A Freebie

During one of our regular walks, my husband announced that now that this every-other-ovulation-day Clomid sex was done with, if I got pregnant now, we would just have to chalk it up it to the mortgage-blowing acupuncture and the hippie energy work.  

We did it exactly ONCE during my next ovulation that month. Talk about putting the hippie practices to the test.   

But, maybe there’s something in them needles. Because I got pregnant.  Really. I’m currently in my 22nd week. 

I didn’t know if I should even mention it to my blog “family” when it first happened.  I had conflicting feelings about turning my Clomid Diary into a pregnancy blog.  After all, I hate most pregnancy blogs that I come across out there; the miracle of life and all that happy feel-good crap. Not me, so much at this point.

But my husband kept asking me when I was going to tell my blog. 

“Have you announced it on your blog yet?” he would ask every morning.  

“No, I haven’t.” I felt like a fraud: I had shared so much about my miscarriages, and Clomid-taking. But here I was, being so cautious about sharing my pregnancy secret with the world - I had turned into one of those pregnancy-hiders.  After all, this was good news.  But I just couldn’t bring myself to write the words.

I refused to tell most friends, or if I did, it was with so much sworn secrecy, qualifiers, and doom-and-gloom scenarios, that when I did get around to saying the words”..and I’m pregnant”  that the face of the person I told was a strange mash-up of reactions: hopefulness, joy, maybe a little pity.  It was a little, sad, really.  I could not be happy for myself or allow anyone else to be happy for me.  Not this time.  Not again.  I was going to protect myself, dammit.

A week or two, then six, went by, and I was nearing my first visit to the doctor.  I had the usual: weight check, lab orders for a full blood work up, uterus pressing, the whole shibang. But, no heart beat check, not yet, it was too early. Damn. I was frustrated.

But the clincher, the real cherry on top, was placed by my undoubtedly well-meaning, if not slightly, absent-minded, and obviously very busy OB.

“So remind me,” she said, as she slammed shut my two-inch thick chart, ”is this a Clomid pregnancy?”

You would think she would have some clue if I was currently taking the Clomid.  Like, if I was floating face down in the San Francisco Bay.

‘Um, NO...” I replied. 

“Oh, great!  We have a freebie!” She said. “See you in four weeks.”

Freebie indeed.  I’ll give her a freebie.