My kid is 13 now. E is 8. We've long since passed the point of babyhood. We've also somehow passed the point of intentional decision making as to whether or not we would try to adopt for a 3rd time. There's never been a conversation that resulted in us saying, "ok, no more kids". It was more of occasional, random, comments about missing babies, or how challenging it would be to be outnumbered by children. Comments that never really turned into conversations, deciding anything one way or the other.
But, now, it doesn't seem possible that we could go back to that place. The kid will be in 8th grade this year. E in 3rd. I cannot imagine having a baby and a teenager in high school at the same time. And, truthfully, I cannot imagine the emotional (and physical!) labor involved in parenting another child, when I already feel like I'm doing the vast majority of the parenting of these two on my own.
Last week, a student I previously worked with posted on fb that she and her fiancee were about to be approved to be foster parents. She was asking for baby items. We have closets full (literally) of baby items. Clothes (newborn - 3t), cloth diapers, infant bath tub, crib, pack-n-play, toys, bed rails, books, crib sheets, burp cloths, bottles. All. The. Things. Why have I held on so tightly to these things, y'all?
Earlier this week, she came and got them. I kept a few things. The outfits they wore home from the hospital. Some of the books they each loved, or I loved reading to them. A few toys that I can see using for play therapy at some point. The cloth diapers, because those were expensive and I need to just sell those. A few blankets that were made by family members. But the rest - an entire SUV full (seriously, trunk, backseat, and front seat) - she took all of it.
I wish I could say there was relief as she drive away with it all. But that would be a lie. Mostly, I was anxious. I worried that I hadn't looked through the clothes thoroughly enough and might have missed keeping something important. Or that I gave away a book that I didn't have fond memories of, but the boys might. WHAT IF. "What if" what, I have no idea. Just, what if...
I realize this is grief parading as anxiety. Sadness about a more definitive "no" to more babies. I'm a much more confident - likely, competent - parent of babies than teenagers. I am refilled by rocking babies night after night, and exhausted by driving children to endless sporting events. Even though I assuredly get more sleep now than when my children were small, I am more emotionally exhausted on a daily basis. I love them, and I love parenting them. But parenting older children is just more challenging for me. Babies were easy. Yes, even when E was waking every 1-2 hours day and night for almost 2yrs.
This grief is reminiscent of the grief I felt when we decided to stop fertility treatments and pursue adoption. It was - is - the decision that I knew was - is - the right decision. But that doesn't mean there aren't feelings of sadness. It's taken me a long time to get to this point. And I know, in order to get through this grief, I need to sit with it, let it be, honor it, all before I can let it go.
Today's Lesson: Not making a decision, well, it's still making a decision. Sometimes that decision is just a stopgap until you're ready to make a more permanent one. And that's okay. Sit with the decision. Make the decision. Sit with the grief. Let it be. And then move through it. You don't have to do all of it all at once. Grief is a process. Not a finite thing.
Showing posts with label infertility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label infertility. Show all posts
Monday, July 8, 2019
Monday, March 31, 2014
A Yellow Shirt
I sat on the floor of the fairly empty room, staring alternately at the yellow shirt and the magazine cover. I was home alone. Feeling melancholy. Feeling borderline hopeless.
I'd brought the shirt without trying it on, as was typical (I hate dressing rooms). And when I got home and did try it on, it didn't fit right. A bit loose in the bust. Too long, or too wide, or too boxy, or just too something. But I'd known that it would fit right once I finally got pregnant. The extra length, or width, whichever it was, would nicely accommodate the cute little pregnant belly I knew I'd have.
The magazine, well, it was some parenting magazine that I'd gotten a subscription for because it would be useful for work (I was doing home visits with new parents at the time). But right on the cover, there was a profile of a woman and a baby. And, I swear to you, that woman was my doppelganger. And she was wearing a yellow shirt. Looking at that cover was somehow proof that motherhood was coming. Sometime, I didn't know when, but it was coming. That magazine cover was a picture of my future, a promise of what was to come.
The shirt sat in my bedroom for more than a year, never worn, because it didn't fit right, not yet. And then it was too painful to come across (you know, those times when I actually cleaned well in there and it was uncovered). So it got moved to what we'd decided would be the nursery. First, just sitting on a dresser. Easily accessible. Because, surely I'd need it soon. Later, into the closet, out of constant sight. Because, obviously, it was going to be awhile.
I'd pulled them both out that day for some reason. Probably because sometimes I just needed a reminder. Sometimes I just needed to feel some hope.
But that day, the shirt just made me more sad. Because I knew, or at least was pretty damn sure, that that shirt wasn't ever going to look right on me.
And the magazine, well, if the shirt wasn't going to happen, then maybe that picture of motherhood wasn't either. (I never claimed that any of this was rational, mind you.)
I'd brought the shirt without trying it on, as was typical (I hate dressing rooms). And when I got home and did try it on, it didn't fit right. A bit loose in the bust. Too long, or too wide, or too boxy, or just too something. But I'd known that it would fit right once I finally got pregnant. The extra length, or width, whichever it was, would nicely accommodate the cute little pregnant belly I knew I'd have.
The magazine, well, it was some parenting magazine that I'd gotten a subscription for because it would be useful for work (I was doing home visits with new parents at the time). But right on the cover, there was a profile of a woman and a baby. And, I swear to you, that woman was my doppelganger. And she was wearing a yellow shirt. Looking at that cover was somehow proof that motherhood was coming. Sometime, I didn't know when, but it was coming. That magazine cover was a picture of my future, a promise of what was to come.
The shirt sat in my bedroom for more than a year, never worn, because it didn't fit right, not yet. And then it was too painful to come across (you know, those times when I actually cleaned well in there and it was uncovered). So it got moved to what we'd decided would be the nursery. First, just sitting on a dresser. Easily accessible. Because, surely I'd need it soon. Later, into the closet, out of constant sight. Because, obviously, it was going to be awhile.
I'd pulled them both out that day for some reason. Probably because sometimes I just needed a reminder. Sometimes I just needed to feel some hope.
But that day, the shirt just made me more sad. Because I knew, or at least was pretty damn sure, that that shirt wasn't ever going to look right on me.
And the magazine, well, if the shirt wasn't going to happen, then maybe that picture of motherhood wasn't either. (I never claimed that any of this was rational, mind you.)
With tears in my eyes, I put them back in the closet. This time in a dark, far back corner. They no longer made me feel hopeful in the least.
It was the last time I remember seeing either if them. Not too long afterwards we made the decision to pursue adoption.
Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to that shirt, that magazine. Clearly, I never needed that shirt. And that mother, with her fair-skinned blonde headed babe, she was not me. I suppose I threw them in the Goodwill pile at some point. Funny, though, that I don't remember doing so. Funny, also, that I still think of them both.
Today's Lesson: Yellow really isn't my color anyway.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Bad Doctor Day
Here was my yesterday. Try not to be jealous, y'all.
First, the kid had his 8 year check up. It shouldn't have been any big deal. In fact, it wasn't til the very end. When the MD told him he was getting a flu shot (we do the preservative-free kind, and only because he has asthma so is at increased risk of severe complications). And he promptly lost his everloving mind. No amount of reasoning, empathizing, breathing techniques, cajoling, bribery, or threatening worked. He was insane. Over the tiniest needle known to man. Sweetmother, I wanted to kill him. I finally wrestled him out of his shirt, on top my lap and tried to hold him still. Y'all, kid is strong. Once the nurse finally cleaned his arm off with the alcohol wipe, he calmed his ass down and we did the shot. I was still in the mindset, however, of wanting to kill him. It didn't go away for quite awhile.
It was so much fun.
So then I did some shopping, had solo lunch, and went for my annual GYN appointment. Now, every infertile girl knows how much fun the OBGYN office is on a good day. The "adorable" pregnant bellies. The 6week old infants with their new mamas. It's so. much. fun. Now, add to it that today's mothers appeared to all be about 20yo. And one, who looked to be about 13months pregnant (she said she's due in "9 and a half days" <-- I have no idea what that means either) took one last hit off her cigarette as she walked into the office right in front of me. She later proceeded to complain about "getting this irritating baby out of me, like yesterday". And then I quit listening.
Also, ^^ that was the decent part of the visit.
Because then the nurse made me take a pregnancy test. Even though my chart VERY CLEARLY states I am infertile and have been for like, you know, 10 years. And I told her I've been having a period every 22 days (yes, that's true. And, yes, it sucks. A lot). And then she proceeded to ask me about what kind of birth control I've been using. BCP's? No. Condoms? NO. Pull and pray? FUCK OFF NO. I didn't really say that, I just looked at her and said, "infertility makes birth control unnecessary". She had the audacity to smile at me, like I was lucky to not have to worry about birth control.
And then, it got worse. Oh yes. Yes, it did.
After I got naked and put on the lovely gown, the midwife came in. Now, I should say that I've actually been seeing her for like 10 years. So we're not strangers (though it has been 3yrs since I've been to see her). And, for the most part, my previous experiences have been fairly positive. And then this happened.
She came in and the first thing she said to me is, "so my sister just got a call to come get the kids they're going to adopt in [some country I can't remember]". And then she proceeded to tell me some s'rsly long story about that. She briefly noted that I'd told the nurse I'm tired all the time (s'rsly tired, y'all. All. The. Time) and super irritable (All. The. Time).
And then she quickly moved on to how her 5 (yes, 5. And she birthed them all by her super fertile self) children are doing. In case you're wondering, 3 are active military, one is in college, and the baby is just a lovely middle schooler. The oldest, however, has completely cut them off and they just don't know why. And that's what the conversation revolved around while she was doing the fun part of the physical exam.
And then, once she was done, I thought, "oh, good, now I'll get to talk to her about how crappy I've been feeling and how effing crazy my hormones have been since baby E weaned 3 months ago". But I was wrong. Because this is what happened instead.
She explained that February has the highest rates of postpartum depression (um, not postpartum, here). And that "we're all feeling a little blech" because it's February and the lack of sun and all. And she's sure my vitamin D is low. So I should take the highest dose of vit D I can find at the store. And she'd be happy to prescribe me some antidepressants, if I want. But she thinks if I'd just do 30 minutes of exercise (minimally) every. single. day, then I wouldn't needs those drugs. Because that's what helped her lose the 35lbs over the last couple of years. Which is about the same amount *I* need to lose, she said.
I tried to explain that I think it's my thyroid based on the other symptoms I'm having, but even if it's not, my hormones are whack and it started when E weaned. But she wasn't hearing it. She then told me how I need to take at least one night a week as a date night with hubby. We should pay a sitter. It will make every thing better. Insert me, again, trying to tell her my symptoms (dry skin, lots of hair loss, GI issues, to name a new), but she cut me off. This time telling me about the lovely weekend she has planned with her husband, during which they will not talk about their oldest son, because it makes her cry.
And then she started to tear up.
And then I just gave up. Took my lab slip to have my Vit D and (thankfully) thyroid checked and left.
And I will never go back. Because wtf. I mean, seriously, wtf?
Today's Lesson: One medical appointment a day is probably enough. Also, when you're providing a service to someone else, check your own shit at the door and do not lay it on them.
First, the kid had his 8 year check up. It shouldn't have been any big deal. In fact, it wasn't til the very end. When the MD told him he was getting a flu shot (we do the preservative-free kind, and only because he has asthma so is at increased risk of severe complications). And he promptly lost his everloving mind. No amount of reasoning, empathizing, breathing techniques, cajoling, bribery, or threatening worked. He was insane. Over the tiniest needle known to man. Sweetmother, I wanted to kill him. I finally wrestled him out of his shirt, on top my lap and tried to hold him still. Y'all, kid is strong. Once the nurse finally cleaned his arm off with the alcohol wipe, he calmed his ass down and we did the shot. I was still in the mindset, however, of wanting to kill him. It didn't go away for quite awhile.
It was so much fun.
So then I did some shopping, had solo lunch, and went for my annual GYN appointment. Now, every infertile girl knows how much fun the OBGYN office is on a good day. The "adorable" pregnant bellies. The 6week old infants with their new mamas. It's so. much. fun. Now, add to it that today's mothers appeared to all be about 20yo. And one, who looked to be about 13months pregnant (she said she's due in "9 and a half days" <-- I have no idea what that means either) took one last hit off her cigarette as she walked into the office right in front of me. She later proceeded to complain about "getting this irritating baby out of me, like yesterday". And then I quit listening.
Also, ^^ that was the decent part of the visit.
Because then the nurse made me take a pregnancy test. Even though my chart VERY CLEARLY states I am infertile and have been for like, you know, 10 years. And I told her I've been having a period every 22 days (yes, that's true. And, yes, it sucks. A lot). And then she proceeded to ask me about what kind of birth control I've been using. BCP's? No. Condoms? NO. Pull and pray? FUCK OFF NO. I didn't really say that, I just looked at her and said, "infertility makes birth control unnecessary". She had the audacity to smile at me, like I was lucky to not have to worry about birth control.
And then, it got worse. Oh yes. Yes, it did.
After I got naked and put on the lovely gown, the midwife came in. Now, I should say that I've actually been seeing her for like 10 years. So we're not strangers (though it has been 3yrs since I've been to see her). And, for the most part, my previous experiences have been fairly positive. And then this happened.
She came in and the first thing she said to me is, "so my sister just got a call to come get the kids they're going to adopt in [some country I can't remember]". And then she proceeded to tell me some s'rsly long story about that. She briefly noted that I'd told the nurse I'm tired all the time (s'rsly tired, y'all. All. The. Time) and super irritable (All. The. Time).
And then she quickly moved on to how her 5 (yes, 5. And she birthed them all by her super fertile self) children are doing. In case you're wondering, 3 are active military, one is in college, and the baby is just a lovely middle schooler. The oldest, however, has completely cut them off and they just don't know why. And that's what the conversation revolved around while she was doing the fun part of the physical exam.
And then, once she was done, I thought, "oh, good, now I'll get to talk to her about how crappy I've been feeling and how effing crazy my hormones have been since baby E weaned 3 months ago". But I was wrong. Because this is what happened instead.
She explained that February has the highest rates of postpartum depression (um, not postpartum, here). And that "we're all feeling a little blech" because it's February and the lack of sun and all. And she's sure my vitamin D is low. So I should take the highest dose of vit D I can find at the store. And she'd be happy to prescribe me some antidepressants, if I want. But she thinks if I'd just do 30 minutes of exercise (minimally) every. single. day, then I wouldn't needs those drugs. Because that's what helped her lose the 35lbs over the last couple of years. Which is about the same amount *I* need to lose, she said.
I tried to explain that I think it's my thyroid based on the other symptoms I'm having, but even if it's not, my hormones are whack and it started when E weaned. But she wasn't hearing it. She then told me how I need to take at least one night a week as a date night with hubby. We should pay a sitter. It will make every thing better. Insert me, again, trying to tell her my symptoms (dry skin, lots of hair loss, GI issues, to name a new), but she cut me off. This time telling me about the lovely weekend she has planned with her husband, during which they will not talk about their oldest son, because it makes her cry.
And then she started to tear up.
And then I just gave up. Took my lab slip to have my Vit D and (thankfully) thyroid checked and left.
And I will never go back. Because wtf. I mean, seriously, wtf?
Today's Lesson: One medical appointment a day is probably enough. Also, when you're providing a service to someone else, check your own shit at the door and do not lay it on them.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
We Continue, at Least for Now
This post is part of Mothering's "Blog about Breastfeeding" event to celebrate International Breastfeeding Week, Aug 1st-7th.
There has been little about my and baby E's nursing relationship that anyone would consider traditional. My journey to nurse him started nearly 2 years before he was born. No, it started even earlier than that, when I nursed my oldest son. But with baby E, I was determined to be more successful. There was reading, and research, and appointments with doctors, and meds, and pumping and more pumping), and the ever-present SNS. And all of that before I even knew of his existence. After birth, there was all of that in addition to driving all over the state to pick up breast milk from other mamas to feed my baby.
Nursing baby E has been a blessing and been healing in many ways. But it has also been a challenge. There was baby E's biological father finding out, and demanding that I stop (even though E's birth mama was happy I was nursing him). There have been many times I simply knew that weaning was just around the corner. Or the many times we were nearly out of milk. And then, thanks to the miraculous intervention of one (or more) of our amazing donors, we've been blessed to continue. There have been judgements (both blatantly expressed to me and not) by others about whether we should be nursing at all, or when we should stop. Not that I've ever been particularly interested in the judgements of others', mind you. And heaven knows there have been frustrations with my reliance on the SNS.
Today, I somehow find myself a mama of an almost 3yo nursling. I don't know how it happened, because, in truth, even 3 years ago I never imagined myself here. I never saw myself nursing a child who stops to talk to me between suckles at my breast. I never saw myself nursing a child who requests "mulp-mease" with a joyful - if sometimes demanding - dance before bedtime. All I wanted was to be able to nurture my baby at my breast for longer than what I'd been able to do with his brother. I never dreamed we would still be nursing just shy of his 3rd birthday.
I know we are in the twilight of our nursing relationship. And I find myself (not surprisingly) emotional about it. But I also find myself okay with it. Baby E has lead our nursing relationship the whole way through. I will continue to let him lead us through its end.
Regardless of what nursing baby E looks like from the outside, on the inside, between baby E and me, our nursing relationship is just what it is supposed to be. It's not what I expected. It's not what I saw in my head when I pictured it for all that time I was preparing. It may not be "normal". But its ours. And it is exactly what we each need it to be at this very moment.
Today's Lesson: In many ways I'm not a traditional kind of girl. So I've no idea why I thought nursing would be the thing that was. Life has a funny way of teaching us who we are. And a funny way of making us accept it.
There has been little about my and baby E's nursing relationship that anyone would consider traditional. My journey to nurse him started nearly 2 years before he was born. No, it started even earlier than that, when I nursed my oldest son. But with baby E, I was determined to be more successful. There was reading, and research, and appointments with doctors, and meds, and pumping and more pumping), and the ever-present SNS. And all of that before I even knew of his existence. After birth, there was all of that in addition to driving all over the state to pick up breast milk from other mamas to feed my baby.
Nursing baby E has been a blessing and been healing in many ways. But it has also been a challenge. There was baby E's biological father finding out, and demanding that I stop (even though E's birth mama was happy I was nursing him). There have been many times I simply knew that weaning was just around the corner. Or the many times we were nearly out of milk. And then, thanks to the miraculous intervention of one (or more) of our amazing donors, we've been blessed to continue. There have been judgements (both blatantly expressed to me and not) by others about whether we should be nursing at all, or when we should stop. Not that I've ever been particularly interested in the judgements of others', mind you. And heaven knows there have been frustrations with my reliance on the SNS.
Today, I somehow find myself a mama of an almost 3yo nursling. I don't know how it happened, because, in truth, even 3 years ago I never imagined myself here. I never saw myself nursing a child who stops to talk to me between suckles at my breast. I never saw myself nursing a child who requests "mulp-mease" with a joyful - if sometimes demanding - dance before bedtime. All I wanted was to be able to nurture my baby at my breast for longer than what I'd been able to do with his brother. I never dreamed we would still be nursing just shy of his 3rd birthday.
I know we are in the twilight of our nursing relationship. And I find myself (not surprisingly) emotional about it. But I also find myself okay with it. Baby E has lead our nursing relationship the whole way through. I will continue to let him lead us through its end.
Regardless of what nursing baby E looks like from the outside, on the inside, between baby E and me, our nursing relationship is just what it is supposed to be. It's not what I expected. It's not what I saw in my head when I pictured it for all that time I was preparing. It may not be "normal". But its ours. And it is exactly what we each need it to be at this very moment.
Today's Lesson: In many ways I'm not a traditional kind of girl. So I've no idea why I thought nursing would be the thing that was. Life has a funny way of teaching us who we are. And a funny way of making us accept it.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Judging
Just as a warning, this is an angry post with plenty of cuss words thrown in.
I came across this PAIL guest blog post recently and it hit quite a nerve for me. Probably because we're getting so close to weaning.
This is such an emotional topic for me. Being able to breastfeed my children the “normal” way is the one thing I don’t know that I can’t let go of. Thank you, infertility, so damn much.
I prepared and fought to be able to nurse my boys for a long time before they were born. With baby E I was on the protocol for almost 18months before he was born. For months and months after he was born (13, I believe), me and that damn pump were the best of frenemies. I had a crazy job, with a completely inconsistent schedule, both before and after he was born. But I did it. And we’re still doing it, me and my 33mon old boy.
But nothing about it has been easy.
And I totally admit – for the first time ever "out loud", to anyone other than to myself – that I judge (biological) mamas who don’t breastfeed.
Mostly, I am pissed at them. I am jealous of them. Because they *could* do what I wanted (damn it, still fucking want!) to be able to do and yet they don’t.
I have had to use the SNS for almost 3 years with baby E. We’ve never once nursed without it. Let that sink it. For more than 33months we've nursed with that damn plastic bottle and tubes between us. Of course I'm glad it exists because there's no way we've had made it without the stupid thing. But, fuck me, I resent the thing at the same time.
I have spent I don’t know how much time and money and energy finding donor breast milk (and am eternally grateful for it and the mamas who gave it to us). But it was only necessary because my body wouldn't - won't - do what it's supposed to do. And so many mamas take that for granted. So many simply throw that away. To so many, it simply doesn't seem important.
Comments about "it's so hard to find time to pump" or any other number of what equate to excuses in my mind, they just piss me off. I want to scream (IN CAPS!!!!!!), "do you know what I had to do to nurse my babies??!!".
But they don't. And they don't give a flying fuck. And they shouldn't. Because it's not about them. It's about me. And this fucking infertility. And what, even after all this time, it continues to steal from me. Fuck. That's not even true. It's what *I* continue to allow it to steal from me.
While I rationally know this is *my* issue and has nothing to do with how other mamas choose to feed their babies, I’m beyond jealous that they aren’t doing it. I know. It’s irrational. I know. And yet there it is. I judge them for not nursing. I judge them choosing not to give to their babies what I did everything possible and yet still couldn't give to mine.
I judge.
Today's Lesson: As much as I wish it were true, I don't believe there is a one among us who doesn't judge another about something. Sometimes the best we can do is admit our judgements. And, perhaps from that, we may be able to recognize that those judgements are most often about us. Not about the one we are judging. And, perhaps, that may allow us to understand it and eventually let it go.
I came across this PAIL guest blog post recently and it hit quite a nerve for me. Probably because we're getting so close to weaning.
This is such an emotional topic for me. Being able to breastfeed my children the “normal” way is the one thing I don’t know that I can’t let go of. Thank you, infertility, so damn much.
I prepared and fought to be able to nurse my boys for a long time before they were born. With baby E I was on the protocol for almost 18months before he was born. For months and months after he was born (13, I believe), me and that damn pump were the best of frenemies. I had a crazy job, with a completely inconsistent schedule, both before and after he was born. But I did it. And we’re still doing it, me and my 33mon old boy.
But nothing about it has been easy.
And I totally admit – for the first time ever "out loud", to anyone other than to myself – that I judge (biological) mamas who don’t breastfeed.
Mostly, I am pissed at them. I am jealous of them. Because they *could* do what I wanted (damn it, still fucking want!) to be able to do and yet they don’t.
I have had to use the SNS for almost 3 years with baby E. We’ve never once nursed without it. Let that sink it. For more than 33months we've nursed with that damn plastic bottle and tubes between us. Of course I'm glad it exists because there's no way we've had made it without the stupid thing. But, fuck me, I resent the thing at the same time.
I have spent I don’t know how much time and money and energy finding donor breast milk (and am eternally grateful for it and the mamas who gave it to us). But it was only necessary because my body wouldn't - won't - do what it's supposed to do. And so many mamas take that for granted. So many simply throw that away. To so many, it simply doesn't seem important.
Comments about "it's so hard to find time to pump" or any other number of what equate to excuses in my mind, they just piss me off. I want to scream (IN CAPS!!!!!!), "do you know what I had to do to nurse my babies??!!".
But they don't. And they don't give a flying fuck. And they shouldn't. Because it's not about them. It's about me. And this fucking infertility. And what, even after all this time, it continues to steal from me. Fuck. That's not even true. It's what *I* continue to allow it to steal from me.
While I rationally know this is *my* issue and has nothing to do with how other mamas choose to feed their babies, I’m beyond jealous that they aren’t doing it. I know. It’s irrational. I know. And yet there it is. I judge them for not nursing. I judge them choosing not to give to their babies what I did everything possible and yet still couldn't give to mine.
I judge.
Today's Lesson: As much as I wish it were true, I don't believe there is a one among us who doesn't judge another about something. Sometimes the best we can do is admit our judgements. And, perhaps from that, we may be able to recognize that those judgements are most often about us. Not about the one we are judging. And, perhaps, that may allow us to understand it and eventually let it go.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
HAWMC Day 13: Acrostic
Today's prompt is to write an acrostic (should you need to look up what the heck that is, as I did) about my condition. I wrote two, inexplicably. I am not a poet. Not that you will need that disclaimer in moment. It will become painfully clear in 3-2-1...
I
Never
Found
Everything.
Related
To
Impregnation,
Likely
I
Tarry.
Yearning.
Babies (used to torment me,)
Especially (those not mine.)
Continued (my desires abide.)
Kibitzers (please, keep your opinions to)
Yourself.
Today's Lesson: I much prefer a Haiku to an Acrostic. Which is a surprise to me. Also, I we should all try to learn a new word every day. Kibitzer is mine. And, perhaps, now yours.
I
Never
Found
Everything.
Related
To
Impregnation,
Likely
I
Tarry.
Yearning.
Babies (used to torment me,)
Especially (those not mine.)
Continued (my desires abide.)
Kibitzers (please, keep your opinions to)
Yourself.
Today's Lesson: I much prefer a Haiku to an Acrostic. Which is a surprise to me. Also, I we should all try to learn a new word every day. Kibitzer is mine. And, perhaps, now yours.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
HAWMC: Day 6, a Letter to IF
Today's prompt is to write a letter to your future self, either asking a question or reminding of a lesson you don't want to forget. I though and thought on this but really couldn't come up with anything substantial.
So, the alternate prompt is to write a letter to your condition. And then I realized that I did this when I (half-assed) participated in NHBPM in November. And, because I'm kind of lame sometimes, I decided to repost that letter today. Because, really, it still says what I'd like to say to IF. You know, if we were face-to-face.
Dear Infertility,
My initial thought is to just tell you "you suck" and "I hate you" and leave it at that. Since, you know, those things are true. So, so very true. I mean, you suck in oh, so many ways. I could go into a whole "let me count the ways" kind of rant. And it would be long. But I'll abstain. Because, well, that would just piss me off further.
And, really, I do have something more important to say to you.
Infertility, I am daily reminded that without you, I wouldn't have my boys. I hate you a lot (and I do mean a lot), but I have my kid and my baby E because of you. You serve as a reminder to me to try to see the possibilities that arise from the heartache. You remind me that good things come from the bad. That there are always opportunities for healing.
Now, I will never go so far as to thank you for, well, being you, and well, attaching yourself to me. But I can acknowledge a gratefulness. Because you are a tangible reminder to me that out of the pain can come good, once we are in a place to see and accept it. And when we are able to make some sort of peace with the crap we're thrown, we make room for good to come in.
And, for that, Infertility, I have to give you a little bit less hate.
That's the best I can do. Today at least.
Sincerely,
The Infertile Social Worker come Momma
Today's Lesson: I believe we are presented with opportunities to learn lessons throughout our lives. Not to say that bad things happen to teach us a lesson, mind you. But that things happen, and things can be learned from those. God speaks in whispers, getting progressively louder, sometimes yelling at us to learn the damn lesson already.
Infertility, for me, was certainly a yelling. And, lord knows, it was a lesson it took me a long time to hear. But it's now a lesson I've learned. From the bad, the awful, the horrible things that happen to us, we can learn something. And, I don't know about you, but it gives me some peace. To know that something good can, will come of it all.
So, the alternate prompt is to write a letter to your condition. And then I realized that I did this when I (half-assed) participated in NHBPM in November. And, because I'm kind of lame sometimes, I decided to repost that letter today. Because, really, it still says what I'd like to say to IF. You know, if we were face-to-face.
Dear Infertility,
My initial thought is to just tell you "you suck" and "I hate you" and leave it at that. Since, you know, those things are true. So, so very true. I mean, you suck in oh, so many ways. I could go into a whole "let me count the ways" kind of rant. And it would be long. But I'll abstain. Because, well, that would just piss me off further.
And, really, I do have something more important to say to you.
Infertility, I am daily reminded that without you, I wouldn't have my boys. I hate you a lot (and I do mean a lot), but I have my kid and my baby E because of you. You serve as a reminder to me to try to see the possibilities that arise from the heartache. You remind me that good things come from the bad. That there are always opportunities for healing.
Now, I will never go so far as to thank you for, well, being you, and well, attaching yourself to me. But I can acknowledge a gratefulness. Because you are a tangible reminder to me that out of the pain can come good, once we are in a place to see and accept it. And when we are able to make some sort of peace with the crap we're thrown, we make room for good to come in.
And, for that, Infertility, I have to give you a little bit less hate.
That's the best I can do. Today at least.
Sincerely,
The Infertile Social Worker come Momma
Today's Lesson: I believe we are presented with opportunities to learn lessons throughout our lives. Not to say that bad things happen to teach us a lesson, mind you. But that things happen, and things can be learned from those. God speaks in whispers, getting progressively louder, sometimes yelling at us to learn the damn lesson already.
Infertility, for me, was certainly a yelling. And, lord knows, it was a lesson it took me a long time to hear. But it's now a lesson I've learned. From the bad, the awful, the horrible things that happen to us, we can learn something. And, I don't know about you, but it gives me some peace. To know that something good can, will come of it all.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
HAWMC: Day 4, Resources
Today's Prompt is to "share resources". Thus, today, you get a (very) short list of my recommendations for places to start if you have questions about infertility.
Today's Lesson: We should all celebrate the small victories in our lives. For instance, let's say your tantruming toddler is flailing about while you're trying to take his naked self to get his pajamas on, but all he wants to do is "COLOR COLOR NOW!!!!", causing a heavy stool to fall over and possibly fracture your big toe. So, when that happens, and you not only don't yell, but don't even cuss at all, that is a victory to be celebrated.
- RESOLVE - Aka "The National Infertility Association" is a great resource for information (factual), research, formal support avenues, and advocacy ideas.
- The Stirrup Queen -Mel, the owner of the blog, has this amazing list of blogs written by people (mostly women) who are experiencing/have experienced IF. Seriously, there are hundreds of them, ranging in focus from specific disorders that have led to IF, to specific IF treatments, from those in the IF trenches, to those who have moved past treatments, from those who are parenting, to those who have chosen to live their lives child-free. Really, there's a blog there (or 20) for everyone.
- This Blog post - because I just happened to come across it this week. And I love it.
Today's Lesson: We should all celebrate the small victories in our lives. For instance, let's say your tantruming toddler is flailing about while you're trying to take his naked self to get his pajamas on, but all he wants to do is "COLOR COLOR NOW!!!!", causing a heavy stool to fall over and possibly fracture your big toe. So, when that happens, and you not only don't yell, but don't even cuss at all, that is a victory to be celebrated.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
HAWMC: Day 3
Wordless Wednesday - a picture that describes my "Condition"
Today's Lesson: Sometimes we all triumph over our pain. It doesn't mean the pain is gone. But it does mean it isn't in charge. Celebrate the triumph.
The funny thing about infertility, is there is no picture that describes it at any given moment. There's no way to know if someone is "infertile" just by looking at her (or him). And there is no one way to be infertile.
This picture describes where I am right now with infertility. I have my two sons, who I love. They challenge me as a parent, as a person, daily. They're the best. And today, my family triumphs over IF. Today, I triumph over IF.
Today's Lesson: Sometimes we all triumph over our pain. It doesn't mean the pain is gone. But it does mean it isn't in charge. Celebrate the triumph.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Problems Only of the Fertiles
I joined a group of, well, shall we say hippie-ish parents on FB. For the most part, I find much of the content interesting and helpful. I don't know that I've ever seen any kind of posting about infertility there. In fact, many of the families seem to have several (4+ children). That certainly leads me to believe infertility isn't a huge issue for most the families. But I don't hold it against them.
However, a recent post just about made my head explode.
It read as follows (with names changed by me):
"Amy and Bob were both born on the same day, and their birthday is coming up soon. While Amy's due date WAS Bob's birthday, we never expected her to actually be born on that day. So, now DH and I have a dilemma. Do we try to conceive so our third is born on that day, too? Or do we just let it up to the universe to decide? Our reasoning for wanting to have them all born on the same day is so the third doesn't feel left out when his/her siblings are celebrating, and vice versa. Plus, it would be really cool. But, of course, we would never consent to an induction or cesarean to guarantee they all shared a birthday."
There are all kinds of responses to this post. Fortunately most of them say something along the lines of "just let it happen". But even that makes me either want to yell or laugh bitterly. I mean, really?! I've gone back to that post several times the last couple of days, trying to decide if I should respond. Well, that's not true. I know I shouldn't. So, I suppose it's more about reminding myself of that.
Because what I want to say is something along the lines of, "Just be grateful you can get pregnant. Just be grateful you have carried babies to term. Just be grateful that your children are healthy. And then just shut the hell up. Have sex whenever you want. Get pregnant, or don't. But, for the love of Pete, why don't you try just hoping that the Universe doesn't laugh at you and tell you to go screw yourselves. Because that's how some of us feel. Also, how grown up of you to not consent for an induction to guarantee they have the same birthday."
Blech.
The problems of the fertiles. I wish they made me laugh. Instead they make me grind my teeth.
Today's Lesson: Sometimes we should all keep our words to ourselves. Because the words don't do anyone any good, even if they would make us feel better for a moment. The wisdom is in recognizing that before the words leave our mouths. Or fingers, as the case may be.
However, a recent post just about made my head explode.
It read as follows (with names changed by me):
"Amy and Bob were both born on the same day, and their birthday is coming up soon. While Amy's due date WAS Bob's birthday, we never expected her to actually be born on that day. So, now DH and I have a dilemma. Do we try to conceive so our third is born on that day, too? Or do we just let it up to the universe to decide? Our reasoning for wanting to have them all born on the same day is so the third doesn't feel left out when his/her siblings are celebrating, and vice versa. Plus, it would be really cool. But, of course, we would never consent to an induction or cesarean to guarantee they all shared a birthday."
There are all kinds of responses to this post. Fortunately most of them say something along the lines of "just let it happen". But even that makes me either want to yell or laugh bitterly. I mean, really?! I've gone back to that post several times the last couple of days, trying to decide if I should respond. Well, that's not true. I know I shouldn't. So, I suppose it's more about reminding myself of that.
Because what I want to say is something along the lines of, "Just be grateful you can get pregnant. Just be grateful you have carried babies to term. Just be grateful that your children are healthy. And then just shut the hell up. Have sex whenever you want. Get pregnant, or don't. But, for the love of Pete, why don't you try just hoping that the Universe doesn't laugh at you and tell you to go screw yourselves. Because that's how some of us feel. Also, how grown up of you to not consent for an induction to guarantee they have the same birthday."
Blech.
The problems of the fertiles. I wish they made me laugh. Instead they make me grind my teeth.
Today's Lesson: Sometimes we should all keep our words to ourselves. Because the words don't do anyone any good, even if they would make us feel better for a moment. The wisdom is in recognizing that before the words leave our mouths. Or fingers, as the case may be.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Filing
This weekend I got myself a new filing cabinet. Exciting, I know. I've been wanting one for several years. I have a little one, but it was too full to hold anything else. I wanted a bigger one so I could really get some stuff organized. So, last night I got busy organizing, shredding, tossing.
I do love a good organizational purge. I went through everything in the little cabinet, everything that's been piling up around it, everything that's been piled, shoved, tossed elsewhere in my house. It was good. And interesting.
Though I know I've been through those piles in the last 10 years, somehow I found things that should have been purged years ago. I found bank statements with the checks hubby wrote for our wedding (for the quartet, for the photographer, for the priest). I found a file hubby's mother had written all over, planning how they were going to pay for his college. I found records from the urologist hubby visited just before being diagnosed with a tumor in his spinal column a few months after we were married.
And then I found, most unexpected of all, records from our infertilitytesting and treatments. The insurance forms from the early tests. The slips from the pharmacy for the evil Clomid that made me so crazy. The bills from the later tests and IUI. All of them useless.
I've been wondering why I still have them. Did I save them for some reason? Did I want to remind myself of it all? Perhaps I thought that once we finally got pregnant (ha - the naivete!) they would help me remember our journey and how worth it all the treatments were.
Maybe.
However, as I've thought about it, I think what actually happened was I shoved them in the back of the drawer because I simply couldn't bare to deal with them. They were such a glaring and tangible reminder of my failure to do the one thing I most wanted. To pull them out, even if only to throw them away, was too much of a reminder. To touch them, even if to shred them, was akin to opening the floodgates on all those memories, and hurts. The ones I had no desire to unleash again.
And so, imagine my surprise to discover first that they were there, because I had thoroughly and completely forgotten them. But second, to find that letting them go, shredding them, left me feeling nothing. No hurt. No sadness. No relief or healing either. Just nothing.
And that, I suppose, is proof that I've come further than I sometimes think I have. I didn't need to destroy those records to feel closure about the inevitability of ever becoming pregnant. Somewhere along the way, I've already found some. By no means am I "over" infertility. But the sharp, ever present pain, it's gone. And, for that, I am thankful.
Today's Lesson: Organizing can be good for the soul.
I do love a good organizational purge. I went through everything in the little cabinet, everything that's been piling up around it, everything that's been piled, shoved, tossed elsewhere in my house. It was good. And interesting.
Though I know I've been through those piles in the last 10 years, somehow I found things that should have been purged years ago. I found bank statements with the checks hubby wrote for our wedding (for the quartet, for the photographer, for the priest). I found a file hubby's mother had written all over, planning how they were going to pay for his college. I found records from the urologist hubby visited just before being diagnosed with a tumor in his spinal column a few months after we were married.
And then I found, most unexpected of all, records from our infertilitytesting and treatments. The insurance forms from the early tests. The slips from the pharmacy for the evil Clomid that made me so crazy. The bills from the later tests and IUI. All of them useless.
I've been wondering why I still have them. Did I save them for some reason? Did I want to remind myself of it all? Perhaps I thought that once we finally got pregnant (ha - the naivete!) they would help me remember our journey and how worth it all the treatments were.
Maybe.
However, as I've thought about it, I think what actually happened was I shoved them in the back of the drawer because I simply couldn't bare to deal with them. They were such a glaring and tangible reminder of my failure to do the one thing I most wanted. To pull them out, even if only to throw them away, was too much of a reminder. To touch them, even if to shred them, was akin to opening the floodgates on all those memories, and hurts. The ones I had no desire to unleash again.
And so, imagine my surprise to discover first that they were there, because I had thoroughly and completely forgotten them. But second, to find that letting them go, shredding them, left me feeling nothing. No hurt. No sadness. No relief or healing either. Just nothing.
And that, I suppose, is proof that I've come further than I sometimes think I have. I didn't need to destroy those records to feel closure about the inevitability of ever becoming pregnant. Somewhere along the way, I've already found some. By no means am I "over" infertility. But the sharp, ever present pain, it's gone. And, for that, I am thankful.
Today's Lesson: Organizing can be good for the soul.
Friday, December 7, 2012
A Ghost Child
Mel over at Stirrup Queens wrote a beautiful post recently, about her ghost child. It's haunting, and perfectly describes something I've been trying to articulate for myself of late. Please go read it. Then come back.
For those of you who don't follow directions thus didn't go read the post, Mel talks about a recent family trip where she was followed by a ghost child. A child who is only a possibility. Or perhaps, a child who is no longer a possibility. She's reminded that because that child doesn't physically exist, this trip was possible for her family. But also that the carrying of this ghost child prevents her from fully participating in the experience with her family. (Or at least that's what I took from her words.)
I've been grappling with my own ghost child recently. She's reflected in the questions others have started asking about whether we're considering a 3rd child. She's waiting to be nursed as we move towards what feels like baby E starting to wean. She's there, watching, as I wonder what to do with all the things baby E is outgrowing. She's there in the night, when I am startled awake by a newborn's cries. I feel her weight on my chest when I see a friend carrying her newborn in the Moby wrap.
And she is always a she. The dresses. The hair bows. The girly-ness of her. It's painfully palpable at times. She is painfully palpable at times. A shadow. A possibility. A ghost. A question. A maybe.
She's there. Waiting. Waiting for us to decide whether or not she will be. Always there.
Today's Lesson: Sometimes others are better at giving words to our thoughts than we are ourselves.
For those of you who don't follow directions thus didn't go read the post, Mel talks about a recent family trip where she was followed by a ghost child. A child who is only a possibility. Or perhaps, a child who is no longer a possibility. She's reminded that because that child doesn't physically exist, this trip was possible for her family. But also that the carrying of this ghost child prevents her from fully participating in the experience with her family. (Or at least that's what I took from her words.)
I've been grappling with my own ghost child recently. She's reflected in the questions others have started asking about whether we're considering a 3rd child. She's waiting to be nursed as we move towards what feels like baby E starting to wean. She's there, watching, as I wonder what to do with all the things baby E is outgrowing. She's there in the night, when I am startled awake by a newborn's cries. I feel her weight on my chest when I see a friend carrying her newborn in the Moby wrap.
And she is always a she. The dresses. The hair bows. The girly-ness of her. It's painfully palpable at times. She is painfully palpable at times. A shadow. A possibility. A ghost. A question. A maybe.
She's there. Waiting. Waiting for us to decide whether or not she will be. Always there.
Today's Lesson: Sometimes others are better at giving words to our thoughts than we are ourselves.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
The Moments of Struggle
I never know when IF will hit me.
I continue to struggle with the kid's behavior. Yes, still. And I *know* it's still related to his asthma, which we still haven't gotten completely under control. So he's still not sleeping great. It's gotten a bit better. But still.
I also know some of it is related to school. As in public school in general and the crappy habits, attitudes, words he's picked up there (thankfully, not another teacher issue. At least I don't think it is). Some of it's probably developmental as well. He's being sneaky, and disrespectful, and I'm feeling very pissy about it all.
Also, hubby's not handling it well either; he's yelling a lot. Which just further sets off the kid. Tons of fun, I tell ya. It's all incredibly frustrating. (And have I mentioned that we're now on vomit incident #5 in the last 3 weeks? Yeah. We are. ThankyoubabyE.)
But none of that is really what this post is about.
It's interesting, but these struggles bring up some the the IF crap. Leaving me with feelings of guilt for sucking as a parent right now. And the "shoulds" take over.
I *should* be able to deal with the behavior. I *shouldn't* lose my patience, or my temper. I *should* be able to figure out how to help the kid's behavior improve. I *should* know how to talk to hubby to help him handle it better, too.
Clearly I'm not good enough. Those old feelings of doubt creeping back in. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a parent. Feelings of not being worthy to raise this child his birthparents entrusted to me.
Rationally, I *know* that's all crap. I *know* we all struggle sometimes. I *know* it's ridiculous to expect all of this from myself. I *know*.
And yet, I still feel it.
More often than not the rational wins out. Really, it does. But there are those moments, thankfully fleeting, but they're there. Moments when IF wins.
Today's Lesson: Guilt is a bitchy, mean thing. It has to power to override the rational. It insinuates itself deep down and pops out when you least expect it. And, apparently, it is bff's with IF. I hate them both.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Dear Infertility...
Today's NHBPM prompt is to write a letter to your health. Here's what I came up with.
Dear Infertility,
My initial thought is to just tell you "you suck" and "I hate you" and leave it at that. Since, you know, those things are true. So, so very true. I mean, you suck in oh, so many ways. I could go into a whole "let me count the ways" kind of rant. And it would be long. But I'll abstain. Because, well, that would just piss me off further.
And, really, I do have something more important to say to you.
Infertility, I am daily reminded that without you, I wouldn't have my boys. I hate you a lot (and I do mean a lot), but I have my kid and my baby E because of you. You serve as a reminder to me to try to see the possibilities that arise from the heartache. You remind me that good things come from the bad. That there are always opportunities for healing.
Now, I will never go so far as to thank you for, well, being you, and well, attaching yourself to me. But I can acknowledge a gratefulness. Because you are a tangible reminder to me that out of the pain can come good, once we are in a place to see and accept it. And when we are able to make some sort of peace with the crap we're thrown, we make room for good to come in.
And, for that, Infertility, I have to give you a little bit less hate.
That's the best I can do. Today at least.
Sincerely,
The Infertile Social Worker come Momma
Today's Lesson: I believe we are presented with opportunities to learn lessons throughout our lives. Not to say that bad things happen to teach us a lesson, mind you. But that things happen, and things can be learned from those. God speaks in whispers, getting progressively louder, sometimes yelling at us to learn the damn lesson already.
Infertility, for me, was certainly a yelling. And, lord knows, it was a lesson it took me a long time to hear. But it's now a lesson I've learned. From the bad, the awful, the horrible things that happen to us, we can learn something. And, I don't know about you, but it gives me some peace. To know that something good can, will come of it all.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Enough already
Fall is a difficult time behavior-wise for the kid. Has been for the last several years. I think it is heavily related to his allergies and (allergy-induced) asthma, though going from the highly unstructured summer time he has with his Poppa, to school, well, that absolutely makes it harder.
The asthma means he doesn't sleep well. And his behavior when he isn't sleeping well is, well, to be honest it's ridiculously frustrating. He doesn't listen. He's beyond wild and wound up. He's sneaky (though, really, he's not very good at that. Which I suppose is a good thing). He's tormenting his brother for no apparent reason. And that, in particular, is something that both is not at all normal for him and pisses me off in a super huge way.
This has been going on for 2 months.
And I. Have. Had. It.
Lately I have found myself resorting to threats and consequences and even yelling with the kid. Like, a lot. These are things I know don't work (with my kid in particular, and really aren't good parenting strategies in general with any kid). Or, at a minimum, should be used as a last resort. But, they've been my go-to of late, the first (albeit crappy) tricks I pull out of the bag.
Rationally, I know that praise works best on him. But, truthfully, I'm finding it hard to find things to praise. Like, really hard. And even when I can find something, I am so irritated by all the challenging behaviors, that I have a hard time praising him in an honest and sincere manner. (Read: not through gritted teeth.) Which, of course, means that even the praise is minimally effective.
We're stuck in this ugly, teeth-gnashing, loud, whiny cycle. And it's not only not working for me or the kid, it's not working for anyone else in my house. Baby E laughs when I start counting to three with him. As in, gleefully laughing while running away. Not even he wants to listen to me. And, hell, I don't want to listen to me either. Because my voice grates on even my own nerves. Nothing I've been doing lately would make me want to behave either.
So, I need to check myself in a major way and pull out those strategies that do work. I need to reign in my own attitude, because how can I expect my 6yo to do so if I, as an adult, can't manage it. I need to be genuine when I praise him. And I need to be praising him a lot more. We need to experiment with his asthma medication (increase it for the time being) until frost kills the damn ragweed to get his allergies better under control. I also need to get some sleep myself, because I'm fairly certain that would improve matters as well.
Mostly, I need to take some deep breaths and remember that he is only a little boy. He is only 6. And he, just like everyone else, is entitled to some bad days, especially when he isn't feeling well.
Today's Lesson: Even when you know a lot of the "right" things to do. Even when you have the tools, the resources, the support to make the right choices. Even then, it can be hard to do. Even then, you can screw up big. Because that's part of being human. But, as a parent, it is my job to set the example. It is my job to teach my child that it is okay to admit that I've screwed up. It is my job to
teach my child that it is important to apologize when I've screwed up. Because otherwise, how can I expect them to know how.
The asthma means he doesn't sleep well. And his behavior when he isn't sleeping well is, well, to be honest it's ridiculously frustrating. He doesn't listen. He's beyond wild and wound up. He's sneaky (though, really, he's not very good at that. Which I suppose is a good thing). He's tormenting his brother for no apparent reason. And that, in particular, is something that both is not at all normal for him and pisses me off in a super huge way.
This has been going on for 2 months.
And I. Have. Had. It.
Lately I have found myself resorting to threats and consequences and even yelling with the kid. Like, a lot. These are things I know don't work (with my kid in particular, and really aren't good parenting strategies in general with any kid). Or, at a minimum, should be used as a last resort. But, they've been my go-to of late, the first (albeit crappy) tricks I pull out of the bag.
Rationally, I know that praise works best on him. But, truthfully, I'm finding it hard to find things to praise. Like, really hard. And even when I can find something, I am so irritated by all the challenging behaviors, that I have a hard time praising him in an honest and sincere manner. (Read: not through gritted teeth.) Which, of course, means that even the praise is minimally effective.
We're stuck in this ugly, teeth-gnashing, loud, whiny cycle. And it's not only not working for me or the kid, it's not working for anyone else in my house. Baby E laughs when I start counting to three with him. As in, gleefully laughing while running away. Not even he wants to listen to me. And, hell, I don't want to listen to me either. Because my voice grates on even my own nerves. Nothing I've been doing lately would make me want to behave either.
So, I need to check myself in a major way and pull out those strategies that do work. I need to reign in my own attitude, because how can I expect my 6yo to do so if I, as an adult, can't manage it. I need to be genuine when I praise him. And I need to be praising him a lot more. We need to experiment with his asthma medication (increase it for the time being) until frost kills the damn ragweed to get his allergies better under control. I also need to get some sleep myself, because I'm fairly certain that would improve matters as well.
Mostly, I need to take some deep breaths and remember that he is only a little boy. He is only 6. And he, just like everyone else, is entitled to some bad days, especially when he isn't feeling well.
Today's Lesson: Even when you know a lot of the "right" things to do. Even when you have the tools, the resources, the support to make the right choices. Even then, it can be hard to do. Even then, you can screw up big. Because that's part of being human. But, as a parent, it is my job to set the example. It is my job to teach my child that it is okay to admit that I've screwed up. It is my job to
teach my child that it is important to apologize when I've screwed up. Because otherwise, how can I expect them to know how.
Monday, September 24, 2012
World Milksharing Week
Last year during World Milksharing Week I had a couple of guest posts from two of our fabulous breastmilk donors - Julie and Rachel, aka Weston's mama.
An update on Julie - she's pregnant with munchkin #2. She isn't able to pump much these days (pregnancy hormones and all) but continues to nurse little L (who is so freaking cute it hurts). I think she's planning to tandem nurse and I KNOW she'll donate milk again if she's able (and that seems absolutely likely).
And Rachel? Well that beautiful family also has a new addition in their family. And their sweet new guy is also thriving on his mama's breastmilk.
I've got a new guest post lined up for later this week from another of our super donors, Lauren. Lauren and Julie together have provided probably 80% or more of the milk baby E has had. I'm amazed by them. So make sure to come back later this week to read about her experiences with donating.
I know for many milksharing continues to be a controversial topic, something not understood, and thus feared. However, for us, for my family and the amazing women who have donated their milk to us, milksharing is normal. It is healthy. It is why my child thrives. It has allowed me to provide for him something that infertility and my inadequate body made impossible. There will never be enough gratitude for the gift milksharing has given us all.
For now, I'll leave you with a link to a story of one of our donor experiences that I shared on the official World Milksharing website. Here is direct link to our story.
Happy Milksharing Week!
Today's Lesson: Just because you don't understand something, that doesn't make it weird or wrong. It makes you uneducated about it. Educate yourself. If you then decide it's not for you, then that's what it is. It still doesn't necessarily make it weird or wrong for someone else.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The Things IF Takes from Us
There are so many things that IF brings to our life. There have been blessings (I mean, really, my boys wouldn't be mine with IF). There has been grief. There have been many things, both expected and unexpected.
One of these unexpected things hit me today, yes, years after I realized IF was part of my daily reality. This past weekend, some very dear friends announced their pregnancy. They've known for a couple of weeks (and, to be honest, I've suspected for a couple of weeks and didn't want to pry) but hadn't told anyone until this weekend. I am beyond thrilled for them for several reasons. I know what wonderful parents they are going to be. But, also because IF was part of their journey.
After we left their house, hubby asked me how I was feeling. I assured him I was fine, and am so very happy for them. But, as I've sat with it, I realized I feel a tad bit jealous about something. And, unexpectedly, it's not what you'd think. I don't envy the pregnancy itself. Truthfully, I am beyond happy for them.
Here's the thing - I've been thinking about their last two weeks. Now, I know the last couple of weeks have not been stress-free for them - they alluded to fears of miscarriage. I wouldn't wish that on anyone - myself or my sweet friends. But I've realized I envy their last couple of weeks, just the same.
It's just that the last few weeks they've had this secret, just them-ness. This sacred time of holding that little secret between just the two of them - such a unique time. It's a time where their world was completely theirs. The knowledge that two were becoming three. And no one but them knew it.
IF stole that special time from us. Sure, when we decided to pursue adoption, there was a time when only hubby and I knew. But that was such a stressful time. We were still heavily grieving the realization that pregnancy would likely not be our path to parenthood. Rationally, I know it seems such a small thing. But what they've had is yet another thing that IF stole from me, from hubby, from us.
And, yes, I get that this "special time" is probably something I've made up completely in my head. And yet I still can't help but envy them it.
Today's Lesson: There has been a lot of talk on the internets of late regarding the belief that becoming a mother "cures" the pain, insecurities, and general suckiness of IF. But here the thing. It isn't the job of our children - however they come to us - to fix us. Also the act of finally becoming parents doesn't negate our previous experiences. I've been a mother for 6.5yrs. IF still sucks.
One of these unexpected things hit me today, yes, years after I realized IF was part of my daily reality. This past weekend, some very dear friends announced their pregnancy. They've known for a couple of weeks (and, to be honest, I've suspected for a couple of weeks and didn't want to pry) but hadn't told anyone until this weekend. I am beyond thrilled for them for several reasons. I know what wonderful parents they are going to be. But, also because IF was part of their journey.
After we left their house, hubby asked me how I was feeling. I assured him I was fine, and am so very happy for them. But, as I've sat with it, I realized I feel a tad bit jealous about something. And, unexpectedly, it's not what you'd think. I don't envy the pregnancy itself. Truthfully, I am beyond happy for them.
Here's the thing - I've been thinking about their last two weeks. Now, I know the last couple of weeks have not been stress-free for them - they alluded to fears of miscarriage. I wouldn't wish that on anyone - myself or my sweet friends. But I've realized I envy their last couple of weeks, just the same.
It's just that the last few weeks they've had this secret, just them-ness. This sacred time of holding that little secret between just the two of them - such a unique time. It's a time where their world was completely theirs. The knowledge that two were becoming three. And no one but them knew it.
IF stole that special time from us. Sure, when we decided to pursue adoption, there was a time when only hubby and I knew. But that was such a stressful time. We were still heavily grieving the realization that pregnancy would likely not be our path to parenthood. Rationally, I know it seems such a small thing. But what they've had is yet another thing that IF stole from me, from hubby, from us.
And, yes, I get that this "special time" is probably something I've made up completely in my head. And yet I still can't help but envy them it.
Today's Lesson: There has been a lot of talk on the internets of late regarding the belief that becoming a mother "cures" the pain, insecurities, and general suckiness of IF. But here the thing. It isn't the job of our children - however they come to us - to fix us. Also the act of finally becoming parents doesn't negate our previous experiences. I've been a mother for 6.5yrs. IF still sucks.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Blog Tagline
Today's HAWMC prompt is to create a tagline for your blog.
Now, while hubby is quite good at coming up with taglines, me? Not so much. So, what did I do? Well, I relied on helpful old goo.gle. I found a couple of random tagline generators. You enter your word(s) into the box and it comes up with taglines for you. Here are some of the ones I got. Not exactly what I was looking for...
Today's lesson: My 6yo is "sprouting hair all over my body. And when I lick it, it stands up. I mean the hair on my arms. That's the only place I can lick, of course". Of course it is.
Now, while hubby is quite good at coming up with taglines, me? Not so much. So, what did I do? Well, I relied on helpful old goo.gle. I found a couple of random tagline generators. You enter your word(s) into the box and it comes up with taglines for you. Here are some of the ones I got. Not exactly what I was looking for...
- Infertility, free for everyone. Hahahaha. I mean, sure anyone can get IF, and it's free to get, but getting rid of it, per say, not so free.
- Infertility...one is not enough. Uh, actually, I'd say probably one is more than enough. Thanks.
- Infertility, couldn't ask for more! Um, actually, I'm pretty sure I could...
- I see infertility in your future. Well, now, that one just would have been helpful about, oh 10 years ago.
- Problem? The solution: Infertility No, no. It's the other way around. IF is the problem. But, wait, what's the solution??
- Infertility takes it to the next level. The next level of crazy... Why yes, yes it does.
- Infertility: It's guaranteed. Guaranteed to make you feel crazy and vulnerable and want to poke other people's eyes out sometimes. Oh wait. Maybe that was just me?
- Infertility is crazy good. No, just crazy. And not good crazy.
- Infertility. When it has to get done. Um, that's kind of what sex was like sometimes. You know, just something that has to get done. Good times, good times, y'all.
- Infertility? The high life. Being high might have made it more tolerable...
- Infertility, can't be beat. That sure is how it feels some days.
- Infertility opens the flood gates. Oh hell yes it does. The crazy tear flood gates. Geesh...
- People like infertility. Um, actually, I'm pretty darn sure they don't. Like, at all.
- The science of infertility. Now that would be helpful to know, wouldn't it?!
- Get infertility before your friend does. Oh, I sure did. How lucky for me!
- Award winning infertility. And what award would that be? The least functioning girly parts? How awesome.
- Infertility, fun for the whole family. Oh, but wait. See the problem with IF is that it makes that whole "family" part pretty difficult to achieve. And it's not really fun, at all.
- Infertility will get you more girls. Um...no. But it won't get you more boys either. That's kind of the problem...
- My infertility. Yup it is. Do you want it? 'Cause lord knows I don't.
- Infertility is all jacked up. Why yes, yes it is. Thank you for noticing.
Today's lesson: My 6yo is "sprouting hair all over my body. And when I lick it, it stands up. I mean the hair on my arms. That's the only place I can lick, of course". Of course it is.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Don't Ignore Secondary Trauma
This week is National Infertility Awareness Week. Their theme this year is Don't Ignore Infertility. We are charged with starting with "Don't Ignore..." and choosing an aspect of Infertility to tackle. Go HERE for more information or to participate.
I have a friend, well she and her husband are our friends. They're a funny, energetic couple who are successful in their professional lives and in their marriage. They love each other, y'all. Seriously, Love with a capital L. It took them a long time to decide that they wanted to try to have babies (or rather a baby, singular). But they did. And then Infertility reared her ugly face.
And, for some reason, this has hit me really hard. I've watched other friends dealing with infertility. Hell, I've lived with my own for almost 10 years. But, for some reason, seeing these particular funny, dear friends starting to sift through infertility has hit me differently. Seeing these two people who took such care in deciding whether they "should" be parents, who will be the most loving, hilarious (in good way!) brilliant parents and will teach their children to care for others and just be good people, to see them struggle to get there is so upsetting for me.
Now, I absolutely have faith that they will make it through this and will have a sweet baby on the other side. But I so wish there wasn't this awful path on the way to that baby. I know their faith and the strength of their relationship will get them through through this ordeal. I just wish they could be spared the pain. While I see them dealing with it gracefully, I'm kind of a mess at times.
I wish I could articulate the reasons why their struggle is so upsetting to me. Like, even to myself I wish I could articulate it. I guess it comes down to secondary trauma, or even PTSD. Seeing this friend - for some reason - dealing with her own infertility, brings up all those same feelings for me. It's a re-traumatizing of sorts, I suppose.
I have always been sensitive to others' pain. Now, I don't mean that in a "hey look at me, I think about other people all the time" kind of way". I mean it in a "if I see you crying and you're in pain, I'll probably start to cry, too" kind of a way. I'm pretty sure I have my mom to blame for this.
At any rate, I think there are times when I can pretend that my own pain with IF is gone. That I've dealt with it and am okay. And I suppose for the most part that's true. But, when seeing other people, especially dear friends, head down this same road, it hits me in the gut again, and I am transported back to that time when the IF pain was constant and frequently overwhelming.
And so, the thing that I don't want people to ignore about IF is that it doesn't just go away. It's something we carry with us. Something that we can't just forget about. Something we can't just let go of. Just ignore. Just because we have children. It's still there.
Today's Lesson: Infertility sucks. It changes your path in life, for good in some ways, not so much in others. And it doesn't just go away when parenthood is achieved. Hit up these sites for more information about infertility in general, and NIAW week specifically.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Weaning
I'm probably going to cry writing this post. I'll probably cry if I ever read it later, too. I'll probably avoid it for a long time. And, in hindsight, I probably shouldn't be writing it at work. Too late.
It all started earlier this week. Hubby came upstairs and said, "I'm just giving you an emotional heads up. The milk is just about gone. There's maybe a week's worth left down in the freezer. Do you hear me? It's almost gone". I nodded or acknowledged him in some nonverbal way.
But mostly I just tried to ignore what he'd said. Because, what it means, is that as soon as that other mommas' milk is gone, baby E and I will be done nursing. And I can't deal with that just yet. But apparently I have to. Apparently it's inevitable. And soon.
Baby E won't drink cow's milk. Not in a cup. Not in the SNS (nursing). Not even if it's mixed with bm. He seems to know if there's as little as an oz mixed in with 4oz of bm. He's just not having it. And he's never been a comfort nurser. If he's going to nurse, it's to get milk. And, while I still have some of my own (I think), it's not much. And it certainly doesn't come out fast enough for his liking.
So, we're going to be done. And I'm devastated. It never dawned on me that this would be the reason we'd wean. I thought I'd be ready to stop. Or he would just decide he was done. I never though lack of milk would be the reason.
I called a few of our previous donors, though none of them have any milk right now. Of course, I did get back on HM4HB and ask for milk. But I feel horribly guilty going there (and also don't have huge hopes of it panning out). I know there are little babies who need what milk there is available. And my big, almost 19mon old boy, well, he just doesn't need it in the same way they do.
I'm sure many of you are thinking, "for the love of all things holy! You've nursed that child for more than a year and a half! Let. It. Go.". And part of my rational brain is saying that, too. But. But! I'm just so sad. Mostly because I don't think baby E is done. And he's going to be confused and sad.
And, also, I'm pissed. This is just one more reminder of infertility and of all the ways my body has/continues to fail me.
Soon I will be able to write a post about how grateful I am for the nursing time we had. How special it was for both of us. I'll know that he'll be fine. That I'll be fine. But for right now, I'm just sad and mad. And crying. At work.
Today's Lesson: Today's HAWMC prompt is to write an announcement about a miracle cure. You know what I would cure? Stupid ass infertility. I. HATE. IT!!!!!!!!! And that is neither an announcement nor a lesson. But it's the best I can do today. (Stupid ass infertility...she mutters repeatedly)
It all started earlier this week. Hubby came upstairs and said, "I'm just giving you an emotional heads up. The milk is just about gone. There's maybe a week's worth left down in the freezer. Do you hear me? It's almost gone". I nodded or acknowledged him in some nonverbal way.
But mostly I just tried to ignore what he'd said. Because, what it means, is that as soon as that other mommas' milk is gone, baby E and I will be done nursing. And I can't deal with that just yet. But apparently I have to. Apparently it's inevitable. And soon.
Baby E won't drink cow's milk. Not in a cup. Not in the SNS (nursing). Not even if it's mixed with bm. He seems to know if there's as little as an oz mixed in with 4oz of bm. He's just not having it. And he's never been a comfort nurser. If he's going to nurse, it's to get milk. And, while I still have some of my own (I think), it's not much. And it certainly doesn't come out fast enough for his liking.
So, we're going to be done. And I'm devastated. It never dawned on me that this would be the reason we'd wean. I thought I'd be ready to stop. Or he would just decide he was done. I never though lack of milk would be the reason.
I called a few of our previous donors, though none of them have any milk right now. Of course, I did get back on HM4HB and ask for milk. But I feel horribly guilty going there (and also don't have huge hopes of it panning out). I know there are little babies who need what milk there is available. And my big, almost 19mon old boy, well, he just doesn't need it in the same way they do.
I'm sure many of you are thinking, "for the love of all things holy! You've nursed that child for more than a year and a half! Let. It. Go.". And part of my rational brain is saying that, too. But. But! I'm just so sad. Mostly because I don't think baby E is done. And he's going to be confused and sad.
And, also, I'm pissed. This is just one more reminder of infertility and of all the ways my body has/continues to fail me.
Soon I will be able to write a post about how grateful I am for the nursing time we had. How special it was for both of us. I'll know that he'll be fine. That I'll be fine. But for right now, I'm just sad and mad. And crying. At work.
Today's Lesson: Today's HAWMC prompt is to write an announcement about a miracle cure. You know what I would cure? Stupid ass infertility. I. HATE. IT!!!!!!!!! And that is neither an announcement nor a lesson. But it's the best I can do today. (Stupid ass infertility...she mutters repeatedly)
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