For all intents and purposes, Vegas was conceived at the Outer Banks. Technically, yes, the winning IUI happened mere days after we returned from our mid-September trip, but we associate his conception with the warm late Summer (early Fall?) days and nights of our oceanfront visit. We stayed in the same hotel this past weekend, when we went down for our anniversary. As I took the dog around the complex during his early morning walks, I’d walk by the room where we stayed that weekend in September. Since it’s the off-season, the shades were wide open, and I even indulged myself with a tiny peek inside.
We drove down after work on a Friday night in September, with no traffic to speak of throughout Virginia and North Carolina. Every mile we drove away from home, we knew we were that much further from our RE’s office, assuming that ovulation was imminent sometime over the next few days. We were hoping we had done the math wrong? It would be no surprise if we did. We packed several OPK’s and, for the first time, hoped for a series of open circles, and dreading an encounter with a smiley face while we were a four-hour drive away.
Mid-morning that Saturday brought our first, grateful, negative ovulation prediction. We spent most of Saturday sitting out on the beach, collecting seashells, and spotting dolphins off of the coast; Sunday brought us another negative ovulation prediction, and we rejoiced feeling a bit out-of-the-woods. I knocked back a few beers while watching afternoon football before showering and getting gussied up for the dusk beachfront wedding that inspired our long weekend visit. The wedding was such a touching and moving experience, and you could say the same about the amount of beer and tequila consumed during the reception. We drunkenly made our way back to the hotel that night, and I slept through what might have been one hell of a hangover. The whole visit reeked of pre-pregnancy indulgence with a heavy side of predicting my ovaries.
We checked out of the hotel around mid-morning, and I peed on another stick in the bathroom of a gas station right after we crossed the state line. Sexy. And negative. Days after our return, we got the much anticipated smiley face (with many sighs of relief that the tequila didn’t pickle my reproductive organs, or shrivel them up), scheduled the IUI for the next day, and two weeks later, I stumbled sleepily out of the bathroom with a positive stick.
There’s nothing about Vegas’ conception process that doesn’t make me think of the beach, so much so that I sometimes forget about that morning in the RE’s office where we hoped that one stuck. It was wonderful to find ourselves back in a completely different chilly, windy season, but in the same spot waddling up and down the shore (at a slower pace) for the last time as just the two of us – well, three, counting the dog. We’ve talked about going back going back this early October, when Vegas is four months old, or so – coming around full circle to where it all began.
Now, enough reminiscing – let’s talk about back pains and full panel pants!