17; Let’s Try This Again

So this is blog post #17. Seventeen is a lucky number for me. It’s my birthday (March 17, 1985). It’s the day Josh and I finally admitted we had feelings for each other (Sept. 17, 2010).

Sept. 17 is also my half birthday, and the day we flew out for our European vacation in 2016. The one where we started trying to conceive. The one that was over two and a half years ago, when we were excited but nervous af to be jumping in full force to try and start a family.

Sept. 17, 2016. Right before our flight to Paris.

May 17 of this year, just a few days ago, was the day I got to go see the musical I have been waiting to see since in was announced as something that might EVENTUALLY come to Broadway: Anastasia. I cried. I smiled. I hoped it would be the first musical my baby got to “experience” in the womb.

Before the tears.

The first thing I thought when I looked at this photo was, “I look pregnant,” because the way the front of my dress is sitting and the way my hands are placed makes it look like I have a bump. The fact that I’m on the higher end of any weight I’ve ever been doesn’t help, but my friend’s mom saw this picture on Facebook and told her the same thing: that I looked pregnant. But she said it nicely: “Because she’s glowing!”

I don’t know about that (although I guess the lighting was decent), but there may have been some early truth to it anyway. Because two days later, just about four days after my 6-day embryo transfer — or, as we on the infertility message boards like to abbreviate it, 4dp6dt — this happened:

Fi. Na. Fuc. King. Ly. Squint — it’s there!

And the next day, this happened:

NOW WITH MORE WORDS.

And eventually, this happened (I’m cutting back, I swear, I didn’t even test today):

#notsorry

I truly thought that even if I got a positive, I would not get it as early as 4dp6dt. That’s when the braggy girls on the Glow app got theirs, and if the past two and a half years have taught me anything, it’s that no part of this journey is going to be straightforward or easy or “normal” for me. But there it was. To most people, it would’ve probably looked like a negative. But to me and Josh, who have been staring at these tests for WAY too long, we knew better.

Speaking of my husband, we had agreed to test Sunday night, but I woke up that morning and he was at Home Depot and I decided I wanted to do it right then. I was shocked when I saw a second line. And he was coming home fast, so I did what any sane person would do on a Sunday at 11 a.m.: didn’t bother to put pants on.

Then I pulled out a UCF onesie I’d bought to surprise him and stuck that and the positive test under the pillow on his side of the bed, and texted him to ask him to come upstairs and help me make the bed. Not unusual since 1. I have only not made my bed a handful of times in my adult life, even on a Sunday, and 2. I am very lazy on the weekends.

I also went back and forth about whether to record him and decided against it because he hates being recorded and I wanted a genuine reaction more than I wanted a video, so here are a couple of blurry after shots after we hugged and cried and all that.

The happiest.
Still happy but also probably yelling at me for taking pics.
The hesitant-faced posed shot. (We made the bed RIGHT AFTER.)

Initially, we put all anxiety and worry aside and went to brunch, where Josh had his “first Dad beer” — his words, not mine. And I had my first “mom coffee” (a.k.a. decaf, because I’m going to be paranoid for a while if not this entire pregnancy. Also j/k I started on decaf long before Sunday).

First “Dad” beer, whatever that means.

Since that day three days ago, we have gone back and forth between giddy excitement and being nervous as all hell because we don’t want to get our hopes up again just to have them ripped from us. But we have been trying to let ourselves be excited. We’ve told a few close friends, and our parents and siblings and my grandma.

They’re all extremely happy but, understandably, some are hesitant to get too attached to the idea. Which we totally get, but it kind of sucks too — like an indirect way of saying, “Heeeey that’s great and all but let’s see how it goes.” Pessimist Jen thinks, “Just one more thing we have to sacrifice,” but I can’t blame them. I really can’t. This has been a process, and “Omg surprise, we’re pregnant!” has never been a thing for us. At least, not between us and the people we are closest to who know already. So I’m hoping it all smooth sailing from here, and that the genuine, pure excitement comes soon.

My beta blood test is Tuesday, May 28. That’s six days from now, so I’m really hoping my HCG levels are off the charts by then. My tentative due date is Jan. 31, 2020, which is cool — no family or close friend birthdays too close to then! I’ve been joking that I hope the Saints go to the Super Bowl and win and that the baby is born that day (Feb. 2), because how cool would that be? Ten years after their first Super Bowl win, too. Come through, Drew Brees!

IDK why this got into a conversation about football, but…we’re taking this thing one day at a time for now. My back is killing me today. My stomach felt sour af yesterday, and I’m starting to feel pretty tired already. But I welcome any and all pregnancy symptoms. I just want to see a heartbeat from this little rainbow baby in a few weeks. That will make it all worth it.

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