Throw out everything you know about the birds & the bees. We’re going high tech. After all, last time was completely spontaneous and unexpected, so we might as well plan this one down to the point where we know the precise moment of possible conception, within hours. Right? I wish it was a matter of preference and not a matter of whether or not we want to have another kid before Keyven graduates from high school.
After going back and forth on the timing of things ever since… well, pretty much ever since Keyven was born… a couple of months ago, we officially decided it was time to start trying to add to our family. We figure that now, while we’re both in school and schedules are more flexible, it would be easier to deal with the baby-phase than later when we’re both trying to start new jobs. So, we’re trying to aim for next summer as a due date. In fact, if I don’t get pregnant in the next few months, Plan B is probably going to be waiting until we’re done with school.
Here’s the part where, if you don’t want medical details, you should stop reading. 
We decided to share because it’s not something people talk openly about often. And if it helps someone else out who is going through this, or about to, then it’s worth it.
Knowing that I have a history of fertility issues, we headed to the doctor’s office to get things checked out. No surprise that I’m not ovulating. I was prescribed Provera (to kick-start my period so we didn’t have to wait for 60 days or more for it to start) and Clomid for helping to stimulate my ovaries into producing some follicles instead of just sitting around doing nothing all cycle.
As any couple who has been through fertility treatments can tell you — but probably won’t, because men seem to be much more sensitive about these things — we also found out that Tim would get to participate in this phase of testing. Needless to say he wasn’t super-thrilled when I came home with a plastic cup and instructions for um… specimen collection. The morning we had to take the sample to the lab was borderline bad comedy, complete with him holding the cup in his pants waist and us driving like mad to the hospital. Where there was, of course, a mix-up and all sorts of confusion because in our rush to leave the house we forgot the lab prescription.
When the results came in, we found out that his “count” is great, but the survival rate ain’t so hot. His count was actually so spectacularly high that it registered “abnormal” by the lab’s standards. The max number in their range is 160 million per sample. Tim’s had 265 million. It seems a little odd that having a lot would be considered abnormal. As my doctor put it, “You can never have too much sperm.” The problem is, they don’t seem to last long. The number left by six hours (which is about how long it would take them to reach an egg, if one miraculously popped out) compounds our fertility issues further. Tim likes to say, “They’re sprinters, not marathon runners.” You really have to have a sense of humor about this process. Especially when they tell you you’re going to have to do IUI — intrauterine insemination — to have much of a chance at this working. IUI is a nice way of saying “artificial insemination.” I think they stopped using that term because it hurt too many daddy feelings.
Last week, I started my Clomid, taken cycle days five through nine. Monday, I had an ultrasound to see if it worked. I did have one mature follicle. That means, even with the fertility drugs, my ovaries only eked out one! At least we don’t have to worry this time around about multiples! They gave me an hCG injection at my appointment to make me ovulate (meaning, to get an egg to pop out of that mature follicle). As fair warning to anyone who might have to do this: it’s a butt shot. And it doesn’t hurt at first, but by the time you’re walking out of the office through the waiting room, it could cause you to announce loudly “Ow, my butt hurts!” to a roomful of very confused strangers. On the plus side, it’s a great excuse to make your partner rub your butt all day.
Anyway, hCG is not the hormone that would normally make ovulation occur in the body, but apparently that hormone is so hard and expensive to manufacture that no one does it. hCG does the trick. Unfortunately, it also makes you feel like you’re pregnant and makes any pregnancy tests you take in a week likely to be positive, even if you’re not.
Today, we went back to the doctor’s office for our IUI. This requires another donation from Tim, so it can undergo a process called… are you ready for this? Sperm washing. Talk about world’s worst jobs. Basically the sample is spun in a centrifuge and separated, then concentrated and placed in a new medium used to place the sperm during the IUI. This time, though, there wasn’t the option of doing the “preparation” at home. We were granted an unused suite of exam rooms and a sticky note on the door that said, “Do Not Enter.” Funny how you don’t notice that the doors in exam rooms don’t lock until you’re in a situation like this.
After we completed the first phase of our “mission,” as Tim liked to call it, we had to wait about an hour for the preparation to be done. When we came back, it was in to a paper towel skirt and on to a table with me. Tim stood by and held my hand. And it was finished. Actually quick and painless. The most uncomfortable part was that I had to lie down for 20 minutes afterwards on the exam table with my butt propped up. Dressed again, and got instructions to not take a pregnancy test until two weeks from yesterday. Ahh… the dreaded waiting begins.
So far, I have been totally exhausted, hungry, and crampy. The first two, likely due to the hCG shot. The latter, Tim likes to credit as my uterus’ reaction to the sneak attack of his highly trained elite soldiers on their infiltration air assault operation. They reached enemy territory without the usual early warning system and he’s convinced they’re in there taking names and kicking butt in their quest to reach the hostage egg. Like I said, it helps to have a sense of humor in all of this. It would be wonderful if I got pregnant the first time around; however, the chances of that happening are only about 6%. That low number is mostly due to the fact that my ovaries only produced one follicle — had there been three or four, our chances would have been closer to 25 – 30%. I guess we’ll spend the next couple of weeks finding a balance between hopefulness and reality. But now that we’ve shared it with the world, you guys can wait with us!
Send us lots of baby wishes, good prego thoughts, and love. We’ll keep you posted. 
We reached a milestone of dubious nature last week. Keyven came home from daycare with a battle scar. When I went to pick him up on Wednesday, his teacher Amber came out to the hall with us. She said, “I just wanted to let you know that Keyven got bit today.”
I did my best to not freak out. After all, I hadn’t noticed when he came running over to me. But sure enough, there was the evidence on his little right arm. Full dental impression of some kid’s chompers, still red and swollen. Luckily, there was no breaking of the skin. They put some ice on it and he cried for a while (can’t blame him!). Seems that he got on the losing end of a fight over a toy.
Later that day, we had a chat about biting. I wanted him to understand that just because someone else bit him did not mean that biting is acceptable. We’ve got enough problems with outburst (read: purposely naughty) hitting that biting does not need to join the repertoire of bad behaviors. So I sat him down and said, “Do you remember what happened to your arm today?”
Keyven looked down at his arm and said, “Yeah.”
I said, “What happened?”
“A bite?”
“Mmhmm… and it hurt, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Biting hurts and it’s not very nice, so we do NOT do that to other people, right?”
“Yeah, it hurts.”
It didn’t show up well in the pic, but it’s still there even now… just turning purple instead of red. No problems this week, though, so hopefully this was a one-time only event.
As Jenni fondly reminded me today, this time two years ago we were e-mailing and blogging and wondering when on earth these kids were going to make their grand entrances in to the world. Henri decided to take some initiative and get a move on… and a cute kid with one of the greatest mops of perfectly straight blond hair ever was born. Just like our family, theirs embarked on a cross-country move shortly after Henri was born — but they went all the way out West. And now they live in the country on an alpaca farm where the kids get to play outside and the hubby gets lots of fresh air to stimulate his amazingly creative brain (his b-day was last week but he’s old like us so it’s not cute to say how many he’s had).
Even though we still haven’t met in person (never mind that we lived only miles apart when we were pregnant), Jenni & her awesome family are my favorite blog buddies! Hopefully by the next birthday we will have paid them a visit in Oregon. I will just have to resign myself to gaining 10 pounds when I do, because she’s fierce cooker of baked goods and other yummy tempting treats. Maybe they’ll let me chase the alpacas around to burn off some biscuits.
Tonight, I finally got my phone synced up with my computer, and found some great shots. So, I thought I’d share them here for fun, even though a lot of them are “camera phone quality.” Enjoy!
(L to R): Trying on mom’s shades for size — he actually put them on by himself when I wasn’t watching and then started giggling; Valentine’s Day, 2009. / My little outdoorsman & tree monkey, just hanging out in our front yard; March 2009.
(L to R): Oh, timeout chair. His face says it all. Now he thinks it’s funny to ask to go to time out. / Happy snuggle time with Daddy; taking a sweet pic for me while I was on Spring Break in Virginia. / Teaching him how to drink from a stein. Yeah, this happened when I was out of town. No, there was not actually beer involved. (All March 2009)
(L to R): Coloring pictures for mommy, while I was away in Virginia. / Bath time fun! It only took about 15 months for him to stop screaming and figure out that it’s fun. Hairwashing time… well, that’s another story. / This kid LOVES to help with laundry, and the dishes. I’m hoping this lasts a long, long time. (All August 2009)
(L to R): I’m a sucker for sunglasses shots. Especially ones with graham crackers. / This was his last nap with his beloved paci. Little did he know… / On the field at PSU’s stadium, waiting to watch “Up” on the Jungletron. It didn’t last long. There was a lot more running around and flirting than actual watching. (All August 2009)
(L to R): Having a Starbucks break with mommy. Now every time we drive by there, he says, “Cookies?” / Park time fun! Ten seconds later, he managed to fall between the bottom rail and the step and bust his face. Pobresito. / Waiting for the train. Keyven’s first real train ride, during a local festival in Pittsburg. (All August 2009)
(L to R): Stopping for a photo op in a field of sunflowers, outside Parsons, Kansas. / *CHOMP* Keyven’s first time eating corn on the cob like a big boy. You can’t really tell from this shot, but it was taken right after he jumped in the pond at Nana & Pops’ house. Guess he was trying to go swimming with Tyson. About gave me a heart attack, but I was just a couple feet away. (All August 2009)
Also, tonight I started a Twitter account for this blog. I had a different account before, but this one will be kiddo-related posts and updates only. For those days when I can’t get a blog in, but something little happens that I want to share. You can check in with us at the top of the right-hand sidebar, or you can follow us directly at http://twitter.com/quixymama.
Yesterday, during a trip to Wal-Mart, Keyven found the action figure aisle. For the first time, I witnessed the look of rapture that little boys get when they see rows and rows of cool trucks and super heroes and things they just “have to have.” I’m not thrilled about that phase, but Tim & I already have an agreement to never take Keyven to Toys ‘R’ Us (or any other toy store for that matter) except on special occasions. Not even to pick out toys for other people’s kids. We just have to figure out a way to avoid the “toy side” of Wal-Mart & Target now. Anyway, I digress…
As he was walking down the aisle checking everything out, pushing buttons and making his own sound effects, he came to a complete stop in front of one toy. He looked up at it, touched the hair and the eyes and the clothes, and then proclaimed, “It’s Daddy!” We don’t need to go to the toy store for our action heroes. We have one at home.
