One

So, I was certain there'd be no one in there, but it turns out there is.

One heartbeat. We saw it flicker. It was awesome.

I'm not the kind of blogger that's going to post pregnancy play-by-plays, although I'll be adding updates to this page just for posterity (also linked in the header above under "Pregnancy Timeline").

PS: Seriously, though. There's a heartbeat. Can you believe it?

Up's Tears, Down's Tears

I cried twice today.

Once from overwhelming sadness for my father's grief at the loss of his mother, and once when my doctor called to say that I'm pregnant.

They were very different tears.

Yes, my official test came back positive. Any number over 100 is considered great. Mine was 241.

Let's just hope whoever's in there sticks around for a while.

Death and Life. Maybe.

My grandmother died this morning. Also this morning, I found out I'm pregnant.

Yesterday my father learned that my grandmother was very sick, and within a couple hours, he was at the airport. They Skyped while be was waiting to board, and she didn't recognize him, but that wasn't unusual.

Her doctor originally predicted that she wouldn't make it through the night, but when my dad video chatted with them at the hospital, they assured him that she'd hang on to exchange one last hug and kiss before she went. With that, he told his mother that they'd see each other soon.

It was their last conversation.

She and I weren't close, but my father adored her, and despite their 10-hour time difference, they spoke twice a day. His phone's alarm was set for 7:30 a.m. and 7:30 p.m., but he never needed the reminders because he was always impatient to call her. Every time they talked, she would exuberantly share whatever was on her mind, and she would always sing. She loved to sing, and my dad would chime in with her for a few bars until their melody devolved into laughter. Then my dad would ask her, "Do you know who I am?" And she would say, "No, but I'm so happy to be talking to you!"

Four of her children were there when she died while my dad was stuck on an 8-hour layover in Germany. I'm sure he cried when he heard the news because my father is a man brought easily to tears, and there's no one he loved more than his mother.

My grief for this loss is heartbreak for his heartbreak. I think of him drying tears at some terminal surrounded by Hawaiian shirts and ski boots, and I shed my own. I hate that he was alone in that moment, and I hate that he's alone still now on yet another leg of an eternal flight punctuated by peanuts and turbulence.

When I was 20, my dad told me that I should get busy finding a husband because the only reason he had children was so that he could have grandchildren. I think of that now, and it makes me wish I could tell him about this pregnancy so that I might alleviate some of his pain from this death with the promise of life.

The problem with wanting to give him good news is that I have no definitive news to give. Realistically I have to wait until my official test Wednesday. Or more likely the second test on Friday. Or most practically another 2 weeks after that when they confirm the pregnancy with a sonogram. Or if I'm truly cautious, then maybe not until I reach 12 weeks.

But what am I saying? I can't possibly be truly pregnant, and to be honest, I'm finally at a place in my life where I don't need to be pregnant. I've already wrapped my head around it never happening. I'm prepared to start the adoption process. My career search has been incredibly exciting, and I have a job interview on Tuesday. I just bought a bunch of new clothes. I'd be fine if this pregnancy doesn't stick. I don't need it.

But God, oh, God, how I want it for him.

"Grey's Anatomy," and Other Autobiographical Stories

I've been brainstorming ideas for how to borrow from popular culture to frame my autobiography. Here's what I've come up with so far:

"Grey's Anatomy" - An eternally-running television series about a middle-aged woman's eggs and their quest for McSpermy. (Genre: medical, dramedy)

"Snow White" - The story about how a Maiden turns into a Crone and only then decides to become a Mother with the help of seven in-vitro cycles. So far. (Genre: Brothers Grimm fairy tale)

"1984" - An Orwellian tale about the number of subcutaneous and inter-muscular shots it takes me to get pregnant. Or not. (Genre: non-fiction)

"The Terminator" - It's 2029, and I'm still trying to have a baby after 23 years. Stars Arnold Schwarzenegger as my uterus. (Genre: sci-fi, action)

"Rite of Spring" - A composition about life and renewal everywhere except my uterus. (Genre: classical music, ballet)

"Exodus" - The Passover story where the 10th plague is God's "passing over" my uterus so that I never get pregnant. (Genre: Biblical)

"Cats" - A foreshadowing of my life after the pursuit of family-building ends. (Genre: Broadway musical, horror)

Or, if I'm really lucky,

"Sticky Fingers" - An album of Rolling Stones songs about life with a baby. Or two. (Genre: rock and roll, fantasy)

Prospective Perspective

I have a question.

I always swore that I'd never consider egg donation. My reasons were that it'd be creepy, it'd feel false, and it'd be socially confusing. But after years of failed in-vitro treatments, my doctor said that the only way to get me pregnant was to use a donor's egg, and now here I sit with fingers crossed, Viagra in my vag, and hoping against hope that tomorrow's transfer takes.

So, have I lost perspective, or have I gained perspective?

And once these last cycles prove a bust, I'll no doubt follow the same trend down the adoption path - again something I swore I could never get into because how do you raise another woman's child and pretend it's your own? But still. When the time comes, I'll do it.

Are these moves of desperation, or is my experience allowing me to open up to other options that I wasn't previously ready for?

I don't know why this question is an important one for me. Maybe it's because I don't like to be reactionary, and I want to know that I'm making decisions with grounded perspective, but either way, it's been nagging me for months. I've been pondering it and imagining that I'd one day blog about my brilliant answers, but I don't have any brilliant answers. Just more questions.

Questions like: what the hell kind of M. C. Escher shit is going on in my head?

So if you have an answer, let me know, would you?

Dietary Supplements

Here's what happens 3 months into quitting gluten, soy, dairy, nightshades, caffeine, sugar, and alcohol:

1. You never have any gas or stomach pains
2. Your previously painful period cramps completely disappear
3. You have long, regular, perfect poops
4. Your donor gets pregnant

It's possible that the last of these things has nothing to do with my food intake, but they say dietary changes can be powerful, so I'm going to assume a correlation. I'm also going to assume that you've heard enough about my periods and poops, so here's more about the donor thing.

She texted me three weeks ago, which she does every once in a while just to say hi or to update me about things going on in her life. The conversation went something like this:

How's it going? I'm good! Still not pregnant, but otherwise great. That sucks because you're going to be such a great mom. Aw, you're very sweet. How are you? Really good! I met a guy, and we're probably moving away together, so I'll let you know when that happens. Oh, yay! I want you to be as happy as can be. Me, too, for you! You're the sweetest. No, you're the sweetest.

There were lots of exclamation points, exes, ohs, and more exclamation points -- all of which were sincere, mind you. I think there may have even been a kitty emoticon in there somewhere, although I'm not sure why. Then there was this:

Me: Hey, one last thing before you go. Have there been any other pregnancies with your eggs since the first recipient? I'm just curious if there's anything I should know about your fertility.

Donor: Well, I didn't want to say anything, but I took two tests this morning, and it looks like I'm pregnant. That's why I texted you today. I wanted you to know right away, but then I wasn't sure if I should tell you because you've been going through such a hard time.

Can I just say how much I've grown to appreciate my donor? Yes, I had reservations about her in the beginning, but when it comes to my donor's personality, thoughtfulness, and adherence to the parameters of our contract, this girl's been awesome. She knows that medical and fertility updates are important to me, and she's unendingly thoughtful, sweet, and respectful about it. Personality-wise, I couldn't have chosen better.

And I'm actually excited about her pregnancy. To ride a wave of delusion for just a moment, I LOVE the possibility of my child having a genetic sibling who'll be the same age. My donor and I both intend for her to meet my child(ren), and it would be so wonderfully cool if she and I had virtual twins. Very Post-Modern Family, no?

I'll concede that if my quest ends in a bust, then her child will be a reminder of mine that never was, but then again, if I never get pregnant, then we probably won't stay in touch, so it won't be an issue. (My avoidance coping mechanism is smarter than your honors student.)

But back to the diet, here are a few tips that have helped me get through being denied the most delicious foods on the planet:

1. For meals, all you can eat are fruits, nuts, legumes, gluten-free grains, vegetables, meats, and eggs. Just accept it.
2. For flavor, because so many spices are made from peppers (a nightshade), you're limited to salt, peppercorns, cumin, turmeric, garlic, ginger, and fresh herbs. Outside of that, squeezing a little lemon or lime onto veggies can be good, and a modified peanut sauce works, too.
3. For dessert, you can alter cake and muffin recipes, but otherwise the best thing I've found is tahini mixed with honey and spread on rice cakes. It's better than it sounds, but I won't refuse your pity.
4. The West Wing is streaming on Netflix, and it's just as compelling today as it was when Jed Barlet was my presidential antidote to Bush 43.

Once more, it's possible that the last of these things has nothing to do with my diet, but you can't prove a negative, so let's assume a correlation.

Speaking of negatives, my pregnancy test will be on April 7, which is also my 41st birthday. That'll be fun.

Archetype Casting

For 2012, I had three new year's resolutions: to do more crosswords, to breathe, and to focus more on integrity than on goal-setting. I only succeeded insofar as I'm still breathing.

Because I tend to fail wildly at at these annual vows, you'd think I'd consider setting a lower bar, but that's not how I roll. Case in point: for 2013, I resolved to become a different person.

But unlike with crosswords, in this I have some experience. Back in the summer of 2009, when it became clear that I wasn't easily going to become a mother, I decided to become the opposite of a mother. I decided to become a whore.

It started with an anonymous twitter profile where I wrote clever little quips with sexual twists, and it developed into a WordPress blog for original erotic short stories. By the end of 9 months, I had 1500 followers and made regular appearances on Favstar's Tweets of the Day - the Twitterverse's gold medals. I was an e-slutty sensation.

The accolades didn't stop there, though. I also got several sexual propositions, a marriage proposal, and about a dozen nude photos of men who wanted me to know just how much they cared. Eventually I got tired of pretending to be a single 20-something who was always searching for the next big thing between my legs, so just as quickly as she was born, I tweeted one final RIP tweet and shut her down.

For that short time, however, I'd transformed myself into a different archetype of womanhood -- well, as much as was possible for someone who was married, monogamous, and nearing middle age. Through her, I was a sexually-liberated model of femininity, and even though the character was virtual, her personality influenced several aspects of my real life: my wardrobe choices were edgier, I lost those last 10 pounds, and my sex life became more lively. She was good for me.

The best part of the character, though, was that she allowed me to escape from living the life of a woman who only wanted to be a mom. I've seen it over and over again with infertile women, and it's a story I know too well: we put our lives on hold while making choices that revolve around what we think will be the quickest route to motherhood. In the meantime, all the rest of ourselves - all the other parts of our identity with potential to be fulfilled - just whither away within us. When the struggle takes years, it gets ugly.

So this year I resolve to be a different person once again, only now I'm choosing a whole new archetype: the female warrior. Or, in modern parlance, I plan to become a professionally successful woman.

Until recently, my career has been in non-profit program management, which is really just a professionalization of motherhood, and thus one of the reasons why I don't want to do it anymore -- the other reason being the non-profit part. Beginning last summer, though, I started working with a career counselor with whom I discovered what seems like a great new career direction for me: public relations.

So that's what I'm on my way to doing. I'm taking two PR courses at the local university, and this week I begin a volunteer job that will give me experience in government administration, communications, and public relations. I've also joined a local PR group through which I make it a point to meet with at least one person every week to explore ideas of what I want to do and what it'll take to get me there.

This isn't to say that I'm giving up on becoming a mother; I'm just giving up on needing motherhood to define me while the reality is that it just plain doesn't. I'm done putting my life on hold while I ride the pendulous swing that takes me back and forth between my doctors' optimism and confoundedness. That person no longer gets the lion-share of me.

It's 2013. I am Athena. Hear me roar.