Bionic Mamas

you're not losing a vagina, you're gaining a son

CD 1 Eve

14 Comments

Hi, internets. You awake? I am, and I’m blaming my new, thrilling PMS symptom of intractable insomnia on the day prior to my period’s arrival. I could be wrong: I’ve been thinking my period imminent for several days, what with cramping and spotting and weeping on the floor at the end of our final (I promise, Starrhillgirl) attempt at toddler yoga, about which more another time. (WTF, spotting? Granted, the volume in question is probably <1% of the pre-hysteroscopy volume, but I thought I was supposed to be done with this, Oh, uterus, you old tease.) This could be just the prednisone, I suppose.

Yes, prednisone again. I returned to the ENT this Thursday, having finished a fourteen-day course of augmentin (which began with six days of prednisone), feeling very, very much improved, expecting to be declared well and sent on my way. 'twas not to be, alas. One aerosolized cocktail of novocaine and decongestant and a scope up the nose later, the doctor declared himself pleased but not pleased enough. So. Ten more days of augmentin, four more of prednisone, come back in a week. I'm beginning to feel I'm getting to know that office too well, rather as one does with the baby factory. And I definitely prefer a dildocam to a nostrilscope.

Still, I am much, much better — practically human now! Thank you for your sympathy on my last post.

The prednisone means no drinking or NSAIDs, still. Clean living! You can imagine, I'm sure, how pleased I was to hear that, given the cyclical date and all. Part of why I am hoping tomorrow is indeed CD 1 is that it's the weekend, which means Sugar can watch the Bean if I need to take Percocet in the daytime as well as at night.

CD 1, those of you following along at home may remember, also means Return to Dildocam Island, aka Baby Factory: The Musical: The Sequel. About this I feel…strangely cold-blooded. Every new stage of TTC the first time around, from deciding to begin, to making appointments with new doctors, even upping the treatment ante, felt exciting (among other things). Just starting the process, let alone having the actual baby, felt like the realization of close to a lifetime's worth of dreaming about having a baby, dreaming that, what with the endometriosis and the relative poverty and the lesbianism, often felt very unlikely to come true. Trying again just doesn't feel like that.

For one thing, those lifelong dreams always included at least one child, but the number was sometimes only one. I spent an enormous amount of time imagining what it would feel like to hold a child of mine on my chest (and feeling the terrible lightness of that child's absence), but I don't have a similarly visceral sense of what holding two children of mine might feel like.

More to the point, I think, is the fact that I am straight-up terrified of going through infancy again. I am just so very much better at this toddler gig, and I don't think it's only a case of being a more experienced mother now, in which case the second iteration of the larval need-bag stage could be reasonably expected to go better than the last. I think it's more to do with coping very poorly with serious sleep deprivation, not being particularly well-treated by breastfeeding hormones (Do I have a mild case of Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex? Maybe.), and, well, being the kind of person who would even think of calling a gurgling bundle of sour-milk-scented joy a larva.

You, of course, know the other thing I’m afraid of: birth, and that whole nightmare roller coaster again. See: everything tagged Dr. Russian. It is entirely possible that much of my feeling distant about the whole TTC business is just protecting myself from thinking seriously about the prospect of facing all that beyond the safe confines of this space. That I started weeping while looking at positive reviews from women who had delivered with my new doctor suggests there could be something to that notion. Throw in a soupçon’s fear of TTC not working, and you have a fine recipe for an aloof Bionic.

It isn’t, I am almost certain, that I don’t want to have another child. I keep asking myself if that’s it, of course, because we are still at a stage where backing out is possible. But no, it’s not that. I do want a sibling for the Bean — and another one of these critters for my own, selfish reasons. I wish I could capture in writing the wry smile the Bean had tonight when Sugar asked if he’d like a fish stick and, champion re-director that he is, he laced his fingers together, leaned across the table like a talkshow host, and said, “ooooor, maybe chocolate?” And did I tell you about the “turtle” he “drew” this week? What’s the turtle’s name, I asked. The Bean uses a kind of movie-Italian speech pattern sometimes now. “It’s-a called Penis,” he said, “It’s a big one.” I think Penis is a weird name for a turtle (maybe it was a skinny baby?), but the point is, this is a pretty great gig.

Last time around, every move we made to get to the Bean was driven by passion, and it’s just different this time. It’s less like I need to have a baby NOW, and more like, I know what I’d like our lives to look like in several years, and this is the time it makes sense to start building that future. I gather more rational people have experiences like this a lot, you know, and plan their lives in an orderly fashion and so on. But it’s a disorienting sensation for an impulsive creature like me. So. Off I go to the clinic, faking it ’til I make it.

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14 thoughts on “CD 1 Eve

  1. Do not go to yoga. Pass go *and* collect $200. (or save some amount of money, as the case maybe)
    Just say no.
    Hell no, we won’t go!
    Step away from the yoga class slowly.
    (things to say to yourself Tuesday morning)

  2. O.M.G.

    Today is CD1 eve for me to, according to my moodiness, acne eruption, and extremely regular cycles on the calendar.

    I reallyreallyreally hope we are both posting BFP shots in a month because I don’t want to ride the roller coaster again.

    Also, I’ve been considering toddler yoga. We’ve been stretching with incrediblyannoyingperkybitch on Sprout (“I’m a little sprout now but watch me grow”) and Bunny loves it ohsomuch. I am cheap/broke, so I was thinking of buying a DVD.

  3. Oh I am so with you on being terrified of having a newborn again. In fact, this us basically my head, except we haven’t got as far as going back to our baby factory yet. Butitit’s on the cards, and I feel like although I would like Monkey to have a sibling, we got so lucky with him, why push it? And plus I would be totally happy with one. So yeah, this second baby business is complicated!

  4. It sounds like you have some really good reasons to be not-so-sure about heading into Round #2 (birth-related trauma, the slow-motion trauma that it is TTC,etc). But I also wonder if things are different the second time around for lots of folks. I’ve heard other parents talk about it, and it has certainly been my experience. I went into TTC the first time full of sepia-toned images of carrying my darling, cooing infant to the farmer’ market. This time around I have all too many memories of just how awful some moments of living with an infant were, and how many times I wanted to throw this shrieking being out the window. Heading into TTC#2 I have a few pictures in my head of why we’re doing this (mostly various images of Tad and a sibling hanging out together in adorable ways). But I’m also aware that there will be far fewer of those perfect moments than there will be of dealing with squabbling and preventing hitting and… I think we’re mostly going into this for the same logical, rational reasons that you describe in the last paragraph. And it seems like it’s much harder to be motivated to head into the struggles and unpleasantness that comprise TTC (or early pregancy) when motivated only by the logic of where you’d like to be years from now.
    I hopehopehope that the TTC process is short this time around. And yikes on the CD1 with no NSAIDS!

  5. How is I that you always seem to capture my thoughts so much more elequently then I could. I am completely with you on visioning the family I’d like to have in 2 years…le sigh

  6. “It’s less like I need to have a baby NOW, and more like, I know what I’d like our lives to look like in several years, and this is the time it makes sense to start building that future.”

    This is EXACTLY how I feel about ttcing for 2.0. Exactly. You said it so well.

    I have a friend who had the worst first birth experience I have ever heard (including reconstructive surgery a year or so down the line). She had, no joke, PTSD as a result. She did manage to have a second baby and has a truly lovely family. I think your reluctance is totally normal given your history, but I also know you are a tough cookie and you’ll be able to get through it all.

  7. I was going to comment, but then I read Turia’s comment and now I have to go somewhere else because I am hyperventilating. (Reconstructive surgery? Holy shit!) So, I’m just going to leave it at 1) insomnia is a PMS symptom for me also, and 2) I totally get it.

  8. Ah ha ha ha. Exactly how I felt about child #2 as well; however, only my spouse and a glass of wine were involved, so the period (so to speak) of uncertainty was somewhat compacted from yours. When I took the pregnancy test I was like OH SHIT what am I doing.

    Newborn sucks. No two ways about it. Walking, talking 1.5 year old? So much better. But… such a short, if painful, fraction of their lives, right?

  9. ‘I think it’s more to do with coping very poorly with serious sleep deprivation, not being particularly well-treated by breastfeeding hormones … and, well, being the kind of person who would even think of calling a gurgling bundle of sour-milk-scented joy a larva.’ Oh my lord, I am not alone. Which means you are not alone. High-fives across the interwebs, lady.

  10. Based on a very unscientific, informal survey, 90% of second babies are easier than the first. Is this because parents are more experienced? Who knows. The only exception to the easier second baby was a cousin with an ANNOYINGLY amazing sleeper baby, born two weeks after my own colicky, never-sleeping, OMG I must wake DH because I seriously might hurt this child, C1. We both had normal-crying amount children a few years later, after which she panicked and her DH got a vasectomy. Meanwhile, I was enjoying my mellow, sweet C2, and dealing with poor C1’s lack-of-sleep-induced monster tantrums. Fast-forward to now, and I’ve got it pretty good. C1 is a sweet and sensitive boy in kindergarten who sleeps well and does laundry, C2 (3.5) plays nicely by himself and with others, vacuums, and has these hilarious eyebrows and shoulder shrugs. DH can’t imagine screwing up the peacefulness with a third, but I do, occasionally.

    So yes, life in a couple years will hopefully include a darling sibling, who will no longer be a smelly (if adorable-while-sleeping) larvae. DH was originally horrified that I’d refer to our growing fetus C1 as, “My little parasite.” But really, what do you call something that sucks the nutrients from your blood to support itself? Offspring!

  11. Another comment that “I know what I’d like our lives to look like in several years, and this is the time it makes sense to start building that future” is exactly right. Nicely phrased.

  12. Yeah, it sucks to have to THINK about this shit, because it’s the kind of decision that does not yield to a nice pro and con list. And okay, the Bean’s infancy was a pretty INSANE version of the experience, starting with birth, complete with honest to goodness ptsd! I don’t know. I just really want you guys to have more children, because the one you’ve got is so extra perfect. As a successful baby hoarder I just want to share experience that life can seem perfect as it is, and there can even be massive resistance to fucking with that, but it turns out there’s an even MORE perfect version.

    Of course I like babies and am…not…entirely…sure about toddlers.

    Mr. Bunny was like Why can’t we have like six eight month olds, as we gazed at our joyous, chortling child. Yeah, and then six two year olds? I replied, and he got a bit ashen.

    • There was never more than two hours in a row, between the ages of three and four, when a) Bug was awake and b) we enjoyed his company. TODDLERS AAAAAAGH. I have a theory that one either gets Terrible Twos or Terrible Threes, but not both. If I’m wrong, please, don’t anybody tell me so.

  13. Pingback: The Smaller Roller Coaster | Bionic Mamas

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