Show Me the Money: The True Cost of Inertility By Someone Who Lived It

A few weeks ago, my husband and I hit a milestone. With the magic of automated checking account withdrawal, we made the final payment on our IVF loan.

Exactly 11 months to the day after our son was born.

Yes, that's right. We finished paying for the conception of our son 21 months after he was actually conceived.

Can I be honest with you? There are a litany of books/blogs/opinions out there that do a frankly sh*t job of preparing potential parents for the real cost of infertility.

Folks, it is real, legit money. And it is insanity.

                                       

Many articles I have read cover fertility costs by keeping it real. Real vague. For example, if you Google "fertility cost", this is the first thing that pops up:

The average cost of in vitro fertilization in the U.S. is currently about $11,000 to$12,000. General infertility treatments such as ovarian stimulation plus intrauterine insemination, IUI are significantly less expensive than in vitro fertilization. However they are also significantly less effective.

If I had read this when I was starting treatments, I would have though, "Well hell, that's not too bad. I mean, yeah, it's some money, but that's totally doable!"

Unfortunately, that dollar amount is insanely misleading. It's like telling a pregnant woman, "Childbirth can be mildly uncomfortable. Check with your doctor to see if Ibuprofen can help you manage the pain."

I mean, c'mon. Let's get real here.

*Warning: the remainder of this post can be triggering. Protect your heart if you aren't in a place to hear about the yuckies of fertility*

It's true that in vitro on its own might cost $11,000-$12,000. But friends, there are so many steps to go through before you're even thinking about knocking on the IVF door. Let's check them off, shall we? 

Before you get to IVF you must experience (and pay for) the following:

•  Unprotected sex for at least a year. That means a year of ovulation kits, pregnancy tests, extra vitamins that you find on Google, and random book purchases explaining why you aren't getting pregnant.

• Visit an infertility specialist once you hit the year mark. A consultation may be covered by insurance, but then you have to actually have the baseline tests done on you and your spouse. Get ready to shell out a few hundred for that.

• Next steps after baseline tests usually involve some sort of medication. Clomid, Letrozole, Femara. These bad boys aren't available at the Cheapo Depot (that store doesn't actually exist -but maybe it should). Many times insurance doesn't want to help pay.

• Take steps to increase your chances for a baby. Maybe it's a special diet (cha-ching), maybe it's weight loss (hello, gym membership). Maybe it's to stop drinking alcohol and caffeine, which doesn't cost money, but might cost you some of your sanity.

• After ovulation drugs and specialty diets don't work, you're onto more tests. Saline Hysterosonograms, HSG, Uterine Biopsy (OMG, pray you don't have this one). These can be hundreds of dollars each. And don't count on your insurance for them. They'll probably laugh at you.

• If it's determined you have endometriosis, or you have cysts, there's a chance you might need surgery in order to move onto the next step. I didn't experience this, so I can't give you cost info or insurance coverage, but just know the possibility is there.

• IUI is likely next. Here's where you're into 4-digit costs, depending on what drugs you're taking. Not to mention the ultrasounds/sonograms to keep an eye on those developing follicles.

• Only one IUI? Not so fast, kiddo. Your doc will probably want you to do a few rounds, explaining that this is a lesser cost than moving straight onto IVF. So there go a few thousand more.

• Ovulation medications, surgeries and IUI's are a no go. Now it's on to IVF. And now you can look at shelling out $10,000-$12,000. But really more like $15,000.

                                 

In an effort to be fully transparent, I will share that when it was all said and done, grand totals to conceive and keep our little bundle of joy viable for nine months, landed somewhere between the $20,000-$22,000 mark. Insurance ended covered around $2,000 of it.

And that was only one round of IVF.

Which made me feel like I was doing this.

                                             

I'm not sharing this to dissuade you from starting fertility treatments. And I'm not trying to scare you. Becoming a mom this way wasn't pleasant, but it was totally worth it. I simply want to help prepare you.

I hope you are fortunate and get pregnant early on. But if like many of us, you find yourself two years in without a pregnancy, it is vitally important to sit down with your partner and decide how much you are willing to spend to move forward. 

Infertility is a gamble, and just like at the poker table, you have to know ahead of time the dollar amount that will mean it's time to walk away.

I am one of the lucky ones. My husband and I have good jobs and a little savings. We have lovely and supportive parents who helped us with the costs of hotels when we were in Colorado. We got pregnant after one round of IVF. But we also had to get a loan from the bank. A big loan. And the payments started before the positive pregnancy test. Talk about unsettling. Writing a check every month to pay off a loan that might not even result in a baby. It's the worst.

I hope every one of you gets your bundle of love. I send good baby juju to each and every one of you. I don't want anyone to ever give up. But sometimes reality is just a big, fat, bee-otch. I want your eyes to be fully open going into that reality.

Be good to yourself, be good to your partner, and keep fighting for the baby you want and deserve. Just don't end up in Chapter 11 trying to do it.

XOXO, my beautiful friends.

Bravo! How One Television Network is Changing the Public's Understanding of Infertility

Confession: I dig reality television. Don't judge.


                  


It started as just a way to blow off steam, a fun little escape into other people's problems. Over the years though, I have come to realize that yes, I truly enjoy it. The (usually manufactured) drama, the silliness, the pretty people in 5" stilettos throwing wine on each other. It's all very, very good.

Way to make me a lifelong viewer, Andy Cohen.

While I typically enjoy reality TV for its entertainment value only, I am recently discovering that it is more topical in my life than I ever could have imagined. Currently on the Bravo network alone, there are several infertility stories being told. My fave's are:

Flipping Out: Jeff Lewis and his partner Gage are pregnant through IVF/Surrogacy. Meanwhile, Jenni is hoping for a successful IUI experience to become pregnant with her second child.

Real Housewives of Orange County: Housewife Meghan King Edmonds is utilizing IVF to become pregnant due to her husband Jimmy having had a vasectomy years ago. In addition, Meghan's cast mate Heather Dubrow went through IVF for three of her four children, and discusses her experience very openly on the show and her podcast, "Heather Dubrow's World."

I know you're all like, psuedo-celebrities having fertility treatments? Please. Why should I care?

I care. And I think you should too.

For one thing, look how far we've come. This side of 10 year ago, if you saw anything relating to infertility on prime time, it was a rose-colored glasses, punch-line driven version. Remember when Phoebe used IVF to get pregnant with her brother's triplets on "Friends"? She had the transfer, took a pregnancy test 5 hours later and had a positive result. Voila!

                                     

Cuz that happens.

While I'm grateful that shows like"Friends" brought infertility to the forefront, the reality (pun intended) is that a sitcom was never going to gain any real empathy from its target audience. Infertility was always just going to be an obscure plot device that resolved itself in 22 minutes so the main character could start wearing cute maternity clothes (that you could purchase right now) and joke about how she felt fat in a size 4.

The introduction of reality television is beginning to change that landscape. Yes it's still through the lens of an ultra affluent, magazine-glossy reality, but at least it's being represented. And if you think about it, infertility is the ultimate in guaranteed drama, which is what reality shows need. The sufferer can promise screen time of pain, suffering, and uncertainty. That's TV gold.

In a recent episode of "Real Housewives of Orange County", we watched as Meghan King Edmonds stood in front of a mirror, pinched a (nearly invisible) piece of fat on her stomach and injected herself for the first time with her IVF medication. It took her over 10 minutes to get the courage to do it.

                                

As an IVF survivor, I was instantly transported right back to my first injection over Thanksgiving weekend of 2014. As I watched Meghan's eyes fill with tears of happiness when it was over and she had done it, I felt mine well up too. In subsequent episodes, you hear Meghan discuss her stomach painfully bloating as the eggs grew, the agitation and raging hormones she's feeling - all of it. It's real, raw, and very necessary that people see how this works.

That doesn't mean it's all rainbows and puppies, though.

                                             

I do have a teeny, itty bitty problem with Meghan documenting her IVF journey through the lens of infertility. After all, infertility is a disease of the reproductive system defined by the failure to achieve a clinical pregnancy after 12 months or more of regular unprotected sexual intercourse. In Meghan's case, her husband had a voluntary vasectomy years ago and therefore Meghan must use her own eggs and his frozen sperm to create a baby. 

Am I splitting hairs? Or cutting my nose off to spite my face? Probably. But still. The biggest issue I have in the portrayal of Meghan's journey is this.  

She didn't go through the hell that many women and men do to discover her infertility in the first place. 

Meghan knew from Jump Street that IVF would be her path to pregnancy. So to say she struggled with infertility  feels at best inaccurate and at worst a little exploitative. It downplays the emotional heartache that one must typically go through before even thinking of going the IVF route. (Unless there is more to the story than she is sharing, in which case, I would rethink my statement.

That doesn't mean I don't feel for her or am less proud of her. IVF is a tough, tough deal. And from what I've seen on the show, Meghan is basically going through it on her own, as her husband doesn't seem to show a great deal of interest in the process. I'm simply not a fan of her using the word "infertility" to describe her experience. 

But I'm just judging from behind the safe space of my computer and TV screen. I'd welcome a conversation with her, because in the end, she is bringing a very difficult and emotional experience to the masses, and for that I appreciate and love her for sharing.

Moving on...

Meanwhile, can I just say how much I love Jeff Lewis and his partner Gage going the surrogacy route to achieve their baby? Watching Jeff and Gage give their specimens, choose their surrogate, and eventually wait to hear the results from the embryo transfer make me as weepy as the day I first heard we were pregnant.

When Jeff's bestie, Jenni, holds her legs up to her ears after an IUI, willing that sperm to get on up there and do its thing...I am transported back to my IUI. Sitting in a cold gown. Waiting. Wishing. All in the hopes that this time would be different.

So the net is, reality TV is making me a Crybaby McWeepy. But it's all good. If nothing else, infertility is getting exposure, however imperfect that exposure may be. After all, these are hundreds of hours of footage cut down to 42 minutes. But this format is giving people a small glimpse into the life of an infertile, and if that can create a little more understanding and empathy, I'm all for it.

I don't know if Jeff and Gage's baby will make it. I don't know that Jenni will ever get pregnant with her second baby. Maybe things will work out, and perhaps they won't. Maybe one of these stories will end with adoption, or a couple giving up altogether. But it's all being told. In HD quality.

And for now, I'm okay with that. It can only get better from here.

Let me know if you want any of my input, Andy Cohen. I'm always around.

XOXO,

Close to the Chest: Why Infertiles Don't Always Talk About Their Jouney

I get a lot of questions about my infertility journey (and for the record, I love getting questions). They usually range from "how long did it take before you went to the doctor?" to "how much did the medication injections hurt to take?" But every now and again, I get a question that's a little more difficult to answer. 

"Why are you just now sharing your story?"

Since I "came out" on Facebook, I have been so pleased with how many friends/colleagues/acquaintances have reached out to me to share their stories. It makes us all feel better and stronger knowing that someone else has gone through the same thing. They understand how difficult it is to publicly state what you're going through. But when someone who isn't in the infertility world asks me why I took so long to share (or why I did my blog anonymously at first), I sometimes find it difficult to explain.

But I'll try. Here are the top reasons (I feel) that women and their partners are too afraid or too intimidated to tell what they are experiencing.

1. It's not easy to admit

I've discussed this before, but even saying aloud "I think we might have a conception problem" is not easy to do. For one year or more, you and your partner have been having a great time trying for a baby - but after the 9 or 10 month mark, you start to truly wonder, could something be wrong? If you're like me, you went ahead and shared with your friends, family and dentist that you were trying for a baby, acting under the assumption that it would take three months max. So now, everyone stares at your belly every time they see you, or pays close attention to what drink you order on Saturday night. To admit to yourself and potentially a lot of other people that you might need help getting on the baby train is a huge downer. It takes the wind out of your sails, the air out of your balloon...you get what I'm saying.

2. You don't want to jump the gun

Once you've admitted to yourself that you need assistance getting knocked up, that's just the beginning. You still have to find a doctor, assess your health and your cycle, figure out what insurance covers - it's overwhelming and not something that you feel like screaming from the rooftops. Besides, maybe there's a quick fix, right? If you thought you had cancer, wouldn't you first rule out a nasty cold or the flu? You wouldn't go around telling people "I'm pretty sure I have cancer" without info to back that up. Same with infertility. There are a lot of tests to go through before you are truly considered an infertile. 

3. Fear of backlash/judgment

When I was about eight months into fertility treatments, we were nearing the point where IVF was clearly going to have to be the next option. I was feeling overwhelmed and wanting some support and thought about posting something on social media about my struggle. But randomly, two days later, I saw something on Facebook that was posted by a relative. It wasn't aimed at me, but as we all know, Facebook statuses go to everyone on your friends list...and that included me. This relative has very strong feelings about adoption and babies and I knew that. I just wasn't prepared.

Like I said, it wasn't specifically aimed at me, but it didn't matter. I was feeling vulnerable and scared about what we were facing, and this felt like a knife straight through the heart. I deleted my Facebook two weeks later for a period of two months. In addition, any inkling I had of sharing my story went right out the window. How many other people felt this way that I wasn't aware of? Who would I potentially offend by admitting we were considering IVF? It was certainly a deterrent to telling anyone else outside of my close circle.

A lot of infertile's face this. Religion, personal opinion, ignorance...people can be very quick to judge and throw down their opinions without thinking about how it affects the person going through it. 

4. We heard what you said about us or someone like us

This is basically a continuation of #3, and it happens more than you think. You're sitting in the break room, minding your business and pondering whether your most recent check to the fertility clinic is going to bounce, when you hear Carl from accounting say to the copy repair guy, "Did you know they're giving some chick on the 3rd floor two weeks off so she can go make some fancy shmancy science baby? I guess they're paying like, 40 grand to get pregnant. Hell, she can have one of my kids!"

Maybe Carl wasn't even talking about you. Maybe that chic on the third floor is someone you've never even met. Who cares? People throw their opinions around about things like IVF and infertility without stopping to think about who might be listening - and hurting. It's just one of those subjects that the general public isn't familiar with unless they've read an Octomom story. The education level surrounding infertility is super low...ironically, because not a lot of women talk about it. It's a vicious cycle - and round and round we go.

Keep in mind this is also true for infertiles who have dealt with miscarriage or still births. For some reason, the general consensus is you can have three days to recover physically and then, like, get over it. I mean, you were only 8 weeks. It's not like it's a big deal.

Wrong-o. Until you've walked in those shoes, shut your face.

5. We're afraid to jinx it

You will never meet a group of people as superstitious and paranoid as infertiles. Every cramp is a sign. Every song that comes on the radio with the word "baby" in it is a sign. Every billboard is a sign (literally and figuratively). We take it all very, very seriously. So it should come as no surprise that when it comes to our treatments, we don't want everyone to know. Even if we have that gut feeling that this time it's going to work, we're terrified that even whispering that little layer of hope out loud can make the whole house of cards come crashing down around us. Is it logical? No. Do we care? Not really. It's survival. And so we sit quietly, scouring the internet for signs that pregnancy occurred this month, freaking out every second of every day. But we don't dare tell you what we're doing. Because dammit, you might jinx it, and we just can't risk it.

So if you have a friend that's finally admitted to you that she is having a hard time getting pregnant, be honored. We don't usually tell many people unless we're sure we can get the support we need from you. Listen to our story, tell us it sucks and then offer to get us the biggest decaf mocha frappucino money can buy. What do you get out of it? A fantastic friend. Not to brag, but infertiles really do make the best buds. We're super patient, we rarely complain, and since we usually can't drink alcohol we can be your DD for the night. Win win for everyone.

XOXO,

you poke the mama bear, you get your arm ripped off

NEWSFLASH: I am not a perfect person. I make mistakes, I goof up, and I admit when I do.

However, I will not be bullied. Ever.

A few weeks ago I wrote this blog post about the mom whose son got into the gorilla enclosure at the Cincinnati Zoo. I defended her as a mom myself, who often worries that I might look away for just a moment and see my child harmed. I also defended her as an empathetic person, not just as a parent. I chose to believe she was a good mom, who had a strange twist of fate befall her and her family. 

From the 1200 words that I wrote, I have recently been called out for like, 28 of them. In the original blog post, I said:

"For those that aren't parents, let me just inform you. Kids are smart. as. hell. They know when a parent is distracted and they take full advantage. Can we offer a little kindness to this mom whose son is laying in a hospital bed and whom she had to watch be dragged by a 400-pound (innocent yes, but still 400-pound) gorilla? Can we have some compassion, for f*ck's sake?"

Several weeks have gone by since this blog, and last night I was surprised to find a comment on the post from a fellow infertile Twitter friend that read:

" 'For those of you who aren't parents'. What are those of us who aren't parents, fucking retards? Of course the Mommy Mafia came to that woman's defense because parents today are never accountable for anything."

                

                   

First of all - I'm reasonable. I write a public blog and spoke about a controversial subject. Surely there are going to be differences in opinion. However, this comment was uncalled for. To come in guns hot and use the phrase "fucking retards" is NOT okay. It is childish and belittling and demeaning to a group of (amazing) people who aren't here to defend themselves against your BS. Already you're not okay in my book if you are using phrases like this to make a point.

Secondly, my Dad always used to say, "engage your brain before you engage your mouth." This person would have been wise to heed that advise. If you want to comment on an opinion you disagree with, do it like an adult. Because guess what? On some level, the comment was correct. In hindsight, I should have worded that portion of my blog better. 

What I actually meant to say was that people who don't spend a lot of time with children may not realize how just crafty they can be. I shouldn't have said "those that aren't parents", because that's inaccurate. There are many people, parents or not, who don't realize how quick and crafty kids can be. (I used to be one of them.) But instead of making a point, the comment made this person look like a douche noodle.

But it didn't end there. 

In a maddening tornado of verbal diarrhea, this person then accused me of ignoring the infertility and childless community since having my son.  

                                         

Let's just break that down:

Unless you are monitoring my activity on Twitter (which is freaking scary), how can you possibly know who I am interacting with and who I am ignoring? Right, you can't.

Also, this is Twitter. I have a living, breathing, active life in the infertility community in the real world. I have friends struggling with infertility, all of whom I would drop anything for if it meant making them feel supported. I have offered my eggs to friends who cannot have children. I have offered my support to anyone and everyone I come in contact with. You, sir, have no right to judge my activity level in the infertility community. 

How dare you.

I love all my infertile friends on Twitter. I love my infertile friends who have become mothers and fathers that I've met on Twitter. I even love hot heads who  get brave behind a keyboard that are on Twitter.

That's right, I still love you. You clearly know not what you do. You are hurting and you are sad and you are angry, and you are lashing out. I forgive you.

To wrap up, my blog is not always going to be about infertility. I've made that clear by blogging about everything from ex boyfriends who give terrible gifts to gorillas. So, if you're coming to my blog expecting every post to pertain directly to you, you are in the wrong place. If you are looking for support specific to those that are not able to have children, there are places where you can get that. I am not obligated to provide it for you.

I am still going to proudly post pictures of my child. I am still going to post about the struggles I faced when I was infertile. I am going to post about the times I still wake up, covered in sweat, terrified that my child isn't real. That he is still just a wish and a dream and a "maybe someday". This blog is not about you. 

I am hear to offer my support to anyone who needs it. You can email me, comment on my blog, or reach out to me on Twitter and Facebook. I am here for you. I just can't be here for you in a way that you choose and dictate. Because that's like, communism. 

XO to all of you, fertile or not. 

What a Zoo: My Unasked-For Take on Harambe and the Little Boy That Could

I'm taking a minute away from the infertility world to talk about the Cincinnati zoo incident from the weekend. I feel like we need to discuss this.

I don't usually take a stance on controversial issues because I typically have friends and family with their feet firmly cemented on both sides of whatever topic is trending. But something about this particular issue stuck with me.

First of all, I am a huge animal rights activist. Cecil the Lion being shot absolutely gutted me. I hate puppy mills. I think Pit Bulls are lovely creatures who are misunderstood and raised by the wrong people. I don't like to kill Lady Bugs. I would never wear real fur and I've tried 29 times to become a vegetarian. (I'm still working on that one. Bacon, people. Bacon.)

However...

This was a child's life. An innocent little four year old boy who was doing what four year old boys do. Crawling, playing, testing boundaries. He managed to, according to the zoo, get "under a rail, through wires and over A MOAT wall to get into the enclosure."

Ya'll, he Mission Impossible'd himself in there. (The CIA should maybe recruit him after this hubbaloo dies down.) He wanted in and he was going to find a way to do it.

Reports have varied, but it sounds like at the beginning of the incident, the gorilla wasn't interested in harming the boy. Until the crowd got involved and understandably started to freak out. Then it agitated the gorilla and he became more violent, as the video shows. 

(Also, what kind of asshole takes a video of this happening? More on that later.)

All this aside, the fact remains, that little boy was probably going to be killed. Was the gorilla doing what gorillas do? Yes, it is a wild animal. Does that mean zoo should have sat by and let the little boy die? No. This was a total and complete freak accident that probably wouldn't happen again if you tried to recreate it three million times. 

What bothers me the most is the public outcry toward the mom of this child. I don't know her, and I don't know her story, but let me tell you a little story about me this weekend. 

My son is eight months old. He's essentially immobile, except when he's in his walker that he loves more than me. While cooking lunch on Sunday, I opened the pantry door to get out some bread. As I shut the door, I notice it was resisting. I thought maybe one of the hinges was broken. It never occurred to me that in the 2.3 seconds I had the pantry door open, my son had waddled over in his walker and stuck his meaty little fingers in the opening of the door swing. I HAD NEARLY CLOSED THE PANTRY DOOR ON MY SON'S FINGERS.

Incidentally, he's fine. There were tears and for a solid twenty minutes, I contemplated hurling myself off a bridge while screaming, "I'm a terrible mother!" on the way down. The fact that the one thing I love more than anything was hurt because of me was almost too much. And this was just some bruised fingers.

What if I had been that mom at the zoo? What if my squirrely little son had wandered off while I took a moment to ogle at the splendor of an amazing animal in front of me? 

Well, apparently you aren't allowed to do that in this world. The mom from the zoo has become a villain by the peanut gallery of nincompoops. Apparently she should have a leash or string around her child at all times. Because that's not weird or anything. 

Look, I get it. People think she was being negligent because that's an easy dart to throw. I, on the other hand, tend to err on the side of humanity and believe that she thought her kid was right next to her. For those that aren't parents, let me just inform you. Kids are smart. as. hell. They know when a parent is distracted and they take full advantage. Can we offer a little kindness to this mom whose son is laying in a hospital bed and whom she had to watch be dragged by a 400-pound (innocent yes, but still 400-pound) gorilla? Can we have some compassion, for f*ck's sake?

And now, the gorilla. My heart aches that Harambe is gone. This is by and large my main problem with zoos to begin with. We take wild animals and put them in enclosures so we can stare and laugh at them when they throw their poop at us. Then we're surprised when something unexpected happens and the animals act accordingly to their nature?

DID NO ONE READ CHAOS THEORY BY IAN MALCOM?

There's loads of outrage about whether a tranquilizer should have been tried first, but as I understand it, tranquilizers can take time and cause extreme agitation. The zoo had no way of knowing what the gorilla was getting ready to do, nor did they have time to sit around and think about what the Twittersphere would think. They had to act. 

And that sucks. The whole situation is a gigantic hurricane of suck.

I'm so torn. As a mother, I want the zoo (or amusement park, or Chuck E Cheese or Sky Zone) to do whatever they have to do to keep my son safe, even if he is being a little asshole. On the other hand, I know this gorilla  did nothing wrong. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and none of it was by his own choosing. He is dead because we feel the need to capture him and watch him for our own personal pleasure. But at the end of all of this, with the crap circumstances being what they were, I don't feel the  zoo was wrong. My heart breaks for the zookeeper that had to fire the shot. He didn't take that job hoping to get the chance to kill an endangered, beautiful, amazing creature. And yet, here we are. There is no cut and dry answer. There is a lot of drilling down into the nitty gritty that could potentially be explored. But that won't happen. It's easier to call the mom a piece of trash, the zoo trigger happy and the kid a brat.

Welcome to the human race.

I feel like this, along with other stories like fatal gun shootings, will fade into the background as the next news cycle comes in. And that makes me sad. Harambe is gone, but the boy is alive. A little boy who didn't understand the implications of what he did will reap the repercussions of this for a long time to come.

As for the mom in this story, I hope she's the innocent I'm making her out to be. I hope it doesn't turn out that she's a terrible mother who leaves her kid in a hot car while she runs in to the post office to mail a letter. I hope she doesn't sue the zoo. I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt, because I hope someone would give it to me. I hope my daycare provider sees my child's swollen fingers today and knows that life happened yesterday. Messy, sucky, painful life.

Lastly, you better believe I'm not blaming the walker company or the hinge company for my son's injury. And he will still play in his walker. I'm not going to wrap him in plastic bubble wrap. 

Yet. 

Be kind to each other. Be kind to animals. And be kind to yourself.

XOXO,

*flicks microphone* Is this thing on?

Hello. 

It's me. 

I was wondering if after all these weeks you'd still like to read.

Hi, bloggy friends! I hope you all had a wonderful Easter with your families. If that included a new addition to your family, I hope it was magical and full of color and eggs and candy and wonderment. 

I have been a baaaad blogger.

Like, way bad.

I haven't written anything in way, way too long. Like it or not, writing is like a muscle; if you don't use it you start to lose it. For me, baby has taken up a lot of time (though I am quite proud of myself for how many posts I have been able to write since my son arrived) and I haven't quite worked out how to just SIT DOWN and make the time to write. Plus I'm still struggling with being an infertility blogger while looking at my son. It's like having stroganoff on one side of my plate and pizza on the other. Naturally I want to eat the damn pizza because the stroganoff makes my stomach hurt and gives me flashbacks to childhood dinner times when I wanted to just give up on life.

(I once had a teacher who told me metaphors were bullshit and to avoid them like the plague when writing. Apparently I didn't listen.)

ANYWAYS. No, I am not abandoning infertility posts at all. They just take a little more mental preparation than the rainbow and unicorn posts about my son that flow out of me like lava. You feel me?

I am going to be writing a new blog post (infertility related!) that actually has content rather than ramblings in the next few days, so stay tuned.

I hope you all are doing well and staying strong. Keep at it, lovelies!

XOXO,

Forget Harry Pottter, Merlin is my new boyfriend

I don't believe in magic. And I always promised myself I would never do product reviews, because, how totally annoying. I don't want to be an infomercial for anything.

                               

But no one ever said I keep my promises. So allow me to now completely contradict myself and become a walking infomercial for a product I love so much, I've considered marrying it.

Merlin's Magic Sleep Suit.

Dear baby Jesus laying in the manger, this thing is amazing. 

Here's the story: my son is almost four months old. Up until now he has been allll about the swaddle. And when I say swaddle, I basically mean a straight jacket. He wanted to be in that Halo swaddle suit so tight that I worried I'd dislocate his shoulders wrapping him up in it. 

For over three months, he lay swaddled every night and slept well, only waking up 3-4 times (he is a breastfed baby). But a few weeks ago, that all changed. If he were to be a super hero, I'd call him "The Waker". Nothing I did would keep him down, and I began to notice on the baby monitor that he would sporadically kick and wake himself up. This is when I became best friends with Google and learned about the Moro reflex. (Why do they not teach us about this when we give birth?) This lovely phenomenon will cause completely knocked out babies to wake up with gusto.

You can read about it on the link, but let me save you the trouble. It's a reflex that makes baby feel like he's falling.

Dude, I'd wake the hell up, too.

The good news is that your baby will grow out of it. The bad news is that while you're waiting for that to happen, you get no sleep.

UNTIL NOW.

(This is where I'm going to go full infomercial.)

I saw someone mention the Merlin Magic suit on a local Momma's Group on Facebook. She had nothing but amazing things to say. I was doubtful. Look at this thing.

                                          
This snow suit apparatus is supposed to help my child sleep? More like help him body surf down a snow bank.

I was not convinced. There were some hurdles to get past.

Hurdle #1: This looks stupid

It wasn't until I read up on the suit that bells of sense started to ring in my head. The gimmick is, the layers in the suit help to muffle or subdue the jolt of that Moro reflex we just discussed, making it easier for your baby to get himself back to sleep after experiencing one. Instead of fully waking up thinking he's falling, it just feels like a normal "move around", and therefore helps him stay asleep.

So, hurdle #1 jumped. Onto the next.


Hurdle #2: Workin' up a sweat

Won't my baby sweat like a whore in church in this thing?

                              

Answer? Maybe. There are some baby's that run hot, and wrapping them up in additional padding might seem counter intuitive. In that case, I'd recommend having the babe sleep in just a diaper and some socks. There's no need for a onesie underneath because the material is uber soft. You can also choose to get the cotton version rather than the microfleece, which is a bit lighter. My advice is to try it first. And if you're super concerned, turn a fan on to keep the room a bit cooler.

Hurdle #3: Show me the money

The Merlin Magic Suit is not cheap. It's $40.00. If you have Amazon Prime you can get yourself some free shipping, and that helps. Buuuut, to make matters worse, when you wash it, it takes for.ev.er to dry. So you really need two. That's $80.00.

                                                 

Yes, it's costly. Here's where you have to weigh your return on investment, though. I, myself, burned through at least 3 other sleep solutions (Woombie, Zipadee Zip and some other random thing) before I landed on Merlin. Each one of those products was probably $25.00 and they didn't work and I'm kinda stuck with them. The good news with Merlin is, if it doesn't work for your baby I guarantee you can sell it lickety split for very close to what you paid, if not the exact amount.

But you won't need to worry about that because it's going to work.

Hurdle #4: You can't use it forever

This is a sad one for me. My little man is starting to roll over when he's not in the Merlin suit. For the moment, it's bulky enough that he can't quite roll himself onto tummy while he's in the suit, but that won't be the case for much longer. The Merlin Magic website recommends that once your little one can roll over, they need to be out of the suit. 

Well, crap.

There's really no solution I can offer to this last hurdle, it just is what it is. It's not worth keeping my baby in something that might be dangerous past a certain point. (The concern being that if he gets onto his tummy, he could suffocate face down.) So this means eventually he's going to have to transition to another solution (like a sleep sack). 

All the tears.

Hurdle #5: Your baby might never sleep this good again

For the record, despite all the rave reviews I read, the first night we tried the Merlin Magic Suit, I had my serious doubts. Would my little buddy even sleep with his arms out at his sides? Wouldn't he be uncomfortable? Truth be told, I was so incredibly nervous it wouldn't work that I actually had the suit in my possession for two weeks before I actually tried it. 

I finally decided to bite the bullet on a Friday night. I fed him at 7:30 PM and placed him in the suit.

He looked ridiculous.

        







Anyways.

I put him down at 7:45 PM and went downstairs with my husband to wait. How long until i had to go in and switch him back to his Halo? 20 minutes? An hour?

At 10:40 I went to bed. He didn't wake me up until 1:45.

                                               

After a quick feeding, he went back down again and was asleep until 6:00 AM.

BUT WAIT...THAT'S NOT ALL.

On night three in the suit, he went to bed at 8 and didn't wake up until 4:00 AM.

Yeah, I'm a Merlin Magic believer.

Full disclosure, sometimes he still does get up 2-3 times in the night. But I think that's just how babies are. They're consistently inconsistent. I do know that with this suit I have seen a change in how well my son sleeps, and at the end of the day (or in this case the end of the night) that's all that matters.

So, what are you waiting for? Sleep like a baby because your baby is finally sleeping like a baby.

(If Merlin Magic starts using that tag line, I get royalties right?)

XOXO,

I am not being paid for this product review. I just really, really love our Merlin suit and want you all to get one. I don't have a special code for you to get a discount and I don't get any special swag for writing these words. I'm just a sleep deprived mom that likes me some Merlin Magic.