Off to the fertility specialist we went, as we approached the year mark of trying to have kids.
Hormone tests revealed that I didn't produce enough of the hormones needed to ovulate. So, all the sex Hubby and I were having should pretty much have been viewed as recreational instead of procreational, as we thought, as I didn't even produce anything that could be turned into a baby by his man-stuff.
Fertility drugs it was.
First dose didn't take. They upped my dosage and sent me home for round #2.
After almost a year of trying to have a baby with no results at all, you get burned out. So, Hubby and I talked about it, and if this set of fertility treatments hadn't produced a baby, we were taking a break from the stress of trying to get pregnant.
Test results came back, and according to the fertility clinic, I hadn't ovulated yet again. They asked me to come in for round #3, which is when we told them that we were heading back home on vacation and would resume treatment the following month.
That was a miracle in disguise.
We headed home a few weeks later, and Hubby's brother and wife wanted to take us swimming one day. I put on my 2 piece bathing suit (ah, the joys of being 20 years old and a size 6), and, well...
My boobs fell out of the top. Literally. My sister-in-law even tried helping me stuff them back in. Didn't
work. The bathing suit I had for years, that fit just a month earlier than that, no longer held my boobs.
I was on cloud nine.
My sister-in-law squashed my celebration by asking me if I was pregnant.
Nope. No way. The fertility clinic told me my tests were negative for ovulation. So, it had to just be that at 20 years old, I was finally hitting a boob growth spurt.
She asked me if I had gotten my period, and yeah, I had. I mean, it only lasted 2 days and was so light I didn't even have to use tampons, but yes, I
I talked to my mother-in-law about how tired I was, and how I had lost my appetite recently. She asked if I was pregnant, too. No, dammit, the tests came back negative for me ovulating. Why did everyone keep asking me that question?
We got home from our vacation, and were heading to an amusement park with some friends of ours. As we waited in the line to get the car washed, my best friend lit up a cigarette and handed it to me (yes, I was a dirty, nasty smoker back then). One puff and... vomit. Most disgusting thing I had ever put into my mouth before in my life. I handed it back to her and told her I didn't want one. She stared at me like I had grown two heads.
We got home from washing the car, and as I took 2 steps into the house, I hit the roof. Hubby had smoked in the house. I could smell it everywhere. My best friend couldn't smell a thing. I called him at work, where he admitted that 2 hours prior to me getting home, he had walked through the house with a lit cigarette, totaling all of 10 seconds inside the house. He couldn't understand how in the hell I smelled it at all.
No, Inklingers, even with all of these puzzle pieces, I still hadn't put together the big picture yet. And, it got better.
|The Anaconda. The last roller coaster I rode that day.|
Pic Courtesy of Kings Dominion
Road trip to the amusement park, and as we were walking around, I was on the verge of throwing up. Couldn't eat. Couldn't ride anything, I was spending my day in the public restroom vomiting up my internal organs. Hubby took me back to the hotel room to nap, and after about 2 hours I felt brand new again. We drove back to the amusement park, met up with our friends, and I proceeded to ride just about every roller coaster I could, even the one that beat your head senseless as it dipped under water and corkscrewed like 17 times.
On the way out of the amusement park at closing, I was starving. We stopped at the sandwich shop (extra pickles, please), the kettle corn tent, the candied apple tent, the cotton candy stand- and yes, that was all for me. When we got back to the hotel room, our friends ordered pizza, which I ate as well. Everyone just figured I was pigging out because I had spent my morning throwing up. Logical, right?
A few days later, I woke up one morning, dizzy as hell. That, dear Inklingers, is when the light bulb flashed on for me. I grabbed a pregnancy test and before I could even stop peeing on the stick, 2 dark blue lines popped up on it, indicating I was preggers.
I screamed and ran into the bedroom yelling, "Two blue lines, honey. There are two blue lines!!!" Hubby was shocked.
We were even more shocked to find out that I was already 8 weeks along. Yeah, that period I thought I had wasn't really a period at all.
We were even more shocked when I found out that had I taken round #3 of fertility drugs as I was supposed to, that it would have more-than-likely killed the baby I didn't even know I was carrying.
The Girl. My now-almost 12 year old.
Who, yes, loves to ride roller coasters.