I know too many things. In the case of pregnancy, ignorance really is bliss; and I lost that innocence years ago.

Last night I dreamed that we went in for a doctor’s appointment and one of the babies had a really slow heartbeat. The doctor told us that the baby probably wouldn’t make it. And then I started to have signs of losing the baby, and went to the hospital, and without going into details, it was probably the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had.

About a week ago, a facebook friend sent me a message saying that she dreamed I had my twins at 24 weeks. It freaked me out. Probably because I know someone that gave birth to twins at 24 weeks and lost one, while the other one is still struggling in the NICU over 3 months later.

It’s scary stuff.

I’m in sort of a weird place, because if I confess my fears to people I know, most of them will brush them off and say they’re sure everything will be fine. But I don’t want to be insensitive to those who are still struggling to get pregnant or those who really wish for twins, becuase I’d guess their response would probably be to just be glad for what I’ve been given.

And I am glad. So beyond glad. But I’m still afraid that something will go wrong. In the beginning I had dreams of losing one twin. I read how common it was and was in a constant state of terror throughout the first trimester. I kept my fears to myself for the most part, but they plagued me.

Now I’m further along and worrying less, but still not out of the woods. I’m afraid every day. Just one baby would be scary enough, but two is even more frightening.

I’m enjoying my pregnancy. I’m loving every moment of it. Even when I had migraines nearly every day for 3 months, I wouldn’t trade them for infertility. The migraines weren’t nearly as painful. I don’t let the fears keep away the happiness – I want to make that clear. But the fears are there, and I suspect they will be until I’m holding two healthy babies.

I hate that almost 5 years of infertility made me so afraid, but I know I appreciate pregnancy far more than I ever could have without it. So it’s kind of a trade-off. I don’t want to wish away the next 18ish weeks, because I’m thoroughly enjoying them (even though I always have some physical and/or emotional ailment). But I will be glad when these babies are safe in my arms.

If you want to follow us there, the address is “d and s dot com” – but with our names instead of initials (and no spaces, and no quotation marks of course). And remember that D’s name is spelled uniquely and my name with an IE at the end. If that doesn’t help, you can find our names in the comments pretty frequently, or you can email me at eternalguestroom@gmail.com and I’ll be glad to share. I don’t want to post it here outright because of the same reason we stopped using our full names – work/client reasons.

I’m definitely not leaving this blog; I still have more to say. But I want to post pregnancy news elsewhere, so that’s where it will be for anyone who wants to see it.

It wasn’t easy – in fact it felt like it was going to just about kill me at times – but we’re finally moving forward.

Our 12 week appointment this afternoon showed two healthy, active babies. They moved their limbs and flipped themselves around. One of the babies kicked the other one in the head (totally safe, the sonographer said). The sonogram lasted 45 minutes and I don’t think I stopped smiling the entire time.

While the infertile feeling remains, I feel like I can start to move ahead. We passed the scary first trimester. Things are looking good.

We have a long way to go still, but I’m enjoying every moment.

Things are good.

The truth is, I’m not really sure what to say here. I feel like I’m in a weird sort of “in between” place at the moment. I’m where I want to be – pregnant – but I haven’t really left the other side yet. I’m afraid to post anything here that can be read as negative or complaining because I feel like people are likely to think that I should just shut up and be happy to be here. And I really, truly, incredibly am – but it’s not always easy all the time.

I’m really happy. Excited. Thrilled. But the fear hasn’t left and the infertile feeling lingers.

Several weeks ago I got to attend my first “pregnant after infertility” support group meeting. And after looking forward to it for such a long time, I hated it. I felt like everyone had already moved on; meanwhile, the reality of the struggle and the pain was still so fresh and raw for me. I actually thought I was going to cry. And I felt so guilty for feeling that way – I should be 100% happy.

But I’ve been infertile for a lot longer than I’ve been pregnant, and it’s not like a switch just flips and I can forget the last 5 years. They’re such a part of me and they always will be. I’ll never forget what it took me to get here.

So for now I’m kind of in between. I don’t feel confident enough to consider myself part of the pregnant group yet. I’ve left the infertile group physically, but not totally mentally, and definitely not emotionally all the way. I don’t know what I want to do with this blog yet. I don’t want it to become just a pregnancy blog (though I have no problem with others doing that; it’s just not for me) but I don’t want to abandon it, either.

Right now I guess it’s just kind of waiting, like I am.

My next appointment is Monday. We’re meeting with the perinatologist (high-risk doctor). The last 3+ weeks have been the longest of my life; I know I say that every time, but each wait feels longer. I’m so anxious to get there and make sure everything is ok. I think it’ll be easier to breathe after that.

And for those of you that want updates – I’m 12 weeks today. I still can’t believe it. Hopefully Monday will make it easier.

After the sonogram, we went into an exam room to wait for the doctor. I couldn’t stop smiling, looking at those pictures. When she came in, she was all excited, and said “she saw the dividing membrane!”

Hooray!

I honestly wasn’t spending too much time worrying after asking around, but it’s such a huge relief to know it’s there!

I had to ask what our chances were at this point – the risk of miscarriage is less than 5% now, and the additional twin risks don’t kick in this early. So for now I can breathe and enjoy it and know that there’s a really good chance we’re going to have babies. Identical twins. Whoa.

My next appointment will be in 3 weeks with a high-risk OB. Tonight I have my first “pregnant after infertility” support group meeting.

It’s all so crazy.

Walking into the waiting room was hard. I figured I’d be thrilled to be arriving in this condition instead of my usual one. With my husband instead of my own infertile self. I’ve only been there alone, facing couples and big bellies and usually at least one woman with at least one child already. And so often a teenage girl pushing a stroller as her mother takes care of the bill and a confused-looking kid that looks more like he should be on a playground than in an OB’s office.

When I looked around to see where to sit, a very pregnant lady caught my eye and smiled; I gave her a very wary smile back. As I sat in the waiting room, it all came rushing back. The isolation. The pain. The grief. That feeling of loss. Even though I’m technically “one of them” now, I still felt a million miles away. Alone. Defective. Broken. I had to fight back tears and tell myself to get a grip.

We didn’t get a sonogram. Which was a real bummer; I guess I just assumed we’d get one, but I’m learning that pregnancy for a normal person isn’t the same as one for an infertile. I’ve ventured from the ” TTC over 2 years” and “infertility and medical assistance” online forum boards over to the “other” side, and learning that people don’t get early sonograms and even necessarily blood tests. You just assume everything’s ok. We are scheduled for a sonogram on Tuesday, which she seemed to think was really soon, but feels like an eternity to me.

I had hoped that yesterday’s appointment would relieve some fears and make me feel better, but it really had the opposite effect for some reason. The doctor seemed really concerned about the lack of a dividing membrane and said you can usually see it by now if it’s going to be there. I didn’t want to argue with her, but the people I’ve been asking who have identical twins all said they didn’t see it this early. I’m still holding on to the hope that that’s the case, but really, the doctor made me worry more.

I should add that I really do love this doctor and have been seeing her for 8 or 9 years and absolutely know that she’s the doctor I want to continue to see. Everything else about the appointment went fine; she has a new nurse that I really liked (I hated the one she had last time I was there, so this is a great improvement), we went over history stuff, they took most of my blood, I got a flu shot (*$#%&* OW!), all my questions were answered, I got an exam, we talked about things. After an hour and a half she sent us on our way with a huge folder of information, a book, and an overwhelming amount of information.

People texted me all afternoon asking how it went and if everything’s ok. I hate that I don’t have an answer. Basically the worry continues. I have no idea what’s been going on in there for the past 9 days. So I guess now we just wait until Tuesday.

I try to stay busy, I try not to think about it but in the back of my mind I am always thinking “what if?”

I have to admit that having twins terrifies me – but losing one or both is a much scarier thought. It’s incredible how you can get so attached to something so tiny so quickly.

I’m trying not to eat all the chocolate in the house but I’m alone tonight and it’s proving to be a very difficult thing to do.

In a blur we walked to the sono room. She got the wand where it goes, turned on the screen, and said “let’s see…you’ve got one sac…so you’ve got one baby. We’ll just check to make sure there’s only one in there.”

One embryo implanted.

And then split.

We have identical twins.

“Shocked” is an understatement. There was a 3% chance of this happening. This was the one scenario we hadn’t even considered.

I’ve gotten so attached to my little embryos that I thought I would be sad if one didn’t make it; now I’m relieved.

Both babies (babies!) measured at exactly 7 weeks, where I am today. Both babies had good heartbeats – in the 140s. We saw two babies on the screen. Two babies with beating hearts. As she printed photos for us, she placed them on my stomach. “Here’s baby A. And here’s baby B. And here’s both together.”

Baby A was floating in the middle. Baby B was hiding in the corner. The heart beats were very, very obvious.

As awesome and shocking and surreal as it was to get that positive test, this is a thousand times more, for all of those. I can’t even wrap my head around it. Any of it.

After the sonogram we saw the doctor. He came in with a “congratulations!” and then a serious “here’s the bad news.” They didn’t see a dividing membrane between the babies, which means that there’s nothing to keep them separate in there (they are sharing a gestational sac). It might just be too early to see it, but if it never appears, it’s potentially dangerous – the babies could fight for blood & necessities, or they could move around and get tangled in each others’ umbilical cords. Bad news.

So even though we’re thrilled and happy, we’re still somehow in the bad statistics zone. We’re staying positive and hoping that the membrane will show up soon so that we’ll have less to worry about. Obviously with twins there is always concern, but ruling out monoamniotic twins would be lovely. Our first OB appointment is next Thursday and we’re hoping to find out a little more then.

This is finally starting to feel real and exciting and awesome, even with the big “what if” looming over us. For now we choose to be ecstatic, and happy, and hopeful, and believe this is the amazing thing that we’ve waited for for so long.

It’s totally crazy though.

I’m more nervous than I can even say.

It’s been a long 3 weeks. The longest 3 weeks of my life. Much longer than any 2-week wait. I try not to worry but I can’t help it. The whole thing just feels so surreal, seems too good to actually be true. Everything went so almost-perfectly with our IVF cycle that I’m constantly just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know that’s the wrong way to think, but I can’t help it.

My friend keeps telling me that the statistics are on our side – just because we were on the wrong side of the statistics in getting pregnant, doesn’t mean we’ll be on the wrong side for staying pregnant. I know that’s true, but after so many years of failure and disappointment it’s a little hard to truly believe.

If tomorrow goes well I’ll let myself start dreaming and planning. I’ll finally be able to hear someone say “congratulations” without getting a sick, nervous feeling in my stomach. I’ll start believing it’s true.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

It worked.

It really did.

I think I’m still in shock.

I got my first positive test the morning after my birthday (6dp5dt); it was a faint line on a stick, but it was there. Three days later I went in for a blood test, and got the call that afternoon: It was positive. First beta was 224. Two days after that I had my second beta to make sure it was doubling, and it was: 465. That’s when it started to sink in. We were driving through a wind farm in the middle of nowhere, West Texas, and I will never forget that call.

Our first sonogram is scheduled for January 4. The wait is killing me. Absolutely killing me. After all these years of waiting, the reward is…more waiting.

When I first sat down to write this post, I was surprised to realize that over all these years, I never really thought about what I would write if we actually had success. I’ve imagined other things, but somehow, never this. And I had no idea what I wanted to say, or how to say it. This post took me 4 days to write.

I write this knowing that it’s too early to tell people. I know how much can go wrong. But you’ve all gone through so much with us and supported us so incredibly that I can’t wait any longer to tell you. Please don’t tell anyone else – it’ll be a while before we make any announcements. A few people know – parents, siblings, close friends, my support group – but that’s it for now.

We are cautiously excited – we have a long way to go. Once we hear a heartbeat I think I’ll be able to believe it. I try to strike a balance between being thrilled and remembering that a positive test does not necessarily equal a baby. But I do let myself be happy for this. We’ve come so far and tried for so long, and we finally got the beginning of what we want. It’s a crazy feeling.

Telling people has been so weird; I’ve found that it’s incredibly difficult to say to people “I’m pregnant!” So I usually call and say “IVF worked!” That seems much more realistic and attainable.

I’ve been kind of shocked at how little has changed. Of course I didn’t expect my feelings to change overnight; nearly 5 years of infertility can’t go away in a day, let alone ever. But I’ve been really surprised at how I don’t really feel any different. I still dread pregnancy announcements. I still don’t want to hear anything about my little sisters’ kids. I still hate seeing pregnant ladies. I still feel a strong sense of loss.

But here we are. Here I am, with one or two of those little embryos, whose picture I stare at every day, actually living and growing inside of me. Here I am, with a bag of positive pregnancy tests, which I can’t bear to throw away, and one that’s sitting on the back of the toilet where I look at it at least once a day. Here I am, sicker every day, and loving it, because I feel that it must mean something is going on. Here we are, with hopes and dreams that we can actually think about a little bit, and know that they might actually be real, not in the distant future but in 8 months.

I can’t believe we are here. I feel a peace I haven’t felt in years, but I also feel more terrified than I ever have in my life. Every day is forever. The countdown for the sonogram has gone from 20 days to 8, but it feels more like weeks than days. Please keep us in your thoughts, and if you pray, your prayers. Being infertile means that the sonogram is as scary as it is exciting, and probably even more so.

I can’t thank you all enough for your continued support. When we started going through this, we were alone. And now we are surrounded by support. And I really believe it made a difference in the outcome.

(And again, please please please don’t say anything to anyone, don’t write anything on my facebook wall, etc. etc. etc.)