Round Two. Contemplations.

When Mister and I worked on getting pregnant the first time, on occasion we'd see other couples with their children at the fertility doctor's. I was mixed about it — on the one hand, I thought, "Hooray! It works!" and on the other hand, I wanted to be alone in my misery.

The doctors' office has been remodeled since we were there, and now there is a separate place for children. When the three of us visited last week, Bama and Mister hung out in the finance services lobby, which was cozy for toddlers, while I went in for an ultrasound. 

On Thursday, I left both of them at home as I crossed the bridge for my second ultrasounds — these are to check the size of the follicle — the follicle that will release an egg during a normal cycle. My follicle had grown 10mm so HCG shot in the butt (to "trigger" the egg's release) and in six days, I'll go back to have our second frozen embryo transferred.

This round, I visited my acupuncturist, and started taking gag-inducing herbs again to keep my uterus "juicy" for the embryo. I love this guy. He reminds me of a Keebler elf, keeps his eye on the THB (Take Home Baby), and is full of lip-smacking descriptions of my uterus.

At a birthday party today, there was talk of another party at which all the moms, save one, were pregnant with a second (or third) child. I may try to be circumspect about our pregnancy possibilities, but I'm not fool, either. Being at a party like that would kill me. I'm okay with my pregnant friends (only a couple right now), but not okay with being surrounded by swelling bellies. At the same party, I talked with a friend who is a year younger, and is starting down the IVF path again as well. (She and her wife had a sperm donor.) Not only do we have the IVF challenge, but we also have age against us. And while we both would like a little more time with our first, neither of us are under any illusion that that's possible. We, quite literally, have to get on the stick. 

I never imagined this would be my baby-making scenario. In my perfect world, I was married by 26 with a first baby by 28. But, I didn't meet Mister until I was 34, already a few years behind. 

In this exact moment, I'm sitting in my car in our driveway, listening to Bama's snorish breathing. She crashed out after our whirlwind of social engagements today. I could listen to this sound forever. But what would it be like with another whispery breath alongside? At the party, I watched our friends' daughters, in matching dresses, sit and follow the every move of a puppeteer. When the little one went up to help him, the other announced, "She's my sister!" Another girl sat with her younger brother propped against her. "That is why I want another one," I said to Mister. 

So, on Thursday, we defrost the second blackberry embryo and see if it turns out (85 percent chance of a successful thaw) and drop it in the slot. 

Mister will be out of town and I'll leave Bama with a friend. It's weird to be doing this alone, because Mister was with me for every glorious check along the way last time. But it's all different, isn't it? We have a baby who's developing into a toddler. We understand what the cycles are like. The emotional roller-coaster changed between Bama's cycle and this one because she came into our lives. 

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Round Two. Contemplations.

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