And Babies Make Four

My chilluns.

Surprised? Not really. It was more like relief as we found ourselves increasingly anxious about the possibility of triplets, which would mean initiating a Netflix-style service by which our friends would sign up on our baby queue to receive a new child by mail each week. Seeing as there barely is room for twins in our condo, we can now focus on being out-of-our-minds happy and excited instead of scared witless.

As you can see, Baby A will be mine because it is roughly twice the size of Baby B, which will be Constance’s baby to do with as she sees fit. I’m thinking of calling the Unites States Tennis Association today to see if I can fax over the ultrasound photo of Baby A - you know, they recruit these children for greatness at younger and younger ages all of the time. Best get in line now …

In all seriousness, it was such a relief to finally see them, to see their tiny hearts flickering, and to know once and for all that this is really real. Very early, but very real.

6 Years of Marriage and All I Got Was Everything (And This Unconscionably Large Cookie)

No rational or irrational human being should attempt to eat a peanut butter cookie the size of a Frisbee and, after celebrating our 6th wedding anniversary yesterday, this is something to which I can attest personally. I have a cookie problem and like the blue furry monster of my youth, if there is a cookie within sniffing distance I’m as trustworthy as the Chinese gymnastics federation. I shovel in bite after bite with no sense of total satisfaction – I’m always searching for my next doughy hit and will consume bite after morsel until there is nothing left but crumblettes (actual crumbs are fair game).

Cookies are crack.

To celebrate our six years of marriage we decided to do what we like to do most of all … nothing. Yes, we began our day with a trip to Target and after that we had brunch at Reza’s, a warm, refreshing Mediterranean restaurant in Chicago’s Andersonville neighborhood. Our complimentary glasses of champagne were a nice surprise, especially for the one who could actually drink them.

“So, this is our first pregnant anniversary,” I said as I bulldozed bits of dill rice with my fork, mashing them together with onions and copious amounts of lamb to create a delicious mound of Middle Eastern puree.

“It could be our last, too, if we find out we’re having twins,” Constance said as we clinked glasses, my second champagne colliding with her Sierra Mist.

It was romantic even if the most stereotypical romantic gestures were a kiss and a cookie, baked for me in an oversize fashion by my beautiful wife. In return I washed the shower curtain, the dog bed and fixed the loose toilet seat, all of which had become the froth at the top of Constance’ steaming cup of cleaning tasks. Mostly, though, we sat together on the sofa, watched movies and appreciated in-full the one thing we appreciate and love most about each other: We loved each other all day long as if nobody else existed.

The only thing different about this year was that I rubbed her belly to boot. And by the end of the day and the end of the cookie, my belly needed a good rub, too. Cookies and frisbees should never be of a similar size ever again.

At least not until next year.

2000 Strong … And Growing

To find oneself trapped in a parking garage in Chicago’s River North neighborhood at 7AM is a pox on the entire rest of the day, or at least it was for me. Flexibility at the behest of staying on schedule is a tough one for me because I plan my days down to the wire and, well, I’m pretty selfish with my time. Yesterday I planned on running home from our IVF clinic following our appointment, but once it became painfully obvious that neither of us bothered to bring a wallet, I instead spent my time in the parking attendant’s office instead of pounding the pavement.

Even following the unbelievable generosity that got us through the impenetrable arm of the parking law (the attendant gave us $5 out of her own wallet - Constance paid her back $10 later in that morning), I was crabby the rest of the morning, through lunch and on through the afternoon. I wanted to go running so badly, and with band practice scheduled for the night I knew that what I needed most was no longer possible.

At the risk of sounding like a lunatic (and ungrateful), running is my sole physical savior in these days post-IVF. Due to two consecutive yeast infections prior to egg retrieval, plus doctors orders to avoid intercourse from the retrieval through the present day, running is more important than ever as we enter our sixth week sans intimacy. Even with so much to be happy about, every now and then the chemicals in my body commandeer my good sense and turn me into a sexless psychopath.

But when we got the good news yesterday afternoon, it all seemed to seep out of my body and into the ether. Constance’s HCG levels have risen to 2,269 and her progesterone level is 144 – both outstanding numbers. Best news of all? We finally will have our first ultrasound next Wednesday to see what we’re working with inside the womb – to get our first real glimpse of the tiny speck or specks that will one day pee in inappropriate places. As it turned out, the day shot up from there: running could wait until today, band practice was a rocking good time and the good news about our future baby was the antidote to my 6-hour commitment to dip-shittiness.

Perhaps finally I’ve found a drug even more soothing than a runner’s high.

Ultra-Waiting, Ultra-Growing

In the land of infertility, waiting becomes less of an annoyance than it is a state of being. We’re still infertile, even though now we’re pregnant, which means that state of being remains our modus operandi for all things reproductive. For those who don’t know, an IVF pregnancy is not treated like a normal pregnancy because it wasn’t achieved via a simple encounter in which penis met vagina, sperm met egg and baby magically appeared. Which means we go in a lot for tests and such, the next of which occurs tomorrow.

FCI once again will take some Constance blood and test the pregnancy hormone level in said blood to make sure our baby(ies) are still growing. We also should find out when we will go in for our first ultrasound, which we’ve been led to believe will be Friday or early next week.

I can’t wait to see them again - I still find myself staring longingly at the picture of my popcorn kernels on the day of transfer. But not as much as I stare at Constance’s growing stomach, which is mostly a forced viewing as she repeatedly asks, “Will you look at this? I think I’ve grown since I got home from work!”

Last night I cooked Spinach, Tomatoes and Puy Lentils with Chicken, and during the middle of dinner she insisted that I stop eating to look at our baby’s new, ever-expanding home and take a photo. Here is what my beautiful wife revealed:

Dem

“It’s definitely bigger today than yesterday,” I said, looking shocked. (You can see by my face in the following picture, a recreation of the moment, that I truly was taken aback.)

Holy moly them

Later, before bed, she asked me to take another picture because she was convinced her tummy had grown in the 3 hours since we got home from work.

As you can see as indicated by the red arrows, the belly is protruding here and I can promise you, it was not like that before. As the lines reveal, the belly now exceeds the boobs by a slight margin. If you were to touch it, it feels like a middle-aged man’s beer belly, only instead of Miller Lite, it’s blood and bodily fluid.

Things are getting bumpy.

Notice here how it now looks like Constance has a tiny butt in the front as well as in the back. She’s doing a bang-up job growing this child(ren). Our baby’s got back, for sure. And Constance will have new pants come the weekend.

A closer look.

Our 1st Pregnant Weekend … in Photos

I have more than a sneaking suspicion there are two babies currently growing inside of my baby mama. Above all, Constance already has begun a physical transformation. A hair shy of five weeks and she’s got a noticeable, small bump, plus she has felt “it doing stuff” on both sides of her uterus. Google pictures has revealed similar looking women with early twin bumps, most of whom had similar HCG levels to ours. According to a chart posted on Advanced Fertility, our 17 day post-ovulation HCG level was on the high end of readings for normal twin pregnancies.

Which might explain Constance’s exhaustion – a deep tiredness that didn’t deter us from having a full, yet relaxing weekend, which included the purchase of so-called “granny” underwear to allow a more relaxing fit for the aforementioned bump. I have chosen to reveal the highlights via photo because our camera, a well-known recluse in the Miller house, chose to come out of hiding to document a few events.

Cooking

Making homemade Clif bars.

Pregnant or not I encourage everyone to check out the cookbook, “Feel-Good Foods for Pregnancy.” I got this book at work, and we started cooking from it last weekend, even before we knew we were pregnant. Every thing I’ve made really does make you feel good, and it does a bang-up job of incorporating all of the foods that are vital for a pregnant woman to consume.

Beautiful, no?

This is the Zucchini, Potato, and Onion Tortilla, which is basically the most delicious frittata I’ve ever placed on my tongue. As a decidedly NOT pregnant man, I might eat from this book for the rest of my life.

Babysitting
Our dear friends, Holly & Kyle, have two adorable children and the minute they found out we were pregnant they decided it would be a good idea for us to mind their children while Kyle worked and Holly skated at roller derby practice. Avery is an adorably chill tot who loved snacking on blueberries and chasing our dog, Marcy. He also LOVED Constance.

Avery and Constance.

Helena, however, loves me. And she is so much like her dad, my buddy, Kyle, that sometimes I find myself talking to her in a less filthy, yet remarkably similar manner despite the 25 year age difference. For instance, shortly after we began watching “The Incredibles” she tore off all of her clothes and announced the desire to defecate. I walked her into the bathroom and placed her up onto the toilet and she almost immediately began to laugh. Helena then proceeded to grab the roll of toilet paper and with large, whipping motions began to un-spool my two-ply into a cotton puddle on the floor.

Helena checking out C

“Let’s not do that, Helena,” I said, placing my hand on top of hers. “That’s wasteful.” After I turned the paper over and over until it was loosely back to normal, she immediately began to do it again. I once again put my hand on top of hers and stopped her. “We don’t do that, Helena. If you do that one more time I’m going to have to come to your house and take money from your piggy bank to pay for the toilet paper you’re wasting.”

She thought for a moment and then looked me square in the eye, ready to call my bluff.

“Will you be coming in your car?” she queried. I wasn’t sure why, but I responded with a sturdy affirmation. For one reason or another this proved the seriousness of my threat. “Why would you want to come to my house and take my money?”

“Because my money has to go toward buying this toilet paper and if you waste it you’re going to have to pay to replace it.” Her eyes bore holes into my head, but I could tell she got it.

“I’m done she said,” hopping off of the toilet with no poo in sight. I love reasoning with children.

Fetching
We are blessed with the most beautiful park at the end of our street, and Marcy the dog loves her some fetch in the park. Sunday was a beautiful day so we walked her, tugging the whole way, to play right next to the playground. As you can see we all had a great time.

Winnemac Park in Chicago.

Please, just throw the f-ing ball.

Beautiful, no?

Panting is for lovers.

It was a pant-worthy weekend indeed.

Funny, But Not Funny ‘Ha-Ha’

The tan duvet cover was pulled up under my bristly chin as one of my favorite episodes of “King of the Hill” played in the background. Constance and I both were laying on our left sides, spooning and laughing – laughing not at the dry, Americana wit of our favorite television clan, but because laughing seems to be the only emotional response our bodies can emote now that we are pregnant.

As everybody who has ever dealt with infertility knows, you spend the entire time balancing your hopes and aspirations with the reality at-hand. Staying level-headed about your chance at conception means holding yourself at arm’s length from anything that remotely smells like baby planning. Now that we’re here with a positive test, which is still at a sizable distance from comfort, I can’t stop laughing every time I think about making a baby-based decision.

Thankfully, for now, it’s too soon to start making major decisions, so instead we’re going to focus on doing some of the tasks we’ve been meaning to do anyway. First we celebrated with some of our closest friends. Now we’re preparing to clean out closets, invest in storage for said closets and find a good place to put the fun-yet-cumbersome Rock Band peripherals. (Where does one store a miniature drum set anyway?) And of course, we’ll keep laughing, which is what got us through the last 26 months to begin with.

Even though I can’t find words to express where I am or about what I’m thinking, I can’t bring myself to stress or worry about anything at this point. I’d rather laugh and enjoy something that doesn’t yet seem possible.

On the night before we found out the results of our pregnancy test, however, I had a lot to say. I had an interview with Dr. Kevin Keough to promote my book, which is now a podcast. It was a lot of fun, and I hope you all download it, listen and pass it along to others. I’ve got to get the promotion train rolling - my book is out September 2nd!

You can download the podcast from any of these places:

Psychjourney Podcast Blog

North Star Guardians Podcast Blog

Lasting Love and Marriage Blog

Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s about the best I can muster right now. We are, for the first time, pregnant.

Levels are fantastic (240) and we go back on Friday for good measure. But now is not a time to write - it’s a time to celebrate!!

And we’ve been waiting 26 months for this day. But before I go (just for today) I want to thank all of you. You made the long haul easier with all of your love and support. I can’t thank you enough.

When You Feel So Powerless, What Are You Gonna Do?

A siren began soaring somewhere around 8:00 PM last night. Undoubtedly it was the rare mating call of the city tornado, yet pinpointing exactly what threat level we were dealing with remained a challenge. Based on the reactions of our local television channels, it wasn’t severe – at least not severe enough to interrupt scheduled airings of “Two and a Half Men” and “American Gladiators.”

Apparently the sideways rain, tornado sightings and 70 mile-per-hour winds weren’t substantial reasons to run so much as an overlay warning that would have compromised a viewer’s full-screen joylessness upon seeing Charlie Sheen’s awkward comedy stylings. By the time I located a channel that did deem the danger severe enough to delay programming, branches were floating past our windows like Auntie Em.

Our home has 15 windows, which is not the kind of place one clamors to for a ringside seat during a tornado. But Constance didn’t want to leave despite my repeated urgings that we needed to take shelter.

“I don’t want to leave my home!” she said, unloading the dishwasher as the rain outside our window began to swirl and then was replaced by smoky blackness.

“You sound like one of those idiots we make fun of on CNN for not taking cover during a storm,” I said in a tone that wasn’t as nice as it should have been. But we needed to get out of there and Constance was unyielding.

And then the power went dead, which caused her to look up from the dishwasher at the terror outside.

“I’m grabbing Marcy and we’re going,” I said. As I opened the front door to grab my shoes (I keep them outside the door at-the-ready) I noticed some of our neighbors sitting on the stairs, which is where we waited out the storm and finally got to know each other.

We still don’t have electricity, so I loaded up all of our groceries and took them to my friend Orion’s house this morning. Bachelors always have ample fridge space so long as it’s not the weekend when beer comes to town. Our hot water is out, too, so I’m stinky, cranky and tired from waking up every hour following a dream in which the power came back on.

But it’s as good of a diversion as one could hope for to get through this long wait, so long as the power comes back by tomorrow. Awaiting our baby-fate in silence, sequestered in a dark, overheated condo just won’t do. Perhaps we’ll have reason to go out and celebrate.

No News, Good News, Blah, Blah, Blah

Pack the weekend full of activities and there will be less time to think about waiting and wanting. So was our motto on this jam-packed, diversion-filled respite from work. Radiohead’s opus of a 2-hour performance at Lollapalooza was practically indescribable in it’s magnitude, as was the stench and exhaustion it brought along with it. When 75,000 people collide with 90-degree heat in a tree-less field, it’s the perfect recipe for nastiness and B.O – not to mention half-naked hipsters who should have remained clothed despite the suffocating sun. It was the perfect distraction.

By the time I awoke at 9:15AM Saturday, a far cry from the 6:45 weekend wake-ups of usual, we took the dog to the park, ran errands, ate lunch, got everything ready for the week (baked fiber muffins and homemade Clif bars) and then watched a movie. I went running, and after a delicious dinner of black lentils with apricot, shrimp, bacon and arugula, the day was done.

Urgency has a practice every Sunday morning at 9:30, a run through of our entire 13-song set we refer to as “church,” which got me home at 12:30 after which we ate veggie tofu wraps, cleaned the condo and watched a tennis match while I did sit-ups, push-ups, and strength training. After Andy Murray sealed the deal on his first big tournament win, I went running and five minutes after stepping out of the shower, our friends, Orion and Julie, came over to grill and play Rock Band until 9:15.

Now, it’s Monday morning at the office - and there are still 2 more days of waiting left. Constance is doing very well. Her breasts are extraordinarily sore and she’s had some cramping, too. Saturday night she got really nauseous while in bed, but the queasiness has yet to return. The painful and frequent gas, however, is unyielding. So what does it all mean? Nothing. Or everything. Most importantly, though, is that Constance is incredibly upbeat and optimistic.

Her dreams have been baby-centric every night for the past 3 days. Take this gem, for instance, which she emailed me this morning:

Good morning sweetheart,
How are you today? I had fun with you last night playing rock band. I think its pretty fun to play that in a group. But I could have slept and slept and slept. I had a dream that we had twins deliver by cesarean (and also had my appendix out for some reason) and we named them Graham and Nola b/c the little girl looked like a cross between Suri Cruise and me with straight hair. For some reason I equate blond baby with Iris and dark haired baby with Nola. Hmm. Anyway the girl grew super fast and was taller than me by the time we left the hospital. Whack. I can’t wait to find out one way or another – toooorrrrtuuuurrrousssssss……

So what does it all mean? Nothing. Or everything. At least we’re getting closer to something, I just wish I knew for sure what that something was.

Lollapamatty

Jenni, the lead guitar player in my band, Urgency, has the hook-up. She works for a liquor distributor, which means that in addition to free wine and discount booze, she also gets free tickets to a lot of shows – and free drinks at those shows. So this afternoon, I’m going to brave the heat, humidity, and 75% chance of scattered thunderstorms to spend some time at Lollapalooza with the likes of Cat Power, The Kills, Bloc Party and Radiohead.

Constance doesn’t do the heat, nor does she do stand-up concerts. Clocking in just shy of 5′2″, there’s very little she can see when there’s a sea of hipster humanity rollicking up and down in front of her. Plus, she needs to relax - the last thing she needs is to be on her feet getting shoved around by a bunch of drunk, sloppy indie kids. She is feeling very good so far and her spirits are sky high.

Today is the first day I’ve felt like myself since the transfer, and that’s in large part because I have this fun distraction to keep me from thinking exclusively about our maybe babies. What really freed my mind, though, is that Constance just called to inform me that our friend, Krista, gifted me her family’s season tickets to the Philadelphia Eagles vs Chicago Bears game on September 28. For those of you who are new to the blog, I’m a die hard Eagles fan and this is about as good as it gets in my pantheon of cool things to do.

Me at the Eagles/Packers game last year - my very 1st Eagles game courtesy Krista

Again, just when I needed it, my friends came through to save me from myself. Today it was Jenni and Krista that allowed my sanity to return for a day, which brings me one day closer to Wednesday.