Calgon, Take Me Away…

Many of you trying to conceive are probably too young to know the old Calgon commercials but I remember them well. After all, I am an old lady trying to get pregnant so there are many things I recall from the late 70s and early 80s. Some things, like Calgon, I remember fondly. Others I would much rather forget, like nearly all the clothing and hairstyles.

The Calgon commercials stuck with me to adulthood and just like the lady in the commercial, I view a good hot bath as the epitome of luxury and the perfect way to escape from absolute chaos.

Man, I could use a good bath right now.

Too bad its not allowed.

Ironically, my doctor told me yesterday after transfer to think of today as a “Spa Day.”  The clinic has relaxed their bed rest policy which formerly required two full days of remaining reclined. Now only one day of bed rest is required and the day after transfer is supposed to be light activity, no lifting, no work.

No problem. Except that I am borderline OCD and also have a toddler.

I did a pretty good job of relaxing at first. I even took a nap this afternoon.

The only problem is that my husband can’t keep up with everything on his own, and I can’t relax when there are suitcases filled with dirty laundry in our entryway and toys scattered all over the floor. Even if Bill could stay on top of everything, he has a different definition of clean than I do. The man is actually capable of weaving his way through an obstacle course of dolls, coloring books, and tea cups. Walking right by a pile of laundry doesn’t even phase him.

So this evening, the Spa day came to a screeching halt.  I cleaned. I did laundry. I couldn’t help myself.

And it wasn’t just the Spa Day that was an epic fail.  I also failed at keeping Spork from climbing all over me with her bony knees and elbows that have a funny way of finding my uterus over, and over, and over again.

Oh well. Normal people get pregnant under much worse conditions.

But I will say this, while I hope this is the last transfer we will need, if there is a next time I am getting on a plane to Mexico the day after transfer.  Alone. And with nothing but a swimsuit, a pair of yoga pants, and a t-shirt.

Done.

Speaking of a potential “next time”… when we were discussing the quality of our embryos yesterday I told the RE that I thought I had one more try left in me if this didn’t pan out. His response was “we can talk about that.”

Huh??? What exactly does that mean?

I think that means he’s going to start talking donor eggs if this doesn’t work. Bill, the eternal optimist, thinks it means he will try to convince us that it may take a few more tries.

Ahhhh… my messy, sweet, and positive husband. I love him so. He actually told me today that he thought the transfer must have worked because I had a “glow” about me.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I have all the pregnancy hormones giving me that glow whether those embryos actually implant or not. No reason to crush his dreams unnecessarily.

Besides, bony knees and laundry aside I don’t see any reason why we can’t be pregnant this time.

We will worry about later, well… later.