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I had a last minute ultrasound yesterday, and much to my surprise, I’m carrying two little babes around. That makes my constant nausea more logical. Two little babies, two little heartbeats.

 Two cribs…. twice the diapers….. a minivan…… two car seats…. twice the clothing…… hmmm. Hubby and I were going to fly out to Washington in June, but that’s been cancelled – both due to my fear of flying while carrying twins and the fact that we need to save our pennies to get a minivan.

 I’m excited that our family will be complete after this. We told the boys at dinner last night. They were estatic, and went so far as to tell the bus boy that I’m carrying “babies”. Eldest asked how they would all fit on one school bus seat (he and younger ride together). I’m waiting for them to tell Bunny, their mom and hubby’s ex.

I’ve also determined that I need to quit my position as president of our homeowner’s association eventually. With one baby, I’d be fine. But I can’t put the energy and time into it with two. Right now, I’m wondering how long I’ll be able to volunteer for my stepsons’ classes twice a week while wondering if I’m going to start puking.

A friend gave me my first real maternity clothes today – they’re too large for her, but she figures I’ll fit with the twins. Oh, and names. We have to come up with extra names! My to do list is long, but luckily I have 8 more months to get it all complete.

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I have this stray cat, Frodo, who my husband and I took in last summer. He is such a cool cat, and much better behaved than our other three. He’s also gorgeous with long fur, which is the problem. Frodo gets poopy. Nasty poop that hangs off his butt and that you can smell a mile away.

 Frodo is also very private about his butt. He can’t stand to have it cleaned and yowls a fighting cry, which causes the other cats to run in and attack. Since I’m now officially knocked up, I’m supposed to avoid cat poop. Hubby attempted to clean Frodo by himself. First he used a paper towel, which did no good. Then he got the brilliant idea to stick Frodo’s butt in some warm soapy water. Hubby screamed loud enough to wake the dead, and now has multiple gashes on his shoulders, arm, and hand. I finally wrapped the cat in a blanket and held him while Hubby trimmed the offensive clumps.

The whole job is nasty, and Frodo is so sensitive about his hind end – made for an awful end to the evening (especially since hubby got blood on the sheets and duvet cover).

Does anyone have experience in this area that they can share?

Beta number three is officially 1,962, a doubling time of 1.62 days. For those not familiar with reproductive technology, my number is great! I have a real live ultrasound on March 16th. They want my husband to be there, because we’ll hear the heartbeat and see how many there are.

I’m excited to tell the boys and my mother-in-law, but we’ve decided to hold off until until after the ultrasound, which will be at 7 1/2 weeks.

Some of the best news is that April 4th will be my LAST progesterone shot! Finally.

14 dop – beta level was 160

16 dop (today) beta level is 376.

 My level more than doubled! This is good. This means my pregnancy has still decided to stick around. Monday I have one more beta. We want the level to be above 1000. Then no more blood tests! My poor veins are worn out from all the bloodletting. They want some peace.

I can’t believe I’m pregnant. I can’t believe that there is a life growing in me. I wish this first trimester would hurry up and move the pace up. I don’t work outside the home, and the days can drag. I thought the two week wait was bad. Knowing that I’m pregnant and wondering if it is still alive is horrible. I’m going to rent one of those fetal heart monitors. My poor dh is sick of me worrying about my baby: “I think it’s gone, dh. I don’t feel sick. I feel sick”. Arg. How he puts up with me I can’t comprehend. But I love him for it.

You’d think that I would accept that I’m pregnant now – at least as pregnant as someone at almost 4 weeks can be. I’ve had four postive hpts. I have one more for tomorrow, the day of my beta test. Just in case, you know.

I also took a picture of my tests. Just in case I didn’t get another one ever again. Perhaps it’s not so much obsessive as pathetic. On Saturday dh and I went to the mall. I brought my beautiful, urine soaked test with me, just to gaze at on the drive there. I wonder how long those things keep without getting moldy?

Oh s&*(! I did an hpt and got a faint line last night. Then I did another one today and got another faint line. Could it be that I’m actually pregnant? It could be leftover hcg from my shot, but that was almost two weeks ago. Or it could end up as a chemical pregnancy. Or it could be etopic. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but they are! I want to think about names and nursery themes and such. I want to believe that the one thing I want most in the word is starting to come true. I know that the higher I get, the more it will hurt if I fall, but I need this! I need to know that my body is capable of supporting a life. I love my stepsons but I want to be a mom, a real mom.

Infertility is hard. Dh and I haven’t had the rough road that many have. We didn’t struggle for years not knowing what was wrong. We knew the problem was dh’s sperm, from his vasectomy reversal. We didn’t do IUIs. We went straight to IVF. This is my first round, and I’ve struggled to keep my expectations low. There is less than a 50% chance I will have a child at the end of this. But I have a second line! I faint beautiful pink second line. I also  bought three more tests because I’ll be testing every day now. All I want is a child, a healthy child to love and hold and teach and guide. I want to be a mommy.

For the first time, I did my progesterone shot by myself. It’s an im shot, in the butt, so usually hubby does it. But I was mad at him and didn’t want to give him opportunity to get back at me with a 1 1/2 inch needle. I’m the kind of gal who needs emotional support during this IVF thing, and for the most part, hubby has missed the boat. Oh, he’ll do the vacuuming when doc says I’m not supposed to. But what I really yearn for is for him to ask me how things are, what I’m feeling. I want him to be like a girlfriend. I know it doesn’t seem fair, but it’s a temporary thing, just for one more week. I’ve even suggested key phrases to say to suggest warmth and caring. It’s just not in him, and that hurts me dearly. If I can watch European Auto Racing with him, can’t he say something sort of warm? Sort of caring? Perhaps I should print him out a phrase book.

It’s a delicate balance between being helpful and bossy and domineering, a balance I’m normally ok with. This IVF stuff has fucked with my emotions, my body, my finances, and my marriage. I like to be in control and this is one situation where I just can’t be. But now that I’ve discovered that I can do my own PIO (progesterone in oil) shot I feel better. Hubby feels worse, I think, because he likes to be needed. I do need him, but emotionally. Not to give me the shot.

Eldest child is still hacking up a lung with that cold. Younger is becoming a talker. He’s six, but up until a few days ago he was pretty quiet. Now I can’t seem to get him to close his trap. I’m not used to it, and it’s sort of unnerving having him follow me around talking constantly. DH asked if I had told him to be quiet. That sounds mean. He’s just six! Eldest was always the talker, always demanding attention. Now Younger is getting into it. I’m not thrilled. I liked my mornings of reading the paper, cleaning the house, cooking, in relative silence. I always make time with Younger to play a game or two before Kindergarden, but now there is so much constant chatter that any game takes forever. We played Candyland today. I hate that game because it is so long, but with Younger talking and not moving his piece, I almost resorted to cheating just to get the game to end. Almost. I’d never hear the end of it if I did, and then no more chance of stepmother of the year award I’ve been eyeing.

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