I Promise

Since finding out we’ll be having a boy a little over a day ago, I’ve had a dozen or so thoughts running through my mind!

A boy. Like the cute little kid playing hide and seek over the table with us at dinner tonight. Like my nephews.. only, mine. Dreams of barbies, ballet slippers, and sharing movies like The Little Mermaid and Thumbelina went flying out the window and have been replaced with cars, baseball bats or soccer goals and I don’t even know what else!┬áSo this will be a work in progress of things I promise my son, because I grew up with two sisters and wasn’t very close to my older male cousins.

I promise not to force you into sports, but I promise to make you try, at least once.

I promise to support your dreams, whatever they may be.

I promise to make you keep your room clean, to have manners, and to be polite.

I promise to be proud of you.

I promise to be nice to your girlfriends so you don’t feel the need to run away from your dad and me.

I promise to lovingly accept your wife, and really try to get to know her, without being too pushy.

I promise to dress you in all sorts of adorable baby clothes, before you get too old to think duckies and stars are “girly.”

And I promise to love you unconditionally, for who you are, while at the same time hoping your daddy and I get things *right* enough that you turn out okay!!

Pandora’s Box

The decision to have a baby was an easy one. Before we were married last April I had a feeling that I wanted to start trying soon after I graduated from college in June. It’s almost funny looking back now and remembering my scheming to work baby stuff into otherwise normal conversations with my then fiance; or doing the same shortly after we were married and I was totally bogged down by school and really should have been thinking of other things. I knew one thing for certain – that I wanted to have our kids in my early to mid-twenties and that meant starting to try as soon as possible.

You probably won’t believe me if I tell you now, that I always felt like we were going to run into trouble on our trying to conceive journey. Given my history of irregular periods I swore up and down something was wrong with me, when month after month instead of buying pregnancy tests I instead purchased chocolate bars and boxes of tampons. I had basic blood work done and when that all came back just fine and I thought they must have mixed up the samples because it had been months of trying already. I wanted more blood work, more tests, an ultrasound to make sure I didn’t have a bum uterus. We don’t need those now.

Before the hospital would do any more testing on me, they required that my darling husband (DH – can also be dear husband) have a semen analysis done. Yesterday we merrily set off for the hospital so he could provide the sample, fully expecting stellar results. But when I called for results and the nurse that answered the phone said the doctor was flagged to call with the results of this case my heart sank. Even now, I can’t believe I am typing this. It has to be a bad dream like the ones I’ve had of car crashes and memory loss and wolf attacks.

But there is no waking up from this. There is no going back to yesterday – you can’t take back what you find when you open Pandora’s Box.

We rushed the results and chose to see them on paper before waiting for a doctor’s analysis. I am still waiting for the call this morning where my not-so-nice family practice doctor will let me know my husband falls in the class of severe male infertility. The benchmark for normal is 20 million sperm per milliliter of sample provided, subfertile is classified as less than 10 million, infertile is less than 5 million and my husband has less than 2 million. That news is a crushing blow. During the test they look at a small drop of semen under a microscope to analyze morphology, motility, etcetera.. These lab techs normally watch the movement of hundreds of sperm and DH had just 26 on his slide and eight were already dead.

I don’t know how to handle this. I’m supposed to be ovulating soon! But the chances of me getting pregnant are lower than the average woman’s risk of getting pregnant with perfect birth control pill use. I feel like we just joined this elite club that no one wants to be a member of. Thank God DH is just hurt, not embarrassed, and is ok with me talking/writing about this because writing is how I process things. In one afternoon we went from OPKs to IVF and it’s scary and it hurts and I don’t know where God is leading us with this one. I don’t know where to go from here.