The 10th time's a charm or How I got pregnant

Well, see, when a man and a woman love each other, they hug and kiss and....

No really, my first three children were born when I was too young and dumb to deserve them, but I had them none the less. I didn't appreciate them for the true gifts they were and subsequently missed a good deal of their childhoods. Thank the stars for grandmothers. While my own mother sorely lacked in several areas of motherhood, she excelled at grand motherhood.

After meeting and marrying Him, and settling into domestic bliss (I can't even type that without rolling my eyes) he decided (cue ominous music) it was TIME. For him to be have a child. I pointed to the three currently sitting slack jawed and bug eyed staring at the idiot box. Oh, those were fine, he says, but he wants a baybee. A widdle, itty bitty, baaybeee. In all fairness, he had been upfront from our first date (??) about wanting to have a child. When we married,the Dude was 11, Apples 9, SweetieDarling 6. He was only 23 himself to my 28. I thought he'd get over it. I was Wrong.

I had my tubes tied after SweetieDarling because? I was done. with the childrens. My uterus was closed for business. Shut off the nursery, but the playground's still open. So I thought maybe the $15,000 it would cost to reverse the ligation would deter him. Wrong. Again.

So we consulted with the fertility doctor and scheduled the surgery. I was in NO WAY prepared for what that meant. Sure, I was told it was a six hour surgery and that I would be hospitalized overnight. I was told it was a six week recovery. But being told that and getting sliced open hipbone to hipbone are two different things.

After the surgery and the hideous, horrible recovery...btw, any of you out there who've had a C-Section? Huzzah's to ya girlfriend. Recovering from that and having a newborn? Good grief, I can't imagine.

After I recovered, we began to actively try to get pregnant. Which meant sex every two days. Why not every day? every man in the world asks. Because you have to let the sperm rest and regroup for a day. So on the second cycle, success! When you have a tubal reversed, you are monitored very closely because ectopic pregnancies are more common. So, at three days late, you are summoned to the lab for vial after vial of blood withdrawal. Levels of this and levels of that are checked and then the doctor will call and tell you that you are indeed pregnant. What said doctor does not tell you is what he means when he says "don't have a party yet". Look, either I'm pregnant or I'm not. Even I know you can't be a little bit pregnant. Well, poppets, apparently, you can.

Not knowing what the cryptic message meant, we go off for a celebratory weekend. A baby, whee! This is fun. I had never had a baby with someone who wanted to have a baby before. The first three's father (yes, just one) was reluctant, to say the least. And here I was, all growed up and married, and having a baby. Until I wasn't. Having a baby, that is.

What the doctor didn't tell me was that my baby growing levels were low and that I would probably miscarry. That would have been handy information to have. I had never had any problem carrying a pregnancy before (obviously). This was just a fluke, if we weren't monitoring so closely, it would have just been a late period. So, we keep trying.

And we keep getting pregnant. And we keep miscarrying. We never last long enough to get a heartbeat. I still don't know if that is a good thing or not. We have genetic testing done. I tell Him that his low class DNA just won't mix with my fancy stuff. I'm only partially kidding. Our DNA is fine. I'm fine, he's fine, we're all fine except for the NINE babies we've lost.

So we quit trying. and caring. I didn't want any dumb baby in the first place. You know they're pains in the ass, right? And all those little tramps out there who don't want or deserve their babies and don't know how good they've got it? They can just kiss my non baby carrying ass. And the smug asshats who oh so kindly offer that "they'd be happy to carry a baby for me", all the while feeling just a little superior to be able to offer? I hope they die a thousand deaths being ripped apart by the hounds of hell. Angry? Me? What gives you that idea?

So I go about my business, fat, dumb and happy. I go to my office and take my anger out on my staff do my work, and you know? I've got like killer heartburn. I really think all this stress gave me an ulcer. Great. More joy. Finally, I can't take it anymore. Off to urgent care I go. Just give me some antacid, make sure my ulcer isn't eating through my intestines and send me home.

My ulcer? He was born September 3, 2003.