DEtails

Only a few people irl know about the DE-IVF. We have decided to tell Suzy first, so she will grow up always knowing, but leave it up to her who she wants to share her origins with.
(I should really make a list because I'm already forgetting who knows and who doesn't.)

My parents know. And somehow this doesn't stop my mother from pointing out that Suzy looks like DP over and over again. She even asked if I didn't mind. Apparently it was a rhetorical question, because despite I said I did mind she hasn't been able to stop herself.
I'm telling myself to forgive her, she adores Suzy, she helps out whenever she can. She is most likely genuinely pleased to spot the resemblance...
There is no doubt my parents consider her 100% family. I was a bit afraid my father would find it awkward, but he is completely smitten with her too.

Suzy was born with brown hair. Much unlike DP's boys who were bold for their first two years. Now (April) her hair starts to go a bit chestnut. We say she must have gotten it from me.

She has my ears. Tiny ears with tiny free earlobes. DP's ears have attached earlobes.

Everyone has long legs. And my family is skinny too. Although at 8 weeks Suzy is putting on her first rim of Michelin man legs.

She has dark blue eyes. In her left eye, on the left side, from 9 to 11 if you will, a bit of brown. DP's eyes are summer sky blue, mine a forest of browns and greens with a drop of honey. We are ever so curious if they will change or remain blue.
(And already I hear myself saying that my brother has blue eyes too. This Monday Apr 22 a family friend remarked Suzy looks like my brother. It made me smile. Just a gentle happy smile, not a if-you-only-knew smile)

So. After deciding that the donor is such a good match and therefore looks like me, I feel comfortable saying Suzy looks like me. I'm grateful she does, that they both do. 

Permission

The Building Permission is granted!
And work started about the same day. Those guys must like demolition, we hardly have time to think.

View of missing future roof terrace into our kitchen-to-be.

The kitchen has a similar hole in the floor.

Once the floor and roof are in place, and separate meters/cables/pipes for electricity/water/gas are installed, we can officially buy 'our' part of the property.
Till then a gazillion decisions to be made. Because we need to prepare now for all the work we need to have done, also the part after separating our future living space from the remaining office below.
It feels a bit weird not doing part of the actual work ourselves, but the office needs to be in shape to be rented it out asap...

We have been waiting/searching a long time to find this property, and it is taking a year and a half to actually really buy it. From now it will be just a few months and this build can make another dream come true. Feels a bit like a 'grand designs' episode. I've always wondered why people got babies in the middle of construction work. But after all those years I couldn't be happier that it all happens now.
Hoping this will not turn in some kind of nightmare, but after all we have already gone through this feels easier to navigate. Even when plans change on a daily basis, even when we don't always feel in control, even when we expect setbacks dealing with a 17th century house where nothing is straight or level.

I mean, who wouldn't want a new beamed ceiling so we can gain 5 cm height in the kitchen?

more first times

April 10. It was such a quiet evening that DP decided to do some serious work on his bicycle. New pedals, sprockets, cog-wheels and chain type of work. After an hour or two I heard, in quick succession, the sound of breaking glass, strong language, a very urgent doorbell.
When I opened the door DP was doubling over in pain, holding his arm, bleeding all over the place, asking me to get something to stop the bleeding. I picked a dark towel and called 911.
Someone sensible answered the phone and after making sure it was an accident and not a fight instructed to remove the towel again to check how serious the bleeding was. It felt scary and boy did it look scary, but the blood wasn't gushing on the rhythm of his pulse. So, not life threatening then, and no ambulance. But I was still panicking a bit, and rang the neighbours' doorbell. She was home, but he was gone with the car so she couldn't bring DP to the ER. Same story for the neighbours at the other side! thank goodness our neighbour kept her wits, gave DP something to drink, wrapped him in a fleece blanket and suggested I call a taxi.
Since DP is not great with blood and needles I decided to go with him, and realised we had to take Suzy as well. Even though my neighbour offered to look after her. But I had no expressed milk stored at all.
During the taxi ride DP and I recovered from the shock and realised that it was a nasty cut, but nothing too bad as the bleeding had tapered of considerably.
And so we arrived back at the hospital where Suzy was born a few weeks earlier. But now the roles were reversed: I was carrying the maxi cosi with Suzy, and we were there to support DP. Which she did by being cute and quiet for two hours.
DP was stitched up and now walks around showing people his Frankenstein picture. And advises people to not stumble over your tool box in a bike shed with single glass window panes.

The day after my father came by and spoke the memorable words

"Valery, you may want to remove the blood from your doorbell"

I did.

Jumble

You know how, when something hurts too much, you close the lid on that feeling? And when you try to lift the lid it tries to crush you? I'm not sure what I'm feeling these days, but the crushing feeling is there. I do miss my BambiEyes. I don't want to have to explain it all over again to someone else and then find them unhelpful. She helped me understand what I was feeling, she helped me try find words and then made me give myself permission to feel those feelings. I do want to blog but it is hard to get my thoughts straight. Let alone put words to feelings.

When we had to pick the words for the birth announcement card I nearly broke down. What a lousy and ungrateful person I must be for not putting on the cards how happy we are? how lucky? how much we wanted her? how long we waited? But I hated the clichés, they felt impersonal and brrr, the exaltation. So we settled on saying our Suzy was born.

People ask me to confirm that 'it was all worth it', now that Suzy is here. I've stopped saying yes. I have decided the question is ridiculous, it is the wrong question. Infertility takes an emotional toll, it scars you. Looking back hurts. Thinking of the vanished twin is hard. Trying to imagine the could-have-beens is simply too much now.

I know that I'm tired. I know that when I'm tired I'm more emotional. There's hormones (I suppose), so tears are loose. I'm afraid of missing something important, of not 'creating the right emotional experience'. I want to feel something simple, to be able to say 'this is joy' or 'I'm so happy'.
But it's all jumbled.
Most of the time it is too hard to open the lid.