Bionic Mamas

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



Hi, internets. It’s 5am. I’ve been up since 3:30 or so, when I decided I wasn’t sleeping well in the Bean’s room and that I should return to my own, since he’d recovered from the coughing and crying that brought me to him at some earlier point, when the progesterone was still fresh enough in my system that I was foggy headed. I’ve been enjoying very much the solid sleep the crinone has provided me for the past several days, but I guess all good things come to an end.

Partly, I am up because I decided to go balls-out with my last night of sanctioned acid reducer and proton pump inhibitor use: I made spaghetti and meatballs with — gasp — tomato sauce, AND I had two ounces of white wine. I am a maniac, it’s true, and guess what? Stomach unhappy. I swear things have never been the same since the Bean’s second trimester. I used to be able to eat iron nails, which, mark my words, will one of these days be the new foodie trend, faux-rustic edition. Or maybe it’ll be more like a molecular gastronomy thing, with lots of chatter about the ideal extent of oxidation in the crust. Think seared tuna.

(Sugar and I had a sublime seared tuna dish at the neighborhood Japanese restaurant on our date, with a wasabi and miso kind of sauce and lots of radish sprouts. I may be dating myself here, but I miss seared tuna as a food trend. Those were tasty days.)

Partly, I am up for reasons that are likely obvious to you. I am nervous. About all possible outcomes.

I dreamt last night it was beta day, only the test was that I had to lie back on an exam table and slide a DVD into my vagina. Which was tricky work. The DVD somehow was also a video camera that made a cartoon movie of the interior of my vagina and uterus, which mostly consisted of parts of my body mocking me. I felt foolish, because I had thought I could be pregnant, but in retrospect realized I’d never felt pregnant in the least. I felt ridiculous for being surprised. When I woke up, it took a while to remember that I my not currently feeling pregnant is not an omen of anything, since I am, after all, definitively not currently pregnant.

At other times, I grind my teeth over fear of a miscarriage, which my mind transmutes into the inevitability of one.

And the there is the possibility of a Real Live Baby, which, while obviously the preferred outcome, is not without its ability to provoke anxiety. Sleep is, of course, a major worry. If we do get another baby, is there any way to order the kind that sleeps? There is also the matter of our tiny, crowded apartment, which works better for three of us than it has any right to, but four…. The babysitter for our date night (your ex, starhillgirl), who i assume either isn’t nosy or doesn’t know what the huge packages crinone rubbing shoulders with the breadbox might portend, spent a while telling us how crazy the household she’d just worked in was, the one with a five-year-old and a two-year-old in a space our size. You know, the age spacing we’re presently lining ourselves up for.

In truth the apartment is awfully small, especially given that neither Sugar nor I are willing to compromise on the activities that interest us in order to avoid storing bulky things. No way to live, in my opinion, even if the alternative is clutter. We had hoped to be in bigger place before the Bean was born or at least before he was such a person, but that’s not the way things have gone. Our neighborhood is more trendy by the day — a cheese shop just opened around the corner, on a street whose contributions to the economy at the time we moved here we strictly, um, tax-free. A cheese shop. I don’t think we’ll be convincing the landlord not to raise the rent this year. Sugar has been in the running for a significant promotion for ages, as the hiring of the new position keeps waiting on the department head’s either being well enough to participate or sick enough to exclude. It would mean more money, though, thanks to some truly enraging university policies, probably not until she’d been in the new job for a year. It would also mean the kind of line on her resume that could make it easier to land in a job someplace where life is a little cheaper and there are more trees. And maybe it will happen, but there are reasons it might not.

In truth, there are plenty of reasons (mostly related to money) that trying for another child right now is irrational, but, well, this is the life that we have, and there are only so many compromises I am willing to make in the name of being sensible.

I think I would be nervous about today’s transfer, if I could get my brain to admit it is really happening. Strange doctor, yawning speculum, the likelihood of a tenaculum. But it seems like something that is going to happen to a character in a movie, not to me. I have little flashes of silly anxieties: I couldn’t remember whether I’d had to wear a hospital gown last time — it isn’t in the blog post — and couldn’t rest until Sugar said yes, I did. (I don’t know why it matters. The Baby Factory has very nice gowns. Perhaps what is really troubling is not remembering.) I am very much looking forward to that Valium.

The sun is up now, and like clockwork, I am tired. Catch you on the flip side, as the kids who are old now used to say.

15 thoughts on “Pre-Dawn

  1. Awake, as well, due to a coughing kid, and also worrying about a transfer…but one that comes several weeks from now, after hopefully successful rounds of stims, and a retrieval, and…still so many hurdles between now and then, le sigh. Good luck today!

  2. Laughing quietly in bed while the tired wife sleeps beside me. DVD’s inserted into your vagina, mphhhhhh (that’s me stifling a laugh, not the sound the DVD would make.) (that would be more of a whirring sound I imagine.) Mocking body parts, mphhhhhh. Of course they mock, I’m sure they bloody well know exactly what’s going on and can’t believe we having the foggiest.
    Nicely written post, not just the above bits, the Cheese Shop analogy worked well for a non brooklynite to get the picture.
    Take care of your pre-transfer self today.

  3. *haven’t the foggiest.

  4. However small your apartment may be, I’m certain that it’s bigger than your uterus. Which means that it will seem absolutely cavernous to baby #2 for quite some time. I’m also fairly certain that your uterus doesn’t have a local cheese shop, so that would be an upgrade as well.

    Good luck with the transfer! May no DVDs be involved!

  5. Best of luck today! I’ve actually wished for a little camera to put in my uterus, so I could monitor the progress closely and know the MINUTE something went wrong. Or right (but wrong seems more likely). Maybe your dream is really a scientific breakthrough?

  6. Your dream made me laugh out loud, and I had to explain my uncontrolled snorting to Hubs. Fingers crossed.

  7. I’m jealous of the cheese shop, but not the cheese shop housing prices. Our many pawn shops and one very special massage parlor (according to the neighborhood listserve) seem to be holding the line against the fabulousness of the neighborhood artisanal olive oil shop.

  8. Just wishin you well.

    I’d like some of that valium myself, please.

  9. Z isn’t nosey, for the record. And I am terribly jealous of how much y’all get to see each other than I get to see each of you. Also for the record, she once texted me that she loves G. V sweet.
    I haven’t given up on seared tuna. It can still be found in cville. Mostly at my parents’ house when my mama isn’t home.

  10. Good luck today. I laughed at your weird dream. I have been having really weird ones of late, and some really frightening ones too (involving stillbirths of all things), and I know I am for certain not pregnant and won’t be until at best September. But clearly my brain is processing things.

    When I think of having a second baby and adding a second little person to our lives, I look at the next three years and think DEAR GOD, NO.

    But when I think of E. all alone in the back seat on road trips with no one to roll his eyes at as he gets older and Q. and I become more annoying to him, I know that’s not what I want.

    I want the family of four. I just don’t want the reality of four in the next few years. But I also don’t want a huge age gap. So I can sympathize with your conflicted feelings.

    I hope so much this is easy for you.

  11. Maybe the babysitter is just impaired in the tact department. Besides, I’m sure your household will be a model of tidy efficiency with two children, just like MINE!

    Also, for the record, I totally had a second child before I was mentally really ready because I just wanted to get DONE with all the baby/toddler years as fast as possible. So, you know, naturally I think that’s a perfectly valid reason.

  12. Eeee, I am so excited to hear about your transfer! I hope the tenaculating was minimal and the pain muffled by the valium. Valium and lying on the couch with a heat pack on my abdomen helped me tons with my own tenaculum experiences, which suck s&^% no matter how you slice it.

    We, too, live in a teensy 2 bedroom and can’t afford to move. We do make good use of space (um, except that we may have bought Juju a SLIDE last week) but I do feel some terror about squishing another human being in. We can’t afford to sell and can’t afford to rent for cost as our HOA is completely astronomical so we’ll have to make it work. Having another child is also not the best financial choice for us right now but time’s a wasting! Got to get on it before Juju is grown and my ovaries shrivel into raisins.

    Best of luck today! I am thinking of you.

  13. We lived in an 800 sq. ft. one-bedroom condo until C1 was 3 and C2 was 9 months. I’m betting 800 sq. ft. is cavernous for the New York area, but the one BR thing was challenging for us. Luckily, once C1 fell asleep he was dead to the world. (His toddler bed was in our BR.) C2’s pack N play was permanently in the dining room. (Babies do very well in a pack N play as their sole crib, btw.) Ah, yes and we were keeping the place “show-ready” since C2 was born, so that was fun.

    You’ll be just fine, babies don’t take much space, and really don’t NEED all the baby stuff the media/Target tells you they do. Your new little one will be loved, and that’s everything!

  14. There’s never a perfect time to do anything and waiting for the perfect time can screw you over big time, so I’m currently in Camp GO FOR IT! GO FOR EVERYTHING! DO ALL THE THINGS!

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