15 weeks! And the gender is…

I’ve known since I found out that I was pregnant that I’m carrying a little girl. I said it to my husband, and I’ve said it all along, and I was right: it’s a¬†healthy baby girl, with low odds of all chromosomal abnormalities. She is perfect.

baby toes

In my humble opinion, she has beautiful, long legs and the most precious little toes ever made.

I’m cruising into 15 weeks, and I feel wonderful. I’ve had very little nausea, and a high energy level through the entire pregnancy. I’m still not showing, though my breasts have decided it’s time to suddenly double in size. I’m still doing advanced yoga, and jogging, and working my demanding job. I feel totally normal, with maybe a slightly increased appetite.

Mostly, I’m just ogling tutus and mini ballet slippers and dreaming of pink frilly things…


And feeling so incredibly grateful.

All is calm

The last few weeks have been blissfully, strikingly, miraculously, unremarkable. My symptoms have been mild, and there has been no more spotting or cramping.

My eight-week scan was flawless. My little bean was measuring a day ahead, with a heartbeat of 140. My cervix was closed, and everything looked healthy and normal.

I am now nine weeks along. According to this post, my odds of miscarriage are now the lowest they’ll get until the second trimester. I’m not sure how accurate this is, but it sure is reassuring.

The next step is a dating scan at ten weeks, followed by my NT scan in early January. At my dating scan I’ll also be doing genetic screening tests – one perk of miscarriages is that they’re covered by insurance. When those results come back, I’ll also find out the gender! I’ll be euphoric with healthy, but excited to know if the nursery will tinged with pink or blueūüôā

In the meantime, I’m enjoying all the holiday sweets, and spending lots of time cuddling by the fire in this strangely chilly¬†San Francisco winter.

All is calm, and all is bright.


Today we heard a heartbeat. We watched our tiny little baby flickering on the screen and listened to its song – a hymn of horses marching. The sweetest march. My husband grabbed my hand, and I watched his eyes light up in wonder.

I’m measuring 6+1 and the baby’s heart was beating at 111 bpm. From what I can find online, this is within the normal range. Also I requested a beta yesterday (because I am a paranoid lunatic), which came back at a whopping 40,598. I haven’t seen any spotting since Friday, and the morning sickness is coming on strong.

So, it’s safe to say, I’m feeling positive. Things are looking good. We’ll be telling the family in person tomorrow, and I couldn’t be more thankful.


No, no, no. Not again. This can’t be happening.

I stared at the tissue paper, at that thing I’ve been dreading, cold terror rising up from my belly.

A spot of brown.

Right as my husband returned from a week-long business trip. I had spent my week exuberantly upbeat, and had even finally weaned myself from test-taking. I was confident – no spotting, no cramping, no bad signs. I couldn’t wait to throw my arms around him and celebrate our joy.

And there it was, casually, sickeningly, devilishly  Рthat unmistakable spot.

I greeted my husband home ten minutes later with panic in my eyes. He held me, we held each other, in fear.

I was up all night in bed, unable to sleep, waiting for the cramping. Just waiting for the miscarriage to kick in. But I didn’t feel much. Some little aches and pains here and there, in odd places, but nothing like the torso-clenching cramps of my earlier losses.

Today there has been no more spotting. I called my RE who seemed nonplussed.

“That’s quite common at six weeks. Your placenta is growing, things are changing, it’s nothing to worry about.”

I requested to move my ultrasound from next Monday (Nov 30) to this Wed  (Nov 25). I had planned to announce to my family at Thanksgiving and felt that I needed the reassurance of a visible sac, and (oh please, please) maybe even a heartbeat.

Meanwhile today I had my first bout of nausea, right on schedule, at six weeks exactly. I am sipping ginger ale as I type. I can only take this as a positive sign.

I really hope the spotting was caused by irritation from the progesterone, or some normal process, but I can’t help feeling paranoid and terrified. I take solace in the fact that none of my other miscarriages started with blood – they started with cramping, and lightening lines, followed by blood. Also, I have never ever spotted on progesterone – that has always happened after I stopped the suppositories.

So, I’m hoping this is something different.

I’m clinging to that hope. And dreading Wednesday.



I have officially made it through the three week wait! I believe today I have reached that unattainable milestone: I am 5 weeks pregnant.

For the first time in 5 pregnancies.


This morning we took Moose to the park as we always do. It’s a crisp, endlessly clear sort of day. My handsome husband chucked a tennis ball for my handsome black lab. I wrapped my arms around that big hunk of a man and he kissed the top of my head. We stood there for a moment, wrapped around each other in the cool sunlight, watching Moose bound gleefully towards us.

And the world was perfect.

Nervous Joy

Things are going well.

It’s hard to even write those words, as I’m such a nervous mess. But, things are going as well as I could possibly hope for.

Here are the numbers:

Friday (13 dpo): 44
Monday (16 dpo): 280!!
Wednesday (18 dpo): 560

And here are my beautiful lines:


I wish I could say that I was experiencing pure, unbridled joy, but I’m still just so riddled with worry. Our first ultrasound is Nov 30, and I will do my best to relax until then.

From an HCG perspective, this is the farthest I’ve ever made it. I made it to 175 for the first before my numbers crashed down. From a “number of days I’ve received positive, darkening tests” I am also the farthest along as I’ve ever been – seven. My previous record was six.

I am so nervous and yet: my heart just melts into a puddle as my husband touches my belly, and smiles at me, and I can see the little flames of joy flickering in his eyes.

Come on, little baby. You can do it.

All we’re hoping for

Today, I am pregnant.

I had almost given up. I tested starting at what I thought was 8 dpo, up until 12 dpo. That night I got into bed without taking progesterone, ready to let my body move on. I lay coldly under the covers, shivering, trying failingly to sleep, but a tinge of doubt crept into my mind. Maybe just one more day?

I got out of bed and took the progesterone.

In the morning, I watched in wonder as a line began to appear. Thinking perhaps I had line eyes, I took Moose out for a walk. When I returned, there was a clear line. Holy hell.

This morning, the line was MUCH darker:


Today, I am pregnant.

We’ll go day by day now, cautiously, falteringly, delicately. We’ll try not to hope too much as – secretly – it’s all we’re really hoping for.


I am just stunned. Floored, really. Science!

I dutifully took my Letrozole on CD3-7. It was fairly uneventful – a mild headache on CD5 was about the worst of it. I was instructed to take an OPK on CD9, and I did, though frankly I thought that was a bit silly. I always ovulate on CD 21. It’s clockwork. Surely these little pills won’t change that!

On CD9 it was negative. On CD10 I got a blaring positive. I double checked with a digital OPK and got a peak smiley. Holy smokes! This is so early! Is my lining thick enough? Is an egg mature enough?

I hurried to my RE who did an ultrasound. I have a big, ripe, lovely 19mm follie on my right ovary. I also have a 10mm, two 12mms, and 4 8 mms. I have really responded well to the drugs, and it’s ideal to have one mature egg. My lining is about 8 mm, which is thin, but viable. My doctor said I have too many follies to trigger (we risk OHSS or multiples), so the plan is wait to ovulate naturally and keep things spicy in the bedroomūüôā

Today is CD11 and I don’t think I’ve ovulated yet. My doctor predicted it would be Friday (tomorrow). While CD12 is on the early side, it’s not crazy early, and I’ve clearly got a mature follicle.

In other news, I finally got my lab work back. Everything looks good, except my AMH is crazy high – 10.94. This means I have an excellent ovarian reserve, but also most likely indicates PCOS. All the pieces are starting to come together, which is helpful. I feel like I have a grasp of what was causing the early miscarriages, and, hopefully how to prevent them.

Please work, magical little pills. Please bring me a tiny miracle.

Deaf Ears

I had to move mountains to get to this place, but here I am. I am on cycle day six, well into my first round of Letrozole. I fought three battles to get here.


  1. Initially they wanted me to wait 6 weeks post-miscarriage to run the RPL panel. I fought back on this front that if the issue is ovulation, the RPL panel is irrelevant. My doctor finally agreed.
  2. The only two tests the doctor insisted on were karyotyping and genetic carrier testing. My karyotyping took FOREVER; I literally got the results Wednesday afternoon, which is the day I needed to start the Letrozole. They were normal. I rushed into the office at 4 pm, bearing hot chocolate chip cookies and begging for an ultrasound. I succeeded.
  3. My genetic carrier testing yielded, in retrospect, an unsurprising result: I am a carrier for deafness. My mother has extremely poor hearing. This is not an issue for me, but it is an issue for my RE. He insisted on “genetic counseling” before any medication. We paid $325 to hear a genetic counselor explain how genetics work, as if we were in fifth grade. She explained the risks. We got it. She pushed hubby¬†to get tested. We said we were okay with risks and didn’t want him to get tested. She pushed and pushed. We defended our decision. Finally she gave in, and allowed us to sign a waiver. We understand that we have about a 3% chance of having a child with hearing loss, and we will take our chances.

Three hard battles won, and I am feeling victorious.

Grow little follies, grow. Please.

The Plummet

I think I knew when I woke up, alert and stunned, at 6 am. I cooed calming words to myself as I took the test, and watched it, painfully, eternally, nauseously. I willed that line into existence. “Please,” I whispered. “Please.”

But that mean little test was stark white.

Here we go, again. This is the quickest one yet. A line, and then no line. If I hadn’t photographed it, I would swear I dreamt it: that sweet, ephemeral line.

I have a big presentation tomorrow, in front of 500 people, which feels like such deja vu. In June, as I was going through my second very painful miscarriage, I had to give the same presentation to a similar audience, in Vancouver. I was oddly numb the entire time, with no stage fright, the coolest I’ve ever been on stage, poised and calm. When I made it back to my hotel, I crumpled into a ball on the bed and stayed up all night Googling “two miscarriages in a row.” Google did not make me feel better.

This one is the easiest, honestly. I know now that there is a medicine that might make it all better. In a week or so I get to embark on a new path. Onwards and upwards.