Friday, October 19, 2007

Wow - that is REALLY ugly - on you, I mean...

It's been kinda a busy couple of weeks - and by 'busy' I mean 'craptacular'. A funeral to attend (sigh), and layoffs to dodge (ugh). Mercifully, both are over. The plus side is I'm still employed (rock ON) so I can finally stop being the undercover mother at work. I'm not sure which I'm more excited about. Yes, successfully job hunting while obviously knocked up would be difficult, if not impossible, but wearing tight pants and having to suck it in all day REALLY bites, so... tough call...
In preparation for my coming out at work, I went maternity clothes shopping. And wow, was that an experience. Made all the more experiential by having my coolest/oldest (in duration) friend in the area, R, with me. [I'd use her name but she does this nickname/initials thing in HER blog so I'm rolling with that - if she's got a better nickname I should use, she should report in, hint hint. And 'Queen of all I survey' is too long and I can't spell ululating maenaid...or whatever, so guess again.] Because we've been friends for as long as we have, she's honest with me - if not brutally honest when called for. And on this trip? Called for.
So for those of you who haven't gone shopping for maternity clothes, let me paint the picture. If you are a man, this won't be applicable - not because you can't get knocked up, but because clothes always fit you. Or your gender is impervious to pain due to waist binding or has amazing belt skills or less bizarre variety of styles or whatever - but regardless - you do not suffer quite the way we womenfolk do when it comes to clothing. So, back to picture painting.
Imagine the last time you went clothes shopping. Think about how many items you sorted through to get to one you thought was 'cute' or 'pretty' or 'was a color that didn't make me look like cow poop on a platter'. Maybe what, 1 in 20 or 30 things? In a store with stuff that you generally LIKE I mean. Outlets tend to run 1 in like 80 million. Let us, here in imaginationland, take these items into the dressing room. I know I know - this will be hard for all of us, but we are in it together...
Of the small handful of items how many of them didn't 'bind' or 'pinch' or 'make your butt look like a billboard'? Maybe 1 in 10ish? Now, take jeans and bras out of the mix entirely - they are an entirely different breed. Those run 1 in 100 on a good day, and we all know it. We've all been there, and the pain is still fresh.
So now that we've built this imaginary clothing shopping experience - let's apply this to the real world of maternity shopping! First the additional 'factors'. One, you are cranky - maybe it's hormones maybe it's that your underwear has been too tight for at least a month, but for whatever reason, crankicity. Two, your body is no longer your own - it's changing pretty much hourly so everything you ever knew about what styles generally look good on you or whatever, out the window. And whatever you learn about what works, could very well look like ass on you in a month. Talk about a moving target.
Three, the selection of maternity clothes blows CHUNKS. Both in volume and style. AND they are a bitch to find. Quick, where's the nearest maternity clothing store? What about the nearest store that carries maternity clothes? SEE?! Unless you are wearing a nursing bra RIGHT NOW, you have no clue (and if you said Target, that doesn't count since they carry EVERYTHING)
Knowing alllll this, let's go maternity clothes shopping. Whee!
My first excursion was to a store that carried exclusively maternity clothes, which I found solely due to a mall map. My friend to-be-nicknamed-later and I had just had dinner at Tyson's and I figured, what the heck, bound to have SOMETHING in here - it's consumerist heaven. And Lo, a maternity store.
Let's harken back to our earlier 'cute' to 'ew' ratio 1-20 to 30 right? Ok here? 1 in, um, 100. Not that the clothes were, like, hideous, but I'm not what you call a floral and ruffles kinda gal. At all. In fact, I am nearly phobic about lace. Sliiiiiim pickins. THEN you put them on. Remember, I have basically no clue what my current body shape is - since it changes every couple of hours I have trouble keeping up. But these guys are pros, and have foreseen this very problem! They nicely provide a strap-on for you in the fitting room - strap-on belly I mean. Just so you can get an idea of what shape you will be in the next 4 months.
Now, I've not done this before, but I certainly have seen my fair share of knocked up chick and NONE of them had a belly that looked even remotely like this Velcro-able abomination. I seriously looked like an alien ovapositor had been involved in conception. I mean, it was POINTY for God sake! SO not helpful.
Pretty much I am flying blind on this, fitting-wise. I'll spare you the worse of the multiple size swaps, the contortions and dressing room angst. I don't want to trigger flashbacks for any of you. But I will tell you that one outfit made me look like a bloated roe-filled mermaid, one made me look like a 'who's the babydaddy' jerry springer guest, and one just made my friend-to-be-nicknamed-later AND the *sales clerk for the store* laugh hysterically. I managed to cull 2 skirts and some underwear out of the pile of discards and damaged self-esteem, which put my numbers at 1 in 30 for fitting. (And anyone who tells you you don't need maternity underwear can come kiss my comfortably cotton clad bootie, cause they are wrong wrong wrong! Happy sigh!)
I repeated this entire process yesterday at Target, only without the peanut gallery/'support'. And instead of starting with an entire store I started with 5, count 'em, 5 racks of maternity clothes. We've already established that I suck at math, but if you want to apply the 1 in 100 "isn't ass-ugly" ratio to that starting number, then overlay the 1 in 30 "doesn't make you look like you should be at Fleet Week, either as a 'service provider' or an aircraft carrier" ratio, that should give you a good idea of what I walked out of there with.
Yup, you got it - cat food and toilet paper...

I'm off to a work conference next week which should give me even more fodder for my next post - 'the joys of being knocked up in an office environment and the weird things that happen when you come out of the preggers closet'

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

OK, math isn't really my strong suit, but c'mon!

Yay! Results are finally in but I should give you the full context... actually, I should give you the full, FULL context... The deep background on this is the following - my babydaddy's grandmother just passed away, the same day we got that news, I found out that MY grandmother was hospitalized, and there is a chance that I will be losing my job next week as part of a massive 'reorganization' at my company. While not directly tied to my being knocked up, these details do help paint the picture of, um, mild stress the man and I were under. I also learned that stress can trigger a relapse of morning sickness - great little educational tidbit there...
So considering the run of crapluck we seem to have been in the middle of we were a bit anxious about the results of the testing. Which you would be anyway, really, but when rendered borderline paranoid by circumstances, the edginess gets a little booster shot.
For those unfamiliar with this testing deal (which is probably most folks, parental or not, since they just came up with this routine a few years ago), it's a 2 parter. First they do an ultrasound and measure.... well, something in the neck area. I was fuzzy about exactly what, but what I'm sure about, through the process, is that it can only be measured when the baby-to-be is in a certain position. A position, I might add, that OUR baby-to-be determinedly refused to take up. And I'm not talking like, down dog or eagle pose here - the kidlet just needed to lay on its back. But would it? OOooooh no. Of course not. Thus the 10 minute ultrasound turned into a hour and 15 minutes worth of comedy fodder.
The tech, God love her, was a sweet and patient woman, and at no point did she begin thumping my belly like a bongo, though I'm sure the desire was strongly there... What she did do was, at first, grease me up and scan a little this way, and a little that way. No luck. Baby gave back - clearly presenting the rear from every angle - which I guess is the fetus equivalent of giving someone the hand. Kidlet was having none of it.
So sweettech goes to Plan B - a sort of gentle jiggling of the ultrasound wand (mercifully an external) to try to encourage relocation. Yeah - no. Nothing. So she goes to slightly more vigorous jiggling. This triggered arm or antennae waving, it's hard to tell what anything is on those screens. But nothing else. The angle was still a no go. After 15 minutes of poke and jiggle the tech yields. OK Plan C - lie on your side for a few minutes, that will usually make the kidlet relocate. So I obediently flop over and lie. And lie. And lie.
10 minutes of lying and the tech comes back. "Let's see if that worked!" Well, yes and no. The kidlet DID move, so yay! The angle still sucks, so boo. So she goes to Plan D, try new directions. So she comes at the belly from the left, from the right, from the top, from the bottom, from the top left, the bottom right - you get the idea. and every angle is close, oh so close, and I offer to do a little down dog myself. The tech seems to consider it briefly but passes. She's convinced that the mid bottom rightish angle can work....the kidlet is soooooo close. So she reverts to a more vigorous application of poke and jiggle technique. Poke...JIIIIIIIGGGGGGLLLLE! Poke.... JIIIIIIGGGGGGLLLE!!!! And finally! Success! The kidlet moves to its back, and she begins snapping ultrasound shots like she's the paparazzi with an angle on Britney's bare yaya.
Now the purpose of the poke and jiggle is the bug the baby-to-be enough that he/she relocates. Which worked, but the side effect is that you are left with a seriously bugged baby-to-be. And apparently when our baby-to-be is seriously bugged, it turns into a total spaz. This little thing was FREAKING OUT in there. Limblets a-flailing. Noggin a-turnin. And mid-photo shoot, he/she began what I can only refer to as 'Sproinging'. It wasn't so much a bounce or a hop, as a full body jump. In fact, there was brief discussion about whether fetuses could get hiccups at this stage of development. But after 'Sproing!!!' #15 it was clear that this was very purposeful protest spazzing, not involuntary twitches. This was one P.O.ed kidlet. And, God help me, while I'm sure my soon-to-be-maternal heart should have swelled with sympathy for the agitated little guy/gal, but all I could do was point and laugh. In my defense - it was *hilarious* - seriously. "Sproing!!! SPROING!! sproingsproingsproing!!!" And of course every time I laughed, it wound the critter up more, and the tech kept losing the picture, cause the kidlet was bouncing around so much. The tech finally just gave up - she got enough from the first few photos and it was pretty clear we weren't going to get much more today from the mexican jumping bean. As she packed up she said, well, we know your child has strong legs, that's for sure...
We had an appointment scheduled to review the official results of the testing with our OB for Tuesday. Remember that 'same day' grandmother bad news confluence I mentioned earlier? Yeah - THAT would be the same Tuesday. So by the time we get in there, my brain is a little baked. Because this is a multi-doc practice and my regular OB was on vacation this week, we has started the 'meet all the people who could possibly end up birthing your baby' rotations early. Whee. Major stressful test results from a stranger.
When new doc trots in, she seems quite personable, albeit without a clear sense of humor, and she begins chitchatting, 'so how are you feeling...?' um...good....
'great! And how are you with the symptoms?' um... good...
'Great! And do you have any questions for me today?' um... yeah... What were the test results?! 'oh! hmm.... is that why you are in today? I don't seem to have those....'
I think.
'Let me see what we can find out!' um.... please....
She siccs a nurse on the testing office, then comes back in. 'While she's getting those results, do you have any questions about the tests?' Yes, actually...
The deal is that they give you a ratio for odds of having a down's syndrome baby, based on the combination of the ultrasound measurements of the...well whatever they measure... and various blood chemicals. So I ask what the ratio means. The doctor and my husband look at me like I'm nuts. My husband kindly explains using that tone one uses with a 6 year old. "well, if the ratio is 1 in 100 you have a 1 percent chance of having a down's syndrome baby, so 1 in 1000 is a .1% chance. Do you understand?". Um.... yeah...
OK, yes, I was out sick in elementary school when we did fractions, but I've played the lottery and blackjack so I GET the odds thing. Please. Although the fact that I've played the lottery could be an argument AGAINST me getting the odds thing....At any rate, what I DON'T get is what is considered 'good' relative to say, the planet. What I need is a CONTEXT. While I didn't use those words exactly to clarify - I think there was more frothing pregnant hormonal attitude in my response - but I did get my point across. After backing slowly away from me, the doc pulled out "The Wheel" - which I thought was just for calculating due dates, but is apparently the Rosetta Stone for all things preggers, and told me that based solely on my age my odds are 1 in 167ish. Great! Exactly what I needed - anything better than that, is good. THANK you. You may all stop looking at me like I'm insane now...
This is about the point where the nurse pokes her head in the room to inform us that, while the ultrasound 1/2 of the results are in and look good, the official all things included results are not yet available and they'll have to call us with those. Well, nuts. THAT was worth the office visit...
So we wait. And wait. And wait.... Finally Friday - the call - and the results? "Normal" says the nurse. YAY! Ok, no, WAIT. I spent WAY too much time figuring out this whole odds/ratio thing - I want NUMBERS! Quantify normal for me! The nurse, while probably mildly taken aback at my obsession with math, obliged. According to the official results, my ratio went from 1 in 167 to 1 in 2,741. How they came up with that number exactly is beyond me, but I gotta say... I like those odds... :-)
Tune in next week for my first maternity clothing shopping experience...imagine your last bra or jeans shopping experience - now velcro a pod to your gut....yeah, it was like that...

Sunday, September 30, 2007

ok this is a token post and I totally admit it...

we had our genetic testing on Thursday but won't get the results back til Tuesday so i figured I'd do a full wrote up then but i also don't want to break my weekly update streak so this is a lame one but tune in Tuesday to see why the sweet ultrasound tech probably hates my guts...

Friday, September 21, 2007

um... suuuure I see it...

So unlike the first doctor visit, I was slightly more prepared/hormone stable for visit number 2. This, I'm sure, was good for all parties involved... This early on, I wanted my BabyDaddy to come to any appointments that might include any milestones of note, and early on, there are quite a few milestones. Later on, the poor man doesn't really need to show up every two weeks to hear the detailed report of my bloating and piddling, now does he? The medical professional gets some form of renumeration for listening, but really, what's in it for him?
This next appointment was a bit of a toss up. Since I'd been more than slightly spacey first go around, I had no idea what to expect for this one, having not had enough sense to ASK. Several of my 'reference' manuals ('what to expect' - for the clinically inclined, and 'girlfriends guide' - for those who need REAL advice), had mentioned that there was the chance of hearing a heart beat at this stage of babybaking - which would be wicked cool and I didn't want him to miss that, but then, I really had no clue what was actually going to go down. My BabyDaddy, being the best BabyDaddy ever, was willing to take time off from work and tearass across town just on the off-chance that we might hear a little thump-a-thump. This general sweetum-ness is one of the many reasons I let him knock me up in the first place.
Like I said, I didn't know what to expect, but I was reallly realllly hoping the doc would do the heartbeat with the professional baby heartbeat listener thinggie (<- technical medical term). I mean how cool would that be! Plus, I did want the BabyDaddy's commute to be worth it - if we didn't do anything but talk about unpleasant bodily functions, I'd feel a little bad for him.
Imagine my joy and delight when the doc decided to pull out the big guns and do not a listener thinggie but a lookie thinggie (aka an ultrasound) - woo hoo! Way better than hearing the heartbeat, we'd get to SEE the spawn.
My joy was damped slightly when I saw the ultrasound, wheeled out with an extended apology. 'Now remember this is out satellite office so this is one of our older machines. Actually, I think this is our oldest machine, so the resolution won't be so great...' We're talking soviet bloc surplus here, really, but hey - any baby picture is a good baby picture at this stage.
The upside of this circa 1972 machinery is that this was an 'outtie' ultrasound. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of yet learning such ugly details about the underbelly of pregnancy, let me enlighten you. In order to get a better view of the growing human implant, ultrasound machines will try to get closer to the baby-to-be. And how would one get closer? This about it... the only way to get closer is to inside. Things you neither knew, nor wanted to know, huh?
So I was pleased to know my initiation into the world of ultrasounds was a gentle exterior one, mercifully. The doc flopped me onto my back and greased me up like an old Chevy at a jiffy lube. My hope is that when I get upgraded to the 'detailed' view version, they use at least as much gunk as they did this time cause, man, did I need a bath when they were done.
After a bit of poking around a grey and black lumpy peanut appeared on the screen. The doc jabs and turns a bit and says 'there it is - there's the baby and there's the heart beat! See it?' Um... no actually... I look over at the hubby 'Honey? Do you see it?' He jabs vaguely with his finger, 'Of course! it's right there! See that little fluttering? Mid-peanut lump?' Um...again with the no... It was like one of those annoying as all heck Magic Eye things 'Can't you see the ship?! It's right THERE?! Just relax your eyes... I mean it's right THERE!' Man was that annoying...
The doc is swiping the price scanner about willy nilly at this point 'yep everything looks really good... looks good in here.... would you like me to print out a picture for you?' Hope ignites in my little heart... 'Yes please!' Figuring I could get the hubby to point to the exact where of the magic eye ship of the heartbeat is after the fact. Maybe I saw it and just didn't KNOW that I saw it... maybe.... you know... it could happen!
'I told you it was old, but you can get kinda negative version' As soon as she handed over the printout, I knew I wasn't getting aaaaanything else out of this...This thing looked like it was printed on a dot matrix printer I swear. I'd seen all I was going to see for this go around.
So no, I didn't see my baby-to-be's heart beating, but my babydaddy did, and that's good enough for me.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Oh well THAT is subtle....

My doctor experience to date has been somewhat mixed. Now I don't lay this on the doorstop of the doctor per se. My doc is actually fairly cool. It was more a minor communications issue, I'd say... So here's what happened on my first visit... .
My doc had told me last time I was in (when she gave the the 'get knocked up pronto or else' speech) that as soon as I got pregnant I should come in and see her. Since I have high blood pressure and am over the age of 22, I am apparently considered 'high-risk', aka 'needs a lot of adult supervision with this babymaking deal'. Shortly post dipstick results, I was a good little patient and called for the first available appointment.
Now the downside of being squeeze into a busy schedule is that there isn't a lot of time for liiiiingering conversations. That wasn't a huge issue, mainly because I wasn't quick capable of conversations at that point. Remember, I had JUST found out a beebee was on the way, so I was still fairly deer in the headlights about the whole thing. I also I still hadn't gotten my hormonal sea-legs, so to speak, so I spent most of my first appointment either incoherently attempting to answer yes/no questions, crying for no discernible reason, or looking as stunned at if I gotten whacked in the head with a trout. My husband was kind generous and caring enough to go to this first appointment with me, which meant the world. About 2 minutes into the visit, he too got the trout to the head look, although in his case, it was in response to me tearing up when the doctor gave me a free vitamin sample. What can I say, the baby on the box was just so precious looking!
After this 10 minute drama, the doctor, who is saint like in her patience with patients, sent us on our way with list of desired tests as long as my arm. Including one testing to see how much protein my kidneys throw off. Now, anyone able to do basic proof would come to the conclusions that if you are looking at kidney products, you would be looking at, well, pee. I was barely able to tie my shoes from all the excitement, so I didn't really GET that this wasn't so much a blood test she was talking about. Oh there were plenty of those though. Vial after vial worth. I 1/2 expected Wesley Snipes to come crashing through the window, Blade a-blazen. But no such luck. I was merely sucked dry and sent out.
As I stagger toward sunlight, the nice lady behind the counter called after me...."Wait! Don't forget your kidney function test!". I'm mildly concerned simply because I don't think I have any liquid anywhere in my body... I toddle woozily over to the counter and the woman hands me a flyer with a list of instructions. I am confused, since I was expecting something more along the lines of a small clear cup, and really, I know what to do with that. As I'm squinting at the sheet, she whomps onto the counter in front of me the largest piddlebucket I have ever seen in my life. This thing is the size of a GAS CAN. a LARGE gas can. With LITER marks on the side. in BRIGHT ORANGE. On the plus side it would be safe for hunting season. The downside is it's not exactly what you would call discrete.
And my little sheet o instructions is quite clear on what has to happen next. For the next 24 hours, I must capture every little dribblet of widdle, and can it. Did I mention this appointment was in the morning and I was now rather late for work? WORK. I have to pee in a giant orange jug AT WORK. Now I'm not sure on the exact workplace etiquette that applies here, but no matter how you slice it, wandering the podfarm with a jug of my own urine is decidedly not cool. People REALLY don't need a part of that. And clearly following the recommended procedure and refrigerating the giant can is totally beyond the pale. People's lean freakin cuisines are in there for heck's sake! This would be less of an issue if I was out of the closet with this whole 'growing a little creature' thing, but work has no idea. And I'd liek to keep it that way for at least another few weeks. You ever try to explain why you need to pee in a jug to your boss? Really, I hope you never do.
I will spare you the gory details of exactly how "operation GoJow" (Giant Orange Jug 'O Widdle) was accomplished. Like many black bag ops, it involved a great deal of skulking, disguises (mainly for the jug), and the details would make you downright queasy if you knew. But i am happy to report it was indeed accomplished - granted, I avoided beverages for straight 24 hours and they didn't get anywhere NEAR their 7 liter maximum, but hey, they got plenty! I can hardly wait for the next 3 times I get to do it... nope... not kidding....
I'm happy to report doc visit 2 involved no jugs and minimal urine - yay for everyone! I'll update you on that and on spreading the news, and reactions thereto - up next!!

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Are you SERIOUS?!

Since we've created the detailed Almanac, I had a pretty good idea of the when and where's of making the mini - which also meant I had a decent idea when it was worth while to try a RUPreggers dipstick. Now, I've known enough women who were really quick out of the gate and knew within, like, hours of blastocysts forming. I decided to pace it a little, just cause you want to make sure it TOOK before you go to the trouble of peeing on your own hand. Gave it a about a week or so then finally whipped out the way-too-costly box o' tests. The adventure proceeded roughly as follows:
Testing Day 1 - I woke up having to go to the bathroom so badly there was no WAY I could get the wrapper on that thing open in enough time to avoid bladder explosion. I did try but it was NOT pretty. Scratch Day 1.
Testing Day 2 - I wisely did NOT drink a gallon of liquid before bed and successfully both unwrapped and target-widdled, with minimal hand splashing. Yay! Success! 5 minutes later, I realize that perhaps I should have had MORE water, since the test stick has decided it doesn't much feel like giving me a result - just a random error message. Boo! Failure! Oh yeah the newfangled ones with the LCD screens are SOOOOO much better. Stupid Technology.
Testing Day 3 - My impatience is starting to build 'slightly' at this point. Remember, I waited like a week before I even STARTED with the dipsticks, so at this point, I want an ANSWER already! In hindsight, the frothing irritation at the busted test stick as well as the total inability to wait more than a minute and 1/2 for ANYTHING were actually better indicators of having a bun in the oven than anything the test could tell me. But that's hindsight. So on day 3 when the pregnancy test stars an planets finally aligned, it was little shock that the dipstick said, and I quote, 'pregnant'. But I lie - it actually WAS a little shock. Even though I had a really darn good idea, what with being as regular as a metronome and having keep good enough records that I could predict hail, it was still very different to have an 'official' medical test confirm what you thought you sort of knew.
So I cried. Happy cry, and just for a minute, but actual tears of joy. Honesty forces me to admit, in part cause, yay! I'm having a baby with the man I adore! in part cause, thank God, I can actually get pregnant without having to give a medical practice $15,000 of our money. The thing about getting pregnant is there is only one way to find out if you can do it, and that's by doing it. And having never been pregnant, we just didn't know if it could even BE done. It can - and we did it - woo hoo!
Of course, I want to tell the hubby immediately. This is not possible since he's at work and I really don't want to reenact the cell phone commercial ('way to step up brad') so I bounce about the house all impatient again (shocker) for him to get home so I can share. After debating a bazillion elaborate ways to tell him, involving life size teddy bears and weather balloons, sanity (briefly) reins and I decide to go relatively prop-free and low-key, and was lying in wait when he got h0me.
We had tickets that night to see Bugs Bunny on Broadway at wolf trap, so I, all low key and all say, "hey baby, I know it's kinda last minute, but would you mind if we brought someone to the concert tonight?" My hubby, being a total sweetums responded with, "um no, I guess that would be ok..."
I said, "It's a child friendly show, right?" The Hubby is deeply puzzled...
"Well, yeah, but who do you want to bring?"
I say "Well, it not really someone YET but....", and with all appropriate drama, whip out the dipstick o' joy and say, '" thought we could could bring our new baby-to-be..."
And the look on his face was summed up with the phrase 'shock and awe'. He grabs the test stick "Really?! Are you serious?! really?! oh baby!!!" SO happy! Hug and snuggles and general jubilation all around.
Well worth battling 3 test sticks and waiting 2 weeks for...And we still went to see Bugs Bunny too... :-)

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Preggers - It's in there!

It's official - I've got a bun in the oven. Since we're not sharing early, we're going to document this little adventure here so you can drop in anytime and not have missed a (heart)beat. The hubby and I have been 'trying' for a for, I dunno, a year-ish. If you define trying as not trying to NOT, if you know what I mean. About 6 months ago, after a panic inducing OB/GYN visit, (you know, the one that includes the 'your eggs are aging rapidly and if you aren't knocked up in the next few months we're going to ask your husband to do unmentionable things to a plastic cup and start pumping you full of litter-producing chemicals' speech) we buckled down a little more. By buckle down I mean, I started making note of lots of little numbers in a calendar - temperatures, start dates, end dates, phases of the moon. Ben Franklin had nothing on this personal almanac - I could predict *rainfall* amounts. Now we didn't DO much with them but still - impressive. Of course, after all that math, wouldn't you know it, the ONE time we went purely recreational, wham! OK maybe not the ONE time, maybe more like the 47th time - I told you we weren't hardcore about the trying thing. Regardless, it worked, and how. And here we are. The plan is to spend the next few posts getting everyone up to speed on preggers progress to date including: dipstick turns pink& the hubby is informed, the first doc visit, & staying undercover - then we'll go realtime... So, whenever you come into the story, enjoy... ;-)