Getting Pregnant

Back to it.

/ sugaronsnowmom / Leave a comment

Piper will be 15 months tomorrow, which means that we have been struggling through COVID-19 for 15 months. That we are all still here with even a portion of our mental health is a miracle. This past year has been unbelievably difficult.

When I last wrote, my wife was going through a mental health crisis. Although the crisis has receded, the struggles continue. At one point, her ADHD diagnosis was a glimmer of hope. We knew what the issue was, so now we could fix it, right? Unfortunately, no. She tried medication after medication and nothing seemed to work. She became more anxious, more irritable. I became more despondent. Will nothing ever get better? She is working on it, and I am working on it. Sometimes it feels like we will get through it, and other times it feels like a treadmill.

In this time of darkness, our children have been bright spots. Pidge has come into her own, strongly advocating for her likes and clearly articulating her desires and needs. She is the femmest of femme, preferring all things pink and sparkly and girly. She asks us to refer to her as Lady. She started dance in the late fall, and fell in love. This June we had the pleasure of watching her perform three numbers in her very first recital. She was amazing! I played the role of Stage Mom, helping all the little ladybugs out onto the stage.

Piper has grown like a weed. She went from infant to toddler seemingly overnight. She is feisty and funny, resilient and confident. You would never know that she has spent her entire babyhood under lockdowns and shutdowns and fear and with everyone around her in masks. She is a firecracker and makes us smile every day.

More light: the vaccine. Vermont has now vaccinated 80% of its eligible population and I am hopeful that means that we’re pulling out of this. I feel cautious optimism, which I am thankful for. It would be easy, very very easy, to let myself get pulled down in the fear of additional strains and other people’s vaccine hesitancy. But I just can’t do that. Not now. I have to have some hope. Of course, that hope is tempered with reasonable risk mitigation. We are not dining indoors and I am careful where we travel with the children. But there comes a time that we need to balance physical needs with mental health needs, and our high vaccination rates and low infection rates make that possible.

As the vaccine has become available and more has opened up, we have been able to spend time with extended family. To be honest, it’s been a bit of a mixed bag. We had a very pleasant visit with my parents in Florida. It was nice to get into the sunshine and the pool. A few weeks ago, my wife’s parents came to visit. It was a surprisingly difficult visit, where all parties felt judged. We couldn’t pinpoint what the problem was, but we felt it. We felt it deeply. It was heartbreaking to have such a strained visit because we knew that we would not see them again for at least six months or more. And yet, we could change it.

I tried to process what went wrong in therapy because (hooray!) I finally have a therapist. I think what it boils down to is this: my wife and I have some serious childhood trauma. Some of it is religious trauma, and some of it stems from the culture in which we were raised – a culture that focuses on body image and shame and guilt. My wife and I have worked tirelessly to escape that history and to build a new life together, insulated from much of the harmfulness of our pasts. We have chosen to live in the least religious state in the nation, and the state with the least amount of materialism. We don’t discuss weight and calories. We try to protect ourselves and our children. Having my wife’s parents here felt somewhat like a security breach. Suddenly, that trauma came flooding back. Suddenly there were discussions about disliking bodies and avoiding calories and “fat.” There was yelling and “sternness” directed at the children. I felt terrified and defensive and protective for my children. I don’t know what to do. They aren’t going to change, but these interactions are just so triggering. I’m scared for myself and for my children. What will we do if my in-laws actually fulfill their goal of moving to the area?

Another new development: I’m pregnant! Our family is overjoyed. In an ideal world, we probably would have spaced out the kids a little more. But I’m getting old and I don’t want to be much older before I have another baby. My wife and I (and Pidge!) really want a big family. Of course, we are getting grief about it from our families. They told us we were being selfish. My wife’s grandmother and aunt refuse to acknowledge the pregnancy. It is hurtful. My parents are excited, and my wife’s parents are starting to get excited, too. They all got more excited when they found out that we are having a boy. I don’t know why that makes a difference to them, and to be honest, it felt a bit patriarchal. I am looking forward to having a son (until and unless he tells us that he is really our daughter, which of course we would support), but I am also a little intimidated by the idea. I feel like I don’t know or understand men or boys at all. My whole world is women. But, I’m sure I can figure it out and I’m sure that I’ll adore our little guy. He will be OUR little guy after all.

All that is to say, there has been a lot going on. And there have been so many feelings about it all that I’ve been a bit stifled in my ability to convey it all. This has led me to not write at all. But I don’t want that. I want to document this fleeting and impossible time of new parenthood. I want to get back to writing. Hopefully, this is my start.

Known Donor

/ sugaronsnowmom / Leave a comment

Every time he walks onto the playground, I find myself flashing a quick glance at Pidge, looking for signs of recognition. Sometimes she acknowledges him, mentioning him by name later in the evening just as she would for any one of her friends’ parents. Sometimes when he says hi to her she just stares.

We live in a small, rural community, which means lives overlap. A lot. Everyone crosses paths with everyone all the time. The idea of if-you-dress-a-mess-you’ll-run-into-someone-you-know is not a thing here because you are always running into someone you know. It’s the nature of living small.

Using a known donor to conceive Pidge has been an interesting experience. When we were looking to conceive several years ago, we weighed the ideas of using a sperm bank versus a known donor. As an attorney I knew that using a sperm bank was the safer route. Parentage is more easily established that way, and it doesn’t create the possibility where the donor could try to claim legal rights to your child. However, there were also aspects of using a sperm bank that concerned me. In this digital age, I am watching concepts of privacy and anonymity lose their meanings. I feared that even if we chose an anonymous sperm donor, our daughter might one day be able to find out his identity. What if we didn’t like him? Would she suddenly be wanting to spend time or holidays with a man we didn’t know and didn’t like? Would she end up with something like 32 siblings, as I had read about in the news?

We decided to ask a friend of ours who lived across the country to donate sperm. We were nervous to ask, worried it would be weird or jeopardize our friendship. Instead, he eagerly said yes, adding, “Y’all will be great parents.” We were overjoyed. As he is an attorney too, he and I worked hard to ensure that both of our legal rights would be protected. He wanted to help us, but he didn’t want to end up stuck with parental obligations; we wanted his help, but we didn’t want him to be able to claim legal rights to our child. Being across the country from one another, we felt as though we had an added layer of protection—it was unlikely that our paths would cross without concerted effort. After many months of contracts and research and reaching out to other attorneys, we started trying. Each time, the attempt to conceive was unsuccessful. We grew discouraged.

One evening, as I was working late, my wife went out for drinks with a colleague of hers. He was more of an acquaintance than a true friend, but they were friendly with each other and enjoyed each other’s company. He told her about how he and his wife were working on buying their first home together, and she told him about our failed attempts at trying to make a baby. Then he commented, “You know, if you ever need help with that, I would be happy to help.” My wife smiled and said thanks, but didn’t think much of it. When she told me about her conversation, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Do you think he’s serious?” My wife said she thought he was.

“Maybe we should do it,” I said to her. “I mean, what we have been trying has not been working. Maybe it’s because our donor is far away, or maybe there is something with his sperm. Whatever it is, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try someone different.”

My wife thought about it. She thought about her colleague, and his generous offer. “He does look a lot like you,” she remarked.

She was right. He is taller than I am, but has the same color hair, the same texture hair, and the same color eyes. While I didn’t know much about him at the time, I knew he was smart, funny, and kind. Still, I was concerned about the fact that he lived in town, and that it would be possible that our children would be around the same age.

After several follow-up conversations with him, and after he discussed it with his wife, we decided to move forward using him as a donor. Three cycles later, my wife was pregnant.

My wife’s pregnancy was filled with emotion. We were so excited to become parents, but I was worried. What if I wouldn’t feel connected to this child? What if our donor decided to try to assert legal rights at the last minute? What if he changed his mind once our child was born? What if he started seeing the child as his? What if we see each other constantly and it is weird? What if our kids become friends? There were so many unknowns and, even with legal contracts, there was so much trust I had to place in a man I barely knew.

Fast forward two years and I am watching him play with his child on the playground. His child squeals with delight—“Daddy!”—giggling as his father pushes him on the swing. My daughter is playing with another child on the slide. I look over at the swings and I look back at my child. I study her face, looking for his face. I look for similarities between his child and mine. But I don’t see them. At least, not really. Sure, they are both adorable. Some of their features share certain aspects, but you would never pick them out as siblings in a crowd. Her face is not his—her face is simply my daughter’s face, perfect in every way.

Our relationship with our donor has been beautiful. His child and our child are friends, and our daughter knows him as her friend’s dad. Our donor has never once crossed any boundaries or even attempted to cross boundaries, which has been wonderful. His wife is supportive and similarly hands-off. When I see their child, I have a brief moment where I recognize that their child and our daughter are related. I mention that to my wife. She casually says, “Oh, I guess you’re right. That doesn’t really occur to me much.”

Of course, some day we may have to cross that bridge. Our contract allows us to reveal our donor to our child when she turns 18, or earlier with written consent of all three of us: my wife, the donor, and myself. But that is an issue for a later date.

Today, things are more simple and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I am pregnant with our daughter’s sibling, conceived with the help of the same donor. Over the course of being Pidge’s mom, I’ve come to realize that genetics mean far less to me than I thought. Still, I am excited about the fact that Pidge and her sibling will be genetically connected—not through their moms, but through the selfless giving of their donor. Their known donor, who we will always be thankful for and love.

IMG_7838

Pidge, after a successful day of painting at preschool

 

 

14 Weeks

/ sugaronsnowmom / Leave a comment

Hello, again. It has been awhile since I have written. I think I have been nervous.

Ever since I saw those two pink lines again, I have been elated and apprehensive. I was so excited to be pregnant again, to have new life growing inside me. At the same time, I was terrified to lose it. Pregnancy suddenly seemed so fragile—a precious gift that could disappear at any moment.

I tried to stay positive. It will work this time. But inside I wasn’t so sure.

Over the next several weeks, I searched my body for signs. Are my breasts still tender? How is my nausea? Are these cramps good or bad? I searched for signs and answers but it was like my own body was a mystery to me.

I sought reassurance from health care professionals. I had ultrasounds and did blood tests. Everything came back normal. There was no reason to fear that this pregnancy might terminate, but still I was afraid.

I am finally starting to breathe a little more. Just over 14 weeks along, we have made it to the second trimester. The risk of miscarriage at this point is less than one percent, and I like those odds. We started telling people we are pregnant, and we are beginning to get excited. Truly excited.

Preg Cropped

A few Fridays ago, we went into the doctor’s office where we were able to hear baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Pidge came with us, and was in awe. All night long she kept telling us about how she heard baby sister’s heartbeat in Mom’s “yoo-tus.” It was adorable.

I am pregnant. I am really and truly pregnant.

We are so looking forward to welcoming our rainbow baby next March.

Ultrasound

Spilled Milk and Sand Castles

/ sugaronsnowmom / 1 Comment

Everything feels different and yet it also feels the same. My body is bleeding and cramping. It feels like a miscarriage and it also feels like a period. I vacillate between distraught and okay, recalling that I was pregnant just a few days ago and then simultaneously feeling like that pregnancy was only a dream.

I am doing a little better now. Thursday evening was heartbreaking, Friday was sad, and yesterday I began to slowly climb out of that sink hole.

I keep thinking about the time I spilled breastmilk. As non-gestational mother, I had worked very hard to induce lactation. I set myself up to a breast pump and attempted to stimulate my mammary glands for thirty minutes every three hours, including in the middle of the night. I did this for months before Pidge was born, and for nearly a year afterward. It was exhausting. My nipples blistered and my body ached. Every last drop I produced was hard-earned and precious. One evening, as I was transferring my milk into a freezer bag, I let go of the bottle. Milk spilled everywhere. It was an accident, but I was devastated. My frantic hands attempted to scoop up the spilled milk, but the contaminated contents slipped through my fingers. I cried and cried. No matter how much my wife attempted to convince me that all would be okay, it didn’t feel okay. I was crushed.

Turned out, she was right. It was okay. During the entire year that I pumped for my daughter, we never once needed that expressed milk. Our supplies were ample and Pidge was always able to nurse directly from our breasts, something she is still doing today, albeit less frequently. We ended up donating over 6,000 ounces of breastmilk to mothers in need in our community.

I’m thinking about this because I’m thinking about passing this pregnancy, about the spilled blood and about my desperate desire to scoop it back in. Like the milk, it is too late. It is happening, it happened. It is not my fault, and I cannot fix it. But it will be okay. And just as I shared my milk with so many, I now share an experience so many women have endured.

The day before I found out I was pregnant, my wife and I took our daughter to the lake. We had a wonderful day, enjoying the sunshine and the water, the snacks and the sand. I spent hours at the water’s edge with Pidge, digging, scooping, pouring, and building castles. We filled her little purple bucket, packed it down, then turned it over. Pidge squealed with delight. Then the castle came down. Sometimes Pidge stomped on it, sometimes a boat-induced wake washed out its foundation, and sometimes the sand just crumbled. We always built another, and when we did, the delight returned.

My womb is emptying so that it can prepare to be filled again.

The sadness I am feeling is still there. However, unlike the ever-present darkness that enveloped me over the past few days, this sadness comes and goes like waves. And the tide is receding.

I am working with my doctors and midwives to understand this miscarriage. I have requested testing for Rh sensitivity, and the next time I get pregnant, we will monitor my hCG levels closely. If there is anything to be learned, I hope to learn it, even if it just means adjusting my expectations regarding future pregnancies. If nothing can be learned, that is okay, too. Sometimes miscarriages just happen. Sometimes sand castles just crumble. But with effort and hope and support from those who love me, I can build another and our family can delight once again.

IMG_4030

Happy

/ sugaronsnowmom / 2 Comments

If it’s positive, I told myself, I will keep it a secret and then surprise my wife on June 6, our anniversary.

I placed the cap over the tip of the pregnancy test, setting it down on the counter face-up as the directions on the insert instructed. In the movies they always put it face-down, I thought. I understood why. It seemed safer, less anxiety-producing. Not wanting to compromise accuracy, I placed it face-up. Not wanting the stress, I tucked it behind a picture frame.

I walked out into the kitchen. I picked up Pidge and gave her a little nuzzle. My wife poured us some coffee – mostly decaf, of course. We talked about something, I don’t know what. My mind kept thinking about the test and my eyes kept wandering over to the clock. Three minutes has never felt so long.

My close childhood friend has been trying to get pregnant, too. We both started trying around the same time. Five days ago, I learned that this try worked. She was pregnant. I was ecstatic, but also a little jealous. It happened so quickly for her! Of course, she had a husband and what seemed like infinite opportunities for insemination whereas we only had two tries each month. I worried about how long it would take me. Would our donor get tired of helping us out? My mind was awhirl. The two-week wait between ovulation and when you can learn whether you are pregnant is just awful.

Shortly after I got off the phone with my friend, hopeful and experiencing what seemed like pregnancy signs, I took a test and it was negative. I knew it was an early test, and that sometimes early tests will come back negative even if you are pregnant. I took it after I had been getting mastitis-like symptoms. Given that Pidge has been gradually decreasing the amount she is nursing, this seemed odd. Maybe it means I’m pregnant. . . But no matter how hard I squinted, the test displayed only one pink line, dark and stark in contrast to the white space where the other line could have appeared. I hadn’t told my wife.

I set down my coffee – three minutes were up. I walked back into the bathroom. I was hopeful, but doubtful. The other test was probably right, I thought to myself. I reached back behind the frame.

TWO LINES.

IMG_6614-1

It was faint, but it was unmistakably there. I could hardly believe my eyes. My hand started to tremble.

Suddenly, all my planning about waiting to tell my wife went out the window. I sprinted into the kitchen, shaking. My wife knew before I could say anything. I beamed, she shrieked. We hugged and held each other. We were overcome with joy.

I took another test, a digital one this time. Pregnant. We could barely contain ourselves.

IMG_6615-2

My cycle-tracking application gave me the option to switch into pregnancy mode. “You are 4 weeks and 6 days along. Your embryo is currently the size of a red lentil.” The app gave me the option to choose a nickname for my growing baby. While Pidge was developing inside my wife, we called her Sprout. What should we call this one?

I picked up Pidge. “You’re going to be a big sister!” I told her. She smiled. I asked, “What should we call your baby sibling?” She paused and said “hmm,” putting her pointer finger up against her chin like she does when she’s being extra thoughtful. A few moments later she held her little finger up in the air, indicating she had an idea.

“Happy.”

Pidge grinned at me and I grinned back. Happy. It was perfect.

First Try

/ sugaronsnowmom / Leave a comment

Just relax, I told myself. I looked at my phone to pass the time and to occupy my mind. I was in the bedroom alone, preparing myself for my first insemination.

A week earlier, after my first period since our daughter was born had come and gone, I began tracking my ovulation. Tests and mucus and body temperature—before trying to conceive, I had no idea how complicated all of this stuff is. And we’ve got one shot each month, so we have to get it right. No pressure.

Then Thursday morning it happened. The digital indicator on our ovulation predictor kit showed a smiling face. My heart stopped. Oh my gosh, I thought. It’s time.

We called our donor who, several months prior, had signed a contract with us to facilitate the process. He agreed to come over that evening and the next day as well.

I spent the next eight hours desperately trying to focus on work, but my mind was elsewhere. I wish we had tried yesterday, I thought. I knew from my copious amounts of research that it is better to inseminate prior to ovulation. The smiling face indicated that it was likely I would ovulate in the next 6-48 hours, but that’s all. If it was later, we still had time. If it was earlier, we missed the window.

But I had to stay positive and relaxed. Everyone tells you not to stress, because stress inhibits conception. From experience I can say that this is much easier said than done.

I waited in the bedroom. I heard our donor come in, greet my wife and daughter, and then head to the bathroom. A little while later, I heard the sink run. He walked downstairs and said to my wife, “I left it on the counter. Good luck!”

As he drove away, my wife and daughter came into the bedroom. “Mom!” my 18-month-old exclaimed. “Mom, Mom, Mooommmm.” She shimmied onto the bed and climbed on top of me, rubbing her face against mine. My wife got the sterile cup and syringe ready. I laughed. Trying for number 2 is so different than trying for number 1, I thought. My daughter giggled and played with a tube of Pre-seed.

“Okay, Pidge. Let’s go.” My wife scooped up our daughter. “Bye bye!” our daughter waved cheerfully.

I took a deep breath and held my legs up in the air. My wife leaned down and kissed my cheek. She smiled. I smiled back, full of nerves and hope. “As of right now,” she said, “we officially have a chance.”

 

Here We Go Again

/ sugaronsnowmom / Leave a comment

We are meeting with our donor next week to sign a new contract. We are going to try for another baby. This time, if all goes to plan, I will carry the next child.

There’s part of me that thinks it won’t work. That I might not be able to get pregnant. Why don’t I think it will work? I am not really sure. Maybe it is because I am in my late 30’s. Maybe it is because I am still breastfeeding Pidge and I still do not have a period (which, I am told, does not mean that I am not ovulating). Maybe it is because the reality of getting pregnant and birthing a child is so utterly foreign to my body that I cannot imagine it actually happening.

Pidge will be a great big sister. She has been pining to have another baby around. We got her a baby doll for Christmas this year. She was thrilled. It was hands-down her favorite gift. She lights up when she says “baby.” She carries her life-sized doll around, rocks the doll, tucks the doll in at night, sings to the doll, and kisses the doll. Like I said, she’ll be great.

But how will I be as the gestational mother? My wife did it so beautifully. She grew the most amazing person I have ever met inside her body and when it came time to give birth, she did it with grace and dignity in our very own home. Will I wear pregnancy and birth as well? I am trying not to compare. They say comparison is the thief of joy. I know I will have to just take it in stride and do the best I can for myself and for my family.

My family.

Right now my family is my wife, Pidge, and me. But my family and my heart can grow. We can add to our happy home. And next week is the first step.

Here we go again.

We’re Pregnant

/ sugaronsnowmom / Leave a comment

I say we’re pregnant, but really she is pregnant. My beautiful wife. I’m happy for her. I’m happy for us. But it’s different, you know? Here I am, four and a half months away from being a parent, and yet aside from being married to Baby’s mother, I have little connection to this kiddo. I’m not her biological contributor. She won’t look like me. I’ll have to petition a court for adoption to firm up my connection to her. And yet, I love her. She’s not even born and I love her like crazy.

This is a blog dedicated to all of the “other” mothers out there. To us strong, lesbian women fighting for our families. Our tears of joy and wonder, our heartaches and sometimes peripheral space in the world.

Here’s to us.

IMG_7783