Fetal fratricide, my alarming lack of activity, why I’m taking my couch as a second spouse, and other random personal updates for those of you that worry about my welfare.

If I have twins, I vow to make them dress and behave
just as creepy as the Grady sisters.

It has been a rough, ROUGH few weeks. I have been very busy setting up a professional association where everyone can band together, find information, get help, and get a whole bunch of other awesome stuff for free (because I don’t think that you should have to pay ridiculous membership fees to be an active participant in your professional community or to fight as a united force for equal employment practices).

Every day I’ve spent hours silently amassing an army of volunteers across the country, calling lawyers in each major city in the US, gathering the contact information for each cosmetology board and every state representative/attorney general/labor department, getting quotes and detailed information on professional liability insurance plans, and preparing to launch the most extensive, compulsively organized, and most affordable ($0) operation this profession has ever seen.

Then I got pregnant. Turns out at least one of those six eggs from my last cycle of fertility treatment attached.

For those of you that speak the lingo, my P4 on 4DPO was 47.
My HCG on 14DPO was 110, on 17DPO it was 761, and on 20DPO it was 3919.

Translation: There’s a high possibility I have more than one in there, but vanishing twin syndrome is really common so we’re waiting until April 4th to get the ultrasound. I’d rather wait until the majority of the danger has passed–and not because I would be devastated if one of the embryos disappeared but because I’m a crazy person with a very morbid imagination when it comes to exactly what my children are up to in there during my pregnancies.

“MUA HA HA! Your nutrients
shall be mine, tiny adversary!”

For the most part, I’m able to look at things like pregnancy loss objectively from a scientific standpoint–competition for resources in utero is fierce. In 20-30% of twins and higher order multiple pregnancies, one of the babies just doesn’t make it. I understand that.

That being said–if one of my children is going to essentially starve the other to death before it even has a chance, I would much rather not know at all. Yes, yes, I do understand that there are many possible causes of vanishing twin syndrome outside of resource hoarding, but I can’t help but imagine an evil, murderous fetus sucking the lifeblood from its biological competitor. I picture American Gladiator: Fetal Sibling Rivalry.

Yep. My brain is warped. Ignorance is bliss in this situation. How many are in there? I dunno. And I’m cool with that for now.

I’m going to be very honest right now, since that tends to be what I’m known for, lol. The idea of a twin pregnancy excites and terrifies me sortof like the prospect of skydiving. It’s dangerous and seductive to tempt fate, but I’m much happier here on solid ground where it’s safe. I struggle to bring a singleton pregnancy to term. I’m very petite. I make big babies. I’ve had multiple operations performed on my reproductive organs. My cervical competency is very much a concern as is the fact that I have a history of “precipitous labor.” Let’s just say it’s a very good thing that I live less than ten miles from the hospital. If I didn’t, Quinn would have been born in the passenger seat of my Toyota.

The efficient, type A in me is yelling, “Sweet! Two for one gestation! That would be so awesome!” The cautious part of my brain is screaming, “Are you insane?! They’ll burst out of my torso like that creature in Total Recall!” I’m conflicted. It’s fun and kindof scary, but I certainly won’t be upset or feel let down if I find out there’s only a single baby in there.

Anyways, with my HCG and progesterone so high, I’m incredibly sick. All. The. Time. I’ve been taking Zofran every eight hours, but sometimes it’s not worth trading the vomiting for the migraines and intense fatigue. I’ve been using this time to watch everything in my Netflix queue, count the tiles on my bathroom floor, strengthen my relationship with my couch, and teach myself the fine art of gagging down pureed food. (I’ve also compiled a list of foods that aren’t terrible to experience in reverse for future reference. Yeah, it’s that bad. Anyone that’s ever had hyperemesis gravidarum so severe that it required anti-nausea medication that is typically prescribed to chemo patients will understand.)

So, needless to say, my posting and my progress on the association are on hiatus right now until this passes or at least lets up a little bit. I’m still responding to comments and emails, but I’m only checking them once a day…maybe twice if I’m up for it. I do have thirty-two drafts in various stages of completion right now and I’ve been hacking at them a little when I’m feeling good enough to do so. I know I have two that are close to ready for posting, so I anticipate that I’ll have those up relatively soon.

I just thought I would take a few minutes to say I haven’t forgotten you. I haven’t abandoned you. I’m still here, I’m still alive (mostly), and I’m still involved–I’m just spending far more time laying on my bathroom floor relishing the feel of the cold tiles on my face than sitting in front of my computer these days. 🙂

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Beauty industry survivalist, salon crisis interventionist, tactical verb-weapon specialist, and the leader of at least a hundred workplace revolutions, Tina Alberino is known as much for her extensive knowledge as for her sarcastic wit and mercilessly straightforward style. She’s the author of the book The Beauty Industry Survival Guide and the blog This Ugly Beauty Business. When she’s not writing, educating, or consulting, she can be found overthinking everything, identifying problems people didn’t know existed, and stubbornly working to change the things she cannot accept.


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