Happy

I woke up Friday morning and a weight had lifted. I felt awake, a lightness characterized by absence- no racing heart, no crushing anxiety, just my body feeling warm and snug in my bed. Maybe it was fertility yoga the night before and the good cry the safety of fellow infertiles allowed. Regardless, I was finally feeling some joy in this hard earned pregnancy.

Friday has always been my Zumba day, and though I don't feel comfortable shaking it right now, I threw on some Daddy Yankee, Pitbull, and Shakira and moved a little. Sometimes I wonder how many middle aged women drive around in their cars rocking out to Daddy Yankee because of Zumba? I first discovered him 8 years ago on the Caribbean coast of Colombia riding in taxis listening to "Pasame la Botella," but he is the king of Zumba. Brene Brown talks about one of the qualities of the whole hearted being that they dance or sing and aren't afraid to be silly. When I first started doing Zumba, it fed a piece of me that had been starving, shriveling from lack of attention. I love to dance. I love to do ridiculous moves on a dance floor with loud music pumping. For months I cried every Zumba class, seeing all those people of different sizes, shapes, ages, colors, moving and smiling, jumping around as best they could. It has been an infusion of joy in my life. I keep wondering if I could go and just sort of move, not jump around so much, but I tried that once on injectables for an IUI cycle, and I couldn't contain myself! Half way through the class I just let go and shook it with abandon. My ovaries swelled huge and I was in terrible pain for two days. The consequences are greater now and I want to do nothing to put these little beans in danger, so no Zumba. But lots of laughter! I had my third beta and it came back perfect. Now we wait for the ultrasound. November 20.

 

Friday was also Megan's birthday, and after a delicious meal at Navarre, a few of us moms headed over to Buelahland, giddy in our freedom from our children. They drank whiskey, I club soda and cranberry, and at some point all three of us huddled in the dirty bar bathroom to do my progesterone and estrogen shots. One friend held alcohol pads and sterile packages of needles while I filled my syringe. Another friend peed and some guy rattled the door. "Occupied!" We shouted. I'm sure that bathroom has seen a lot of needles, but probably not fertility treatment hormone shots! Everything went pretty well despite all of the laughter and a bit of inebriation, until blood starting squirting out of the injection site on my ass after they removed the needle. I said "oh, sometimes there's a little blood," and then realized it was all over the floor. So weird! That had never happened before. Maybe needles and whiskey don't mix. We wiped it up with paper towels, and emerged as if nothing had happened. The door bangers had gone, having tired of listening to us shriek and deciding they had better look elsewhere for a place to pee. We moved on to Lord of the Rings pinball and inspection of a candy machine that sold pregnancy tests, Carlos Castaneda books, and ouija boards. All in all, a good day.

 

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