Trying to relax

An infertile friend (who I mentioned in a previous post) recently crossed over into the realm of pregnant friend. After years of heartache and one failed IVF cycle she managed to get pregnant naturally. Her advice to me was this – just relax. Yes, I know… when fertile people utter this phrase I normally have to bite my tongue, but I was able to take it in stride since it came from a fellow IF warrior. She said she concentrated on just having fun, instead of obsessing over whether she was or was not pregnant.

Well, I certainly took her advice on Friday night. I had a fabulous night out with friends and paid for it a million times over on Saturday. It was the hangover from hell and I was rendered utterly useless for a whole day. I silently chastised myself as I lay there in agony. What the hell, Ann? You’re a 29 year old woman, you should know better! I’ve been TTC for so long that my alcohol tolerance is practically nonexistent. My 29 year old self cannot drink nearly as much as my 25 year old self - at least not without severe consequences.

Apparently, I took my friend’s advice far too literally. Ugh, never again. I’ll have to find another way to relax, something much more befitting of my 29 year old TTC status. I think I’ll try a nice walk in the woods later. At least that will only have healthy side effects.  


**UPDATE** 
I joined some friends on a seven mile trek on some nearby trails last night. It was lovely, albeit a little longer than we expected. We returned to the parking lot soon after the sun had dipped behind the trees and the night air had begun to chill. The weather had been so deceptively beautiful during the day that we forgot how chilly the April nights still are in the Midwest. Oh well, we'll be back at it again on Wednesday evening. They're training for a walking marathon and I'm training for my own well being. 

A gift for her

Infertility not only torments the couple immediately affected, it also reaches its ugly arms to those who love them. These loved ones watch the couple suffer and mourn their own loss as their hope for a grandchild, niece, nephew or cousin dwindles.

My mother-in-law underwent a heart procedure yesterday. Everything went well and she is recuperating nicely, but it's moments like this that cause me to reflect on the fragility of life… and the lack of new life in our family. My mother-in-law is a remarkable woman and has been a great comfort to me since my mom's passing. I fervently wish I could give her the gift of a grandchild, especially while she is still relatively young and able to enjoy the experience. My own grandmothers were elderly when I was born, and while I know they loved me very much, they didn’t always have the energy to spend time with me.

I know my mother-in-law will be a wonderful grandma someday and I wish she didn't have to wait so long to become one. It will happen someday - if we never have children I'm sure her other son will eventually procreate - but I wish it had already happened. I hear her wistfully talking about other people's grandchildren, and see her cuddling her grand-dog and grand-kitty and my heart breaks. Pets are a wonderful comfort but all the pets in the world cannot replace the breathtaking smile of a baby. She's done so much for me... I wish I could give her the offspring of her oldest son.

I may not be able to tell her today that she’s about to be a grandma, but I hope I can relay that message someday soon. My own desires keep me going, but it’s the hopes of all those that surround me that really drive me. What can I say – I’m a giver by nature. 

The Question

All infertiles are familiar with The Question, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with it. My husband and I went to a concert this weekend. As we joined the line in the lobby a middle aged couple stepped in behind us. Immediately, it was 20 Questions. My husband is tall so we're used to the comments - Did you play basketball in high school? It's not hard to pick you out in a crowd, is it? *Insert annoying chuckle.*

Soon after the "What do you do?" question the wife launched into, "So, do you have kids?" I should be used to this question by now but I'm always caught off guard. Perhaps because it's such a deep-seeded issue for me and my lack of children gnaws away at me every day. I glanced at my husband and we exchanged a 10 second glance of "Are you freakin' kidding me?" before he answered, "No", perhaps a little too brightly. Annoying wife picked up on our hesitation and asked, "Not yet, huh?". Was she digging for our dark secret so she could pick it apart and draw some pleasure from our pain? Or maybe she was trying to be empathetic. Or perhaps she was familiar with infertility herself (although, I highly doubt it, because any self-respecting infertile would not ask that question), and she wanted to offer us some sage advice. I didn't know and I didn't care. My hackles were up and I wanted to get away from this nosy woman.

Then the next logical comment came that totally pierced a whole through my heart. "Your kids will probably be really tall." *Insert hearty guffaw from her husband.* Yeah, I know they'll probably be tall. I also think they'll have dark hair and I wonder if they'll have my darker hazel eyes, or my husband's light-greenish hazel eyes. Or will they have my dad's blue eyes? Maybe they'll inherit my grandma's unruly hair, or maybe they'll have my mother-in-law's straight hair. I wonder if they'll be musical like me or if they'll love the outdoors like their dad. The list of possibilities goes on and on and I didn't need her to remind me of my fantasies, thankyouverymuch.

Fortunately, the line started to move and we were soon admitted into the theater. We quickly darted into the rest of the crowd so we wouldn't be stuck sitting next to them. I breathed a sigh of relief and sympathetically watched as I saw her grilling a new couple who were unlucky enough to choose seats next to them.

Why can't nosy people keep their questions to themselves? I enjoy making small-talk with strangers, but I don't need to grill them about their college careers, occupations and family life to do so. Get a clue, nosy lady!

In the fertile's den

I'm in a book club... a very fertile book club. Almost all of the ladies have children and two of them are currently pregnant. I find it hard to walk past a pregnant lady, let alone sit next to one for a couple hours, their protruding stomach staring me in the face. The mommies in the group always find ways to relate the books we read to their children, their parenting experiences or their pregnancies. I suppose it's only natural that they do this, but it makes it hard for me to chime in. 


Mommy book club member: <Insert child tantrum story here.> 
Me: Oh yeah, the other day my dog got really bored and chewed a hole in my dirty underwear...


I outed myself a couple months ago as an infertile. It led to a really nice discussion and they were all supportive, but it's still hard to go there every month and be surrounded by their fertileness. However, I like to read, these ladies are pretty cool, and I'm kind of a glutton for punishment, so I keep going. 


At last night's meeting one of the ladies privately handed me a paper bag. Inside were two fertility statues. She said they worked for her and her husband four times over (she is currently preggo with #4). Hmmm... well, I am intrigued and ready to give it a shot. I know she's probably just naturally super fertile and these little statues have nothing to do with her good fortune, but the superstitious part of me says we should give it a go.

Our new little visitors are now sitting on our nightstands, ready to watch over us while we do the baby-making deed. We've already got the doctor involved in our sex life, why not add a couple more "experts" to the bedroom?

Feeling as fragile as an egg

What a whirlwind weekend full of music, family and LOTS of food. I'm not a particularly religious person but I love to sing so I get asked to sing at plenty of religious engagements. I sang a duet on Good Friday that I know my mom would have loved (Andrew Lloyd Weber's "Pie Jesu", for those who may be familiar with it). I almost teared up in the middle of my performance because she was in the forefront of my mind. 

She was there for most of the weekend as I prepared to host Easter Brunch for the first time. I remembered so many holidays that she meticulously planned, right down to matching Easter outfits for her seven grandchildren and elaborate Easter baskets for the whole family. I didn't get as elaborate as she used to but I kept certain traditions alive, such as an Easter egg hunt for the kids and serving her special egg bake. It's a bittersweet sensation, having to readjust our family traditions to fit our new motherless family. It's comforting to keep certain traditions alive, but also exciting to discover new possibilities. 


On Saturday my brothers, sister and I did a walk-through of our parents house. We pointed out items that we would like to disperse among the family, items to be taken to our dad's new home and items that we can't wait to get rid of (Anyone want a large collection of National Geographics? Or a 1979 set of encyclopedias?) Once again, I was caught between the comfort of being with my siblings in our childhood home, and the desire to prepare the house for a new family. I've always got one foot stuck in the past and another in the present... and yet another foot in the future (when my children will be born). I don't have enough feet to express all I feel when I think about where my life is currently at. I'm caught between savoring my memories, treading water in the present and dreaming of the future. 


I was such a mess of emotions by the end of the weekend that I almost started crying during my choir rehearsal last night. We were in the middle of singing a particularly beautiful song and I was so moved by the sound we were creating and the underlying sadness I had been suppressing all weekend. I poured so much of myself into that song that I felt ready to break down. I managed to hold it together somehow, and I'm still holding it together. I haven't really had a moment to myself in days and I'm one of those people who would rather keep her emotional outbursts to herself. So tonight I am determined to make time for myself so that I can process everything I've been feeling.  I want to really savor the emotions and let the tears fall freely. This private soul needs a moment to unleash!


I hope you've all given yourselves a chance to unleash lately, because Lord knows we could all use a good cry every now and again.

Childless marriage isn't all bad

Last night my husband and I went out for ice cream at a popular local place. The line was long so we had plenty of time to people-watch while we waited. We observed that the family in front of us had five kids. FIVE?! I hope those fertiles realize how lucky they are. At this point I would do about anything just to have ONE. 

We also noticed the couple who spoke at our pre-marriage class (a requirement of our Catholic marriage) about using the rhythm method to plan their family. Well, apparently they wanted to be blessed with many children (that or they didn't quite understand how to chart her cycles) because they were surrounded by kids. Ah, the irony of it. I obsessively chart my cycles every month in order to get pregnant and we can't seem to make it happen. Yet they, who supposedly did not want that many kids, are given a plethora. If they remembered us from that long-ago marriage class they would probably pity us. Almost seven years of marriage and no herd of kids to accompany us. 

I pity us too, but not too much. I have a pretty good life. We've traveled, bought a house, bought a dog, traveled some more and adopted a stray kitty. We have the freedom to go out for drinks whenever we want, take a random weekend get-away, and spend a whole sleepy Sunday in bed. I've gotten very involved in community theater and I don't think I could commit to so many rehearsals if I knew my hubby was stuck at home with the kids. I've been able to spend years of my adult life concentrating on my marriage (thus making it stronger) and myself (thus keeping me sane and well-balanced). I'd like to think that all of these experiences will make me a better mom. So, to our much anticipated firstborn, please come soon and join the family! We're ready for you!! In the meantime, I'll try to be patient and enjoy the extra time I have with your daddy...and I'll try not to glare (too much) at every large brood I see. 

Sorting through the past

Growing up sucks. My siblings and I have never really understood our dad and it's been hard learning how to relate to him since our mom's death. He doesn't respond well to change and losing his wife nearly broke him. He's doing much better now - he's dating a very nice widow and he's spending almost all of us time at his vacation property. He says he likes the small town atmosphere and he seems really happy. That's all well and good except for the fact that his primary house stands empty and neglected, a quasi-shrine to my mom. My sister and I tried to go through her things a couple years ago, with our dad's blessing. We pulled everything out of her dresser and were in the midst of sorting through the pile when our dad walked in. His face crumpled when he saw the empty drawers and he convinced us to put a few things back in the dresser. We knew that he wasn't ready yet so we stopped pressing the issue. And time has kept ticking by with the house growing more and more neglected. 

My parents built the house about 40 years ago and my dad did a lot of the finishing work himself. He is incredibly attached to the place but I don't think he's comfortable there any longer. I think he keeps imaging the night he found my mom's lifeless body in their bedroom and the subsequent horror of the paramedics trying to revive her. I can't say that I blame him. I think the rest of us feel the same way. The house used to feel like home to me, but now it feels like an empty shell of a house. I realize now that my mom was the one who made it feel like home. The house is just a house and I don't need it any longer. I can visit my memories any time I would like.

My brother knows a family that might be interested in renting the house and I think my dad is ready to allow that. So, it appears that our summer project will be cleaning 40 years worth of memories from that house. I don't think my dad will be much help since he's pretty much checked out of all of his responsibilities in the community that he called home for over 60 years. He used to be very involved in our home town, but now he seems to only care about his new, adopted community. Perhaps it's easier to leave behind the ghost of our mom, but it really sucks for those of us who are left behind to deal with it.