I haven't written much lately, but the truth is, there isn't much to say. Besides, "excuse me, I need to go throw up" (or, more accurately, "excuse me, I need to go gag myself silly in the bathroom without throwing up, which in itself would be a bit of a relief after the gagging").
I used to read the blogs of women who were pregnant after fertility battles, and I would swear up and down to myself that I would never complain about morning sickness. I would happily throw up and rejoice in every second of it, because it meant that the long-held dream was coming true.
My mother says that the reason women gain so much weight after pregnancy is because they have to eat so many words. So many, "I will never," "I would never," "I could never" - right out the window. (Or, on the hips.) Don't get me wrong: I actually do revel in the nausea, just a bit, because it helps make this all feel more real. But said "reveling" is getting a little less fervent.
Some of you have suggested that I might try to move up my ultrasound date (which is this coming Monday), and I have considered it. But I've decided that I need to practice waiting, a skill at which I, to be perfectly honest, suck, because I'm going to need to get better at that over the next nine months. Plus, I figure that waiting until I'm 7 1/2 weeks will mean we can really see some good stuff on the ultrasound, and then it's only another 2 weeks until my first OB appointment.
I'm freaking out a little bit about leaving my RE. The idea of it, in theory, is great: no more injections! No more wandings (on such a regular basis)! No more freaking blood draws all the freaking time! But the actuality, walking away from this clinic where I have been treated so well, is just one more reminder that I am walking away from this huge part of my life, this definition of myself - infertile - which I have become comfortable with over the past four years.
More comfortable than you'd think, actually. So much so that, when a woman at my church told me a few days ago that she was pregnant, my first thought was something like, "Ugh. I hate you." (Not really, of course, but you know what I mean.) It took me a good ten seconds to remember that I am pregnant too. (I forget this on a regular basis. It's another good thing about the nausea: handy reminder.)
It's funny how the life you know, even if it's not the life you want, becomes so familiar that, when someone hands you the life you've always dreamed of, you're not sure what to do with it. It's a dilemma I'm happy to work on, however.