Every so often I reflect on how far I've come. And I really have come a long way since I started this blog almost two years ago. As Mali recently wrote, it gets easier, and this has been the case for me. I've learned many lessons over the past few years, but one of the biggest has been that sometimes we need to protect ourselves, that it's ok to not suck it up, put a smile on our face, and pretend that everything is ok for a couple of hours.
In the past two weeks I've declined two social invitations in the name of self-protection.
The first was an invitation to a dinner party where there would be three other couples in addition to hubs and me. All three couples have kids under three and all of the kids would be there (though with a baby sitter apparently). I know two of the three women and one husband and they are all really nice people that I enjoy spending time with. But three couples embroiled in toddelerhood? No. Just no. Thankfully we've already RSVP'd for a wedding (hub's cousin) on that day so we had an easy (and true!) excuse.
The second was an invitation to a cookout with several work friends and their husbands/families (six couples total). The host is one of my closest work friends. She knows about our infertility issues and exhibits sensitivity and empathy uncommon in a mother of two who admittedly had no issues getting and staying pregnant. We've done things with them (and their kids, both teenagers) and really enjoy spending time with their family. The problem is with the others, also colleagues. I like them all in the work setting, but they all have kids under five. I imagined it to be much like bamberlamb described, because when at social gatherings with multiple parents of young children, it almost always is exactly as she described. So I declined, saying that we already had plans and suggested a cookout sometime later this summer. I left out the part where our plans included takeout and Netflix. I think she understood though.
After I declined both of these invitations I realized something. I didn't feel bad, not even a little bit. Usually when I say no to something I feel a twinge of guilt. But not this time. I did the right thing.
I call that progress.
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Odds and ends
I'm finally out from under a work-related deadline and can finally breathe again. I have a bunch of posts bouncing around in my head right now, but I'll save those for another day. Instead I will write a hodgepodge post about a few little tonight.
We're loving our new house. It feels so happy and welcoming here. There are a few things we're still working on. For example we took all of the (old, solid wood) interior doors down so we could paint them as well as the molding and door frames around them. We'd planned to have them painted and rehung before we moved in, but there were some red paint related delays (trust me....if you ever want to paint a room red, hire a professional painter) and we didn't get them done. So they are currently stashed in our basement until we get them painted. The main problem is that they are too heavy for me to carry up the stairs by myself, whenever hubs has been home to help me carry them outside, it's been raining, and I don't want to paint indoors for obvious reasons. But I'm going to get them done soon, darn it! The next projects are to gut and redo the upstairs bathroom and put up a fence (for the dog). The bathroom we will do ourselves but the fence we will probably hire out for.
The Sunday after we moved I went to the rental to give it a good cleaning before the final walkthrough with the landlord. Seeing the house empty was sobering. The walls of that house witnessed so many sad times. It was the house where we were supposed to start our family, which I suppose did actually happen, but it wasn't the family that we envisioned. I sat down on the stairs and had a good cry and said goodbye to that sad house. When the landlord arrived for the walkthrough his wife and (drumroll......) two week old infant daughter came along too. So 30 minutes or so after I had my last cry about never having a baby of my own in that house, in walks a brand new baby. Talk about a kick to the ovaries! I maintained my composure, got through it, and we never have to step foot in that house again. Side note: The landlord and his wife got married in late June of 2015 and had a baby in early May of 2016. So in fertility math, that means she was pregnant about a minute after they got married. Because that's how it works for normal people.
A friend that I made when I was going through infertility recently had a baby. This woman had numerous miscarriages and one stillbirth. Really hard stuff that nobody should have to go through. I am genuinely thrilled for her and her husband that they finally got their much wanted baby. But Facebook. Damn Facebook. More than one congratulatory comment said "you deserved this!" I hate that. Using that logic I didn't deserve to get pregnant. Which is so false, because pregnancy isn't a question of deserving or not deserving (pregnant crack whores prove this), but is an issue of appropriately functioning reproductive organs.
My 35th birthday is rapidly approaching. I'm still in the midst of my midlife crisis. Ugh.
We're loving our new house. It feels so happy and welcoming here. There are a few things we're still working on. For example we took all of the (old, solid wood) interior doors down so we could paint them as well as the molding and door frames around them. We'd planned to have them painted and rehung before we moved in, but there were some red paint related delays (trust me....if you ever want to paint a room red, hire a professional painter) and we didn't get them done. So they are currently stashed in our basement until we get them painted. The main problem is that they are too heavy for me to carry up the stairs by myself, whenever hubs has been home to help me carry them outside, it's been raining, and I don't want to paint indoors for obvious reasons. But I'm going to get them done soon, darn it! The next projects are to gut and redo the upstairs bathroom and put up a fence (for the dog). The bathroom we will do ourselves but the fence we will probably hire out for.
The Sunday after we moved I went to the rental to give it a good cleaning before the final walkthrough with the landlord. Seeing the house empty was sobering. The walls of that house witnessed so many sad times. It was the house where we were supposed to start our family, which I suppose did actually happen, but it wasn't the family that we envisioned. I sat down on the stairs and had a good cry and said goodbye to that sad house. When the landlord arrived for the walkthrough his wife and (drumroll......) two week old infant daughter came along too. So 30 minutes or so after I had my last cry about never having a baby of my own in that house, in walks a brand new baby. Talk about a kick to the ovaries! I maintained my composure, got through it, and we never have to step foot in that house again. Side note: The landlord and his wife got married in late June of 2015 and had a baby in early May of 2016. So in fertility math, that means she was pregnant about a minute after they got married. Because that's how it works for normal people.
A friend that I made when I was going through infertility recently had a baby. This woman had numerous miscarriages and one stillbirth. Really hard stuff that nobody should have to go through. I am genuinely thrilled for her and her husband that they finally got their much wanted baby. But Facebook. Damn Facebook. More than one congratulatory comment said "you deserved this!" I hate that. Using that logic I didn't deserve to get pregnant. Which is so false, because pregnancy isn't a question of deserving or not deserving (pregnant crack whores prove this), but is an issue of appropriately functioning reproductive organs.
My 35th birthday is rapidly approaching. I'm still in the midst of my midlife crisis. Ugh.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
We're moved!
My last few weeks have been filled with sanding and refinishing hardwood floors, painting, packing, moving, and exhaustion. I'm happy to say that we're finally moved, and we love our new house.
This house feels like a fresh start for our family of two. I know that it sounds cheezy, but that's really how it feels.
We intentionally chose to paint the walls bright, warm colors. After years of renting we wanted, we needed, warm and welcoming. We needed bold. After years of playing it safe we needed to challenge the status quo. So we went bright and bold.
This house suits us. It's not perfect, but it's perfect for us.
This house will be a house for healing. This house will be a house for us to grow, not in number, but in love.
This will be the house where we put infertility behind us.
This house feels like home. Our home.
This house feels like a fresh start for our family of two. I know that it sounds cheezy, but that's really how it feels.
We intentionally chose to paint the walls bright, warm colors. After years of renting we wanted, we needed, warm and welcoming. We needed bold. After years of playing it safe we needed to challenge the status quo. So we went bright and bold.
This house suits us. It's not perfect, but it's perfect for us.
This house will be a house for healing. This house will be a house for us to grow, not in number, but in love.
This will be the house where we put infertility behind us.
This house feels like home. Our home.
Friday, May 20, 2016
Love You Forever
When I was young, I remember my mom reading Love You Forever by Robert Munsch. It was one of our favorites that we requested frequently. As a young child I remember my mom getting emotional while reading the book, but I never quite understood. Even today, some *cough* 30 years later, she still concludes each phone conversation by saying "love you forever."
At the beginning of our TTC journey I started stockpiling a bunch of things I wanted/needed for a future baby. I bought this book and tucked it away in the "future baby" box. Rereading the book as an adult made me understand why my mom got emotional reading the book when I was a child.
When I was going through infertility I couldn't bear to think about this book. It portrayed the deep bond between a mother and her child, a dream that I was beginning to think would never come true for me. So it stayed tucked away in the box and there it stays.
Through the last year of so I've purged most of the contents of my "future baby box." No sense in keeping it around since I'll never be able to use it, and I can't bear the thought of giving it to someone I know. The book remains in the box, along with a few other odds and ends that I can't bear to get rid of yet. Now I tear up just thinking about it. I don't think of it often, but tonight I did.
Tonight I was reminded of the book when I read this article. As it turns out, there is more to this book than meets the eye. His reason for writing the book makes me simultaneously love it more and cry that much harder. I reread the book. I cried. Mr. Munsch wrote a beautiful book that speaks of great love, but he knows this great loss too.
I think I'll always love this book. It holds many positive memories. But I think it will always be a painful one too. I think that Mr. Munsch understands.
At the beginning of our TTC journey I started stockpiling a bunch of things I wanted/needed for a future baby. I bought this book and tucked it away in the "future baby" box. Rereading the book as an adult made me understand why my mom got emotional reading the book when I was a child.
When I was going through infertility I couldn't bear to think about this book. It portrayed the deep bond between a mother and her child, a dream that I was beginning to think would never come true for me. So it stayed tucked away in the box and there it stays.
Through the last year of so I've purged most of the contents of my "future baby box." No sense in keeping it around since I'll never be able to use it, and I can't bear the thought of giving it to someone I know. The book remains in the box, along with a few other odds and ends that I can't bear to get rid of yet. Now I tear up just thinking about it. I don't think of it often, but tonight I did.
Tonight I was reminded of the book when I read this article. As it turns out, there is more to this book than meets the eye. His reason for writing the book makes me simultaneously love it more and cry that much harder. I reread the book. I cried. Mr. Munsch wrote a beautiful book that speaks of great love, but he knows this great loss too.
I think I'll always love this book. It holds many positive memories. But I think it will always be a painful one too. I think that Mr. Munsch understands.
Monday, May 16, 2016
Infertility at the urgent care
On Friday I had a reason to visit my local Urgent Care as a result of my first homeowner related injury (well, technically first, second, and third injuries). Don't worry....I'm fine. Nothing a good cleaning, some dermabond to close up the wounds, and bandages didn't fix. Since my injuries were construction related and I was due for it, I ended up getting a Tetanus shot too.
Here in the US there is a strong anti-vaccination movement (which completely blows my mind, but that's a different rant for a different day) and as a result doctors frequently feel the need to "sell" people on vaccinations. I'm not a person that needs to be convinced. If there is a shot that can protect me against Tetanus, Diphtheria, Pertussis, Measles, Mumps, Rubella, Polio, Smallpox, etc., all I need to know is if you need to give it in my arm or my butt. I value not acquiring diseases that are a) preventable and b) people die from.
The doctor was a woman that I guessed to be around my age and who appeared to be pregnant. She started in on her sales pitch for the TDaP vaccination. I told her that she didn't need to sell me on it and that if I was due for it that I wanted it. She continued with the sales pitch anyway. Her two main points were that all women who are pregnant or planning to become pregnant should have the shot and that anyone with regular contact with infants and children too young to get the vaccination should have it. Both of these things are true, but I didn't need the sales pitch. Again, I indicated that I wanted the shot. She continued with "someday you'll want to get your IUD removed and start a family so you really should consider getting it."
At this point I was exhausted, covered in dust and sweat (from sanding floors), bleeding from three different extremities, and irritated because I'd been there almost two hours at that point. Her suggestion that someday I might want to start my own family did not go over well.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I managed to get out "please shut up and give me the damn shot" Tears were streaming down my face at this point and it took everything I had to hold it together. She asked what she said that offended me. I told her that she should never make assumptions about people and that she should never take fertility for granted. I don't know why it got to me, but it did, and three days later I'm still thinking about it, and it still makes me want to cry.
Another reminder that I'm different, and this one was (and still is) a painful one.
Here in the US there is a strong anti-vaccination movement (which completely blows my mind, but that's a different rant for a different day) and as a result doctors frequently feel the need to "sell" people on vaccinations. I'm not a person that needs to be convinced. If there is a shot that can protect me against Tetanus, Diphtheria, Pertussis, Measles, Mumps, Rubella, Polio, Smallpox, etc., all I need to know is if you need to give it in my arm or my butt. I value not acquiring diseases that are a) preventable and b) people die from.
The doctor was a woman that I guessed to be around my age and who appeared to be pregnant. She started in on her sales pitch for the TDaP vaccination. I told her that she didn't need to sell me on it and that if I was due for it that I wanted it. She continued with the sales pitch anyway. Her two main points were that all women who are pregnant or planning to become pregnant should have the shot and that anyone with regular contact with infants and children too young to get the vaccination should have it. Both of these things are true, but I didn't need the sales pitch. Again, I indicated that I wanted the shot. She continued with "someday you'll want to get your IUD removed and start a family so you really should consider getting it."
At this point I was exhausted, covered in dust and sweat (from sanding floors), bleeding from three different extremities, and irritated because I'd been there almost two hours at that point. Her suggestion that someday I might want to start my own family did not go over well.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I managed to get out "please shut up and give me the damn shot" Tears were streaming down my face at this point and it took everything I had to hold it together. She asked what she said that offended me. I told her that she should never make assumptions about people and that she should never take fertility for granted. I don't know why it got to me, but it did, and three days later I'm still thinking about it, and it still makes me want to cry.
Another reminder that I'm different, and this one was (and still is) a painful one.
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Homeowners!
Now the hard work begins. We've spent the past few days pulling up carpet and sanding the original hardwood floors. Thankfully they are beautiful and not too damaged. Once the floors are done, we're going to paint the whole house. We'll move in close to the end of the month. We can't wait to see the finished product!
Thursday, May 5, 2016
Starting conversations
I've always been one of those people who has treated infertility as a private matter in my day to day life. I speak openly about it online, but that's mainly because I can do it under a pseudonym and among a community of women who understand and who support me unconditionally. Real life, well, that's different. I've never felt comfortable talking about it publicly. Infertility really made me lose a lot of faith in people and frankly I didn't feel strong enough to deal with the stupid.
With three sisters having babies in the span of one year I've been getting a lot of questions about when we're going to have a baby and/or "you're next" comments. We're also buying a house and our fifth wedding anniversary is later this month. It's not unreasonable to expect that the family planning line of questioning would only escalate. So I decided to do something about it. Fight fire with fire, if you will. I'm in a good place for the most part and am feeling pretty strong most of the time. It was the right time.
Last week was National Infertility Awareness Week, and while I have never been affiliated with Resolve in any way (and actually have quite a few ethical qualms about their practices), I do like the idea of raising awareness about infertility. I also really embraced Justine's #MoreThan1in8 campaign because I felt like that simple hashtag conveyed exactly what I wanted to.
So I outed myself. Publicly. On Facebook. And by default I outed Hubs too, with his full support.
I shared what I felt comfortable sharing, how I wanted to share it, and on my terms.
I had low expectations. Like really low. I posted what I did fully prepared for a fight and unfriending spree. I was fully prepared for misunderstanding, false assumptions, the "never give up" message, and "have you tried _________." I couldn't even look at Facebook for hours after I posted about it. I was sick to my stomach. I wasn't sure that I wanted to see. So I went to work and tried not to think about it.
But while I was avoiding Facebook the texts, private messages, and emails started to roll in. I logged on. More of the same. I was shocked. Overwhelmed. People responded in a ways that I never could have predicted. With understanding. With love. With solidarity. With empathy. With compassion. With stories of their own infertility journey. I was (and still am speechless).
Over the last week and a half I've had honest, open, meaningful conversations about infertility with people outside of the infertility community. I honestly didn't anticipate this. A bit of my faith in humanity has been restored.
But probably the best and most unanticipated consequence outing myself doesn't even involve me, it involves Hubs. The other night his phone rang. It was one of his oldest friends. He went upstairs to talk. When he came downstairs almost an hour later he said that it was a relief to finally talk to someone who understood. It turned out that his friend and his friend's wife went through almost the same exact thing as we did (though their journey is not finished because they decided to pursue adoption). Neither one of them knew the other was going through it too. So they talked. They shared. They supported one another. He's been going through this without a support system outside of me, and I think that he's felt that it's his responsibility to be strong for me. Now he has an ally. Somebody that he doesn't have to be strong with.
Never in a million years did I imagine that so many conversations would come of a silly little post. I am still overwhelmed by and grateful for how the post was received. I guess the moral of the story is that sometimes people can surprise you in the best possible ways. It feels good to be out.
With three sisters having babies in the span of one year I've been getting a lot of questions about when we're going to have a baby and/or "you're next" comments. We're also buying a house and our fifth wedding anniversary is later this month. It's not unreasonable to expect that the family planning line of questioning would only escalate. So I decided to do something about it. Fight fire with fire, if you will. I'm in a good place for the most part and am feeling pretty strong most of the time. It was the right time.
Last week was National Infertility Awareness Week, and while I have never been affiliated with Resolve in any way (and actually have quite a few ethical qualms about their practices), I do like the idea of raising awareness about infertility. I also really embraced Justine's #MoreThan1in8 campaign because I felt like that simple hashtag conveyed exactly what I wanted to.
So I outed myself. Publicly. On Facebook. And by default I outed Hubs too, with his full support.
I shared what I felt comfortable sharing, how I wanted to share it, and on my terms.
I had low expectations. Like really low. I posted what I did fully prepared for a fight and unfriending spree. I was fully prepared for misunderstanding, false assumptions, the "never give up" message, and "have you tried _________." I couldn't even look at Facebook for hours after I posted about it. I was sick to my stomach. I wasn't sure that I wanted to see. So I went to work and tried not to think about it.
But while I was avoiding Facebook the texts, private messages, and emails started to roll in. I logged on. More of the same. I was shocked. Overwhelmed. People responded in a ways that I never could have predicted. With understanding. With love. With solidarity. With empathy. With compassion. With stories of their own infertility journey. I was (and still am speechless).
Over the last week and a half I've had honest, open, meaningful conversations about infertility with people outside of the infertility community. I honestly didn't anticipate this. A bit of my faith in humanity has been restored.
But probably the best and most unanticipated consequence outing myself doesn't even involve me, it involves Hubs. The other night his phone rang. It was one of his oldest friends. He went upstairs to talk. When he came downstairs almost an hour later he said that it was a relief to finally talk to someone who understood. It turned out that his friend and his friend's wife went through almost the same exact thing as we did (though their journey is not finished because they decided to pursue adoption). Neither one of them knew the other was going through it too. So they talked. They shared. They supported one another. He's been going through this without a support system outside of me, and I think that he's felt that it's his responsibility to be strong for me. Now he has an ally. Somebody that he doesn't have to be strong with.
Never in a million years did I imagine that so many conversations would come of a silly little post. I am still overwhelmed by and grateful for how the post was received. I guess the moral of the story is that sometimes people can surprise you in the best possible ways. It feels good to be out.
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