Creating Cate - The Early Days

So it's Friday night, Justin is out celebrating his very nearly completed fire fighter's course and Cate is soundly sleeping. I have spent the afternoon at my folks' house (again, are we noticing a pattern here?!) and I'm feeling all loved up and excited about my baby girl. She's so delightful! Such a little madam, an entertainer, a drama queen. And that giggle - oooooooo, to die for. So, in the vein of being madly in love with my daughter tonight, I thought I'd tell you a bit more about how she came to be.

(It's a long story. You've been warned!)

(Because it's such a long story I am breaking it into parts. This is the part that gives you the background to our infertility. I'll be back with the actual 'creating Cate' part some other time...)

When I was 21 I was diagnosed with a tumour on my left ovary. When they opened me up to remove it, they also noted that my right ovary (and what was left of my left ovary after surgery) were polycystic. So, although I woke up to the fantastic news that they tumour was benign, I also woke up to the news that, when I wanted to have a baby, it might be tricker than expected.

Seven months later, I fell in love. He was The One. I was engaged at 23 and married at 25. Six months after our wedding, we decided it was time to start our family. Let the fun begin.

And, sure, it was fun...for about three minutes. I could never really get into the 'fun' of the TTC game when, from the get-go, I knew it wasn't going to come easy. I played the 'we could fall pregnant coming straight off the pill' game and realised what a crock of shit that was. I played the 'we'll take every vitamin known to man' game, with a bit of 'I'll drink green tea and pink grapefruit juice like it's enjoyable' on the side and felt they fell into the crock of shit category too. I hunted for EWCM, I peed on little sticks that never got darker than the control line and I got completely jack of the whole process very quickly.

After six months with no success (hell, NO PERIOD YET) I went back to my gynecologist (the one who had originally diagnosed the tumour) for some answers. She told me she suspected I had PCOS and that I would need to take a further six months to lose weight to see if this would encourage the return of my period. I was horrified. Firstly because I couldn't believe we had another six months dragging out in front of us and, secondly, because whilst I was chubby, I wasn't overweight.

But I'm a good girl who does what she's told til the end...

So, lose weight I did. I cut the crap, ate shed loads of fruit and vegies, actually purchased and used an exercise bike. It sucked - but, hell, did I have motivation or what?! Lose weight and you could have a kid!!! I must admit I liked being slimmer than I had been in years and I enjoyed the compliments and the new wardrobe. But...what I wanted more than anything was my baby.

Four months later, it's back to the gynecologist with my gold-star-girl attitude: 'I did what I was told and I lost weight'. Still no period and very ready for some answers. Finally - a referal to a Fertility Specialist. Halleluia! Down the hall we trundle to make an appointment, we ask for the next availble slot and...

...we're told it's a FOUR MONTH WAIT. Well, I am not too proud to admit that as soon as we left the building I burst into tears and sobbed all the way back to the car and then all the way home (we lived an hour away) and then for the rest of the afternoon. MORE WAITING. No period, definitely no baby and MORE WAITING. It was a cruel blow.

To help the time pass I accepted a promotion at work and I went back to study part time (moron!). I guess it kept me distracted. But it never, ever took away the aching, gnawing need for my baby.

We're now at Feb 2007. Been married for nearly two years, and it's been 18 months of waiting for our baby. I did get my period after an eleven month absence (I am never going on the pill again in my life) so that was a positive to add to the very short list. We finally met with our fertility specialist, liked her no-nonsense attitude and it felt like we were getting somehwere. Hurrah!

Justin's sperm was analysed. I was sent for ultrasounds. We started clomid which meant internal ultrasounds twice a month. The bills started rolling in, stakes rose, emotions ran high. And still...no baby. My brother and his girlfriend announced a surprise pregnancy which nearly ripped out my heart (oh the excruciating agony of being delighted, genuinely delighted for somebody I love so much coupled with searing, crippling jealousy and self pity). I had this horrible procedure done where they flushed dye through my tubes (okay-ish) and then dug out a chunk of my uterus for analysing (definitely NOT okay-sih. Revolting. Agonising. Oh, and extremely freaking expensive). I stayed on the clomid and started injections to induce ovulation. And still...no baby. But worse was yet to come.

In July 2007 my husband of two years was deployed overseas as an army reservist. The betrayal I felt at this time was horrific. He left me at this horrid time, this baby-making time. He left me, home alone, for six months.

I honestly can't write any more about that. It was a shockingly difficult time for both of us and it nearly destroyed our marriage.

Surely this story gets better soon right?

Yup.

Because, when Justin had been home for just over a month and I had taken my first course of clomid in over six months...we conceived.

It sounds ridiculous to suggest it was a shock to fall pregnant but it really was. My husband and I had been through such a hard time since his return that we had decided to put off the baby-making. I went for a scan to check my folicles purely just to see how I was doing. When the specialist told us we'd grown a beauty, it gave us hope. When I ovulated a few days later without a drug induction, it gave us further hope. But we were used to disappointment and long odds so there were no expectations.

When I finally took that test, whilst I waited for the result I turned it over in defeat. I sat still, formulating the next plan of attack for the fertility / conception path in my head. I turned the test over almost as an after thought before tossing it into the bin...

...and caught a glimpse of that perfect sight...

...two pink lines.

We had created Cate.

(To be contined.)

Dirty Looks

So here's some news.

We want to have another baby. And not just in the 'we're thinking about another baby in the future' kinda way but rather in the 'we're actually going to try and have this baby sooner rather than later' kinda way. Very exciting, a little bit scary and, of course because this is us, a little bit frustrating too.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we were one of those couples who says 'hey we want to have another baby' and BAM! Pregnant. That seems like science fiction to me. I would have loved to have been one of those women who was soooo fertile after having baby number one, that baby number two cropped up as an unexpected surprise. Alas, this was not meant to be.

So I weaned Cate at 8 months, waited ten weeks for my period to return and have had two rather good cycles since then (at 38 and 36 days respectively). I've had a smear test and a general health check up and three appointments back with our fertility specialist. Good news is she's really positive we can fall pregnant without the fuss it took to get pregnant with Cate. We so desperately hope this is true. But having been where we've been in the past, we're not betting on it...just in case.

So I'm sparing you the nitty gritty details that involve me getting intimate with 'the probe' in Dr Kate's office and parting with lots of good money to do so. But what I will tell you is that as I waited for my 7.40am appointment this morning I received a lot of dirty looks.

Here's why. I was in a fertility specialist's waiting room crammed with couples and I was there with....my darling daughter. And she was being unbelievably cute. And, having been one of 'those' couples sitting on those couches, I know how much it can hurt to have what you so desperately want sitting right there in front of you. Hence the dirty looks.

The thing is, having been there done that, I can honestly say I never threw a dirty look at a couple with a child. Swear it. I had my share of tantrums and break downs and there were many tears but throwing a dirty look at a beautiful baby? Nope.

Perhaps I'm over-analysing though...perhaps they were just upset my child was rubbing raspberry and white chocolate muffin into the carpet?! (I know, I know Mother of the Year here we come. This is verses Mother Who Wants Peace At Any Price).

So dirty looks aside (and trust me, I send those couples my prayers that they get their dream sooner rather than later), here we go on the Journey to Number Two. May it be short and successful. That's the prayer I'm sending up for us.