Spoilsport

If my husband saw the title of this post, he would say something like, “Okay, Grandma!” He loves to make fun of me when I use words he calls ‘old-fashioned’.

But that may be the perfect word for what I am feeling right now!

We have all seen those “breast cancer awareness” facebook status update trends… Where your purse is, bra color, shoe size, etc etc. Personally, I’ve always thought they are kind-of dumb. The idea is, you post something vague according to the instructions (“I like it on the kitchen counter”) and people wonder what you are talking about (that one describes where your purse is – on the kitchen counter – but of course it sounds sexual). You aren’t supposed to tell any “men” what it means.

Somehow, in SOME way, this is supposed to raise breast cancer awareness. I have no idea how. Reading people’s shoe size did not remind me about breast cancer. Now, if someone was posting about a fundraiser or the link to a breast cancer website, I could see that raising awareness. But who are we kidding? Is there *anyone* out there that is not aware of breast cancer? And how does this game make us aware??? Especially when you don’t tell the men, when many times MEN are the ones who notice a change in their wife’s breasts first.

Now the new cancer “game” has really rubbed me wrong. This time, you post, “I am ___ weeks and I’m craving ________.” The blanks are filled in with a number and a treat that is defined by your birthday.

Of course, when someone posts this, all others who don’t know the “game” immediately start speculating… “Are you pregnant???” and, true to the rules, the poster refuses to answer. Sound fun? Are you more aware of breast cancer now?

The whole thing is ridiculous, because of the reasons above, but this newest game really upsets me. I think back nine months ago and how it would feel reading status after status of women pretending to be pregnant and having fun with people who think they, in fact, are. I think back to after my miscarriage, how I would feel to read these updates and think, “Well, I should have been ___ weeks by now, and craving ________, but my baby is gone.”

So, maybe I’m a “spoilsport” and no fun, but I can’t wait for this fad to be over. It’s all I can do not to comment on every one of these status updates, “No, she’s not pregnant, and if you really want to learn more about breast cancer, you can start HERE.”

Get Real?

I have been accused of something just awful… Apparently, I am too positive. Dreadful, isn’t it? ;)

I am actually okay with being called “too positive”. There are worse things in this world. What hurts is being told I’m not “real” about this trial of infertility or that I “sugar-coat” my experience.

Hmmm, have you read this post?

Or this one?

Or, more recently, this one?

Did you miss the entire year where I was clinically depressed to the point of medical intervention?

Did you forget my miscarriage?

I am writing this blog from my experience and my perspective. I choose to focus on positivity whenever possible, simply because I find I get through the day better when it’s there. Some days that method doesn’t work and I feel bitter and alone. But guess what? I write about those times too.

Just because I don’t declare war on every pregnant woman out there and fill my blog with negativity all the time doesn’t mean I don’t hurt. But concentrating on that doesn’t get me anywhere. At the end of it, I'll still be infertile. But I'll also be angry, bitter and miserable.

Someday, my children will read this story. How wonderful would it be if they could come away from it feeling like their mother handled herself gracefully during these last 8 years? That is my goal. I’m not there yet, but I try. Sometimes, I let out a nice big vent and it feels so good. And then I remember the TRUE goal of my journey, and all that negativity doesn’t seem as important anymore. It is not my purpose.

So, if you are interested in reading how *I* see, feel and experience infertility, stick with me. I promise a journey of faith, hope and the occasional meltdown. Should be a fun time!

If you are only into vents and rages, I have a number of other sites I can suggest instead…

A New Word...

I have invented a new word:

MOM-SNOB

mom·snob
noun \ˈmämˈsnäb\

Definition :

1 A woman who, after engaging in the act of birthing a child, automatically assumes they are more important and more mature than women who have not engaged in this activity
2 A woman who, after engaging in the act of birthing a child, decides it is no longer necessary to speak with or befriend women who have not engaged in this activity

— mom·snob \-ˌer\ noun
— mom·snobby \-ish\ adjective

Sentence Example: If I ever beat infertility, I will never become a mom-snob.

See Also: Chameleon

I think I can... I think I can...

Doesn’t it always happen that the minute you write a positive, uplifting, nothing-can-stop-my-happiness post, everything in the universe conspires against you? I’m being over-dramatic here, but today I am really being tested. Really.

Baby pictures, baby talk, baby stories are running rampid right now and I can not escape.

I have to be okay with where I am right now. And grateful for the gift I’ve been given. And excited about the Christmas season.

I have to be okay!

Working Infertile

Work has become a very hard place to be.

It’s no one’s fault. If it were anyone’s fault, it would be mine.

I work at a small office full of young people. There are 7 of us and, besides the boss, the oldest one is 32. When you get a group of people in their late 20s and early 30s, you inevitably get a bunch of people starting their families.

I started working here in 2004. At that time, I had been trying to conceive for about a year, and for the first four years, none of us “young kids” had any children.

Over the last 2 years, all that has changed… One employee has had 2 children, another one just gave birth to her first child, and we hired an employee who is a new father to twins. Even the boss delights in being a grandfather.

It is rough! Every day, I see others rejoice in the one blessing I desire that never comes. I hear clients down the hall gushing over baby pictures, asking for updates, and laughing at all the adventures that come with new parenthood. I hear complaints about lack of sleep and find baby pictures in my email box. On good days, it is hard. On bad days, it’s devastating.

I was used to church being a difficult place to be, with children running around everywhere, pregnant SAHMs, and the constant reminder that “motherhood is your ultimate calling”. After a while, I learned being with friends wasn’t always a safe place, as they add baby after baby to their families, while the list of common ground gets shorter and shorter. Now work is another place where I can’t get away from the constant baby parade.

I start to daydream about walking out the door and never coming back. I do mental calculations… could we afford to live on Ryan’s income alone? I become sad because all of the years of hard work to develop this career seem worthless if I hate being here.

But then I have a client meeting. Just me and a single person or a couple. We talk and laugh and at the end, I feel like I did something to help their situation. And that gives me the strength to come back the next day.

I am fortunate in so many ways. I like helping people and I am able to do that as a planner. I have a boss that has a good heart. I have one co-worker (and a former co-worker) who will selflessly listen to me ramble and complain. I have a flexible schedule that lets me work from home 4 days a month or so. Not to mention, the money I earn at this job allows me to do the fertility treatments that might bring me motherhood.

So I take a deep breath, put my head down and get through it.

And remind myself it can’t be this way forever…

Great Expectations

I think I expect way too much from people.

I feel like I am a pretty sensitive person. I work hard not to say things that would be offensive or bring someone sadness. I monitor my words and actions the best I can. I’m not perfect by any means, and I often find myself with my foot in my mouth. But I really put a lot of effort into making sure I don’t bring anyone sadness because of the things I say.

Because of that, I automatically expect others to be the same way, and I find myself disappointed when they don’t live up to these expectations.

The community I expect the most from? The infertile community. And they are always the ones who disappoint me the most. Some of my most crushing moments have come from people who “were” infertile, the people I think should “know better”.

Of course, I ask the impossible sometimes, and I know it. How is someone supposed to know that this is the *wrong* day to show off their baby’s pictures? How is someone supposed to tone down their excitement about an impending child, simply because I’m in the room? And would I even want them to? What kind of person would that make me?

Even so, there is story I have to share, if for no other reason, to remember it for the future and ensure I never do something like this to my ‘infertile sisters’.

When Ryan and I arrived for our last IUI appointment, the doctor’s office was packed. We took the last 2 chairs available, and they weren’t even next to each other. I had never seen it this crowded!

During the wait, as I was inconspicuously looking around the room, I noticed an older mother, one or two grandmothers, and an older gentleman. I thought this was strange but I didn’t think much of it. Suddenly, a young couple burst out of the back room with huge smiles and ultrasound pictures in their hands. I knew they must be pregnant and I smiled to myself. Good for them.

But then, as they crossed out of the lobby and into the breezeway, I noticed all those other people get up and follow them out there. They were all relatives of the pregnant couple. They proceeded to stand in front of the office, jumping up and down and screaming.

The entire waiting room of 10-15 infertile people got to witness this moment through the full-length windows of the office. We got to see her hold up the pictures, tell everyone there was “just one”, laugh, cry and hold each other. This went on for about 5 minutes.

And there I was, sitting in my chair, my husband two seats down, watching it all happen. I looked around the waiting room and saw the mixture of pain and sadness on all the other couples faces. Not jealousy… pain.

This couple and their family were beyond excited. I don’t blame them. They had no idea I was thinking about my miscarriage and the ultrasound picture I would never hold. I wondered about the stories of the other waiting couples who were watching this with me. I’m sure some were there to ask why their IVF didn’t work, some might be getting their own ultrasound only to find no heartbeat, some were just starting their own painful journey.

I found myself in a world of emotions… Why would they bring all their relatives? I couldn’t even sit next to my husband because they had to bring all these people. It was a beautiful day. They could have waited outside. Did they not think for a second about celebrating like that in front of an audience of infertile people? Could they have walked 10 feet down the breezeway and then celebrated? They “used” to be one of us… Why would these thoughts not cross their mind?

Some people would tell me this situation should have brought me hope. It didn’t. And from the looks on the faces of those around me, I wasn’t alone.

Maybe I shouldn’t hold people who have had infertility to a higher standard. But I do. The one week I was pregnant, the biggest thing on my mind were those people who were still waiting, whether I knew them personally or not. I did everything I could think of to make life less painful for them. But maybe I didn’t do enough. Maybe I was one of “those” people. That thought makes me sick.

Maybe I expect way too much from people. All it does is hurt me in the end.

Moded and Corroded!

Did you ever say that expression in 1st grade? Admit it! You did. And it is the perfect expression for this blog posting.

This childish statement goes out to all those well-intentioned busy-bodies who spent the last 7 years making me cry with the following statements…

- Just relax and it will happen.
- You’re trying too hard.
- Forget about it and you’ll get pregnant.

Notice all of these items put the blame on us. Not on some unexplained medical condition we might have, but on our mindsets, our attitudes, our anxieties. The reason we weren’t getting pregnant was under OUR control, but we were CHOOSING to “try too hard” and “not relax”. And THAT is why we weren’t pregnant yet.

Even though, logically, I knew that there was some other issue going on, I spent so much time blaming myself for our infertility because of these comments. I think this happens a lot to those with “unexplained infertility”. There is not a diagnosed medical condition, so the problem must lie somewhere else… right?

Well, in 2010 we were vindicated! We achieved pregnancy. No, we didn’t relax or try less. We sought medical treatment. If there were no medical issues, then why did we get pregnant on our 2nd Follistim with IUI cycle? We were anything but relaxed, we were trying really hard, and we were definitely thinking about it.

So, for all you well-intentioned busy-bodies out there… moded and corroded! :P Hopefully this is a lesson to you that no diagnosis does not equal no medical issues. And maybe you’ll think twice before making these comments to other couples who struggle with starting their family.

To All the Women

In the last year, I’ve probably read this paragraph (and similar ones) dozens of times as they make their way around Facebook and back again…

To all the unselfish moms out there who traded eyeliner for dark circles, salon haircuts for pony tails, long showers for quick showers, late nights for early mornings, designer bags for diaper bags, and wouldn't change a thing. Lets see how many moms post this. Moms who don't care about whatever they gave up and instead LOVE what they got in return. Post this if you love your life as a Mother.

Well, I have finally written my own…

To all the heartbroken women out there who traded flat stomachs for bruised and bloated ones, romantic nights with their husbands for costly inseminations, designer bags for a refrigerator full of medicine, healthy bodies for headaches and hot flashes, their privacy for a chance at adoption, and wouldn’t change a thing… because every one of these trade offs is a CHANCE at Motherhood. Woman who don’t care about whatever they gave up and instead risk everything for the hope of something wonderful in return. Post THIS if you’d do anything to become a Mother.

It's Just Another Day...

This morning, my Facebook page was flooded with pictures of kids on their first day of school. At one point, everything on my home page was literally on that topic.

Why can’t I stop the urge to “do the math”? Where would I have been today if I didn’t have infertility?

If it had taken me a year to get pregnant, like a normal person, my child would be just over five years old. He or she would be starting Kindergarten today. Their picture might have been on that Facebook page.

Instead, my alarm went off as usual, I got ready and went to work.

Today is no different than any other day.

Except that I will not be logging onto Facebook if I can help it.

Down Moments

I hate those down moments.

You know, those times when everything grinds to a halt and your heart suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds?

It comes out of nowhere.

It could be because I overhear people talking about babies or children or pregnancy. It could be because of some commercial I saw or a comment made to me in passing. Sometimes, it happens for no reason at all.

At that moment, it feels like I will never recover: crushing and heavy. Those first few seconds are the worst part.

Then slowly, somehow, I lift myself out of that moment and continue on my day. Sometimes, it just takes a second, sometimes longer. But eventually I get there, and life is normal again.

But, boy do I hate those down moments.

The Ramblings of an 'Older' Infertile

Once I passed age 30, I found myself instantly concerned with a few issues...

First, I could now hear the clock ticking. Not like I hadn't heard it before, but I immediately felt this "countdown to 35" begin.

At the age of 35, a pregnant woman is usually assigned to a specialist automatically. Why? Because she is considered a geriatric pregnancy.

SERIOUSLY? A GERIATRIC pregnancy??? Really, with our modern-day advances, we can't figure out a better term for an older mother?

Plus, the medical community takes every opportunity to remind you about all the risks that are associated with 'older mothers'. Thanks.

Way to bring a girl down.

Not that I would mind being pregnant at 35. I would be over the moon. I would proudly take that geriatric pregnancy label and wear it on my forehead if I needed to.

But nevertheless, I hear the countdown. And it's not pretty.

Another issue I have is with the way that others judge the infertile community. Especially the 'older' infertiles. (I have to say, that in this instance, I am mainly referring to the Mormon community... whom I love... for the most part...)

I know, I know, I'm still young. Blah, blah, blah.

But I am now in my 30's. And many people tend to look at women who have infertility issues in their 30s and think that we 'brought this on ourselves' by waiting too long to pursue a family. We put our careers / travel / money / fun first and now that we are ready for a family we 'waited too long'.

What people don't realize is that many of these 'older infertiles' didn't wait. And even if they did, who are we to judge?

However, *I* started trying to begin my family when I was 23!

How ironic that if I had gotten pregnant right away at age 23, some would have thought I was 'too young'. But now that I will be in my 30s when I become a mom, others would call me an 'older mother'.

Which brings me to my last gripe (for tonight): When I do become a mom at 31 or 32 or 38, will I have anything, anything in common with the new 21-year-old moms at church? Will the age difference be blaring in my face, or will our new-motherness bridge the age gap?

So many questions tonight, but not a lot of answers. Sigh.

And life goes on...

The Reason Why

For several reasons, yesterday was a long and emotional day. Now, with the clarity of a good night’s sleep and some deep soul searching, I think I have found the primary reason the statements in my post below hurt so much (i.e., ‘Enjoy ______ now, because you won’t get to do it when you have kids.’).

It has nothing to do with the person saying it. It is something inside me that breaks when I hear those things. And while I do, 100%, agree with what I wrote that day, I think the true pain lies much deeper.

I am a busy gal, but with a husband who works nights and most weekends/holidays, there is a lot of time spent alone. There was a time when I would spend most of that time crying or simply sitting on the couch staring into space for hours. During that time, I found no joy in the things I used to love. I was depressed.

Now I feel better, and I have re-discovered those things I enjoy. I have filled up lonely holidays or Friday nights with cooking or baking or writing or scrapbooking or any of the other activities I forgot I loved. I feel like a person again.

So when someone reminds me that I only have time to do these things because I don’t have children, it’s like ripping a scab off an open wound. I would love to be taking my kids to the park on a holiday (or even nagging them to clean their room!) or making pizzas and watching a movie on a Friday night. But I don’t have those options. I am trying to make the best of what I have.

I do enjoy sleeping in on a Saturday, or reading a book on a Sunday afternoon. I am sorry if that makes moms feel jealous. But while they are jealous of those free hours I get, I yearn on an hourly basis for the lives they are living.

A person commented in the post below that things are difficult as a mom. She mentioned that you are now tied to someone else’s schedule, money is tighter, nerves are more raw. What she isn’t realizing is that I am already living that life in my own way.

Have you ever spent six years “scheduling” sex, and seen what that does to a marriage? Have you ever excused yourself from a business meeting at a specific time to go to the bathroom and give yourself a shot in the stomach? And then try to return as if nothing happened? Have you ever filled yourself full of hormones and experienced what that does to nerves? Undergone surgery only to find no answers? Let someone stick needles all over your body as you lay there choking tears back because you feel this is your last hope? Spent thousands of dollars trying to become a mom to no avail? Understood that it will cost $12,000 for a treatment that has a greater chance of not working, than working? Seen friends of yours wait years for a birth mother to choose them for adoption and wonder if that will be you too?

I have experienced all these things and more. I guarantee I have been tied to schedules, money’s been tight, and nerves have been raw. I am not saying my path is any more difficult than anyone else’s. In fact, I know my battle is a small one compared to others I have seen. Even so, just as the commenter said, everyone is fighting their own battle.

I don’t need to be reminded that my life is different than most married women my age. I don’t need to be reminded how my life would be different with children. I have spent hours on my knees begging to experience it for myself. I am trying to move on.

And that is the reason these statements hurt.

Fired Up

Over the past decade or so, I have often heard some variation of the following:

‘Enjoy ______ now, because you won’t get to do it when you have kids.’
‘Once you have kids, you’ll never get to do ______ anymore.’
‘When you’re pregnant, you’ll be too absent-minded to ______.’
‘You only like doing ______ because you don’t have kids yet.’

I have been told I will no longer have dates with my husband. I will not be able to go to school or take a class because ‘pregnancy makes you dumb’. I won’t enjoy cooking or baking anymore. If you add these comments together, it appears the person I am, and have always been, will cease to exist once this blessed event occurs.

One of the benefits of waiting so long to have children is the opportunity I’ve had to see so many different people venture into motherhood. I have observed new mothers who become completely different people when their children are born. I’m not talking about priorities changing. That goes without saying. For example, I spend less time with certain friends because they are busy being moms. I fully understand that. But some mothers become a different person entirely.

Suddenly, they are incapable of discussing anything beyond child rearing. They moan and complain and sometimes don’t even seem to like their children. Nothing happening in your life is as awful, happy, or important as the latest events in their own life. There is a difference between making your children the center of your world (which makes sense), and expecting them to be the center of everyone else’s (which is a lot to ask).

I also find it ironic that many of the moms who tell me all of these things have plenty of time to watch TV, play around on the computer, or take long naps daily. I find it insulting when someone tells me I’ll have to give up digi-scraping when I have kids because I won’t have the time, but can also tell me the latest goings-on with a number of current TV shows. Contradiction, anyone?

Although I have never experienced motherhood, I am observant enough to know that things will change immensely. Time will be precious, and some things I do now will either be eliminated or have lower priority. I know that my number one mission will be to care for my children. I look forward to that!

But to jump from that to assuming all of the parts that make me who I am will disappear upon entering motherhood is crazy. I see many moms out there who have not lost themselves. In fact, motherhood has helped them discover more about who they are.

I have a couple of friends who have taken up photography, because taking pictures of their children opened up a creative outlet they hadn’t acknowledged in the past. Practically all of the cooking and baking blogs I follow are written by moms. I have attended college classes with many pregnant women who were anything but ‘dumb’. And, I am pretty sure I have seen couples who have children out on dates. Less often? Oh, yes. But never? Not necessarily.

Growing up, I knew a million things about my mom and what she enjoyed. I knew her favorite type of exercise was to work-out in the pool. That was ‘her’ time and I got that. I also knew she loved making people feel beautiful and was creative with hair and make-up. I knew she loved watching mysteries and crime drama on TV. And guess what? She loved all these things before me, she loved them while I was young, and she continues to love them today. That is who she is. I wonder what she would have thought if someone had told her she would no longer enjoy doing these things while she was a mom, and what that same person would have thought if (several years later) they saw a little girl snuggled up to her mom watching The Rockford Files on TV, or sitting on a booster seat in the salon chair while her mom practiced hairstyles on her. Loose myself in motherhood? My mom sure didn’t!

I love those future kidlets of mine, and I want to give them every part of who I am. I want them to know the interests, passions, and creative outlets that make me ME. Maybe I’ll be digi-scraping late at night while they sleep, but I’ll still be doing it. Maybe I’ll trade in my experimental recipes for kid-friendly ones, but I’ll still love to bake. I want them to know how important their father is to me and if it means they’re spending a night at the Grandparents’ every once in a while, well, I can think of worse things than that!

When it comes down to it, I think it is a choice. It may take effort, but I’m pretty sure you can hang on to a scrap of who you are during motherhood, without becoming a neglectful parent. Why can’t you include your children in what you love and watch those talents grow? Couldn’t it be argued that you could be a healthier, happier mom if you hung on to some of those things you enjoy?

Maybe I am just a naïve wanna-be, but that’s what I believe.

Stunned

Yes, that is the right word for it. Something happened last week that left me stunned.

I have a friend who has been going through a tough time for a while. Finally, after a lot of soul searching, praying, and perhaps desperation, she realized that she needed professional help. Having been there, I empathized with what she was going through and was so proud that she had taken the first step towards recovery. It is not easy.

My friend sought out a therapist and met with her. As they talked, her therapist begun to recognize symptoms of depression. She suggested my friend may want to see her doctor about taking an anti-depressant. This is understandable. My therapist told me the same thing. I chose not to go that way right now, but I know it's an option if I need to. If I can't get out of bed because the pain is so great, I have a refuge.

And my friend was already at that point.

She summoned the courage and went to the doctor. Because of insurance issues, this was actually a new doctor to her. When my friend expressed her feelings and suggestions by her therapist, her doctor shot her down cold, and was extremely uncompassionate.

In an effort to vent her frustrations, as well as help anyone else feeling this way and thinking they are alone, she did what I am doing now: bore her soul in a blog posting about the entire situation.

You would think that such an honest and exposed telling of her most dark secret would be met with compassion, right? If someone didn't have something nice to say, they probably would have moved along, right? Even if someone had a differing view, they would have presented it in a caring and compassionate manner, right? You would think.

But, you would be wrong! Although most comments were supportive, my friend was told by an "anonymous" poster that she was (among other things):

Looking for the "cure all" pill

Medication was 'a little excessive'

She needed to 'just face it, life its hard'

She just needed to 'pray everyday and night, read her scriptures and let the Lord help with her burdens'.

And 'try a little faith first before popping the pills'

Apparently, this person was able to make all these judgements and conclusions from one simple story. In reality, it was my friend's prayers and guidance that led her to seek help in the first place.

'God helps those who help themselves'.

Can I ask this: When did we as women decide to turn on each other? What leads us to believe we can judge each other and pull each other down? What benefit does that have to anyone? What happened to compassion, acceptance, and love? After all we have learned about depression and mental illness, why is there still a stigma associated with it?

If a young mother is depressed and is denied help, who are we to judge if and when things go devastatingly wrong? A woman is judged for seeking help, but then judged for the ramifications of not doing so.

When I read this person's comments, I was stunned. Stunned at the ignorance, stunned at the insensitivity, and stunned at the cowardly way these feelings were expressed. Perhaps this person cares for my friend and was trying to help, but you sure couldn't tell that from the awful way she attacked her.

The next time any of us sees a sister in crisis, I hope we will shut our mouths and open our arms. Share your opinion if need be, but cushion it with love and compassion. A hand to hold is worth a thousand pieces of advice.

Oh, the narcissism!

I love when people make assumptions and think they know me.

I can't control other's actions, but I can control my own.

Sometimes, I am just floored by the egotism and lack of class exhibited by others. Especially those whom I have moved heaven and earth to make their life easier.

Experiences such as these remind me how blessed I am to have true and wonderful friends, people with compassionate and tender hearts. They also help me to realize that I can choose who I let into my life, and who I leave behind.

And now... I am letting it go!

On My Own

Here is a tip that I have learned over the past five years. When someone is going through a difficult time, never tell them how they should be handling their trial. Believe me, they know, and they are already handling it the best way they can.

They know that they should be grateful for all the wonderful things in their life, but occasionally there are moments that this is clouded with pain. They know that this too will pass, but sometimes this realization is covered by fear. They know that there are worse things in this world that they could experience, but every now and then this thought is crowded out by the magnitude of what they are going through right now.

I don’t think there has ever been a case that someone’s life turned around because they were told to ‘get over it’. There comes a point where you have to let people work through issues on their own. You can be supportive or lend a listening ear, but you don’t have to solve it for them.

I know it may make you feel better to give them guidance and advice. And those things are fine, as long as you have been ‘in the trenches’ with them. But if you are an outside observer, or are not close to them, think hard before you make a judgment. Your good intentions could backfire.

I have been on the receiving end of such casual comments or ‘suggestions’, by people who hardly know me. Just for the record, I realize that there are others out there with problems so massive that mine seem insignificant. When I feel sorry for myself in spite of this, I am fully aware that this is the wrong decision, and I heap enough guilt on myself because of it. I look at someone who has lost a loved one, or is battling a life-threatening illness, and I recognize the magnitude of their burden compared to mine. I know these things, and hearing them again from you only splits open a wound I am trying desperately to close.

Infertility is a loss. It is the loss of a dream, the loss of your identity, the loss of the life you always pictured. With that loss come true stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Some days, it is a mix of many stages, and I have cycled through the first four many times trying to achieve number five.

So, let me work this out. Perhaps I feel angry? Let me feel that way. It’s good for me to try and work through that.

I could compare this to a chick hatching from its egg. Supposedly, if you help the chick break through, she will die. It is in the struggle of emerging from the egg that the chick finds the strength for survival. I am looking for that strength, and I need people outside cheering me on, or at least watching quietly, not someone yanking my shell away before I am ready to hatch.

I will get there; just be patient. If you can’t handle the wait then move along. I will meet you on the other side.

---------------------------------

I know you said
Can't you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it

Forgive? Sounds good.
Forget? I'm not sure I could.
They say time heals everything
But I'm still waiting…

The screams only a mother can love... Seriously.

I think kids are cute. Really. I can find something cute about nearly every kid I see, no matter how bratty or homely they may appear. But I draw the line at this.

I went grocery shopping today and this mom and dad had two shopping carts, with one child sitting in the basket of each. These kids were probably ages 3 and 5, or so. I was already a little annoyed because their parents would park both carts side-by-side in the isle. I would have to suck in and squeeze my way through to get to something, grab it, and suck in/squeeze my way back. This happened several times. One time the mother looked at me and gave me a half-hearted 'sorry' but made no attempt to move her cart (one of her carts!) so I could get through.

Anywho, a little later into my shopping experience, they started playing a game with their kids. I'm not sure what game exactly, but it caused the kids to scream at the top of their lungs. Not one or two screams, but continually. Many, many screams. For ten minutes. A long time. The parents thought this was hilarious.

Maybe I'm a tad bitter, but I feel I deserve the right to shop without picking up a migraine along with my groceries. Maybe you think your kids' ear-piercing, blood-curdling screams are amusing, but I don't. I love the sounds of happy children: giggling, laughing, and even a cute squeal or two, but at some point, shouldn't you respect the peace of others and keep it noise-appropriate in public? Or am I just sour grapes?

Tantrum

Today I had a tantrum. A real-life, yell-down-the-hall-at-a-coworker, shut-my-office-door-and-bawl-my-eyes-out tantrum.

The old Michelle would have been mortified at my behavior. This new girl apologized with a bit of embarrassment, then seemed to shrug it off.

I don't even recognize myself anymore!

Can’t I Just Love My Body?

For a long time, I hated my body. Here I am, a woman, who is unable to do the very thing my body was created for. Not only that, but no one could tell me why. It was like I was surrounded by women whose bodies were beautiful and mine was dysfunctional. I went through a time where I considered my body as deformed, inadequate, and ugly. I hated my body because of what it could not do.

Over time, I taught myself to be grateful. My body can not (or at least will not) give life, but my body is still a gift. It is not ridden with disease. I can walk, run, and even dance. I get sick sometimes, but I become well. It is a long and continuous process, but I have begun to appreciate and accept my body again. And I am still working on it.

I’ve been trying to treat my body better. I have been taking a ballet class for months now. I have begun increasing my activity and have concentrated on stretching and making my body stronger. I have been eating better with more veggies and fruit. I have switched to organic products as much as (financially) possible. I have been trying to love my body for what it is and take care of it.

There is a person in my life right now who considers me unhealthy. Those words have never been mentioned, but the comments that are made lead me to believe this is the case. I notice this person never “encourages” any one else to do certain things to improve their health, just me. It makes me feel singled out.

Today, a comment was made to me in passing. I was having a problem that really has nothing to do with diet or exercise. In fact, I have had this problem my entire life, including high school when I was dancing six days a week and was the healthiest I had ever been. Today, this person used the situation to, again, point out what I should be doing to be a better, healthier person. When I described what I have been doing, I was told that wasn’t good enough.

Can’t I just love my body for what it is? This exchange of words brought back all those feelings I have been working so hard to let go. I know I am not perfect. I know I could exercise more and eat better. Who couldn’t? But, you know what; at this point I am just trying to get through the day.

I know this person has no idea how the comments affected me. I know he/she would feel badly if they knew they made me sad. There were no ill intentions there; quite the opposite, the comments were probably intended to be "helpful suggestions".

And in another lifetime, these comments wouldn’t bother me at all. The old Michelle might have used them as a motivator. The person I am now just sees it as another reason I don’t measure up.

Blah

I was looking for the perfect way to describe how I feel today and I finally found it: Blah. Here are the components...

A hunk of exhaustion
A teaspoon of bitterness
A scoopful of stress
A cup of resilience
A dash of depression

Luckily, Blah shouldn't last too long. It will expire soon and I'll have to whip up a new mood "recipe". Hopefully, the next one will be sweeter.

And tomorrow is another day... :)