do not speak. I'm down with that.

- Let your manners speak, your deeds prove and your delivery impress. [shrug]

- You must know that you can swim through every change of tide. Word.

Really, though, who needs a baby when you have this?

And, in closing, my mom's best friend's daughter is pregnant. Due nine days before I would have been. But, you know, who's counting? Sigh.

Still hungry?

Okay, here's one more, a chocolate raspberry clafoutis I made Tuesday night to bring in to my French Gastronomy and Table Customs class yesterday. Because I needed something to do instead of preparing the presentation I was supposed to give yesterday afternoon for 30% of my grade:

The classic dessert is really no place for chocolate, but this recipe combined a lot of ingredients we had at home and an encouraging rating on Epicurious.

Oh, so I dropped my progesterone suppository script off at the pharmacy last night, and they called a little while ago to let me know it was going to cost $200 without insurance, and did I still want it? Seriously, I think it may have cost 20€ in Paris for a month's worth; if I could work it out, it would probably still be cheaper to have someone fill it for me there and mail it. Also wildly illegal, and who knows when it would arrive. The pharmacist said Prometrium would only cost around $120 ("only"), and so I sent Dr. L an e-mail to see whether there's any difference between that and the stuff he prescribed. What a sweet bargain that would be! Ugh. The insurance situation in this country makes me crazy.

In other news, our pups had their teeth cleaned yesterday, and the little one had to have something like 11 teeth pulled. 11! The poor little pumpkin. Apparently problem teeth are just in her genes, but I was so sad to hear she'd had to go through that. And also that she's going to be a Jack-o-lantern from now on. She was adorably groggy last night, which they said she would be for a couple days, but she still hasn't wanted to eat yet [soft food!], which means she hasn't taken any of the pain meds that accompanied her home. I just hope she's not suffering. Sweet little love.

And while we're waiting...

Not much to report today on the ttc front, and so I thought I'd share some photosof my culinary undertakings this weekend on the occasion of our welcome-home party. Which we hosted ourselves, because, hey, we're back! And we throw a good party.

First we have my favorite summer salad, watermelon with feta, mint, and red pepper flakes:

Looove those colors. Next up, fresh figs with rosemary goat cheese. I got me a piping bag to be all fancy-like, and because the last time I made these, they were tasty, but all kindsa ugly.

And, finally, one of two blueberry-rhubarb crisps with pistachio topping. This was my first time cooking with rhubarb, and likely not the last. Also gorgeous colors once we busted it open.

N was in charge of the protein, as he generally is. He made pulled pork (plus cole slaw) and ribs, which combined for tremendous porky deliciousness. We make a pretty good pair, he and I.

Actually, I do have something to report. We got an appointment with Dr. L, our RE, for the 25th. It's a little bit odd, timing-wise, because we won't know at that point (unless my cycle cruelly shortens itself to 24 days) whether or not we've conceived this month. Also, my insurance for my new job doesn't kick in until September 1. So why on earth, you ask, are we going to see him, uninsured, before we know where the "here" is from which we're trying to figure out where to go? Followed by the obvious corollary: what kind of extraterrestrial non-English-speaker constructed the end of that last sentence? The problem is that, once I start my new job (and am therefore insured), it's going to be tricky to find time to see him. He works when I work, except I work an hourish away. Oy. Bridge crossed when we come to it, but the point is, yes, something to report after all. Or a pre-something.

Wild Saturday Night

Not much to report on CD7; no pills to take this cycle, nothing to pee on yet. It's been over 15 hours since I last took my temp and it'll be more than 8 before I take it again...but I did find one type-A attempt-to-control behavior I can engage in. Look what I got from Amazon yesterday:

Wahoo! Build, lining, build!

That's the thing about Amazon Prime; you often have to get a whole buncha something in order to get the free shipping. So, as I type this, I'm having a cuppa, made with not one, but two tea bags (shown here mid-brew).

Man, that stuff is strong. But the box says: "for a stronger effect, use 2 tea bags." And so I shall. Yes, our welcome-home party is still going on downstairs; I'm heading back down there now. Just wanted to wish you all a delightful evening, wherever it may find you.

If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

Thank you, Rush, for the lyrics that may well represent the only time I will quote you, ever.

Today is CD6, which means that it is officially too late for Clomid this cycle. My eggs are going it on their own this month, and maybe I'll get a window into whether there was any reason or need for that particular drug in the first place. And maybe I won't. But as someone whose issue was less ovutruancy and more ovutardiness (I'll check my Physician's Desk Reference when I get home, but I'm fairly certain these are the technical terms), I'm hoping that progesterone alone will do the trick. Either way, you can be sure that you'll hear about it.

Take Me to Your Bleeder

CD1. Finally. What could be more perfect? The first morning we wake up back in our own bed, and a new cycle has begun. It has, indeed. I was a little taken aback by how red this blood was. My last few periods on Clomid were kind of low-quality looking, so this feels healthier to my medically untrained eye.

Next up, I have to decide what to do with this cycle. Clomid or no? When I mentioned to Dr. L my idea of doing only progesterone this time around, and that I wondered whether the Clomid had messed with my lining, he said that I could do whatever I want, but that the fact that I had gotten pregnant probably meant that my lining had been adequate. But is that true? I know he's the super-expert, but I don't know if I totally buy that.

We spent Friday night at my parents' house, and they were great. They asked lots of questions about the miscarriage and what next steps were, and I felt surrounded and embraced by how much they love me. Bless them.

So here we are. Raise your blackberry mojito--virgin for the preggies--'cause I'm back in the game, bitches.