August 30.

Tomorrow is my EDD. My heart feels so heavy. In some ways it's just another day. I'm pretty sure Tess and Oliver would have come earlier than August 30. More like August 15 the Dr. said. But this is the day that I had in my head since December 22, 2004 when they called and said "Congratulations. You're pregnant." R said I had no reaction. My face was blank. It wasn't because I was not happy, it was just that I didn't really believe it. After all this time. I. Was. Pregnant. I had the same look on my face when Dr. S said "It's two." R again had to shake me out of my blank stare. Again I didn't know how to feel. Shocked. Delighted. Terrified. It was a huge spectrum of emotion. And in the end they all just kind of cancelled each other out. In the end I just felt numb.

But slowly I started to believe. As my belly grew I believed. The first time I felt them kick me I was thrilled. I knew from the beginning it was a boy and a girl. Not sure how, but I just knew. Once I started feeling the life growing inside me I relaxed. It was as if I had been holding my breath for 4.5 months and finally I exhaled. R. could talk to my belly and they would tumble. Those were the happiest moments. My heart felt whole. My future so bright. I had the most incredible man as my husband and I was about to make him a father. We were about to be a family.

Tomorrow I am going to remember Tess and Oliver not with sadness but with joy. I will go back to that moment when we were on the brink of something incredible. Not to re-live the nightmare but to re-live the incredible joy they brought to us, even though it was brief. I'm going to try to focus on the good that is in my life. I believe that Tess and Oliver will always be with us. And they expect us to move forward. I still have my incredible man. He is my one and only, he is my rock. One day I do hope to make him a father not just in spirit but in body.

The Back Story...

Wha? Uh, TaTa?!? They call you TaTa? Don't you know what TaTas are? Yes I know it is slang for titties and no telling what else. But here's the story behind the name. Maybe this will clear it up for ya.

For as long as I can remember I've dreamt of babies. The earliest I could take that baby sitting course at church to become a "Certified Babysitter" I was there with bells on. I have sprial notebooks of lists and lists of baby names. I used to say I wanted to have quintuplets. You know, an instant family. HOW COOL. My other famous quote was "If I'm not married by the time I'm 25, I'm just having a baby. I will NOT be an old mother." ahhhh what I'd give to be so young and clueless again. Just kidding.

In a past much younger life I was married to a nice guy. We tried to make both our marriage and my body work. And then we gave up. So as not to be completely freaked out that I had passed my 25 year baby cut-off... I told myself "You didn't have a baby now because it wasn't meant to be with this person. He wasn't right for you and he's not The One. Never was. Once you meet The One, it will all fall into place."

In the meantime, (before, during and after my marriage and divorce) round one of babies hit. My sister was the first. I still get teary thinking of the phone call of her announcing that I was to be an aunt. I was simply over the moon with excitement. I put away my baby name tablet to get working on a name this little one would be able to call me. Something easier than Heather. You see there are loads of great-grandbabies in my family. My sister and I are the oldest by 12 years. After that there are, I may have lost count here, but I believe there are 35 or so. NONE of them could say Heather until they were 3 or 4. I was always "That girl" or "Hey you" So it was important to me that this baby, my first niece or nephew, be able to call me by a name. I settled on Tia, Spanish for aunt. Everyone seemed to think it would work just fine.

M aka Wonder Child was born in April 1993. Even with the nastiest case of colic she. Was. Beautiful. She was the first of a generation and she started it out with a bang. The apple of many an eye. Still is. I of course spoiled her rotten with tons of Tia Love. It was incredible watching her grow. I, about to be married, dreamt of my babies and my sisters babies growing up together. The moment M started talking, which I swear was at 3 months and she hasn't stopped yet...M called me TaTa. Honestly she could have called me shithead and I would have loved it. But she called me TaTa and it was very distinct and most importantly she knew who I was. I beamed. Ironically she could say Heather plain as day at a very very young age. But TaTa stuck. Then another M came and she, just like the first M, was Beautiful. Completely different but so Marvelous and Incredible. At this point my marriage was at it's end. It was time to close that door. It was very painful but in my heart I knew he was not right for me, we weren't right for each other. I imersed myself in work and spent lots of time loving being the TaTa to all the babies around me.

Then I moved to NYC. A whole new beginning. The start of something new. I went home often as I couldn't be away from the M's. The third was born just about a year after moving to NYC. I was determined that she knew I was her TaTa. Not just a picture that she could recognize but that she knew ME. All the trips home worked and and the 3 M's loved their TaTa just as much as I loved them. Added to this bunch were many other "nieces and nephews" and I loved them all dearly.

One day I met this very tall very hansome very funny man. Everything I ever wanted/needed. It took us both several years to own up and admit we could not live without each other. But once we did we were on the fast track to bliss. He was here I had finally met The One. The 1+ years we were engaged we weren't trying for a baby but we weren't not. Ok we were, but we weren't talking about it. Right before the wedding we both had fantasies of announcing our pregnancy at our reception. Maybe a little out of character for this Southern Belle (yeah right) but even my Mom would have been thrilled.

Very soon after the wedding I started the first of many doctor appointments to see if there was a problem. There wasn't. My doctor tried to explain that this was the 'best' diagnosis. I still don't understand that one. We spent the next year enjoying the trying. But month by month I could feel myself slipping into a very dark and very lonely hole.

Meanwhile everyone around us was getting pregnant. Quite easily I might add. The first few were exciting but in my heart it was everything I wanted as well...and there were tears of joy and tears of jealousy. I mustered up all the TaTa love and strength in me and I loved those babies just as all that had come before them. And I wondered when it would be my time. When would I get to change my name yet again? Or rather add too my collection of names. Heather, TaTa...the name MaMa was what my heart longed to hear. Several other pregnancies were announced until we were all alone in our very un-pregnant, childless state.

And so here I am many many many many many many babies later. I am still just TaTa. I have loved every moment of being TaTa. I have loved every babe that has called out my name. So many times I've said to my sister, "I cannot imagine loving anything more than I love your girls." She has always smiled and told me to just wait. You'll see.

After dabbling in the beginnings of ART, we quickly found ourselves jumping into IVF. This was our best chance the doctor said. At this point we hardly even questioned as we wanted to be pregnant and I MEAN NOW. At the end of the cycle we felt as if we hit the lotto. TWINS! A boy and a girl. We were thrilled. We were terrified. Underneath my smile I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I could not believe that after all this time that it was really really happening. Slowing it began to sink in and I tried to shelve the anxiety or expectation that this would/could all be taken from me. Around 17-18 weeks incredibly I relaxed. I had the most amazing dream that the babies were here and they were perfect and healthy. Sadly the other shoe did drop. At 19 weeks things went south and they went there quickly. Just half a day short of 20 weeks I delivered my two perfect babies.

I now understand what my sister was talking about. When I held Tess and Oliver in my hands. They were so teeny so perfect so beautiful. I felt as if my heart would break into a thousand pieces. I loved with a feeling I had never felt before. At the same time I felt like a failure. I was their Mommy. I was supposed to protect them. I could not. My body had failed me yet again. It just opened up and let them go.

I would give anything to hear their little voices call me MaMa.
Just. Once.

Can't I just read ahead a little?

I just want to read a little bit ahead...I don't want to know the END of the story. Wait. Yes. Yes, I Do.

So FET #1 did not work. Now what? Decisions decisions decisions.

Option A:
Pay another $4k. Go back to pick up totcicle number 3. I won't mention the fact that I had a conversation with my doctor about thawing ALL THREE, and picking the best two for transfer. How surprised was I when they called with the thaw report. "We defrosted two and they both look GREAT!" ok but wtf? What happened to The Plan? Now we have one left in a freezer. All alone and cold and shit. Yeah, I know, I said I wasn't going to mention it in sentence number three. Oh well.

Option B:
Start all over. And when I say start all over...I mean...Start. All. Over. As in new doctor, new clinic and more shots. We switched insurance in January, about 6 weeks into my pregnancy with Tess and Oliver, just in case something happened. Of course I never thought that I'd really need it. Yes doubt was obviously there, along with anxiety, fear etc. etc. but in my heart I had so much hope. So I guess in a way I'm "lucky" I've got two full cycles paid in full waiting for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for this, I'm just pissed that I need it.

Option C:
We can start the adoption process. I've wanted to adopt almost as long as I've wanted to be pregnant. I've always known that it was something I wanted to do. But my plan was to have a child and then adopt. The best of both worlds. When I was seventeen I went on a backpacking trip to Costa Rica with my father. We carried the supplies for a medical/dental team providing care to villagers too far away from cities and too poor to receive medical attention. It was a life changing trip. We visited an orphanage, and I wanted to bring them all home with me. I felt so very small. In a good way.

So here are my initial thoughts.
Option A - maybe
Option B - maybe
Option C - maybe

But how do I decide? I feel like I'm standing on a cliff trying to find the courage to jump into the ocean. I know it will be ok. I've just seen loads of other people jump. They come up with HUGE smiles. But I cannot make myself move. I am frozen.

Totcicle 3. It was a fairly easy procedure. It did work, for a few days. Next time I'll be on progesterone supps. What if this little dude is The One? Then again what if he's not.

Starting over. ok, I may not know the new doctor, I may not know the inter-workings of this new clinic, but it did work for me once. Sorta. This is incredible science. BUT, and here's the kicker, what if it ALL HAPPENS AGAIN? What if at 19 weeks all hell breaks loose? What if, What if, What if?

Adoption. We already went to the general information meeting. It's already something I KNOW I want to do. So what's the problem, right? Adoption first doesn't fall in the order of My Plan. I just turned 36. If we stared now I'd be 37 when we adopt. So do I go back and cycle at 39? 40? With a young child in my care? Knowing that, if I am successful, I will be considered high risk and the very very high precentage that I will have some form of bedrest. With a toddler at home?? I just can't get my head around it.

I know what you're thinking. Who in the hell ever planned to be infertile? Not me. Never even crossed my mind actually. I met the love of my life, we got married, of course we'd get pregnant our wedding night. Silly silly me. So 3+ years into this, why am I so hung up on My Plan? It obviously never included any of the crap that we have endured in the last year. In my worst nightmare I couldn't have thought this up. So fuck My Plan.

I feel like I'm running in place with my life passing me by...

Shit. I thought typing all this out would bring me to a conclusion.

Nope.

the end of a shitty weekend.

Friday: Beta #1 bloods in at 7am. The waiting game begins...3pm the nurse calls. "Your numbers are low. 39 in fact, so not low low but still low. Your progesterone is even lower." No mention that I ASKED for supplemental progesterone and they poo poo'd me. So thanks for the script now that it's likely too late.

Saturday: Drove up to the land. Wondering all day AM I or AM I NOT? Put two leaves in the water to say hello to Tess and Oliver. Talked a little bit about the house we hope to build. Got stung by two hornets that were pissed I walked through their hive. Build it in a fucking tree or at least off the fucking ground next time. Fuckers.

Sunday: Beta #2 bloods in at 9am. Distracted from the waiting game by hanging out with friends for some breakfast. And playing with their boy who is a very bright spot in our lives. Home to play the waiting game from 12-3. Phone rings too many times in those three hours...all false alarms. 3:15 nurse calls. "Your numbers dropped. Looks like it's not going to work out this time. Stop taking the progesterone (that we gave you too late) Call Dr. S for a follow-up."

Shot my theory 'they call all the bad-news-receivers first' right outta the fucking water.

shitty shitty shitty.