I have been thinking about this a lot lately. It's very hard to know exactly what to say to someone who is TTC because trying to have a baby is not a one-size-fits-all experience. It can be so easy to say the wrong thing to someone when you're TTC and so easy to be hurt by someone's words when you're the one who's trying to have a baby. Likewise, it's so easy to put your foot in it when you are talking to someone else who is trying to have a baby, even when your situations might seem quite similar from the outside.
The problem is that it is so hard not to slip into clichés when someone is having a hard time having a baby. And although you mean well, saying the wrong thing to an emotionally charged woman can have explosive results. The best thing to do is just to listen, give hugs and send good thoughts for the next cycle because let's face it, everyone likes hugs and good thoughts!
Here are some things that I try hard not to say to anyone on the AIP board - and that I hope no one says to me!
1) (To someone starting TTC) "Oh, good luck! It took 3 and a half long years to conceive our son..." - That's not going to instil hope or confidence in anyone!
2) (To someone who has been TTC for a long time) "Oh, really? I fell on my first try/was taking the pill when I got pregnant!" - Good for you, not very helpful for me!
3) "Why don't you try NTNP and forget about TTC for a while?" - Because it's not that easy to go backwards when you've been trying and know your body inside out! Quick, hide that EWCM! Deny the O pains at all costs! Be gone, BBT!
4) "Why don't you stop charting and worrying about when you ovulate?" - Uh, because I'm TTC and I need to have sex when I ovulate, duh!
5) "Stop trying to make a baby and start having sex for fun!" - for one thing, unfortunately sex isn't fun for everyone, and for another, whoever said baby-making sex wasn't fun?!
6) "You should be thankful for the children you have been blessed with." This really irks me. As someone who was diagnosed with Endo at 20 I count my blessings every day. I never stop feeling thankful for being a mother. I just long for the chance to be a mother to another child too.
7) "When are you going to give up?" - Nothing like having faith that it's gonna happen...
8) "Just relax and it'll happen!" - Relaxing does not always make a baby! Yeah, I just leaned back, got comfy and a baby popped out...
9) "You want to try having sex every day from AF until you O." - You want to try having chronic fatigue syndrome and attempt to do it more than two nights in a row?!
10) and the most annoying of them all... "Maybe this just wasn't your month." Yeah, I know that! The mega cramps, bleeding and negative pregnancy tests gave that away!
Yeah, maybe when you are TTC you should be able to get some kind of filter installed to stop you being oversensitive to things you hear.
Monday, 15 March 2010
Food and the Family
Yesterday was Mother's Day, and we had a wonderful day. We all went out for a meal at our favourite Italian restaurant and as usual the girls behaved better than my husband and myself. Our eldest was the only one who didn't eat a good meal. She picked at a few chips but the plate of spaghetti went uneaten, as did her share of the pizza which her sister polished off.
You see, my eldest is what most people would label a fussy eater. I am very aware not to call her that. I don't want her to be pigeonholed as something that can cause her misery for years to come.
You see, I was a 'fussy eater'. Or at least so I was told all through my life. Even now I have turned 30 I can still see my parents rolling their eyes every time I say we've gone out for a meal as they ask, "And did you find anything to eat?"
Food was an absolute misery, all through my childhood. My mum would pile my plate high with things I couldn't, rather than wouldn't eat. There's a difference between things you would prefer not to eat but can and things you absolutely cannot eat. For example, I would prefer not to eat sprouts, but I can eat them. Garden peas, on the other hand, I absolutely cannot eat or I'll gag and heave.
Because my mum served up a large amount of things that I absolutely couldn't eat, I got stuck with the label of 'fussy eater'. And once you have been given that label you start to believe it. So you will go out somewhere and want to try something but then your parents remind you, "Oh, you won't like that. You're a fussy eater. Better stick to the chips." Or you'll be in the supermarket, watching your parents piling the trolley full of foods you hate when out the corner of your eye you spot something you'd like to try, so you pick it up and ask politely. "Oh no, I'm not wasting my money on that. You're a fussy eater. You won't like it."
Over the years you start to believe it, so you lose your confidence to try new foods. You feel increasingly like your presence at mealtimes is a bother. It gives you a kind of fear about food that is very difficult to shake.
I believed that I was a fussy eater all my life, until I met my husband. I was terrified that I would bring my 'fussy eater' status into our relationship and had visions of cooking two meals every day for the rest of our lives - a 'normal' meal for him and a 'fussy meal' for me.
Well, guess what? It turns out I was never a fussy eater in the first place.
I just liked different foods to my parents.
I love rice and pasta, cooking a stir fry or casserole, making home-made pies, frying foods in a dry pan instead of in half a packet of lard, creating new recipes and seeing what works.
I love all the foods that my parents hate. So the foods I love were never cooked in my home when I was a child and I never had the opportunity to show my love for those dishes instead of my hatred for fishcakes, mashed potato and garden peas.
I know my eldest will find more foods she likes. That's why it's important to try her with things that we wouldn't normally eat as a family. Who knows, she might like the fishcakes, mashed potato and garden peas that I never did. But if not, that's OK. She knows what she likes and we know what she can eat but would prefer not to as well as the things she absolutely cannot eat.
She's not a fussy eater - she's human!
You see, my eldest is what most people would label a fussy eater. I am very aware not to call her that. I don't want her to be pigeonholed as something that can cause her misery for years to come.
You see, I was a 'fussy eater'. Or at least so I was told all through my life. Even now I have turned 30 I can still see my parents rolling their eyes every time I say we've gone out for a meal as they ask, "And did you find anything to eat?"
Food was an absolute misery, all through my childhood. My mum would pile my plate high with things I couldn't, rather than wouldn't eat. There's a difference between things you would prefer not to eat but can and things you absolutely cannot eat. For example, I would prefer not to eat sprouts, but I can eat them. Garden peas, on the other hand, I absolutely cannot eat or I'll gag and heave.
Because my mum served up a large amount of things that I absolutely couldn't eat, I got stuck with the label of 'fussy eater'. And once you have been given that label you start to believe it. So you will go out somewhere and want to try something but then your parents remind you, "Oh, you won't like that. You're a fussy eater. Better stick to the chips." Or you'll be in the supermarket, watching your parents piling the trolley full of foods you hate when out the corner of your eye you spot something you'd like to try, so you pick it up and ask politely. "Oh no, I'm not wasting my money on that. You're a fussy eater. You won't like it."
Over the years you start to believe it, so you lose your confidence to try new foods. You feel increasingly like your presence at mealtimes is a bother. It gives you a kind of fear about food that is very difficult to shake.
I believed that I was a fussy eater all my life, until I met my husband. I was terrified that I would bring my 'fussy eater' status into our relationship and had visions of cooking two meals every day for the rest of our lives - a 'normal' meal for him and a 'fussy meal' for me.
Well, guess what? It turns out I was never a fussy eater in the first place.
I just liked different foods to my parents.
I love rice and pasta, cooking a stir fry or casserole, making home-made pies, frying foods in a dry pan instead of in half a packet of lard, creating new recipes and seeing what works.
I love all the foods that my parents hate. So the foods I love were never cooked in my home when I was a child and I never had the opportunity to show my love for those dishes instead of my hatred for fishcakes, mashed potato and garden peas.
I know my eldest will find more foods she likes. That's why it's important to try her with things that we wouldn't normally eat as a family. Who knows, she might like the fishcakes, mashed potato and garden peas that I never did. But if not, that's OK. She knows what she likes and we know what she can eat but would prefer not to as well as the things she absolutely cannot eat.
She's not a fussy eater - she's human!
Thursday, 11 March 2010
The Evils of the Blue Dye Bandits
What's that saying.... fool me once shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Yeah, I think that's the one.
Thie week I was let down big-time by a false positive (I can't bear to call it an evap - it was thick and blue) on a blue dye test. I can't begin to put into words the elation I felt when I saw the line come up, thick and strong, nor how dark and empty I felt when all other tests proved negative.
The worst part? I should have known better. I did know better. I have given the same warning time and again about blue dye tests to others, and I have spent years avoiding the evil blue dye. The only reason I had started using them again in the last couple of months was I'd grown tired of the same tests, cycle after cycle, and wanted some variety.
How come I was so wary in the first place? I wasn't always as HPT-savvy as I am now. Back in the days when we were trying to conceive our first I had limited experience of how pregnancy tests worked and which were the best kinds. I knew about evap lines and never read a test after the 10 minute mark, but beyond that I wasn't very clued-up on such things.
I liked blue dye tests. I liked them because blue had been my favourite colour since childhood. Had I been a girly-girl I may never have experienced the gutting disappointment of my first blue dye evap as I might have plumped for a FRER instead.
I'd been off the pill for a few months and my cycles were pretty long, irregular and bizarre as my body struggled to get back to normal. I didn't know very much about ovulation or telling when I had Oed yet, so when I was late for my period I thought I would test. I wasn't the POAS addict that I am today, although I think the compulsion was always just bubbling under the surface. Never the less, when I had tested three times in a week with cheapies and found only BFNs I wondered if I should try a better test.
Now I had tried Clearblue before. Remember my favourite colour? The chance to pee on something that could turn blue was one I couldn't resist. So when i went to pick out a better test I went straight for a Clearblue easy. The next morning I excitedly scurried to the bathroom and took the test. As soon as the dye passed across I could see something forming. A lump appeared in my throat and my heart felt like it stopped beating for a moment before coming back hard and fast with twice as many beats per minute as usual. A thin, dark and clearly blue line had formed in the test window. Beside it, the control line was appearing. A plus, and a line. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.
For the rest of the day I was walking on air. I kept it to myself, like the most wonderful secret only I had the privilege of knowing about. I didn't want to tell my husband until I had tested again to see the line get darker. By the following day I was anxious to watch another line form before my eyes and hurried to the bathroom as soon as I woke.
When I took the other test, I thought it had to be faulty. there was not even a hint of a line there. Not a whisper. Nothing. I waited for three minutes and looked again. Five minutes. Ten whole minutes. This time the lump that rose in my throat was of extreme sadness, confusion and emptiness. Nothing but a minus sign and a control line stared back at ne.
I was devastated. My joy had come crashing down. What had happened? the line had been so dark the day before, if I was miscarrying then surely I would have still seen a faint line. I spent the rest of that day googling 'Clearblue false positive' and my eyes practically spun in my head from the number of people reporting the same thing. Blue dye tests, it seemed, were not the reliable tests we'd been led to believe.
On that day I learned more about pregnancy tests than I ever thought possible. I read and read, all about the kinds of errors, tests, sensitivities and time limits that you can face when you take a test. I read about the history of HPTs, found out more about how to track ovulation and discovered about the brand new digital tests that had reached the market.
But more than anything I learned not to trust blue dye tests.
It turned out that I hadn't even ovulated when I received the false positive. And in the months that followed I became better acquainted with my cycle and eventually conceived my eldest daughter.
This week I revisited the sadness attached to a false result from a trusted brand. It's a lesson in why forgiveness is not always the best policy. That is one brand I will never be using again.
Thie week I was let down big-time by a false positive (I can't bear to call it an evap - it was thick and blue) on a blue dye test. I can't begin to put into words the elation I felt when I saw the line come up, thick and strong, nor how dark and empty I felt when all other tests proved negative.
The worst part? I should have known better. I did know better. I have given the same warning time and again about blue dye tests to others, and I have spent years avoiding the evil blue dye. The only reason I had started using them again in the last couple of months was I'd grown tired of the same tests, cycle after cycle, and wanted some variety.
How come I was so wary in the first place? I wasn't always as HPT-savvy as I am now. Back in the days when we were trying to conceive our first I had limited experience of how pregnancy tests worked and which were the best kinds. I knew about evap lines and never read a test after the 10 minute mark, but beyond that I wasn't very clued-up on such things.
I liked blue dye tests. I liked them because blue had been my favourite colour since childhood. Had I been a girly-girl I may never have experienced the gutting disappointment of my first blue dye evap as I might have plumped for a FRER instead.
I'd been off the pill for a few months and my cycles were pretty long, irregular and bizarre as my body struggled to get back to normal. I didn't know very much about ovulation or telling when I had Oed yet, so when I was late for my period I thought I would test. I wasn't the POAS addict that I am today, although I think the compulsion was always just bubbling under the surface. Never the less, when I had tested three times in a week with cheapies and found only BFNs I wondered if I should try a better test.
Now I had tried Clearblue before. Remember my favourite colour? The chance to pee on something that could turn blue was one I couldn't resist. So when i went to pick out a better test I went straight for a Clearblue easy. The next morning I excitedly scurried to the bathroom and took the test. As soon as the dye passed across I could see something forming. A lump appeared in my throat and my heart felt like it stopped beating for a moment before coming back hard and fast with twice as many beats per minute as usual. A thin, dark and clearly blue line had formed in the test window. Beside it, the control line was appearing. A plus, and a line. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.
For the rest of the day I was walking on air. I kept it to myself, like the most wonderful secret only I had the privilege of knowing about. I didn't want to tell my husband until I had tested again to see the line get darker. By the following day I was anxious to watch another line form before my eyes and hurried to the bathroom as soon as I woke.
When I took the other test, I thought it had to be faulty. there was not even a hint of a line there. Not a whisper. Nothing. I waited for three minutes and looked again. Five minutes. Ten whole minutes. This time the lump that rose in my throat was of extreme sadness, confusion and emptiness. Nothing but a minus sign and a control line stared back at ne.
I was devastated. My joy had come crashing down. What had happened? the line had been so dark the day before, if I was miscarrying then surely I would have still seen a faint line. I spent the rest of that day googling 'Clearblue false positive' and my eyes practically spun in my head from the number of people reporting the same thing. Blue dye tests, it seemed, were not the reliable tests we'd been led to believe.
On that day I learned more about pregnancy tests than I ever thought possible. I read and read, all about the kinds of errors, tests, sensitivities and time limits that you can face when you take a test. I read about the history of HPTs, found out more about how to track ovulation and discovered about the brand new digital tests that had reached the market.
But more than anything I learned not to trust blue dye tests.
It turned out that I hadn't even ovulated when I received the false positive. And in the months that followed I became better acquainted with my cycle and eventually conceived my eldest daughter.
This week I revisited the sadness attached to a false result from a trusted brand. It's a lesson in why forgiveness is not always the best policy. That is one brand I will never be using again.
Attack of the Cough
My girls have had a nasty cough/temperature-related virus for the last few days and last night Natasha had it so bad that we revisited her baby days with a very sleepless night. She went down as normal in the evening, but woke up at half past eleven crying. She soon settled again but as soon as I started creeping out the door I heard a violent cough and a nasty noise. I didn't need to put the lights on to realise the coughing has led to a projectile phlegm incident.
When the same thing happened immediately after changing her clothes it was pretty obvious someone wouldn't be able to lay down that night - which meant neither would I. Confining my DH down the hall for the night, Natasha and I remained propped up in bed through the early hours together. It reminded me of those nights when she was a baby and she would want to breastfeed half the night when a growth spurt was in progress.
Somewhere around half past four we both drifted to sleep for an hour but when I woke my arm was completely dead from her weight and trying to slip it out from underneath her resulted in two things: An angry Natasha and the ouch-my-hand-is-coming-back-to-life dance from me.
I had some temperatures during the night as well so I think I am the final victim of the virus in this household. Roll on summer with fewer bugs, better immune systems and less sleepless nights!
When the same thing happened immediately after changing her clothes it was pretty obvious someone wouldn't be able to lay down that night - which meant neither would I. Confining my DH down the hall for the night, Natasha and I remained propped up in bed through the early hours together. It reminded me of those nights when she was a baby and she would want to breastfeed half the night when a growth spurt was in progress.
Somewhere around half past four we both drifted to sleep for an hour but when I woke my arm was completely dead from her weight and trying to slip it out from underneath her resulted in two things: An angry Natasha and the ouch-my-hand-is-coming-back-to-life dance from me.
I had some temperatures during the night as well so I think I am the final victim of the virus in this household. Roll on summer with fewer bugs, better immune systems and less sleepless nights!
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
The business of peeing on sticks
We are TTC #3. So far, this has not been an easy task. Losses, LP defect, endometriosis and stinking rotten evaps have caused 17 months of disappointment.
When you have been TTC for a long time you sometimes lose sight of believing you will ever see a BFP, or at least one that sticks. Some of us, myself being a case in point, start looking for distractions through the cycle to sidetrack us from the ultimate goal. I know I'm not the only one who has become very wrapped up in the addiction of peeing on sticks.
Today is the day that has started coming around every cycle. First there's CD1, with the agony of endo. Then there's CD3 where the disappointment really sets in. CD 4 brings a lot of tears and frustration. Then, somewhere around Cd5-7, the let's-spend-a-fortune-on-things-I-will-eventually-pee-on phase begins.
I am something of an HPT Connoisseur these days. I like to search for new tests, great tests, fancy tests... I am so bored of the same peesticks sitting in my bathroom month after month. Last month I found about 15 different brands to try, which was pretty much a record for me! This month I am feeling more conservative and looking for trusted brands rather than new ones.
Maybe one day I will lose the urge to waste my money on things I will eventually pee on. But let's face it: I don't smoke, I rarely drink... I always thought I needed a vice, and if it's something that has the ability to change colour at the presence of HCG then so much the better!
When you have been TTC for a long time you sometimes lose sight of believing you will ever see a BFP, or at least one that sticks. Some of us, myself being a case in point, start looking for distractions through the cycle to sidetrack us from the ultimate goal. I know I'm not the only one who has become very wrapped up in the addiction of peeing on sticks.
Today is the day that has started coming around every cycle. First there's CD1, with the agony of endo. Then there's CD3 where the disappointment really sets in. CD 4 brings a lot of tears and frustration. Then, somewhere around Cd5-7, the let's-spend-a-fortune-on-things-I-will-eventually-pee-on phase begins.
I am something of an HPT Connoisseur these days. I like to search for new tests, great tests, fancy tests... I am so bored of the same peesticks sitting in my bathroom month after month. Last month I found about 15 different brands to try, which was pretty much a record for me! This month I am feeling more conservative and looking for trusted brands rather than new ones.
Maybe one day I will lose the urge to waste my money on things I will eventually pee on. But let's face it: I don't smoke, I rarely drink... I always thought I needed a vice, and if it's something that has the ability to change colour at the presence of HCG then so much the better!
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Happy Birthday to my Big Girl
My big baby is three years old today. It's a concept I am finding hard to believe. It doesn't seem like 3 whole years could possibly have passed since a 24-hour labour ended with an emergency c-section and this alert, curious little girl was laid by my side, all wrapped up in a towel.
I remember the moment she was born. She gave one cry that I could hear, and then she just.... looked. As they laid her next to me her eyes were alert and scanning the room, wanting to see everything, wanting to know where she was and what was there. She didn't cry or whimper, she wasn't frightened or daunted by the major task of being born. She just wanted to start the business of exploring the world.
Her birth was a traumatic experience for me, as was the hospital stay for the next 2 days. I should have been in hospital for 4 days after a c-section but I am extremely phobic of anything medical and they finally agreed to let me out after two. I have blocked out a lof of that time, but one thing I do remember is that every nurse and midwife who checked her over commented on how alert and curious she was.
It's a trait she has never lost. Now three years old, she has to examine everything. She has to explore everything. She has to experience everything.
It's a trait I hope she never loses. It's a wonderful way to be.
Happy birthday, Angelica!
I remember the moment she was born. She gave one cry that I could hear, and then she just.... looked. As they laid her next to me her eyes were alert and scanning the room, wanting to see everything, wanting to know where she was and what was there. She didn't cry or whimper, she wasn't frightened or daunted by the major task of being born. She just wanted to start the business of exploring the world.
Her birth was a traumatic experience for me, as was the hospital stay for the next 2 days. I should have been in hospital for 4 days after a c-section but I am extremely phobic of anything medical and they finally agreed to let me out after two. I have blocked out a lof of that time, but one thing I do remember is that every nurse and midwife who checked her over commented on how alert and curious she was.
It's a trait she has never lost. Now three years old, she has to examine everything. She has to explore everything. She has to experience everything.
It's a trait I hope she never loses. It's a wonderful way to be.
Happy birthday, Angelica!
Monday, 1 March 2010
Crayon
I thought bath crayons were going to be a good idea. My eldest has had them before and loved them so much she'd worn them out. So a new pack were duly bought this morning and escorted home under the watchful eye of my girls.
This afternoon arrived, and with it came bath time. By the end of it I was under no illusion about two things: Number one, my eldest sure does know her colours and number two, bath crayons were not a good idea.
"Mum?"
"Yes?"
"Yellow."
(showing me her yellow crayon)
"Yes, yellow."
(Angrily) "YELLOW!!!!!!"
"Yes, I know, it's yellow!"
(Showing me the crayon in a slightly more violent manner)
"YELLLLLLLLLLOWWWWWWWW!"
On closer inspection, the end was slightly blunt from where she had been drawing.
"I'm afraid that's what happens to crayons."
"YEEEEELLLLLLOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!"
By this point my ears were throbbing so I took the crayon and sculpted the end into a slightly more pointed shape with my fingernail. It didn't seem much different to me but seemed to appease her. She turned away and scribbled on the bath for a while longer, until suddenly,
"Black."
I took a deep breath before I looked. There in her hand was a slightly blunt black crayon.
"I'm not sharpening them all!" I warned her.
"BLACK!"
"Sweetheart, it's a crayon! You remember what happened to your old ones. They go blunt after a while!"
"BLLLLAAAAAAAACCCCCKK!"
I tried the distraction technique. I took away the black crayon and handed her a red one.
"Oooh, look at the lovely red crayon!" I said as sincerely as possible.
She glanced between me and the crayon, sure I was up to something but prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt. She turned away and went back to her drawing while I tried to tidy up some of the surfaces in the bathroom. When I heard an angry voice cry, "BLUE!"
I was expecting another blunt crayon emergency but when I looked around I found that a substantial amount of her body had turned into a big blue scribble and her little sister was gripping the offending crayon and sketching up a masterpiece.
So now I have a smurf for a daughter and the crayons have been confiscated until such times as I'm feeling more energetic to deal with the aftermath.
This afternoon arrived, and with it came bath time. By the end of it I was under no illusion about two things: Number one, my eldest sure does know her colours and number two, bath crayons were not a good idea.
"Mum?"
"Yes?"
"Yellow."
(showing me her yellow crayon)
"Yes, yellow."
(Angrily) "YELLOW!!!!!!"
"Yes, I know, it's yellow!"
(Showing me the crayon in a slightly more violent manner)
"YELLLLLLLLLLOWWWWWWWW!"
On closer inspection, the end was slightly blunt from where she had been drawing.
"I'm afraid that's what happens to crayons."
"YEEEEELLLLLLOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!"
By this point my ears were throbbing so I took the crayon and sculpted the end into a slightly more pointed shape with my fingernail. It didn't seem much different to me but seemed to appease her. She turned away and scribbled on the bath for a while longer, until suddenly,
"Black."
I took a deep breath before I looked. There in her hand was a slightly blunt black crayon.
"I'm not sharpening them all!" I warned her.
"BLACK!"
"Sweetheart, it's a crayon! You remember what happened to your old ones. They go blunt after a while!"
"BLLLLAAAAAAAACCCCCKK!"
I tried the distraction technique. I took away the black crayon and handed her a red one.
"Oooh, look at the lovely red crayon!" I said as sincerely as possible.
She glanced between me and the crayon, sure I was up to something but prepared to give me the benefit of the doubt. She turned away and went back to her drawing while I tried to tidy up some of the surfaces in the bathroom. When I heard an angry voice cry, "BLUE!"
I was expecting another blunt crayon emergency but when I looked around I found that a substantial amount of her body had turned into a big blue scribble and her little sister was gripping the offending crayon and sketching up a masterpiece.
So now I have a smurf for a daughter and the crayons have been confiscated until such times as I'm feeling more energetic to deal with the aftermath.
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