Shopping mantra

My mantra while clothes shopping post baby:

I will not get discouraged. I will not cry. I will not cave and buy maternity clothes. I will celebrate my body.

Infertility, conceiving and guilt

The first couple of weeks of parenthood are indescribable… Full of love, running on adrenaline, terrified of something so small and helpfless, so incredibly tired. Did I mention love? And adrenaline?

For me, looking at this new baby in my arms, I was in awe. Awe that I was finally a mother. For some struggling to get pregnant, their journey is much longer than mine (which was not quite 3 years to conceive). For others, it takes less time but still longer than they anticipated. I remember sighing in exasperation after reading on Facebook that a friend was frustrated with how long it took her to get pregnant… I think it was something like 3 months. And yet, there are some who may read my blog with the same sigh (or cries) of exasperation, thinking “she thinks 3 years is a long time….” or “she doesn’t know struggle until she’s experienced IVF or [fill in the blank].”

When I was longing to get pregnant, I heard/read so many complaints by those who were pregnant or parenting. I would think to myself “they don’t know how lucky they are.” My pregnancy wasn’t the easiest. Those who know me best know just how much I love food. I couldn’t wait to be pregnant so I could use the excuse “I am eating for 2.” That was not to be… I actually weighed less after giving birth than I did when I first got pregnant because of how sick I was during pregnancy. There was no such thing as “morning sickness” for me. It was more like “all day and night” sickness. And it lasted most of my pregnancy. I was sick more times than I can count (the most memorable probably being the time in the middle of a restaurant in Chicago… Embarrassing… Or in the middle of my church’s parking lot. Or in my front garden – twice).

At the beginning of the pregnancy, when the sickness was at its worst, I would find myself heaving into the toilet all the while thinking “be thankful… be thankful… be thankful…” Some days were incredibly difficult, but my struggles in trying to conceive made me appreciate the moments of pregnancy that much more. In fact, I was so terrified of miscarrying that I took my severe nausea as reassurance that our baby was still growing.

I mentioned that the first couple of weeks of parenthood are spent in awe. While I was in awe, I also struggled with intense feelings of guilt… It wasn’t necessarily that I felt guilty for being able to conceive. It was the intense guilt I would feel when I would get frustrated with A.J.’s screams. Guilt when I would just want to push “snooze” on the “alarm” that was actually my baby. Guilt when I would cry with the struggles of breast feeding. Even though I was intentional with not complaining about my struggles during pregnancy or early weeks of parenting, I felt guilty for just feeling frustrated, tired, challenged or upset. I felt like after being blessed with such a beautiful daughter, I should be thankful for each and every moment. Isn’t this what I had longed for?

Many of those exasperated feelings stemmed from tiredness. I’m talking about the tiredness of being a brand new parent… Going from consistent nightly sleep, to celebrating a 4 or 5 hour stretch. Tiredness that comes from your body healing from delivery. Tiredness from worrying that you’re doing ok as a new parent. 12 weeks later, am I still tired when I am awoken in the middle of the night (or earlier in the morning than I would have when childless)? Yes. But it’s different now. Through sleepy eyes, I look at her while she is feeding and – with more clarity that I had at the beginning of parenting – feel such love.

I’ve settled a little more into motherhood. My head is clearer, my body healed, my stomach void of nausea (and appetite fully restored! Thank God! I had forgotten what it was like to want to cook!). And I’ve had the chance to reflect on my pregnancy and first couple of weeks of motherhood. I’ve come to realize that while I am thankful for my daughter’s life, it doesn’t mean that every moment is easy. I’ve come to realize that it’s ok (even normal!) to be frustrated (and sometimes even cry…). With these realizations, I’ve moved past feelings of immense guilt. Instead, I feel even greater compassion for those who have such longing in their hearts for the opportunity to become parents.

When I first started blogging, I shared a verse that meant so much to me during our adoption wait. It still speaks to me and I want to share it again with any readers who may be struggling with infertility or going through the adoption process:

December 13, 2013

When we found out that we were due in December, we wondered whether we would meet Baby Lucking before or after Christmas. Every festive plan and party was RSVP’d with a tentative yes, baby depending. I was hoping for a Friday the 13th birth, and Baby Lucking luckily decided to cooperate. See, Friday the 13th can be lucky!

For about two weeks prior to the 13th, I kept feeling weird cramping feelings in my abdomen. I googled “Braxton Hicks,” and what people described didn’t really sound what I was feeling. Every once in a while, the feeling would be so startling that I would stop where I was. Mark would say excitedly “is it a contraction!?” And I would respond with “I’m not really sure what it is…” He would say “let’s just say it’s a contraction!” This happened numerous times before I just started responding with “sure.” In hindsight, I know now they were Braxton Hicks, but I just wasn’t sure what to expect.

Mark had injured himself at the beginning of November and was waiting for a surgery date, so we got to spend almost every moment of the last six weeks of being a childless couple together. Financially, it wasn’t ideal that he was home, but now I am so glad we had those weeks together. As we approached the due date, I was getting increasingly uncomfortable. We were eager to meet Baby Lucking before Christmas, so in addition to almost every method we read about inducing labour, we made a lot of visits to the mall to keep me up and active. I was determined to have all my Christmas shopping done by the end of November just in case I gave birth early (our due date was around December 18); I didn’t want to feel like I had to finish our Christmas shopping after the baby was born and malls were at their busiest. But as days went by at the beginning of December, I regretted doing my Christmas shopping so early, because each mall visit to be “mall walkers” as we called it (we like the show The Walking Dead) consisted of just walking – no shopping, which wasn’t as fun… Mark would limp and I would waddle through the mall.

During my visit to the OB the first week of December, we agreed that December 9th would be a “perfect” date to deliver if Baby Lucking decided to cooperate. My OB would be on call that day, so she would be the one to deliver (which would be ideal since she is awesome!).

I had my weekly OB appointment also scheduled for 9th. When the day came and I didn’t feel like labour was imminent, she asked if we wanted her to do an examination to see how things were progressing and to do a membrane sweep. Eager to meet our baby, we agreed to anything that would help things progress! She discovered I was 2 cm dilated and she did a membrane sweep to try to move things along. She made no promises that it would make anything move faster. I did not like the sweep! I found it incredibly painful as I gripped Mark’s hand. I laid on the table afterwards and felt a clammy sweat. The OB cautioned me against standing up because I looked so grey and I felt like I was going to vomit. Teary eyed, I apologized “for being such a suck.” If the sweep felt like that, what was labour going to feel like!?

We went home and waited. Nothing happened other than the odd contraction. We were hoping that things would progress soon; the weather forecast was not promsing with reports of a large amount of snow that coming weekend. In fact, on Tuesday the 10th, Mark felt the need to tell me I should hurry things along…

On the evening of the 12th, I started experiencing the contractions feelings more often but they weren’t regular (sometimes every 20 minutes or so before they would stop for an hour or two). We went to bed late on Thursday, and at about 2:00 AM I woke up to a stronger contraction. I dozed off before another one came about 6 minutes later. I started timing them on my phone and tried dozing in between the contractions but wasn’t getting a lot of sleep so I went downstairs so Mark could get some rest. Baby Lucking was coming and we knew we weren’t going to get much sleep soon!

In prenatal class, we were told to remember 5.1.1; we were to go to the hospital when contractions were 5 minutes apart, lasting for about 1 minute each, and were consistently like this for an hour. I was timing every contraction, and quickly noticed that my contractions went from about 6 minutes to 2-4 minutes apart. My contractions would come sporadically, some 2 minutes apart, and then the odd 6 minute one… I went upstairs and told Mark that I thought it was time to head to the hospital. I was nervous that I was just experiencing false labour, but the 2 minute contractions scared me (I did not want to give birth at home because I knew my tolerance for pain would likely lead me to wanting an epidural…). It was 5:30 AM and we excitedly left for the hospital wondering if the next time we came home would be with a baby. We had told our family that we would call them when we were in labour just to let them know that their new grandbaby/niece or nephew was on its way, but we decided to hold off on the calls since we weren’t sure what was going on with contractions.

We got to the hospital and walked to the birthing unit. They put me into a room and took their time coming to examine me. When they finally came to check me, they said I was only about 3-4 cm dilated. They said it was likely that we were to meet our baby that day, but that they didn’t want to admit me quite yet… They suggested I walk around the hospital for a few hours or go home. Running on very little sleep and pretty uncomfortable, I opted for home. Unsure what “sign” I should look for to return to the hospital (since most of my contractions were already less than 5 minutes apart…) I asked when I should know to return. They said when the contractions were more regular, my water broke, or if I started to bleed. Still unsure of what to look for, we left the hospital around 8:00 AM. (Speaking to my OB afterwards, she said she never would have let me leave…).

I went home to a nice warm bath (which helped quite a bit!). We decided that Mark should try to get some sleep (my contractions were too close together for me to get any sleep) since we knew it was going to be a long day. I went to our basement and tried some of the pain management techniques we learned about in prenatal (or at least the ones I could remember; I was more interested in learning about medicated coping strategies during the class…).

I tried the Pilates ball, but the pressure “down under” was too intense to be sitting on the ball. I tried laying down. I tried kneeling across the ball. But mainly, I focused on the HGTV shows I was watching (watching dreamy Scott McGillivray’s Income Property is a great coping strategy!). Mark insists that he didn’t get much sleep, but he was in deep enough of a sleep that he didn’t hear me moaning and yelping during my contractions… (Love you, hunny! xo).

Around 12:00 noon the pain was becoming more unmanageable, so I went upstairs to look for my heating pad. I couldn’t find it, so I joined Mark in bed. Just as I was about to tell him that I thought we should head back to the hospital, my water broke! Finally a glaringly obvious sign that it was time! Our bags were already in the truck from our morning visit, and I rushed to put on dry pants. I had been pretty nauseated all morning, and I had one last pregnancy puke before rushing out the door. Mark barely had time to call my parents (who had previously agreed to come get our dog when “it was time”) before we were on the road.

On our 15 minute drive to the hospital, it became obvious to me that we should have left the house earlier… My contractions were now all 1-2 minutes apart. I tried to focus on my “labour playlist” that I had created weeks earlier. While I tried to pick fitting songs for the occassion, there’s nothing like being in labour to realize which songs are actually soothing and which songs just make things worse…

The million dollar question was where to park… There is short-term parking just outside the birthing unit where Mark could drop me off and then go park the car in long-term parking. I wanted to be in the birthing unit immediatey, but I was also terrified to be without Mark in these last moments before delivery. But could I make the walk from long-term parking which was significantly farther away? My fear of being without Mark outweighed my fear of delivering in the hall, so I told Mark to park in long-term parking and together we made the longest walk of my life. Every minute or two, I would have to stop for a contraction, leaning against the wall moaning in pain while people bustled past me. Then it would pass, and I would try to walk as fast as possible before the next contraction hit.

When we got to the birthing unit, there was another couple before me. In comparison to what I was experiencing, it looked to me like they were going on vacation… She was calmly standing there with a rolling suitcase beside her while I leaned on the wall for support and groaned loudly. No one was coming to admit me and there was so much pressure, so I finally told Mark “you have to go get help! I feel like I have to push!” He returned with a male doctor or nurse (I can’t remember) who said something ridiculously stupid like “how are you feeling” or “you’re in labour?” I can’t remember exactly. I do remember feeling bad for the “vacationing couple” in front of me because they took me to a room before them.

I got into the bed and told the staff “I feel like I have to push!” They told me, “no, no. You still have a while. We have to examine you first.” Finally they did and the OB looked a little surprised when she said (or what I thought she said), “you’re 5 cm.” At this point, I may have let out a loud curse… That was my biggest fear, that I would be in so much pain only to find out that I still had so much more to endure. Then I heard the OB say to the nurse “You have to get the anesthesiologist. She wants an epidural and she’s already 9 cm!” I said “I’m 9 cm?! I thought you said 5…” I was so happy that I was so close, but also so worried that I wouldn’t get an epidural in time.

According to Mark, the nurse literally ran out of the room for the anesthesiologist who came in and had me sign a piece of paper agreeing to the epidural. I would have signed anything at that point, and I managed to scratch something that looked close to my signature. I almost debated not getting the epidural since I was already 9 cm dilated, but I was having a difficult time focusing and I had no idea how much longer it would be. If the staff had talked with me and told me I could deliver then and now and it would be over in minutes, I may have opted for no epidural. But all I remember is chaos and confusion (on my part), and I just wanted some relief.

It took them four tries to get the epidural in because – according to the nurse – I was sitting wrong. Frustrated with me, she kept wanting me to “bend down farther” but would then scold me for not breathing. I can understand why – the baby’s vitals would drop when I forgot to breathe – but I felt like telling her, “lady, I can’t even bend down to tie my shoes anymore and you expect me to bend more?!” They finally got it in, and I felt some relief before pushing.

With Mark beside me, I pushed and pushed. Again, the scrooge nurse scolded me for “not pushing right.” She wanted me to wrap my hands underneath my knees, pull up my own knees, and push at the same time. I felt like telling her “YOU hold up my knees! If you’re not going to help me hold up my knees, then what use are you standing beside me?!” Thank you, Mark, for holding up my right knee so I could focus on my left…

During the pregnancy, I kept telling Mark that I hoped our baby had lots of hair. He would reply “yeah right, the baby is a Lucking… Its not going to have any hair for months!”  When the OB or nurse (again, can’t remember…) said “I can see the head! Your baby has lots of hair!” I grinned and was given more energy to push.

Well, I pushed. It was 2:37 PM, and I had been in the hospital for about an hour and a half. The baby came out. I was told it was a girl. And my life changed forever. It’s incredible how you can love someone so quickly. I never believed in love at first sight until I met my daughter.

On a side note, today our little girl giggled unmistakably for the first time. In love…

Crazy things only my husband would say to his pregnant wife

I almost started another blog while I was pregnant. My husband said some pretty crazy (funny) things while I was pregnant…. But I figured 1) CrazyThingsOnlyMyHusbandWouldSayToHisPregnantWife.wordpress.com was too lengthy of a URL and 2) I refuse to start yet another blog only to have it fall off my radar (I’m a little notorious for that…).

So instead, here’s a post with some of the crazy things he said (or at least the few that I remembered and/or wrote down). He’s lucky I have a great sense of humour…!

“It’s like a third nipple”

This was made in reference to my protruding belly button. It never fully turned into an “outie,” but as I got bigger towards the end of my pregnancy, apparently Mark noticed it protrude more…

“You look like you’re 33 months pregnant!”
My husband plays on a recreational ball hockey team (this was how he was injured in November…). All the girls whose husbands/boyfriends/partners played on “The Night’s Watch” got our own t-shirts with the logo of the team and our partner’s number on the back. I asked for one of the largest sizes possible (not knowing how my body would look after pregnancy) and even though I got an XL, it was a tiny, women’s XL. It was tight. We received the shirts towards the end of my second trimester. Showing Mark the shirt, he too thought it look tight – tight enough that it made me look 33 months pregnant apparently! Even elephants only have a gestation period of 22 months…

“It looks like Nero’s face”
I’m prone to stretch marks. I always have been, it doesn’t matter what moisturizer I use or trick I try. It bugs me when I read/hear people say “I used [insert cream name here] while I was pregnant and didn’t get ANY stretch marks! It really works!” I’m sorry…. It’s not the cream. Some people are just more prone to stretch marks than others.

Mark and I are big Star Trek fans. We really love the new installment, and after showing Mark some of my newest stretch marks on my belly he made a Star Trek comparison. To Nero’s face… I choose to think he was comparing my good looks to those of Eric Bana…

“You’re front heavy”

I think this one is pretty self explanatory.

I love you too, hunny!

In all honesty, I laughed every time he said one of these things. While my pregnancy was a harder journey than I anticipated, Mark was with me every step of the way! Along with all the comments listed above, he also said many times things along the lines of “I can’t wait to be a daddy,” “I’m so excited to meet the baby,” and “You’re going to be an amazing mommy.”

Next post – finally, the birth story!

Our maternity photos

Once we found out that Baby Lucking was due just before Christmas, I started thinking of creative ways to capture our pregnancy with photography. Luckily, my parents are photographers so we could get photos done for free have our photos taken by someone who really gets us and were really excited to become grandparents!

I knew exactly what kind of photos I wanted! I love Christmas, and I thought it would be special to have more natural maternity photos taken outside while we get a Christmas tree. The catch was my parents were leaving at the beginning of November for over three weeks on vacation. They wouldn’t be back until the beginning of December, and I didn’t want to chance an early delivery and miss out on my idea for photos (or be in my last weeks and be really uncomfortable walking around a tree farm at almost full term…). So we picked Saturday, November 3rd (when I was almost 34 weeks along) to get our Christmas tree…. Our live Christmas tree which we then had to keep in good shape until Christmas almost 8 weeks later…

I contacted Will’s Christmas Store & Tree Farm, a farm where my family had chopped (or “sawed”) trees down in the past. They have a beautiful Christmas store where I was also hoping to take some photos. I contacted them in advance to ask if it was ok to have our photos taken there at the beginning of November, and when we arrived that Sunday they were surprised to hear that we were also planning on getting our Christmas tree so early. We were officially the first Christmas tree purchase of the year! The kind owner suggested a Fraser Fir (over our typical Balsam) and said if we were consistent with watering it, it should last until Christmas (and it did! By Christmas it was shedding quite a few needles, but it made it!).

I am so thrilled with how our pictures turned out! It was such a memorable day (made even more memorable by the fact that Mark tore his ACL that afternoon in a ball hockey game… Was I ever thankful that we had our maternity pictures taken before that happened!). I am so thankful that my parents were part of these special pictures! Thanks, Mom and Dad (Memories Through Lens Photography)!

We couldn’t resist…

I started out by helping…

But I have a strong husband!

Then we came home and took more pictures with our beloved dog, Jedi, in our newly decorated baby’s room!

The pregnancy experience

To those still around reading my lengthy blog/journal posts, bravo to you. Thanks for your patience as I record my pregnancy experience to remember in the future. It also sets the stage for some posts I have in mind for the future. I promise, there will be shorter and more visually appealing posts coming up soon!

I had wondered for almost three years what it would be like to experience pregnancy. What symptoms would I experience more than others? Would I struggle with many pregnancy symptoms, or be one of those women who loved every moment?

As I mentioned in my previous post, I experienced nausea pretty quickly after finding out I was pregnant. I often wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t taken a pregnancy test on the Thursday. Would I have guessed something was different when I first felt a little nauseated that Saturday? Or maybe the following Tuesday when the “all day” sickness started?

It wasn’t just nausea; I was physically sick (i.e. “upchucking almost everything”) at least once a day. Within about three weeks, I had lost almost 15 lbs, so I went to my family doctor in hopes that she would prescribe me something. At this point, the nausea was so bad that I was feeling incredibly discouraged. Most days I stayed in bed when I could. Every time I heaved in the toilet, I would chant in my head “be thankful, be thankful, be thankful.”

My doctor’s medical student saw me first and asked whether I was taking anything for the nausea. By this point, I had tried almost everything that Google, Pinterest, friends, family, strangers, etc. recommended. Wristbands. Ginger pills. Eating smaller meals more often throughout the day. Food like oatmeal, baby crackers, etc. I explained all this to him at which point he felt the need to explain to me that nausea is one symptom of pregnancy and perhaps I should “tough it out” for a while. I was torn between breaking down in tears and hitting him. (I may have even texted Mark with something along the lines of “I want to kick him in the groin and tell HIM to tough it out…”). My doctor came into the room and asked him to summarize my case; he did and ended with “I told her nausea is a common symptom of pregnancy.” She asked “…so… what should we do next?” He didn’t know what to say. Luckily, my family doctor knew better than to tell me to “tough it out” and without question prescribed me Diclectin. The Diclectin eased the nausea, but I would still continue to be physically sick for months. Around Thanksgiving (about 30 weeks or so?) I was finally able to go down to 2 pills a day. Thank God I was still a student with health insurance because pills that would normally cost over $50 for about 3 weeks only cost me about $15.

Mark, usually very sqeamish when it came to vomit, became a pro at grabbing me a bucket quickly and rubbing my back when I was sick. One of the funniest times I remember while pregnant was just before bed one night. We were lying in bed and I had been complaining for a while that I felt like I was going to be sick (I always tried so hard to keep my food down). We were ready to go to sleep, and Mark turned off the lights. Almost right away, I knew I was going to be sick. I leaned over my side of the bed and started vomiting. What Mark didn’t know was that I had a bowl beside the bed to puke in. I swear, I have never seen him jump out of bed so fast in his life as he thought I was puking on our bed sheets.

One of Mark’s favourite stories was when we were in Chicago. I had a work meeting in Grand Rapids over our fourth wedding anniversary (and our last as a childless couple), so we decided Mark would come with me and we would visit Chicago first. We were in the middle of a nice restaurant for lunch when I started to feel ill. When my nausea first started in my pregnancy, I wouldn’t go anywhere without knowing where my closest 1) bathroom, 2) exit, or 3) garbage can was. By this far in my pregnancy (about 28 weeks), my nausea had subsided so much that I had started letting my guard down and wasn’t always aware of my escape routes. But the nausea came on me so quickly, I couldn’t do anything. I was sick at the table right in the middle of the restaurant. Our waiter was mortified (as was I…). Mark was a champ – he’d come so far in all those weeks!

Sometimes all you can do is laugh! By the end of the pregnancy when I was going as long as a couple of weeks without being physically sick, I had a “[# of days] without incident” countdown on a whiteboard in our kitchen. One day I was in the kitchen and suddenly felt ill and ran to our kitchen sink. As I was heaving in the sink, I see Mark walk by me to grab a marker, walk past me again to our whiteboard, erase the number that was there and put a big, fat “0.” We both had a good laugh at that one…

Honestly, I always thought that I would gain tons of weight when I was pregnant because I love food and imagined I would use pregnancy as an excuse to “eat for two.” Because of my lack of appetite, it took a while for the pregnancy to show. One day in the summer, I knew I was finally showing when I bumped into an old co-worker who excitedly asked when I was due (he’s lucky I was actually pregnant…).

In my third trimester, I started having pretty bad heartburn. Again, I tried anything Google, Pinterest, friends, family, strangers, etc. recommended. Most websites said to stay hydrated and drink lots of water. Too bad water seemed to make my heartburn worse…

At the beginning of the pregnancy, I think my femoral nerve was pinched because if I was standing/walking for longer than 5 minutes the front of my left thigh would go completely numb. That finally subsided and then turned into sciatica on my right side. Before becoming pregnant, I would try to go to the gym 2-3 times a week. Because of the nausea, I took a break until late summer when I started to feel a bit better. When I went back, I found I loved pilates class, and I was faithful with attending until the end of October when (at home) one evening it took me about 3 minutes to get up off the floor because my back kept seizing… And that was with the help of my husband. I decided I didn’t want to be stranded on the ground in pilates, so I took a break.

I started feeling the baby kick the afternoon after our 20 week ultrasound. I was watching The West Wing and took it to be a sign that Baby Lucking was going to love the show as much as I do…  I knew Baby Lucking was going to be a mover and a shaker… At my genetic screening ultrasound (around 13 weeks), Baby Lucking was sleeping in a way that the ultrasound tech couldn’t get the pictures she needed. She had me go pee (but “only about a cup full – you can’t empty your bladder!” Geesh…) and when she continued with the ultrasound, she couldn’t believe how active the baby was moving. She had a hard time getting the screenshots she needed because Baby Lucking was moving so much. At my 20 week ultrasound, the technician said the same thing – she couldn’t believe just how much the baby was moving. Everytime I visited my OB or family doctor, they always had a hard time getting a good heartbeat reading because the baby was moving around all nimbly bimbly. And could I ever feel it… The jabs and kicks would be so startling, I would often jump.

Looking back now, it’s easy to forget how difficult my pregnancy was. While I was pregnant, I questioned having any more biological children after this. I had a hard time coping with being so sick, I couldn’t imagine doing it again and looking after a little one (or more!). But I also think that as human beings, we adapt and find strength we never knew we had.

Up next on the blog, maternity photos!

What next?

My mom and I had a conversation the other day about what makes for an interesting blog post. We concluded: not too lengthy, and one that includes attractive pictures. I apologize in advance because this post defies both rules… I’ve always loved the idea of journaling (having a nice, leather bound book with fancy handwriting inside). But, just like I have proven to be inconsistent with blogging, I am even worse at journaling. So I am using these posts to record some of the thoughts, feelings and stories about my pregnancy and delivery so I have them written down somewhere. Bear with me. Eventually I will write some short and sweet blogs. With attractive pictures.

So, continuing where I left off in my previous post… I was pregnant! The morning I found out, I wanted to call Mark right away. It took everything within me not to, and I thought it was going to be the longest day of my life. (I even tweeted “Pretty sure this is going to be the longest day in existence….” I had to get something off my chest, and tweeting it made me feel a tiny bit better…).

Right away I started to think of ways to tell my husband that he was going to be a dad, but it all came down to the plan I had in mind for years. While we were still dating (but we each knew already that we would marry each other one day), I found a onesie that I thought was hilarious because of Mark’s last name (Lucking) and a nickname he had in college (Lucky).

Mark is a Toronto Maple Leafs fan while I’m a Montreal Canadiens fan. Yes, we still got married despite this tension between us! I decided I would put the onesie into a gift bag with a Montreal Canadiens baby bottle I had packed away in a box (it was my brothers when he was young) and give it to him that evening. I couldn’t imagine having to wait the whole day to tell him. It turns out I didn’t have to…

Now that I think about it, the first person to find out I was pregnant was my doctor’s office. I called them right away since the math said I was already just over 8 weeks along. I called them in a daze and told them my happy news and scheduled an appointment.

At the time I was working as a front line worker with Walk With Me, an organization that provides immediate support and services to victims of human trafficking. A couple days prior, I was asked by my boss to attend a meeting in her place with the Chief of Hamilton Police Services. I was pretty excited and got ready for the meeting. I headed to the office first (again, thinking that everyone must notice that something was different with me!) to get some work done. While at the office, I started feeling a familiar intense pain in my abdomen. In the past, I have had some pretty intense lower abdominal pain that I thought were cysts on my ovaries, and I had a write-up from my doctor ordering some ultrasound tests. For some reason, I kept putting off the tests and never had them done. This pain was incredibly intense. When it comes, I can hardly walk and usually vomit from the pain. All I wanted to do was make my way home somehow and crawl into bed. But this time, I was worried that something might be wrong with the pregnancy. I didn’t want to go home if I was miscarrying, tell Mark that night that I was pregnant and actually not be. So I sent my regrets to those attending the meeting and decided to head to the hospital.

I was still determined to stick with my original plan of telling Mark in person! For years I had been dreaming of different ways to tell him, and the last thing I wanted to do was tell him over the phone why I was going to the hospital. So I called him, told him that I was having these pains (which weren’t new to him), and told him that I figured I would go to the hospital so I could finally get an ultrasound. He asked me if I wanted him to leave work and join me, but I told him I would be fine.

I found parking and slowly made my way to the ER. Longest walk of my life (until I walked through the same hospital a couple of months….. That story will come soon in another post!). I almost passed out from the pain. When I entered the ER, I told them that I had just found out that morning that I was 8 weeks pregnant.

I sat in the ER waiting to be seen for what felt like forever, but they actually took me pretty quickly. They tried to get me to do a urine test, but I was in so much pain that I just couldn’t bring myself to pee. The nurse saw how much pain I was in and asked if I wanted pain killers. I was so nervous to take anything knowing I was pregnant, but the nurse said that it would be ok to give me morphine. At this point, I got really scared. I didn’t want to be in the hospital on morphine by myself, so I called Mark. I still didn’t want to tell him over the phone, so I simply told him that they were giving me morphine and I didn’t want to be by myself. He came right away.

I was in so much pain and in a complete daze (or high on morphine….) and yet I’ll never forget seeing Mark and telling him. I so wish it could have been differently, but in the grand scheme of things I guess it really doesn’t matter. I saw him walking down the hall towards me. He came up to me and right away I said “I took a pregnancy test this morning. It was positive.” The look on his face was priceless. Mostly shock. Joy too. And I swear there were tears in his eyes. He said “Are you serious?” I think we hugged, and then right away I went down the hall to the bathroom to try another urine test. I don’t know why I left so suddenly and didn’t take more time to live in the moment. But I was in so much pain, and just so scared to hope.

I had a series of tests including blood tests, ultrasound and transvaginal ultrasound (holy moly… my ovaries already hurt, and they did not like being pressed on…). I waited with Mark, the pain finally abating. The doctor finally came to speak with me. First, he told me that he wasn’t sure if the pain I was feeling was actually from ovarian cysts. He said that one might have ruptured, but that perhaps the pain I was feeling was just constipation. He would become the first doctor in my pregnancy that I wanted to hit. This was not constipation or gas pains, but whatever… Then he said that while the math may indicate I was 8 weeks pregnant, the ultrasound indicated that I was closer to only 5 weeks along. Not only that, but my hCG (hormone) levels were very low. He advised us to get another ultrasound in 10-14 days to see if there was any progression with the growth of the embryo.

Mark and I went home. We were so excited, yet talked about how we were so nervous to get our hopes up. We shared our feelings about how worried we were that this pregnancy would result in miscarriage. And yet, we decided to be hopeful. I pondered whether my irregular cycles would cause me to conceive later than what was normal in a cycle. Perhaps my ultrasound showed a smaller embryo not because something was wrong, but simply because I had conceived later than originally thought? I knew there was nothing I could do, that things were not in my hands but in God’s.

I went to my family doctor for a follow up a couple of days later. If I was already worried, she didn’t make me feel much better. She cautioned me that this might not be a “viable” pregnancy, and told me what signs to look for that indicated miscarriage and what to do if that happened.

On the Saturday after finding out I was pregnant, we had to go to Barrie for one of my best friend’s bridal showers (I was to be her matron of honour that June – dresses were already ordered, was I going to fit into mine?!). That morning I felt a little nauseous but I thought “oh sure, Jennifer… You find out 2 days ago that you’re pregnant, so now you’re reading into every little feeling.” Sometimes I can be a little nauseated in the morning if I don’t get a lot of sleep, so I figured it was just that. The following Tuesday I was coordinating a conference for work. Again, I didn’t get a lot of sleep and woke up very nauseous. And contined to stay nauseous. All day. It was to be the first day of my “all day” sickness (nope, no “morning” sickness for me). I made it through the day (and luckily my presentation) without vomiting, and I had no desire to eat lunch (even the chocolate cake that I pretty much forced myself to eat, because it was actually one of the best chocolate cakes I had ever eaten! I just had no desire to eat – a very foreign sensation for this food lover…). The nausea didn’t go away. While I did not love the feeling of being sick (and vomiting…), I took it to be a hopeful sign that the baby was growing strong.

I waited for an ultrasound appointment. Obviously I wanted an appointment closer to the 10 days than 14! I finally got an appointment for May 3 (a whole 15 days after finding out I was pregnant – I could barely stand the wait). I went alone, Mark and I deciding that he would go to work and I would call him immediately afterwards. We had already told my parents. We initially wanted to wait until further along in the pregnancy, but we decided that if the next ultrasound showed that I had miscarried, I would want my parents’ support. Also, by this point I was nauseous all the time. It was difficult to go anywhere and hide it. My mom asked if I wanted her to go with me, but I decided to go myself.

I went into the room where the ultrasound would be performed and laid on the table. I gave the technician the dates of my last cycle but also what my last ultrasound indicated. I didn’t realize how nervous I was until I heard the words “the heartbeat is strong. You look to be about 7 weeks and 3 days along.” Tears formed in my eyes. A heartbeat! 128 bpm to be exact!

I called Mark in (happy) tears on the way to the car. We weren’t as far along as we had originally thought, but in line with what the ER doctors said two weeks prior when I seemed to be 5 weeks along. We were still very early in the pregnancy, but we held onto the mantra we formed – we wait in hope!

April 18, 2013

So… It’s been quite a year. I have a good excuse for being absent, I promise.

My life changed forever on Thursday, April 18 when this happened.

I know what you’re thinking… Weren’t you adopting?

In a word, yes. That was the plan.

While we weren’t officially diagnosed with infertility issues, we had been trying to conceive for close to three years. After the first year, we decided that we would pursue adoption since that was part of our family plan (though initially we were going to wait until after having a biological child or two) and then determine what infertility issues we were dealing with. I wasn’t sure what we were up against, but my cycles have always been crazy sporadic (some cycles would come every 25-35 days, others would be closer to 60 days. My longest was about 75 days…). When we first started trying to get pregnant (and I didn’t quite realize the extent of my sporadic cycles having been on birth control for many years…) I would get my hopes up after about 35 days of not getting a period. I can’t tell you how many pregnancy tests I bought – first the expensive ones and then resorting to dollar store cheapies. (I was always paranoid that the dollar store tests wouldn’t work. Believe me, they do…) After a couple months of trying, I stopped getting my hopes up if it had only been 35 days or so, and I wouldn’t test until I hit 50 days.

At the beginning of April, I was waiting (and waiting…) for my period. I kept thinking “today is it!” because I thought I felt cramping. About the second week of April, my “50 days” was approaching (the 50th day would have been around April 15) so I went to a dollar store and bought a pregnancy test.

As I mentioned, in the beginning I would take a pregnancy with great anticipation thinking “this is it! I’m pregnant!” Once I understood that my body was very unpredictable, I still couldn’t wait till “day 50” when I would allow myself to take a test. But this time was different. Nothing led me to believe that I was pregnant. It was just routine at this point. If anything, I was just taking the test to make sure that I wasn’t pregnant. I wanted to make sure if I had a glass of wine or a beer, that it was safe.

I had read that you should do a pregnancy test first thing in the morning. I had the pregnancy test for days, but I kept forgetting to take it. I would get up, go to the bathroom and then think “oh crap, I forgot to take the test again… I’ll do it tomorrow.” Pregnancy was not on my mind, the test was just something I was going to do to ensure the casual social drink was safe.

On the Thursday morning, Mark left for work. Depending on my day, sometimes I would still be in bed when he left for work, but on that particular morning I remember getting up with him and saying bye to him at the door. Then I saw the test on the counter and thought “yes, I haven’t peed yet!” At the beginning of our journey to grow our family, I would pee on the test, start my 2 minute countdown on my iPhone and try to keep myself from peeking at the stick too early. This time, I peed and nonchalantly started the timer out of routine.

I can’t remember whether I waited the full 2 minutes (unlikely…. I never could wait the full 2 minutes!) and usually it was evident pretty quickly that a test was negative. It wasn’t negative this time. I remember glancing down as the second line started appearing, first faintly and then clear as day.

I can’t describe how I felt. I didn’t have any expectation that it was going to be positive. It’s not that I was hopeless. I was just used to the single line. This test was just a routine if anything. And by this time, Mark and I were waiting to be matched with a child through adoption. If anything, I was almost afraid to see a positive… You see, when Mark and I first decided that we wanted to grow our family, I was so discouraged when I didn’t get pregnant right away. It was very emotionally draining as I went through the mental shift of trying to get pregnant to realizing that our first child would be adopted. It was hard, but I did it and was eagerly and hopefully waiting to be matched with our son or daughter. Since we were adopting through our local Children’s Aid Society, the likelihood of being matched with an infant was highly unlikely. We were waiting to be placed with a toddler, and while we were sad to think that we would miss so many milestones we were so excited at the idea of beginning our lives as parents to an older child.

So I looked down. And saw two lines. I was shocked. Absolutely shocked. I had no expectations of seeing two lines. I had no physical side affects that made think “hmm… Maybe I’m pregnant, I should take a pregnancy test.” I think this picture, albeit blurry (maybe my hands were shaking!?), says it all…

I pulled out my phone and did some math. I calculated that I was very early in the pregnancy maybe only two weeks. And then I remembered that I took a dollar store test… Could I trust a dollar store test?!

I had a meeting later that morning at around 11:30 or so. By this time, I think it was just before 8 AM. I threw on some sweat pants and a sweatshirt and headed to the closest store that I could think was open, a nearby Walmart. I walked through the store and felt like I had a glowing neon sign on my chest that flashed “I’m pregnant!!!” I thought for sure everyone could tell something was different about me. I grabbed one of the most expensive tests, the one that calculates your hormone levels to show approximately how many weeks pregnant you are. I had been waiting for years to see a positive test, and I was going to be sure it was positive before telling anyone.

I got home and threw out my “first pee of the day” theory and immediately peed on the new test. Because (according to the math I already did) I thought I was only a couple of weeks pregnant, I was shocked when the digital words “Pregnant 3+ weeks” appeared almost immediately. Now I knew without a doubt that I was pregnant.

Enter a range of emotions… My first three thoughts (I can’t recall now which order they came…) were:
1. I drank 2 beers this past weekend
2. I got a nose piercing 2 days ago…. I probably shouldn’t have done that while pregnant…
3. I can’t have sushi for 9 months….

I have to admit… Just as I transitioned into adoption mentality and struggled with the idea that my first child wouldn’t be biological and that I wouldn’t first experience pregnancy, at that moment I struggled with feelings of disappointment that my first child wouldn’t be adopted… To those of you reading this right now and struggling with infertility, I feel guilty for even writing those words. I too struggled for a couple of years trying to get pregnant. Every time someone would announce a pregnancy, part of me would be sad that it wasn’t me. And yet, I was so invested in our adoption journey, so excited to love a child so desperately in need of love. We had endured financial cost, tears, invasive questions, etc. to adopt. We were in it for the long haul. And in that moment, I was disappointed that I wouldn’t see it to the end (or at least in the near future).

Seeing the 3+ weeks on the pregnancy test confused me until I realized that I did my original math wrong… (I blame the shock of it all). My original math had me expecting just before Christmas. I redid the math again, this time using the app I have for tracking my cycles. And what appeared on the screen took away all my doubts about being pregnant and our adoption plans…

December 2 was the projected due date. December 2 is also my birthday. This is when I started crying. This is when I realized that God had it all in control, because I sure didn’t! This is when it sunk in that I was pregnant and finally going to be a mom.

There is so much more to the story, but it will have to wait another day. I am taking much joy in reliving this moment in my life.