A picture showed up in my Facebook memories today. A
beautiful picture. This is my little baby belly when Rory was percolating
inside. Not very far along, my belly was swelling with the sign of new life for
the very first time. After 2.5 years of struggling with infertility and
countless trips to the city to see specialists, we found something that worked.
I injected myself in the stomach to force ovulation. We did two rounds of this.
Usually you do up to 4 rounds and if that doesn’t work, it’s the end of the
road before IVF.
I didn’t do the usual “pee on a stick” test. I could have,
but I waited for the official phone call after doing bloodwork on the allotted day.
I didn’t think I could handle looking at another one of those blasted things
and see the one lonely line one more time. (In hindsight, I really should have
bought those things in bulk.)
I remember where I was when the phone call came. I was
curled up in the basement in our oversized, black, leather chair. I knew the
birth stories. I love to hear other women’s stories, and I love telling and re-telling
my own. Usually, I’ve written out the birth story in the first week, but we are
over 3 weeks now (ahem… he’s over a month now…), and I’m just now sitting down,
hoping I haven’t already forgotten any little detail.
glad I wrote out my other birth stories. It’s amazing how quickly the mind
glazes over things, or lumps details all together. I’d be visiting with a
friend and we’d be talking about birth and I’d be wracking my brain trying to
remember if a certain situation had happened during which birth. I like that I
have a written record.
pregnancy with Silas was my first ever “normal” pregnancy. I only went to emergency
once in the early months, as I had some light bleeding (on Rory’s birthday, of
course). That was my only emergency ultrasound and obviously, everything turned
out fine. I very nearly made it the whole pregnancy without b…
thing was going to be a private message to my sisters. Then, as I was rambling
on in my head, composing my thoughts internally until I could get to my
computer, I realized I may as well turn it into a blog post. Or a novel, as I
seem to be particularly rambly these days.
been thinking about this particular topic for awhile now. Weight loss. Health.
Body image. Cultural conformity. Unrealistic body expectations. I’ve been at
war with my body for most of my life. I remember as a pre-teen being terrified
that someone would find out my weight. I was ashamed of the number on my jeans.
It kind of makes me sad to think about.
it has come with getting older, but lately I have been wanting to reconcile
with my body. To love it. To accept it. We’ve been through a lot together. Too
often when I get on one of those “weightloss kicks” it is preceded by hating my
body. By calling it disgusting. By looking in the mirror and fee…