25 Weeks

I keep meaning to write, getting sidetracked, and forgetting to write. Another part of me is experiencing the proverbial "survivor's guilt" although I think it's much less "guilty" than just being kind of reluctant talk about my pregnancy to many people who are still trying to get pregnant.

I had lunch last weekend with an old friend of mine who I hadn't seen for about two years, right before Champ and I started trying to conceive. She was my roommate in grad school and a very dear friend, but we've lost touch over the years and so I hadn't told her about my recent battle with infertility. She knew I'm pregnant (and she is pregnant with her second, due a couple weeks before me) but not how hard it was to get here. I found myself telling her the whole story - of trying to conceive for a few months, the hot flashes, the lack of periods, getting diagnosed, and the downward spiral that followed.

It's the first time since being pregnant that I was able to tell my whole story with a presumed happy ending. Most people who I'm close enough to tell about my experiences with IF already know about my IF, and have for a long time.  It was very strange, to tell this story that I'm used to ending with a sad shrug or an explanation of all the things we still need to try. This time, after the "I'm so sorry you went through that" and what not, I pat my belly and said "well we have a miracle baby on our hands!"

I tell this story because I always want to remember that yes, this little girl in utero is a miracle. But also to realize how much IF affected me over the past two years. It changed me. It was torture, certainly, but I know I will be a better parent, a more sensitive friend, and a stronger person because of it. I would never say I'm glad I went through it - no, I still wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. But it would have been a heckuva lot easier to go through if I knew the outcome as I was going through it. How much time I spent in complete despair, how many buckets of tears I cried, how many hours spent googling, how many unwarranted outbursts... Of course, there was no way to know I'd be pregnant the next year. I could have just as easily never gotten pregnant. Ever. In fact, that would have been way, waaaaaaaay more likely.

I don't really have a point. Other than to say IF sucked. And I'll never forget that.

Okay. Bump pic time. I'll take a lesson from Belle at Scrambled eggs and give you a chance to jump ship before bump pics, so here's a pic first of my cat:

We're re-doing the floors in our Master Bedroom and Future Nursery, hence the bed in the dining room.

And now bump pics - a comparison of me at about 14 weeks and 24 weeks:

I've got another 15 weeks of growing? Oh boy. Also, my boobs? Huge.

Anyway. Long story short: I'm still alive. Baby Girl has been healthy and kicking like crazy. Heartburn started last week. I had no idea you could get heartburn in your back. You totally can. Miss you guys.