I have a confession to make, and really, it's not unexpected:
I'm DONE with being childless. Six (going on seven) years is six years far too long. I feel this way throughout the year but the holidays only exacerbate it.
I want this Christmas to be the LAST one we spend without some idea of when or how our family will be expanded. I fully understand that come Christmas 2015, it is nearly 100% unlikely that we'll have a child in our arms, or even one on the way (what with our move following Jason's graduation and starting our new life in a new place and all the upheaval that comes with that. including but not limited to our extreme lack of funds) but I'd like to be actively trying again. I'd like to be seeing a new RE and getting to the bottom of why we can't conceive and what needs to be done to remedy that. And I fully understand it won't be easy. I'm not naive. Jaded, perhaps. But naive, no. We're ready to explore the reality of IVF. I'm ready to undergo further testing. Maybe this time, at the age of 31, we'll be taken seriously. I never felt we were at the two other clinics we went to, as we were 24 years old the first time, and 27 the second time. Even though nothing was working, and there was no clear explanation, we were told time and again, "but you're young, you still have time." We were even told that following our miscarriage, right after, "This is progress. At least you got pregnant this time."
The time we've spent in Indiana has been precious. We've healed and have taken some time away from the pressures, emotions, and let-downs of infertility. We desperately needed the break and we're better for having taken it. Our relationship with ourselves and each other is stronger and better because of it and I'm so grateful and thankful for the perspective and for the mental place the space allowed me to arrive at. It was all necessary and we wouldn't change our decision. That being said...
2015 is the year that's going to find us back on the road to baby. Somehow, some way, we're going to be parents. We're ready. It's so past due it's painful. We've been married eight years. I know that life isn't a race and we're all on our own journeys but our hearts are bursting with love to give to a child. I can't explain how it feels. I can only try and share with you what my heart knows to be true, without reservation or hesitation or fear: it's time.
It may take us a year, it will most likely take us more. But this is the beginning of the end of the childless years.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Not So Holly Jolly
Some years are just harder than others. I know that. But it doesn't mean it's any less disappointing to muddle through a more challenging holiday season.
Our dog, Kobe, was diagnosed with cancer in November. Thankfully, it was confined to a mass on his tail so it didn't spread and we didn't have to make any tough decisions but it did mean he had to have his tail amputated on December 1. His beautiful, sweeping tail. So now, he has a little nub about 5 inches or so long and he looks like a long-legged over-sized 75 lb Corgie. But he's here with us and he's going to be okay and that's the main thing. That all being said, he hasn't had an easy time with the amputation, which has meant that we haven't had an easy time, either. He won't leave his nub alone long enough for it to heal and he's constantly ripping open his wound, even while wearing the largest cone we could fine (seriously, it's made to fit a St. Bernard) and even with his nub wrapped. Last night was particularly rough. Jason is gone through tomorrow so it's just been me and the pets and Kobe has been on high alert: barking throughout the night, which is very unlike him, and yes, you guessed it, ripping open his scab. Bloody mess at 4am. Last Tuesday, it took me an hour to get all of the blood up from the carpet so thankfully, last night's little fiasco wasn't nearly as traumatic but at 4am, it felt pretty brutal. And then after cleaning up and rewrapping his tail (and I'd already been jarred awake a few times by his barking over a several hour span), I couldn't get back to sleep. Which in turn led to a meltdown. Because it all seemed like too much. Most things do at 4am. We spent money we didn't have on his biopsy and amputation surgeries, and this whole ordeal has been going on since the end of October. Nearly two months. Again, we're so very thankful he's going to be okay but it's been a struggle. Jason has had an extremely taxing semester at school while also applying for professor positions so the timing was just bad. (Ha! Like there's ever a good time.) Next step: a soft mesh muzzle. Per the vet's instructions. I hate the idea but quite honestly, we're out of options. It must be left alone to heal and he's not allowing it to, despite everything we've tried.
And this has nothing to do with anything but we bought this gorgeous Grand Fir tree on November 29 from a local tree farm. It was full and beautifully shaped and smelled like tangerines. But it died a week after we brought it home. Dropped needles like it was going out of style. We did nothing different than we ever do, just a freak thing. Thankfully, the tree farm was kind enough to replace it for us free of charge but it was still a bummer.
Anyway. I'm just tired. And finding it difficult to get in to the holiday spirit. I can't believe next week is already Christmas. I don't feel ready. I don't feel festive. I just feel defeated. And I keep trying REALLY hard. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm always the jolliest of them all this time of year. My enthusiasm normally rivals that of a child's. This year...not so much. My mom came out for about 5 days last week and it was so wonderful to spend some of this season with her - we had our fun and the time flew by so fast. But it was clouded by school stuff going on with Jason and, of course, bloody messes caused by the dog's inability to leave his little nubbie alone. I'm just so anxious about it all. Just anxious in general I guess. Normally, no matter what is going on, the holidays never let me down. I seem to always find my holiday cheer just in time. But I have to admit...I'm afraid Christmas might fail me this year. It's not over yet, though. We still have a week to find my little Christmas miracle: my holly jolly holiday cheer.
Our dog, Kobe, was diagnosed with cancer in November. Thankfully, it was confined to a mass on his tail so it didn't spread and we didn't have to make any tough decisions but it did mean he had to have his tail amputated on December 1. His beautiful, sweeping tail. So now, he has a little nub about 5 inches or so long and he looks like a long-legged over-sized 75 lb Corgie. But he's here with us and he's going to be okay and that's the main thing. That all being said, he hasn't had an easy time with the amputation, which has meant that we haven't had an easy time, either. He won't leave his nub alone long enough for it to heal and he's constantly ripping open his wound, even while wearing the largest cone we could fine (seriously, it's made to fit a St. Bernard) and even with his nub wrapped. Last night was particularly rough. Jason is gone through tomorrow so it's just been me and the pets and Kobe has been on high alert: barking throughout the night, which is very unlike him, and yes, you guessed it, ripping open his scab. Bloody mess at 4am. Last Tuesday, it took me an hour to get all of the blood up from the carpet so thankfully, last night's little fiasco wasn't nearly as traumatic but at 4am, it felt pretty brutal. And then after cleaning up and rewrapping his tail (and I'd already been jarred awake a few times by his barking over a several hour span), I couldn't get back to sleep. Which in turn led to a meltdown. Because it all seemed like too much. Most things do at 4am. We spent money we didn't have on his biopsy and amputation surgeries, and this whole ordeal has been going on since the end of October. Nearly two months. Again, we're so very thankful he's going to be okay but it's been a struggle. Jason has had an extremely taxing semester at school while also applying for professor positions so the timing was just bad. (Ha! Like there's ever a good time.) Next step: a soft mesh muzzle. Per the vet's instructions. I hate the idea but quite honestly, we're out of options. It must be left alone to heal and he's not allowing it to, despite everything we've tried.
And this has nothing to do with anything but we bought this gorgeous Grand Fir tree on November 29 from a local tree farm. It was full and beautifully shaped and smelled like tangerines. But it died a week after we brought it home. Dropped needles like it was going out of style. We did nothing different than we ever do, just a freak thing. Thankfully, the tree farm was kind enough to replace it for us free of charge but it was still a bummer.
Anyway. I'm just tired. And finding it difficult to get in to the holiday spirit. I can't believe next week is already Christmas. I don't feel ready. I don't feel festive. I just feel defeated. And I keep trying REALLY hard. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm always the jolliest of them all this time of year. My enthusiasm normally rivals that of a child's. This year...not so much. My mom came out for about 5 days last week and it was so wonderful to spend some of this season with her - we had our fun and the time flew by so fast. But it was clouded by school stuff going on with Jason and, of course, bloody messes caused by the dog's inability to leave his little nubbie alone. I'm just so anxious about it all. Just anxious in general I guess. Normally, no matter what is going on, the holidays never let me down. I seem to always find my holiday cheer just in time. But I have to admit...I'm afraid Christmas might fail me this year. It's not over yet, though. We still have a week to find my little Christmas miracle: my holly jolly holiday cheer.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Commence Holiday Season
As much as I love the holidays (and I do, kind of an immense amount bordering on intense) this is indeed a very hard time of year to be childless. It starts with Halloween - all of the incredibly cute children dressed up for the festivities, and none of them are ours. We 'like' everyone else's cute-kid-in-a-costume photos on Facebook but we have none to add to the mix. Instead, all I had to contribute was a photo of me dressed up for Halloween and for the first time I felt kind of weird about sharing it. Because the day before I had posted a picture of me from Halloween past, circa 1986, and I had also posted a picture of me on Instagram, age 1.5, sitting on a pumpkin in a pumpkin patch. Everyone was posting pictures of their kids and I was posting pictures of myself. It felt strange and it made me feel even more self conscious of the fact that we don't have a child. I felt like I didn't belong, like I had a huge "Childless" sticker on my forehead. I realize that much of this feeling was most likely generated internally and not really obvious or apparent from an outside perspective but still. It was hard to shake the feeling of "otherness".
And it's just the beginning. People are taking family photos in preparation for their holiday cards. Soon, people will begin their various holiday rituals with their families, many of which are kid-centric. And thanks to social media, it's a daily onslaught of reminders that we don't belong to that particular "club" yet and we don't really know when our membership will arrive.
We should have a toddler. Our baby would be 2.5 - this holiday season might have very well been the one he or she would have begun to anticipate Christmas with some level of understanding and excitement. But most people don't know we should have a toddler. Most people don't know how hard it is for us to go through this time of year and still generate merriment and joy for ourselves. Most people don't understand how hard it is for us to see, day after day, countless memories being made with children who are not ours.
It's hard year-round. But it's a whole other level of difficulty during the holidays. And while we're so thankful that the family and friends who do know about our loss and our challenging journey to parenthood try their best to empathize with us and keep our baby in their hearts this time of year, no one can truly know what it's like unless you've experienced it yourself.
Each year, I am determined not to let my emotions dampen my holiday spirit. Each year, I am resolved to enjoy the holidays to the full extent possible - we have initiated new traditions and continue the traditions that we've always enjoyed, and anxiously await the time when we can include our own children. And I believe that time is coming. Next year, following Jason's graduation and our move to wherever it is that he gets a job, we will be back on the road to baby. And this time, we're not stopping until we turn our family of two into a family of three (or more, who knows?). Time is no longer a luxury, nor is it on our side. So, whether through IVF, surrogacy, or adoption, we won't stop trying until we successfully begin our family. And I can't tell you how exciting that prospect is - but I would be remiss if I didn't also admit how terrified we are. Because this journey can be excruciatingly hard and the reality is that we could face some real challenges ahead - perhaps even more so than we already have. But it's time. We're ready. We have no idea how long it will take or where the road will lead but we do know this: we'll get there together.
And it's just the beginning. People are taking family photos in preparation for their holiday cards. Soon, people will begin their various holiday rituals with their families, many of which are kid-centric. And thanks to social media, it's a daily onslaught of reminders that we don't belong to that particular "club" yet and we don't really know when our membership will arrive.
We should have a toddler. Our baby would be 2.5 - this holiday season might have very well been the one he or she would have begun to anticipate Christmas with some level of understanding and excitement. But most people don't know we should have a toddler. Most people don't know how hard it is for us to go through this time of year and still generate merriment and joy for ourselves. Most people don't understand how hard it is for us to see, day after day, countless memories being made with children who are not ours.
It's hard year-round. But it's a whole other level of difficulty during the holidays. And while we're so thankful that the family and friends who do know about our loss and our challenging journey to parenthood try their best to empathize with us and keep our baby in their hearts this time of year, no one can truly know what it's like unless you've experienced it yourself.
Each year, I am determined not to let my emotions dampen my holiday spirit. Each year, I am resolved to enjoy the holidays to the full extent possible - we have initiated new traditions and continue the traditions that we've always enjoyed, and anxiously await the time when we can include our own children. And I believe that time is coming. Next year, following Jason's graduation and our move to wherever it is that he gets a job, we will be back on the road to baby. And this time, we're not stopping until we turn our family of two into a family of three (or more, who knows?). Time is no longer a luxury, nor is it on our side. So, whether through IVF, surrogacy, or adoption, we won't stop trying until we successfully begin our family. And I can't tell you how exciting that prospect is - but I would be remiss if I didn't also admit how terrified we are. Because this journey can be excruciatingly hard and the reality is that we could face some real challenges ahead - perhaps even more so than we already have. But it's time. We're ready. We have no idea how long it will take or where the road will lead but we do know this: we'll get there together.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Babies, Babies, Everywhere
It's still there. My uncomfortable week, that is. Which I suppose I can now call a month. Just in a funk, I guess. That hollowed out pit feeling in my stomach is back, as is the nagging feeling of desperation and fear. I've found myself on the verge of tears several times lately. I hate this, the feeling of vulnerability crossed with envy. Such an ugly hybrid.
I'm rewatching the entire Sex and the City series so in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw....
"I couldn't help but wonder: When will it be our turn?"
I'm rewatching the entire Sex and the City series so in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw....
"I couldn't help but wonder: When will it be our turn?"
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
It's Been a Week
{Disclaimer: If we're friends in real life and you have children and/or you're pregnant, please know this isn't about any of you. Truly. This isn't an attack and I'm not trying to make you feel badly. That is NEVER my intention. But I do need a space to vent. And this is my space. If you've been invited to read this blog, it's because I love you. But being infertile is hard. Even when you're not actively trying. And I know that parenting is hard, in different and maybe even in similar ways, but this is my story, a big part of my story, and because of privacy and social constructs and the ugly taboo-ness that infertility carries around with it like an anvel, I don't get to talk about it on Facebook and I've come to limit what I even say out loud to family and friends when we're in person because...well, there's only so much a person can say. So this is where I get to just say it. Without apology.}
For the most part, I'm better. I can get through a conversation (or multiple!) about babies and parenting without wanting to run away screaming or fighting back tears. I can hold babies, snuggle babies, feed babies, and coo over their cuteness without feeling like I'm going to lose it. But every once in awhile, I'm bombarded.
This week has been a bombardment week.
We've all heard about the Royal's impending arrival. Surprisingly, I wasn't shocked. The announcement didn't make me jealous or angry or envious of their situation. After all, they already live under a microscope and this development will only intensify it even more. What I dread is all the additional media coverage of Baby Royal. What is Kate shopping for today? What will they name it? Will it be a brother or a sister for the little Prince? What maternity outfit is Kate sporting today? And on and on and on.
Between the Royals and other pregnant celebs, checking on my people (you know, at People.com) will be quite the daunting task.
And then there's Facebook. Dear, sweet Facebook, who never fails to succeed when it comes to sabotaging my good mood when I least expect it, with it's endless pregnancy and birth announcements. Today's highlight: A simple baby on board picture. That wasn't so bad. It was a comment below it that irked me. "Welcome to the club!" I. Loathe. That. Statement. Once again, I'm the outsider looking in, eager face pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass. It's such an exclusive club, too. Only one way to get in that one -- very specific, non-negotiable qualifications and I just don't have what it takes. Yet. I must make myself add the "yet."
And we mustn't forget the folks who list their every pregnancy gripe. Including but certainly not limited to not being able to enjoy the various pumpkin and autumn themed beers and lagers that appear with the season. Honestly, I would give up alcohol in every form for the rest of my life if it meant I could carry a healthy child to term. I do try to look at it from their perspective -- they don't know my sorrow, and they don't need to censor their lives just because of someone else's predicament -- but it's just hard sometimes.
Maybe it's because we're approaching the hardest time of the year to be childless. Maybe it's because I'm just so tired of not being a parent, despite years of trying and thousands upon thousands of dollars. Maybe it's because I'm just flat-out tired, in general. But it's already been a week. And it's only Tuesday.
For the most part, I'm better. I can get through a conversation (or multiple!) about babies and parenting without wanting to run away screaming or fighting back tears. I can hold babies, snuggle babies, feed babies, and coo over their cuteness without feeling like I'm going to lose it. But every once in awhile, I'm bombarded.
This week has been a bombardment week.
We've all heard about the Royal's impending arrival. Surprisingly, I wasn't shocked. The announcement didn't make me jealous or angry or envious of their situation. After all, they already live under a microscope and this development will only intensify it even more. What I dread is all the additional media coverage of Baby Royal. What is Kate shopping for today? What will they name it? Will it be a brother or a sister for the little Prince? What maternity outfit is Kate sporting today? And on and on and on.
Between the Royals and other pregnant celebs, checking on my people (you know, at People.com) will be quite the daunting task.
And then there's Facebook. Dear, sweet Facebook, who never fails to succeed when it comes to sabotaging my good mood when I least expect it, with it's endless pregnancy and birth announcements. Today's highlight: A simple baby on board picture. That wasn't so bad. It was a comment below it that irked me. "Welcome to the club!" I. Loathe. That. Statement. Once again, I'm the outsider looking in, eager face pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass. It's such an exclusive club, too. Only one way to get in that one -- very specific, non-negotiable qualifications and I just don't have what it takes. Yet. I must make myself add the "yet."
And we mustn't forget the folks who list their every pregnancy gripe. Including but certainly not limited to not being able to enjoy the various pumpkin and autumn themed beers and lagers that appear with the season. Honestly, I would give up alcohol in every form for the rest of my life if it meant I could carry a healthy child to term. I do try to look at it from their perspective -- they don't know my sorrow, and they don't need to censor their lives just because of someone else's predicament -- but it's just hard sometimes.
Maybe it's because we're approaching the hardest time of the year to be childless. Maybe it's because I'm just so tired of not being a parent, despite years of trying and thousands upon thousands of dollars. Maybe it's because I'm just flat-out tired, in general. But it's already been a week. And it's only Tuesday.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Another Duggar Baby
I don't read "trash" magazines (well, maybe I do if I'm getting my hair done and there is one lying about) and I don't watch reality TV shows (although I did used to watch The Kardashians a few years ago when we had cable...guilty pleasure!). But I do check People.com every day. I call it, "checking on my People." It's not hurting anyone and I don't comment on the articles because the comment sections are such a cesspool of criticism and negativity, it's disgusting. So I checked in on my People yesterday and their top story? Jill Dillard (Duggar) is already pregnant. They got married in mid-June of this year and they're expecting baby #1 in March 2015.
First of all, this should come as no surprise to anyone. The Duggar family is part of the Quiverfull movement (for more information, read the Wikipedia description here) which, among many other things, means they do not believe in the use of birth control. When people get married (and most oftentimes, before), they have sex. It's part of the arrangement. For most, anyway. And if you're not using birth control, guess what? Pregnancy can {and oftentimes does} occur. In addition, their immediate family has not shown (thus far) any signs of genetically linked infertility issues, so while it is statistically likely that one of the Duggar children may have issues conceiving, it has apparently not been an issue for the two married offspring of Michelle and Jim Bob. {Yes, I used to watch the TLC specials on TV every once in awhile years ago so I do in fact know some of their names.} Anyway, the fact that Jill got pregnant so soon after marriage does not surprise me in the slightest, and I subscribe to the belief that it is not my place, nor my business, to judge how other people choose to live their lives. Readers were commenting on their choice to not live together longer first, commenting about how horrible it will be to not have the opportunity to spend more time together as a couple before introducing children in to the mix, making remarks about how they are doing themselves a disservice by not traveling more, working longer, acquiring more life experience first, etc. Again, not my life, not my choice. Also, how can we possibly make commentary on other people's lives? We're not them, we don't get to make decisions for others, and hey, WE DON'T EVEN KNOW THEM. Whether or not you would choose to do as they did, or would choose to believe what they believe, the bottom line is this: they wanted a baby, they seem very excited, they seem exceptionally and uniquely prepared to handle life with a newborn seeing as though Jill has many siblings and helped raise many of the younger ones herself in many ways. They say they're financially secure, and they're married, so it's not like they had a child "out of wedlock" which really, not what I would have liked to have happened to me, but again, not my life, not my choice, and not the case here. {Because you know people get all crazy about that too, so really, you can't win.}Their life, their marriage, their family.
The only thing that caught me off guard was how easy it was for them to conceive. The idea that they were able to conceive a child within a matter of days blows me away. Because, obviously, it is so the opposite of what our experience has been. Am I angry? No, I don't even know these people and in my opinion, a child is a blessing. Do I envy the Duggar's their ability to have children with apparent ease? Sometimes. But I also know that the grass isn't always greener and everyone has their issues. But do I wish it had been as easy for us once we decided to build our family? Yes and no.
Surprised? Yea, I have to admit that I am a bit, too.
Here's why I say yes but also why I say no:
Yes, because it's been a hellish nightmare and the level of heartache we've experienced is truly beyond words. Yes, because if it had been so easy, I would likely have more than one child referring to me as "Mom", one of the most beautiful and referred words in our language. Yes, because I sometimes fear that it will never, ever happen for us, that our dreams of a biological child are beyond reach, and that our hopes for a family will be dashed by the expense of adoption or surrogacy, that my medical issues will deter any family or agency from seeing me as a fit and capable parent. Yes, because my soul longs to be a mom, longs and yearns to be a parent, a visceral, deep-seeded calling that I cannot name or control. Yes, because I cannot wait to see my beloved become a father, see him interact with and love our children as I know he will, and parent alongside him as the unstoppable team we've become in our 15 years together. But also, no. Because as hard as the struggle has been, as much as I wish it had never been a part of our story, for better or for worse it is a part of US. It has helped shape me into the person I am, and has had a hand in shaping who we are as a couple. We're strong. We're solid. Our shared experiences, good and bad, have made us that way. So no. I wouldn't turn it all in for a "better" outcome. Because truthfully, a small part of me is thankful. I'm a better version of myself because of what I've/we've encountered and because of what I've/we've overcome. We don't always get to choose what happens to us. All we have control over is how we choose to react to what happens to us.
Believe me, this is a relatively new revelation. I didn't always feel this way. It has taken years and much heartache to reach this point. But I'm glad I have. So very, very glad.
I hope Jill Dillard's pregnancy is a healthy one. I hope she and her husband enjoy a long and happy marriage, and that if they wish, they are blessed with many children. And I fervently hope that one day, we'll be able to share the joyous news with our family and friends that at long last, our family of two will soon be growing by two precious baby feet. In the meantime, though, it won't do me any good to stew and wax poetic about the ease with which other people seem to get pregnant. Comparison is the thief of joy and all that, right? I've come to really believe that and it's not worth it. I choose joy.
First of all, this should come as no surprise to anyone. The Duggar family is part of the Quiverfull movement (for more information, read the Wikipedia description here) which, among many other things, means they do not believe in the use of birth control. When people get married (and most oftentimes, before), they have sex. It's part of the arrangement. For most, anyway. And if you're not using birth control, guess what? Pregnancy can {and oftentimes does} occur. In addition, their immediate family has not shown (thus far) any signs of genetically linked infertility issues, so while it is statistically likely that one of the Duggar children may have issues conceiving, it has apparently not been an issue for the two married offspring of Michelle and Jim Bob. {Yes, I used to watch the TLC specials on TV every once in awhile years ago so I do in fact know some of their names.} Anyway, the fact that Jill got pregnant so soon after marriage does not surprise me in the slightest, and I subscribe to the belief that it is not my place, nor my business, to judge how other people choose to live their lives. Readers were commenting on their choice to not live together longer first, commenting about how horrible it will be to not have the opportunity to spend more time together as a couple before introducing children in to the mix, making remarks about how they are doing themselves a disservice by not traveling more, working longer, acquiring more life experience first, etc. Again, not my life, not my choice. Also, how can we possibly make commentary on other people's lives? We're not them, we don't get to make decisions for others, and hey, WE DON'T EVEN KNOW THEM. Whether or not you would choose to do as they did, or would choose to believe what they believe, the bottom line is this: they wanted a baby, they seem very excited, they seem exceptionally and uniquely prepared to handle life with a newborn seeing as though Jill has many siblings and helped raise many of the younger ones herself in many ways. They say they're financially secure, and they're married, so it's not like they had a child "out of wedlock" which really, not what I would have liked to have happened to me, but again, not my life, not my choice, and not the case here. {Because you know people get all crazy about that too, so really, you can't win.}Their life, their marriage, their family.
The only thing that caught me off guard was how easy it was for them to conceive. The idea that they were able to conceive a child within a matter of days blows me away. Because, obviously, it is so the opposite of what our experience has been. Am I angry? No, I don't even know these people and in my opinion, a child is a blessing. Do I envy the Duggar's their ability to have children with apparent ease? Sometimes. But I also know that the grass isn't always greener and everyone has their issues. But do I wish it had been as easy for us once we decided to build our family? Yes and no.
Surprised? Yea, I have to admit that I am a bit, too.
Here's why I say yes but also why I say no:
Yes, because it's been a hellish nightmare and the level of heartache we've experienced is truly beyond words. Yes, because if it had been so easy, I would likely have more than one child referring to me as "Mom", one of the most beautiful and referred words in our language. Yes, because I sometimes fear that it will never, ever happen for us, that our dreams of a biological child are beyond reach, and that our hopes for a family will be dashed by the expense of adoption or surrogacy, that my medical issues will deter any family or agency from seeing me as a fit and capable parent. Yes, because my soul longs to be a mom, longs and yearns to be a parent, a visceral, deep-seeded calling that I cannot name or control. Yes, because I cannot wait to see my beloved become a father, see him interact with and love our children as I know he will, and parent alongside him as the unstoppable team we've become in our 15 years together. But also, no. Because as hard as the struggle has been, as much as I wish it had never been a part of our story, for better or for worse it is a part of US. It has helped shape me into the person I am, and has had a hand in shaping who we are as a couple. We're strong. We're solid. Our shared experiences, good and bad, have made us that way. So no. I wouldn't turn it all in for a "better" outcome. Because truthfully, a small part of me is thankful. I'm a better version of myself because of what I've/we've encountered and because of what I've/we've overcome. We don't always get to choose what happens to us. All we have control over is how we choose to react to what happens to us.
Believe me, this is a relatively new revelation. I didn't always feel this way. It has taken years and much heartache to reach this point. But I'm glad I have. So very, very glad.
I hope Jill Dillard's pregnancy is a healthy one. I hope she and her husband enjoy a long and happy marriage, and that if they wish, they are blessed with many children. And I fervently hope that one day, we'll be able to share the joyous news with our family and friends that at long last, our family of two will soon be growing by two precious baby feet. In the meantime, though, it won't do me any good to stew and wax poetic about the ease with which other people seem to get pregnant. Comparison is the thief of joy and all that, right? I've come to really believe that and it's not worth it. I choose joy.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Twice an Auntie, Not Yet a Mom
Our second niece came into the world on Monday and she is gorgeous, lovely, delightful, perfect. And once again, she is not ours.
Her arrival hit hard, as it did the first time we became auntie and uncle, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't nearly as "bad," and for that I am so very thankful. The circumstances were very different those few years ago. Our first niece was born just before we had our miscarriage. We were all set to fly out to meet her, and had planned to surprise my husband's family with our pregnancy news by sneakily dressing our niece in a "I'm getting a cousin" onesie. But, as fate would have it, we had to cancel the trip last minute because I was miscarrying. It was a time I truly wish I could forget. So much pain, anger and despair. But this time, mercifully, I am in a much better mental place and while my heart still ached to see those first "welcome to the world, baby girl" photos we received of our newest baby niece, I felt a swelling of true joy.
*****************
There is another reason why having two nieces born in half the time we've set out to become parents ourselves hits me so hard. Have I ever told you the story of when I revealed my PCOS diagnosis to my mother-in-law? I won't go into my feelings on the subject too much, in the event she were to ever randomly stumble upon this little space of mine, but what follows is the shortened version.
It was New Year's Eve day 2008. I had just received my PCOS diagnosis four months earlier and was taking the dreaded Metformin, which made me feel like I was putting poison in to my body each and every day. We were with the hubs' family and a few of his brother's friends + wives, all together in a rented cabin in Tahoe. We had debated telling his parents our "news" but after much thought and consideration, we felt like we were left with very little choice, because the hints to start a family were becoming more challenging to dodge. Because while we had only been married just over two years, we had been together nearly nine. I was so nervous that morning. I remember standing at the kitchen counter, helping rinse some fruit, and it was just me and her. So it came tumbling out. There was a giant {forgive the expression} pregnant pause, and I don't really remember what she said but it upset me so much that I found a reason to excuse myself and retreated to our room. Some time passed and later that morning, we found ourselves alone with his parents. What I had shared earlier resurfaced and what was said next is what I will never, ever forget because it has haunted me for years. "It's okay, we still have another son." As if our main concern was the fact that we may not be able to give them grandchildren. As if our sorrow was linked only to their disappointment which could be relieved by the knowledge that they could still have grandchildren because there was another son. Another son to give them heirs. I don't have to tell you how this hurt. Because I know so many of you can imagine it all on your own.
So now there are indeed two grandchildren by the other son. Just as she predicted, it's worked out fine in the end. For them.
********************
Please don't misunderstand. My in-law's are wonderful people. They, like so many people out there, just don't know what to say or how to say it to people like us. And of course, there is the cultural divide. They weren't raised in a culture that openly shared intimate details such as what we had chosen to share with them. They didn't know how to respond appropriately and mistakenly misconstrued our sadness as fear of disappointing them. Because that is how they would have felt. Over the years, it's gotten better. They still don't understand how our not having children has affected us, how it continues to affect us. They have made attempts at saying the right things, such as "it's okay if you decide to adopt," or "we saw a physic and she told us that you'd conceive at the end of 2015." My mother-in-law even bought me a book about infertility for Christmas one year. The important thing is that they're trying. But, it is unfortunate that those seven simple words spoken to me 5.5 years ago are still etched into memory. And oh how I wish I could forget.
Her arrival hit hard, as it did the first time we became auntie and uncle, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't nearly as "bad," and for that I am so very thankful. The circumstances were very different those few years ago. Our first niece was born just before we had our miscarriage. We were all set to fly out to meet her, and had planned to surprise my husband's family with our pregnancy news by sneakily dressing our niece in a "I'm getting a cousin" onesie. But, as fate would have it, we had to cancel the trip last minute because I was miscarrying. It was a time I truly wish I could forget. So much pain, anger and despair. But this time, mercifully, I am in a much better mental place and while my heart still ached to see those first "welcome to the world, baby girl" photos we received of our newest baby niece, I felt a swelling of true joy.
*****************
There is another reason why having two nieces born in half the time we've set out to become parents ourselves hits me so hard. Have I ever told you the story of when I revealed my PCOS diagnosis to my mother-in-law? I won't go into my feelings on the subject too much, in the event she were to ever randomly stumble upon this little space of mine, but what follows is the shortened version.
It was New Year's Eve day 2008. I had just received my PCOS diagnosis four months earlier and was taking the dreaded Metformin, which made me feel like I was putting poison in to my body each and every day. We were with the hubs' family and a few of his brother's friends + wives, all together in a rented cabin in Tahoe. We had debated telling his parents our "news" but after much thought and consideration, we felt like we were left with very little choice, because the hints to start a family were becoming more challenging to dodge. Because while we had only been married just over two years, we had been together nearly nine. I was so nervous that morning. I remember standing at the kitchen counter, helping rinse some fruit, and it was just me and her. So it came tumbling out. There was a giant {forgive the expression} pregnant pause, and I don't really remember what she said but it upset me so much that I found a reason to excuse myself and retreated to our room. Some time passed and later that morning, we found ourselves alone with his parents. What I had shared earlier resurfaced and what was said next is what I will never, ever forget because it has haunted me for years. "It's okay, we still have another son." As if our main concern was the fact that we may not be able to give them grandchildren. As if our sorrow was linked only to their disappointment which could be relieved by the knowledge that they could still have grandchildren because there was another son. Another son to give them heirs. I don't have to tell you how this hurt. Because I know so many of you can imagine it all on your own.
So now there are indeed two grandchildren by the other son. Just as she predicted, it's worked out fine in the end. For them.
********************
Please don't misunderstand. My in-law's are wonderful people. They, like so many people out there, just don't know what to say or how to say it to people like us. And of course, there is the cultural divide. They weren't raised in a culture that openly shared intimate details such as what we had chosen to share with them. They didn't know how to respond appropriately and mistakenly misconstrued our sadness as fear of disappointing them. Because that is how they would have felt. Over the years, it's gotten better. They still don't understand how our not having children has affected us, how it continues to affect us. They have made attempts at saying the right things, such as "it's okay if you decide to adopt," or "we saw a physic and she told us that you'd conceive at the end of 2015." My mother-in-law even bought me a book about infertility for Christmas one year. The important thing is that they're trying. But, it is unfortunate that those seven simple words spoken to me 5.5 years ago are still etched into memory. And oh how I wish I could forget.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)