Category: Single motherhood

Honesty Over Ease: Why I Won’t Avoid the Daddy Question

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Originally posted December 13, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

As a single mother by choice I expected the “Who’s the daddy?” question to come up. I’ve actually been surprised at the restraint people have shown when I’ve told them I’m expecting while not wearing a ring and still going by Miss. Sure, in some ways it’s none of people’s business, but as someone who is at times overly inquisitive herself, I understand it’s also natural to wonder.

Since I’ve been so open throughout my journey to single motherhood, I didn’t mind the not-so-subtle fishing of some acquaintances. (Saying, “Oh, you and your husband must be so happy!” or “Are you Miss or Mrs.?” when these topics have never previously come up, is not exactly subtle, but I appreciate the attempt at politeness.) And while some single mothers by choice are sensitive to it, I’d never be upset or angry with a stranger for assuming there’s a daddy in the picture. My getting pregnant did require some male assistance, after all.

That said, if someone brings up the topic, I’m not comfortable pretending there is a dad.

I won’t smile and nod and let people think their assumption that all families include a mom and a dad is correct, because it’s not, and people need to be exposed to all kinds of families in order to understand and accept them.

Yes, it would be easier not to explain that I’ve chosen to become a single mother to complete strangers at the doctors’ office or the maternity store, and it might be more comfortable for them, too. But then I wouldn’t be comfortable. I’m not ashamed of the way I’m starting my family and not speaking up would feel like I had something to hide.

More important than my feelings though, are those of my son. There will be a day when a stranger says in front of him, “Oh, he must look like his daddy.” Again, it might be easier for me just to agree. After all, my son may look like his donor, and to a stranger what’s the difference? Nothing. But to my son, there will be a difference. I want him to know that while he doesn’t have a dad, his family structure is just as legitimate, and special, and loving as any other. If he thinks I’m not comfortable talking about it, how can he ever be comfortable with it?

I also want others to understand that while they mean no harm in their assumptions, times have changed, and the language we use to talk about families needs to change with it. According to some statistics, ‘non-traditional’ families now outnumber ‘traditional’ families. That doesn’t mean we need to stop talking about families with moms and dads, but it does mean we need to start talking more about other kinds of families. And that starts with those of us willing to be forthright gently reminding those who ask, hint, or assume that we exist and are not ashamed or uncomfortable with whatever make-up our families consists of.

So, no, I won’t lie or even smile and nod to make others feel more comfortable. Because while they may be mere acquaintances or even complete strangers to whom the truth means little, my child needs me to tell the truth, not only to him, but to the world. Because the truth will help shape the world he grows up in—and I want that world to be educated and accepting of all the types of families that exist. Ours included.

Photo credit:  enterlinedesign

The Changes Pregnancy Brings

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Originally posted November 8, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

A year has passed, and I’m still sitting at the kitchen table, working on the computer, with only the cat keeping me company. My heart is still trilling with excitement, my stomach still churning with anxiety. At first glance it might seem nothing has changed.

But, really, everything has changed.

A year ago I made the decision to start this journey toward single motherhood. I spent countless hours researching fertility centers, reading blogs of other single mothers, finding books on raising children conceived with donor sperm. My excitement stemmed from knowing I was making a decision that would forever change my life. My anxiety stemmed from fears of finances, worries of whether my closest family and friends would be supportive of such a decision, and, yeah, the realization that I was making a decision that would forever change my life.

While part of me thought things would move much faster than they did, the other part of me couldn’t fathom that I’d be sitting, as I am now, at this same table, just a year later, entering my second trimester of pregnancy. But here I am.

Already I’m amazed at how much I’ve changed, how pregnancy has altered my fears, aspirations, and emotions.

Most days now, my whole tiny universe is focused on the little boy growing inside me—his safety, health, and happiness. (Yes, I learned last week that it’s a boy!) He is the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thought I have before falling asleep.

The abstract anxieties I felt before conceiving, such as how to explain to him or others about his donor or how to give him the best life without a second parent, are now very real, yet in some ways they seem less complicated than before. I’ll be honest, and I’ll love him in the best ways I know how—just as I’m doing already. And if I ever worried about whether that would be enough, it was because I didn’t know, couldn’t know, just how strong that love will be. Already it takes my breath away to hear his heartbeat or to think about holding him in my arms, and I’m still months away from first feeling his tiny hand clasp my finger.

Pregnancy has also changed my prospective of what’s important. I still have dreams of my own, but now they’re a bit more balanced. I don’t feel like a failure because I’ve gone a couple weeks, okay months, without starting my next novel. My writing is still important to me, but I know those naps of the first trimester were more important. And the papers that need grading will get done. Or maybe some won’t. Either way, it will be fine. Maybe it’s nature’s way of assuring our babies get what they need, or maybe I never really needed to wash the hardwood floors weekly to begin with, but it seems like growing this baby inside me has reminded me of what’s really important on the outside. Spotless floors do not even make the list anymore.

Perhaps the pregnancy hormones are starting to ramp up, or perhaps knowing the gender and making it out of the first trimester with a healthy baby has finally allowed me to take this all in at once, but already I’m in awe of this process. I’m amazed at the new depths my joy and, yes, my worry have reached in just a few short months. And I can’t wait to see the changes the next year will bring!

Photo credit: Viktor Hanacek


When Does Pregnancy Start to Feel Real?

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Originally posted October 26, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

I waited until the day before my blood test, knowing that the trigger shot I had taken to help me ovulate at exactly the right time could still be in my system and could give a false positive on the home pregnancy test. By then it was nearly two weeks since the shot. All traces of the artificial hormones should have been out of my system, yet I stood there staring at the faint pink line unconvinced I was pregnant. “Don’t get your hopes up,” I told myself.

The next day the first blood test results came back, low but promising. Promising. That was how I referred to it in my head. Not positive, not definite. Hey, even the nurse told me we needed another test to be sure, so it wasn’t just me being nervous.

Three days (and three more positive at-home pee tests) later the results of the second blood test were great; my hormone levels had tripled. I was pregnant—for now. Because things  happen sometimes, I mean, everyone knows that.

And things did happen. Just days after my first ultrasound, after seeing the reassuring flicker of an early heartbeat, there was a scare. I had bleeding, a completely normal, fairly common, but absolutely terrifying first trimester occurrence that no one, not even Dr. Google, had warned me about. The fears and doubts I’d tried to ignore flooded me in a gush of tears and panic. So I had ultrasound number two. All was still well. Beanie was growing stronger, just as he or she should. So I could finally relax, and enjoy, and stop touching my boobs every hour to be sure they still hurt, right?

Well, two further ultrasounds, multiple mornings of nausea, a new bra size, and countless naps later, I have to admit, the disbelief over this pregnancy is only marginally better, and I really don’t know why.

Maybe it’s because I’ve wanted this for so long that I can’t believe it’s finally happening. Or perhaps after the months of trying to conceive, where not getting my hopes up was the best means of survival, disbelief has become a bad habit. Or maybe it’s just the normal fear and worry any parent feels, in which case I better get used to it, because it’s likely to stick around for . . . well, forever.

I never thought the first trimester would be a piece of cake. But I expected the physical symptoms, not the fear and anxiety, to be the biggest hassle. Instead, I find myself almost relieved when a wave of nausea hits—at least that means the hormones are still doing their job in there! And this from the woman who has an actual fear of vomiting.

In less than two weeks I’ll know my baby’s gender, which may help me picture this little Beanie better than the alien-like images from the ultrasounds. A relatively short time after that I’ll start looking more pregnant. And then I’ll finally be able to feel the miracle growing inside me; actually, at 5’1″ and ridiculously short-waisted, I’ll probably be feeling more than I want.

Hopefully then it will all feel more real, more permanent. Hopefully soon it will sink in that my dream really is a reality—growing bigger and more present every day!

So when did your pregnancies begin to feel real?

 

Photo credit: Monkeybusiness

Pregnancy: The Secret I Just Couldn’t Keep

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Originally posted October 11, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

One of my favorite stories in the seventh grade literature anthology is “Secret for Two” by Quentin Reynolds, a short story of an old man living alone who shares his big secret only with his loyal horse, Joseph. It’s a sweet story that nearly always brings tears to my eyes.

Unfortunately for me, horses must be far more receptive to such confidences than my self-centered feline, who has done nothing more than vomit on the carpet a few added times since I shared my secret with her over a month ago. I thought I was supposed to be the one with morning sickness once I got pregnant?

Yes, that was my secret: I’m pregnant!

I say ‘was my secret’ because the secret for one lasted about as long as it took for the pee to dry on the at-home pregnancy test before I shared with one of my best friends in the form of “Is that a second line, or am I seeing things?”

I wasn’t seeing things. After seven months and five IUIs, I really am pregnant! Pretty much from the moment the second, confirming blood test came back, I wanted to shout it from mountain tops while wearing a neon sign and, of course, my lucky socks. Sure I was nervous. I was terrified something would go wrong, but I wanted someone with whom I could talk about it. And there were so many emotions, questions, and joys that I wanted to talk about it constantly.

But I’m single. There isn’t someone waking up next to me with whom I can roll over and gush. There isn’t someone at dinner each night to laugh or cringe at my odd food combinations (o.j. and pickles, anyone?). It’s just me.

Of course, that’s not true. So many people have been supporting me all along this journey; I knew I could share my happy secret with a few of them. I swore to myself, though, that I wouldn’t put it on social media until after my first trimester, because that would be taunting the fates, not to mention breaking the bump code. So I started with my immediate family and closest friends. Then I let some of the ladies at work know. And, how could I not tell my ‘dad-at-work’? When I needed some appointments during the school day, I realized I had to tell the boss. And I couldn’t tell my boss and not my aunts who worked in the same building. By the time I was just eight weeks along, my secret for one had become a secret for many.

From then on, I promised myself I’d rein in my over-sharing. I had plenty of people to talk with now if I needed. No more blurting, I vowed. But, hey, when was I ever going to see this supermarket clerk again? Or this random lady in the maternity section of Target where I couldn’t help but browse? And book club only meets every other month, and I really wanted to tell them in person, right? Yes! Oh, boy.

Why was keeping this secret so hard? Was it just that I’ve always sucked at keeping secrets, especially about myself? Did it really have anything to do with being single and not having a close confidant to chat with each night? Or was it that I wasn’t sure pregnancy was a secret that was always meant to be kept?

Honestly, I think it was a little of each. If I’d had a spouse at home to talk about it with everyday, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to blurt to total strangers. If I wasn’t the type of person willing to share my stories, good or bad, maybe I would have been more anxious about the what ifs (and I was, okay, still am pretty anxious as it is, so I completely understand women who wait!). Or maybe if I just had a slightly better poker face, I could have kept my promise to myself to stay mum until trimester two. But I don’t, so here I am blurting to the world three weeks early.

When it comes down to it, a woman should tell who she wants, when she wants.

For me, there wasn’t the option of an intimate secret for two, and a secret for one wasn’t cutting it. Once I started sharing, I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. And now I don’t need to. Beanie, as I refer to my little-one-to-be, is doing superb as of my week ten ultrasound; s/he even had some in utero dance moves (clearly the donor’s genes at work there). This mamma-to-be is feeling overjoyed—even when I am exhausted or a little nauseous. And the finicky feline, well, she’s no Joseph, but she is enjoying the occasional middle-of-the-night cereal bar breaks that accompany our not-so-secretive secret.

 

Photo by Duskbabe

When You’re Trying to Conceive, It’s Not as Easy as “Just Relax”

Posted in Single motherhood, trying to conceive1 Comment

Originally posted June 28, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

If you’re looking to get slapped upside the head, there’s no faster way than telling a woman who’s been unsuccessfully trying to conceive, “Maybe you just need to relax.” First off, the stress of TTC isn’t usually directly related to the act of conception. Though sitting in the stirrups or bedding down at the precise moment your ovulation predictor kit flashes that annoying little smiley face may not be the most exciting or enjoyable way to make babies, it’s not the main cause of stress.

The stress of trying to conceive comes from other sources. It’s from watching your savings dwindle down to nothing. It’s having to take days off work and not being able to tell your students or coworkers or bosses why you’re falling behind. It’s from worrying whether getting too hot running around with the kids on field day or drinking one cold beer mid-cycle was the reason you’re staring down another stark negative. It’s from being relaxed, and positive, and hopeful  for weeks at a time only to face disappointment month after month.

Speaking for myself, I wasn’t a stressed out person before I began this journey, or at least any more than anyone else. This journey has caused additional stress. And like most people TTC, I’m doing my best to deal with it, but there’s no magic stress zapper. Relaxing requires time, patience, and support. Specifically what’s worked to keep me on the side of sanity during my TTC journey has been music, meditation, and amazing friends.

Sing me a song

Music has always had the ability to affect my mood like nothing else can. I’m a sucker for sappy lyrics; I have a long list of songs I can’t hear without bawling, which can be embarrassing when one starts playing in the produce aisle. On the flipside, an upbeat tune can instantly improve my mood. So when I went in for my first IUI, I made myself a playlist of songs that give me hope, make me smile, or turn me into a happy, dancing fool. I listen to it on the drive into the clinic each month and anytime in between when I feel my anxiety spiking. Having my own private dance party in the kitchen or the car helps ease the nerves, and considering I dance even worse than your average short, chubby white girl, it also gives me a much needed opportunity to laugh at myself! You can check out my playlist here.

Deep breaths and downward dogs

I’ve never been able to cross my legs, close my eyes, and meditate on my own. When I’ve tried in the past, my mind has wandered or I’ve fallen asleep. But I have always loved the short, guided meditations that instructors sometimes use at the end of yoga classes. So when I started my TTC journey I looked for an at-home program specifically for woman trying to conceive and discovered the Yoga and Meditation for Fertility DVD by Kate Atkinson. This is not a yoga workout meant to build great strength or endurance. It is a three-part program focusing on helping fertility through reducing stress and increasing blood flow to the reproductive organs with a series of stretches and gentle movements. And, for me, it is the perfect way to relax after a workout or before bed.

Another meditation tool that’s helped me is the Circle and Bloom IVF and IUI Mind Body Program, which is a set of CDs with guided meditation for each day of your cycle. It focuses on breathing, relaxation, and visualization. These were recommended and loaned to me by a friend who had gone through IVF. They may seem a bit expensive to buy on your own, but now that I’ve used them, I would definitely say they’re worth it.

With a little help from my friends

Remaining calm and collected isn’t always easy, and sometimes it’s not even recommended. Sometimes in order to ‘relax’ we first need to deal with what’s stressing us out to begin with. The best way to do that is talking with friends. Whether it’s that friend who’s gone through her own TTC struggles or the one who’s been your soul sister since practically the moment you met, talking with friends about this journey is crucial and comforting. I know that a few days after a negative test I’ll be able to return to the yoga mat or my happy music mix, but in the moments just after, I want to cry, and drink wine, and have a BFF drive across town to comfort me with s’mores and a hug. That’s the first step to “Just relaxing.”

So while I don’t recommend telling a couple or single woman trying to conceive that “Maybe it’ll happen if you just relax,” I do recommend to others in the TTC phase to find what makes you happy, comforted, and calm, and do it. Dance like a fool, drink like a fish (at least for that one night), and downward dog your way to chillax. And if you have a day when none of it works, don’t beat yourself up. Stress is part of life—and parenthood. Think of those bad days as bootcamp for when the baby does come—and it will come, in its own way and its own time.

 

Photo credit: Anya Berkut

Beyond Biology: Why I’m Not (Too) Afraid of Father’s Day

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Originally published June 14, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

As we approach Father’s Day this year, it occurred to me that no one, aside from the social worker whose job it is to broach such tough questions, has asked me about the “daddy issue.” As a single woman hoping to conceive a child with a donor, there will be no father in our family (unless I’m lucky enough to find a husband later in life). I know, despite everyone’s support, at least a few people must have wondered how I feel about raising a child without a dad. The truth? Scared. But also steadfast.

I was raised in a family with two loving parents, a mom and a dad. So were nearly all of my friends. I didn’t even have a friend with divorced parents until high school. So the idea of raising a child in any form of non-traditional family is frightening, but that’s because it’s unknown, not solely because there won’t be a male parental figure. Lots of families don’t have dads, or have two dads and no mom. There’s no perfect equation for a family save that it be filled with love. And my child will have that, plenty of it.

Among the things people don’t want to say to a single woman trying to have a baby is that every child needs positive male relationships. While I appreciate the sensitivity to my emotions, especially now that I’m on added hormones, the fact is, it’s true. Children do need to interact with both male and female caregivers. Whether I have a boy or a girl, he or she will need to understand how to interact with guys. He or she will need to see men in relationships of all kinds to know what’s expected and accepted in our society (and sometimes, I hope, to know when to toss those expectations out the window!). He’ll need to see me interact with men in positive and varied ways to understand how different kinds of male/female relationships work, so that he can have healthy relationships himself. He’ll need to be loved by men, and he’ll need to have men in his life whom he loves in return. And I will do my damnedest to assure my child has all of these things, even if he won’t technically have a daddy—that’s what grandpa, uncle, great uncles, and family friends are for!

Yes, my brother and father’s roles of grandpa and uncle became even more important when I decided to do this without a husband. Luckily for me, there aren’t two men in the world more capable of those jobs! I’ve already been blessed to see my father take on the role of grandpa and my brother become a father. Watching the men I’m closest to transform when that little life, my gorgeous nephew, entered into our world, has truly been a gift. Sure, it’s a little sad that my child won’t have a dad as great as my father or brother. But there is nothing more comforting to me than knowing that they are who my child will think of when he or she thinks of fathers.

Father’s Day might never be an easy holiday to maneuver as a single mother by choice, but I think if the issue of a donor is dealt with honestly and the child’s life is full of wonderful men to emulate, it need not be a landmine of taboo questions or uncomfortable topics. Beyond a biological father, there will still be plenty of fathers for my child and I to honor and celebrate each June.

And, hey, an added hug for mom that day won’t go unappreciated either!

Not This Time, Dealing with Disappointment When Trying to Conceive

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Originally posted on May 24, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

I’m sitting down at my computer tonight in a house so silent you can hear a pin drop, with a glass of rich, red wine next to me, and a plate of crackers and brie, which may or may not be pasteurized, in the fridge ready to serve as tonight’s supper.

To some of you, this might sound like heaven. To someone who began her TTC (trying to conceive) journey back in December, it’s the sound and sight of disappointment.

I’m known for my optimism, so I guess it’s no surprise that I thought I’d be pregnant by now. It’s also no surprise I’m not. Statistically, the odds are not in my favor each month. For someone my age, the ancient 35 that I am, IUIs have a 10-20% chance of working each month. But after six months, for couples or singles with no known fertility issues, that percentage hits about 80%. Being that rosy-glassed girl who nearly flunked statistics in college, I figured that meant by try number three I had nearly even odds of being successful, multiply that by the 100 mg of Clomid, a new donor, and the lucky Wonder Woman socks, and it was practically a done deal.

Then I ended up in the ER with a cat bite requiring antibiotics less than a week before my IUI, caught the stomach bug I’d managed to avoid all winter the day before my procedure, and moments before sticking my legs in the stirrups learned my new and improved donor had even lazier sperm than the last dude’s. Still, I stayed positive.

And my body responded perfectly. I had high temperatures, a few cramps (implantation for sure!), a bit of lightheadedness, and no spotting. It was the first time I made it all the way to my beta test (the blood pregnancy test) without Aunt Flow arriving first. Unfortunately, Mother Nature is a nasty shrew, who made all the signs of pregnancy identical to PMS, so despite my negative at-home pregnancy tests, I still held out a shred of hope right up until the nurse called this afternoon. Another negative. Thanks a friggin’ lot, MoNa.

Wonder Woman socks aside, my optimism felt more like a super gut-punch than a super power. Hope hurts.

I felt I’d managed the first two months’ disappointment with grace and dignity, but this month I just don’t have the strength. This month I’m a teary hot mess who wants to curl up in her sweats under a blanket with her cat and cry. Maybe it’s the added hormones. Or maybe it’s the added pain of coming home to an empty house with no one to rub my back and give me that “you’ll be okay” hug and later, when I’ve lingered on moping too long, to tell me to suck it up and move on. Or maybe it’s the fact the savings I wanted to have for the baby is dwindling and insurance won’t kick in until I suffer three more NTTs, which stands for not this time, the positive spin TTCers put on a negative test result.

Or maybe it’s just that this process is hard, harder than I ever really understood despite having friends and family who’d gone through much harder infertility treatments after years of trying on their own.

It was because of them and their greater struggles that I almost didn’t write this post. Who am I to complain after a mere three attempts? Granted they were expensive, perfectly timed, clinically executed attempts, but three, just three.

But then a friend helped my realize what I knew in my heart. Not writing about the hard months of this journey, not trusting others to understand and to forgive my little pity parties, was far worse than ignoring it. The women who’ve gone through more are the ones most likely to understand and forgive. And those just starting out, or those in the midst of this journey along with me deserve honesty. They deserve to know that even the most optimistic and upbeat feel beaten at times. Tonight, I’m beaten.

But tomorrow is the start of another stretch of this journey. And it’s one I intend to continue down, despite a few road bumps (and a potential hangover). I know in my heart I’m meant to be a mom. It might take longer than I’d hoped, but I’m guessing when my time comes, it will be even more wonderful than I imagine. I won’t quit trying, or smiling, or being foolishly optimistic. Even though such traits occasionally come back to bite me, they’re worth passing on, which is exactly what I intend to do—just not this time.

Photo credit: Schwangerschaftstest via photopin (license)

Just Don’t “Jinx It” When You’re TTC

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Originally posted on May 10, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

Jinxes? Karma? Curses? All sounds more like the start of a plot for my newest novel than a TTC (trying to conceive) problem. Alas, this is nonfiction.

Recently, I was chatting online on the Single Mothers By Choice discussion boards with other women trying to conceive, and the topic of “jinxing” one’s chances of becoming pregnant came up. One brave soul admitted her fears, and suddenly we were all confessing our own worries that saying, doing, or even thinking the wrong thing might cause the cosmos to curse us with another NTT (Not This Time). Here we are, a group of educated women who all know how the biology of conception works, as terrified of our own thoughts as we were of Bloody Mary appearing in the bathroom mirror at middle school sleepovers.

I’ve given in to more than a few of these fears myself. I wouldn’t order more than two vials of sperm at a time, even when I knew I’d likely have to start the process of choosing a donor all over because of my decision. It felt like I was planning for failure, and I didn’t want such negative thoughts to jinx my chances. Then there’s my Pinterest board with articles on pregnancy and baby gear that I’ve kept secret (until now), because I didn’t want to be counting my chickens before my eggs got fertilized. I worried overly positive thoughts might tip the scales of karma against me, too.

Well, what is it that’s bad for the baby-making juju? Positive thoughts? Or negative thoughts?

All of it. And none of it.

It’s all harmful in the sense it can make you crazy; you can drive yourself nutty with all the dos and don’ts. Remember in that early post when I wrote about how I was doing all this to share the joy I find in life with a little one? At times, this journey can make you forget that reason, that joy. You can easily get so caught up in the end goal, that you let the journey fly by without taking a moment to enjoy the life that’s happening in between. I find myself wishing away whole weeks to get to the next step. At the same time, living in the moment can be a killer, too. It’s exceptionally difficult to find a balance between focusing enough energy to eat well, exercise right, and reduce stress, and focusing so much time and energy that it becomes a time-sucking obsession.

But the process of trying to conceive has also reminded me how blessed I am and how blessed any baby I bring into the world will be. (See there, I said it, with no fear of jinxing anything!) So many people have shared with me their best wishes, prayers, and positive energy. My best friends have donned funny socks on the days of my IUIs in hopes that more socks equals more luck. Are good luck charms and positive energy any less scientific than jinxes, or any less crazy for that matter? Nope. Yet those types of ‘superstitions’ aren’t harmful; they’re the buoys that keep me swimming and smiling when I might otherwise feel like I’m drowning.

So if believing in the magic of positive thoughts and funny socks means I also need to occasionally throw some salt over my ovaries, I’ll do it. I’ll try not to take any of it too seriously, especially the foolish fears. But I can’t dismiss it all either—there is power in footwear, any woman can tell you that.

And if people think I’m nuts, so be it. Writers are supposed to be a bit loony. I just keep telling myself this is all great fodder for my next novel. The question is will it be a sweet chick lit book or a murder mystery? (You never know what a character on artificial hormones might do!)

In the meantime, cross your fingers for me, okay? Hey, it can’t hurt!

Photo credit: Baby Love via photopin (license)

Fertility Monitoring

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Originally posted on April 26, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

All I really remember from my school’s sex ed. classes is the video that my friends and I mocked for years that ended with the overly chipper mom telling her newly menstruating tween, “Let’s go out to ice cream!” Seriously, mom?

Lately, I’ve been wishing I’d paid closer attention, because there are so many things I’m just learning about my own body. And when you’re trying to conceive through fertility treatments, knowing your own body and its cycles significantly increases your chances of getting the timing right. Thankfully, there are some monitoring tools that can help.

Temperature charting

One method of fertility monitoring that’s been used for years is charting temperature throughout the course of the month. Recording your temperature first thing in the morning using a basal thermometer, which gives a more accurate reading, can often determine ovulation among other important information about your cycle. Use it over a couple months and you’ll be able to predict your most fertile days.

Pros

It’s cheap; basal thermometers start as low as $7 on Amazon.

Cons

It needs to be done daily over the course of multiple months in order to see the patterns necessary for accurate predictions. Also, your basal temp should be taken at the same time every day for the most accurate results. This means waking up at your weekday time even on the weekends. Finally, you need to know a little about how to read the charts. Luckily, there’s an app for that. See fertility apps below.

Recommendation

EUDEMON Digital Basal Thermometer for Cycle Control: I like being able to read the backlit screen without having to turn on a light, especially on the weekends when I often go back to bed after taking my temp. It also saves 30 days of data so you don’t need to worry if you forget to write down your reading one day.

Fertility monitoring apps

If you want to monitor multiple signs of fertility, including basal temperature, but want to leave the interpretation of all that data up to the experts, there are dozens of fertility apps available. The more data you input, the more accurate predictions they’ll provide, but most can predict your most fertile days and the day of ovulation with good accuracy after just a month of monitoring.

Pros

Most offer free versions of the app that pretty much do everything you need when trying to conceive. They’re also convenient since they’re available on your phone, tablet, and computer. And they give you piece of mind; you’re not alone in interpreting the data.

Cons

For the best results, you still should be taking your basal temperature daily, so you’re still setting the alarm on Sunday. Ugh.

Recommendations

I’ve tried two of these apps, Ovia and Fertility Friend. Both track tons of data, more than I ever bother to enter (does it really matter if I’m cranky that day?). And both are easy to use.

Ovia looks pretty. Its interface is modern, colorful, and fun. I particularly like the little sperm swimming to the egg whenever you pull it down to update. Unfortunately, for the first two months it predicted my most fertile days later than what they ended up being. If I weren’t using the digital ovulation test as well and were going about having a baby the traditional way versus IUI, I definitely would have missed some of the best baby-making days in the month. By the third month, though, it did adjust to my data.

Fertility Friend, on the other hand, is nothing special to look at. Its graphics aren’t fancy or fun. But it works. At least for me, I find it to be the most accurate of the two.

Ovulation Predictor Kits (OPKs)

If it’s tough enough to wake up early on Mondays and the idea of daily temperature taking doesn’t do it for you, this last option might be your best bet. OPKs are easy to use monitors that read your changing hormone levels prior to ovulation in order to indicate your most fertile days. All they require is a few days of peeing on a stick.

Pros

Assuming you know the average length of your cycle, these monitors only need to be used for four or five days as you approach ovulation. You don’t need to wake up at any particular time to do them, and they give clear, accurate results.

Cons

The digital ones—the ones recommended for those of us undergoing IUIs due to their accuracy and ease in reading results—are expensive. Even on Amazon, the cheapest place by far that I’ve seen, they are about $35 for a two-month supply.

Recommendation

Clearblue Advanced Digital Ovulation Test: This monitor is great for couples and singles, as it gives not only the two peak fertility days (the reading needed for IUIs), but also the most fertile days leading up to that. It also cracks me up with its smiley face indicator. I’m waiting for it to wink at me one month or tell me to go get it on.

Whether you’re trying to get pregnant or trying not to get pregnant, it’s good to know that modern science and technology has taken a lot of the guesswork and superstitions out of fertility monitoring.

Featured image photo: Hey Paul Studios

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Motherhood Loves Company; The Magic of Mothers Groups

Posted in Single motherhood, trying to conceiveLeave a comment

Originally posted on April 12, 2015 on Merely Mothers (now Evie & Sarah)

Shortly after announcing my intention to become a single mother, a friend of mine lent me a DVD of The Backup Plan, a far-fetched romantic comedy about a woman who made the same decision to go it alone, only to meet Mr. Right an hour after getting knocked up. Some of the best scenes in the movie take place at a single mothers support group. To maximize the comedic aspect, the film depicts its members as an eclectic, tight-knit group of hippies and man-haters. It was stereotypical but hysterical. It was also the night before my first Single Mothers By Choice (SMC) group meeting, so it was a tad terrifying.

Coming from a family where emotions and serious topics are preferably left unspoken or at least only used as fodder for jokes, the idea of a support group was new and uncomfortable. So walking into the church where the SMC meeting was held and taking in the circle of more than forty women required a little more nerve than expected, even for someone as loquacious as I am. I was tempted to join the half-dozen toddlers corralled in the center in their attempts to flee, but something drove me to an empty chair.

That something was the need to belong. The need to know I wasn’t alone in my desire to do something a little unconventional, a little crazy. Those toddlers and pre-schoolers were more than just loud and adorable. They were proof that what I want is possible. Their moms were not only surviving the early years of single motherhood, they were finding time to go to group meetings to support and encourage other single mothers on a Sunday afternoon.

We claim to be a society that admires individuality and self-reliance. But to attempt to do something challenging, which thousands of people have already done, without reaching out for advice, support, and encouragement isn’t self-sufficient, it’s needlessly stressful and arguably stupid. Living alone for so long I’ve become independent to a fault, but I’m not foolish. I know I can’t parent alone. I also know things will go wrong, probably quite often. I’m going to need support of all kinds, including the kind of emotional support that can only come from women who’ve walked this path a few steps ahead of me.

And those women, those moms? Well, they certainly weren’t the man-hating hippies Hollywood created. They were funny, educated, diverse women who just happened to find themselves single yet still wanting to be a mom. In other words, they were just like me. I looked around and realized I wasn’t sailing into the Bermuda triangle of parenting minus a first mate and a life-vest. I was on a well-stocked, able-crewed cruiser to motherhood. Suddenly the large number of attendees wasn’t daunting; it was empowering.

My mother never understood my interest in team sports. Or perhaps she just couldn’t see past the risk of her only daughter sustaining a life-long neck injury to see the benefits. I did—sustain the injury and reap the benefits. There’s something about doing something physically and mentally challenging with a group of like-minded women that allows you to appreciate the beauty and power of yourself, your body, and your gender. That might seem awfully deep coming from a hooker. (It’s a rugby position. Honestly.) But it’s an absolute truth and a feeling I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly experience again. Walking out of that meeting of other single mothers or single mothers-to-be, I felt a flicker of that feeling resurface.

Just like with my teammates on the rugby field, getting filthy and being unabashedly aggressive, those single moms and I are doing something a little edgy, and a little risky, and a little wonderful. We are pushing boundaries set by society and ourselves. And as scary as that can be, we push on, mostly because we know the rewards will be worth it. But also because we realize we are in good company.

Photo credit: DSC_4807 via photopin (license)