I am 20 weeks and one day pregnant. Nothing is wrong. Dr. A is ready to do backflips over my top-of-range cervical length as of 11 days ago. Baby's anatomy scan is Tuesday, and we'll probably find growth still on track and most other things looking very normal. So here I am, still walking around like a healthy person unfollowed by clouds of impending doom just waiting to burst.
This time last year I was sitting around in the hospital. I think it was about this time that I went home for an hour before having to be readmitted to the hospital. It's the in-between time again of my sons' births, where I ate bacon sandwiches every day to fill the parts of me not already overstuffed with hope and despair.
This time last pregnancy I was lying in pretty much the same place I am now, with at least five pillows, trying not to sneeze. I'd been told by pretty much every doctor ever to wait for doom. Dr. P. told me to hope for something a little better. People were praying, and it was working. My pregnancy was getting unlikelier every day. By the end of things, the unlikely was overshadowed by the unheard of, the nearly impossible, the record-breaking, and what was probably actually impossible before it happened.
So it's strange and unknown to me to have a normal pregnancy. Well, mostly normal, if you forget the extra medical attention. And instead of praying for another day of pregnancy, I'm praying with good hopes for 20 more weeks. I bought a pink baby book that I promise myself I won't wind up hiding in a drawer somewhere. I worry about delivery positioning and whether my lady parts will turn into Upton Sinclair's The Jungle (don't overthink the reference). I plan on delivering a BIG baby, and holding her right away. I even wonder if I'll deliver late.
And while I remember this nausea, and most of these aches, and how my belly should expand, I know I never had these particular imaginings of my future before. There were early morning blood draws, more bacon than a hospital should allow any patient to eat, massaging leg cuffs, and wheelchair trips. Now there are outings that don't end in an ultrasound room, shopping trips on a whim, dinners with family, and plenty of swishes and kicks from a safe baby. No blood. No doom. Time to think about how painful this whole process is, and still be so glad.
Oh, and no bacon! Or at least not nearly as much. I think this whole limited-bacon situation may be contributing to the migraines. Today, that is my biggest worry.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Post 200: Things I Want to Do . . . At Some Point
I (hopefully) have a lot of years left to do things. I have done a lot, but I don't have an official "bucket list" per say. So this isn't necessarily "things I want to do before I die," but rather, "things I'd like to do sooner rather than later."
- See Cirque du Soleil.
- Sign up for one of those milk delivery services and get dairy foods at my door. Do they have Lactaid delivery as well?
- Make a pie. I'm talking strawberry rhubarb with a thin, flaky, delicious crust. My great grandmother used to make the most fantastic blackberry pie, and though I have my own filling preferences, I want it to taste that good.
- Play an actual song on the guitar. I've gotten a bunch of chords down, but no real songs yet (unless you count repeated strumming while singing "Swing Low").
- Go back to The Captain's Inn at Moss Landing, where we honeymooned. We had planned to go back for our 5th anniversary, but as it turns out I'm going to be set to pop around then, and doctor's orders include no travel so close to the due date.
- Finish Little Women. It's a delightful book, but I feel like I've been slogging through it for a lifetime. The end will be a welcome sight.
- Eat more French food. We love Bistro Vendome in Denver, but we also recently found The Creperie Cafe much closer to home (and their food is much better than their spazzy website). I would like to eat there more, especially once the restrictions on soft cheeses and such are lifted.
- Complete Finley's baby book and first year scrapbook. I really need to print some dang pictures.
- On another food-related note, I would also like to eat fondue. I had some fantastic fondue in high school French Club, and I would die for some gruyere to dip in.
- Go to New York City. I've never been, and I enjoy a big city well enough. I will
- Eat at a deli.
- See a Broadway show.
- Shop for clothes at one of the places they send ladies on "What Not to Wear."
- Take a long trip by train.
- Live near London. I'm hoping Tim's work is amenable to the idea of a secondment. I don't want to leave here permanently, but I just haven't quite gotten my fill of England, and a couple of years there would be perfect for time to explore the whole UK and maybe even some of the rest of Europe.
- Own a smartphone. I have to see what the big fuss is about.
- Redecorate my house. I am craving carpet swatches, paint samples, and new decor. And shelves in my bathroom.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Health Care Reform? I Have a Better Idea
So with the whole "Obamacare" health care reform bill, a lot of us are finding that our insurance premiums have gone up. Ours went up so much that even after a raise, after insurance premiums our take-home is even less than it was last year. Of course, the government and media tools that "estimated" how our costs would change with the new plan told us that we should expect no difference.
As soon as the bill came out, insurance companies, as they are legally required to do, revealed the expectation of large financial losses. Not as some sort of retaliation, but because the effect of the bill on their finances made the losses inevitable, and the government insists on such expected losses being made public.
So our costs have gone up, our care has stayed the same, and the whole bill has done jack for me except make me wonder where the heck all of the deficit money that's paying for this BS is going. So I have a better plan that won't cost us anything, and requires the insurance companies to change the way they do things.
The government should, instead of becoming an actor in anyone's personal medical care (beyond what they already do with medicare/aid), make a simple legislation:
"Group plans" as provided through employers and "individual plans" that unemployed or self-employed people purchase can no longer provide differing levels of coverage or differing costs simply because of whether they are part of a "group" or "individual" plan. Employers may offer a monetary health care allowance (tax free) to employees as a benefit, but may not determine which insurance company or medical providers the allowance is applied to. Every US citizen will be able to choose any level of coverage from any insurance company, and will be treated as if they are on a group plan, and not discriminated against based on health, age, or on any other criteria currently protected from discrimination by the federal government for other situations, such as employment or financial services.
So that's my plan. I have a big problem with how where you work affects your costs of care, or even what care you can get. At IL, we had United Health Care. It sucked. We only had the option of using the one plan the company chose. The company was small, and couldn't afford much, so the plan was bad, and our premiums fluctuated a lot based on the health issues of people we worked with. They had no coverage for the only Rx heartburn medication that worked for me, and only covered $10 of my visits to a therapist.
On the other hand, with Tim working for GT, we had several options for plans, and knowing my needs and our plans to reproduce, we got the one with the most coverage. It's expensive, but it covers IVF to some extent, makes hospital stays cheap (which is good because our family had a total of four months in the hospital), and gives us a good knowledge of what our annual costs will be no matter what happens. None of this "80/20 split for that test your doctor says you need but we don't want to pay for" BS. It's lovely. And if we wanted less coverage, we could get that too, for cheaper.
Honestly, I think everyone should have access to whatever health care they want. The scaling up of prices works, because it's based on how much care you expect to receive, and how much protection you want from paying for big things (or small things!). I believe in government systems that subsidize or pay for plans for those who can't afford them. I also believe that completely "free" care will crowd our medical establishments and overburden doctors. Some monetary disincentive to go to a doctor's office needs to be there so that people reach a reasonable level of concern before they go asking for antibiotics or a hospital bed. Finding a balance between allowing the poor the care they need and keeping those with "free" care from overcrowding hospitals and clinics is not what I'm getting at here.
I'm just saying that if everyone had access to the same insurance options, no matter who they worked for or if they worked at all, we'd have a lot more equality of care than we do now. It's not completely solving the problem of those without care, but it will reduce costs for those not on "group" plans, and it helps people who work for small companies, don't get benefits, or do freelance work. And talk about a boon to the currently unemployed! Again, just a little government legislation, and the rest just means changing the way you buy medical insurance to more like the way you buy car insurance - you shop for the best deal on the coverage you want!
***A note on the "group plan": Insurance companies make "groups" to even out medical costs between people who use a lot of care and people who only use a little. They're all paying the same premiums, and the money for the care theoretically comes from that pool, but certain people draw on it more than others. That's how insurance companies decide on premiums for certain groups - how much the group as a whole is actually using, plus the part they skim off the top to make money. Individual plans cost more and cover less because the insurance company expects the insured to cover all of their own costs through premiums (plus pay the insurer's cut), which kinda' defeats the purpose. So I say insurance companies should make all of their customers one "group" and charge the same premium to everyone. And none of that BS about waiting for coverage even if you had prior insurance.
And with no restrictions as far as who you can buy your plan from, if your company is charging too much, you just go somewhere else. That'll keep prices competitive, rather than your insurance company having you by the balls if you feel like you're paying too much, as is the case when you can only get a group plan from your employer's chosen company.
As soon as the bill came out, insurance companies, as they are legally required to do, revealed the expectation of large financial losses. Not as some sort of retaliation, but because the effect of the bill on their finances made the losses inevitable, and the government insists on such expected losses being made public.
So our costs have gone up, our care has stayed the same, and the whole bill has done jack for me except make me wonder where the heck all of the deficit money that's paying for this BS is going. So I have a better plan that won't cost us anything, and requires the insurance companies to change the way they do things.
The government should, instead of becoming an actor in anyone's personal medical care (beyond what they already do with medicare/aid), make a simple legislation:
"Group plans" as provided through employers and "individual plans" that unemployed or self-employed people purchase can no longer provide differing levels of coverage or differing costs simply because of whether they are part of a "group" or "individual" plan. Employers may offer a monetary health care allowance (tax free) to employees as a benefit, but may not determine which insurance company or medical providers the allowance is applied to. Every US citizen will be able to choose any level of coverage from any insurance company, and will be treated as if they are on a group plan, and not discriminated against based on health, age, or on any other criteria currently protected from discrimination by the federal government for other situations, such as employment or financial services.
So that's my plan. I have a big problem with how where you work affects your costs of care, or even what care you can get. At IL, we had United Health Care. It sucked. We only had the option of using the one plan the company chose. The company was small, and couldn't afford much, so the plan was bad, and our premiums fluctuated a lot based on the health issues of people we worked with. They had no coverage for the only Rx heartburn medication that worked for me, and only covered $10 of my visits to a therapist.
On the other hand, with Tim working for GT, we had several options for plans, and knowing my needs and our plans to reproduce, we got the one with the most coverage. It's expensive, but it covers IVF to some extent, makes hospital stays cheap (which is good because our family had a total of four months in the hospital), and gives us a good knowledge of what our annual costs will be no matter what happens. None of this "80/20 split for that test your doctor says you need but we don't want to pay for" BS. It's lovely. And if we wanted less coverage, we could get that too, for cheaper.
Honestly, I think everyone should have access to whatever health care they want. The scaling up of prices works, because it's based on how much care you expect to receive, and how much protection you want from paying for big things (or small things!). I believe in government systems that subsidize or pay for plans for those who can't afford them. I also believe that completely "free" care will crowd our medical establishments and overburden doctors. Some monetary disincentive to go to a doctor's office needs to be there so that people reach a reasonable level of concern before they go asking for antibiotics or a hospital bed. Finding a balance between allowing the poor the care they need and keeping those with "free" care from overcrowding hospitals and clinics is not what I'm getting at here.
I'm just saying that if everyone had access to the same insurance options, no matter who they worked for or if they worked at all, we'd have a lot more equality of care than we do now. It's not completely solving the problem of those without care, but it will reduce costs for those not on "group" plans, and it helps people who work for small companies, don't get benefits, or do freelance work. And talk about a boon to the currently unemployed! Again, just a little government legislation, and the rest just means changing the way you buy medical insurance to more like the way you buy car insurance - you shop for the best deal on the coverage you want!
***A note on the "group plan": Insurance companies make "groups" to even out medical costs between people who use a lot of care and people who only use a little. They're all paying the same premiums, and the money for the care theoretically comes from that pool, but certain people draw on it more than others. That's how insurance companies decide on premiums for certain groups - how much the group as a whole is actually using, plus the part they skim off the top to make money. Individual plans cost more and cover less because the insurance company expects the insured to cover all of their own costs through premiums (plus pay the insurer's cut), which kinda' defeats the purpose. So I say insurance companies should make all of their customers one "group" and charge the same premium to everyone. And none of that BS about waiting for coverage even if you had prior insurance.
And with no restrictions as far as who you can buy your plan from, if your company is charging too much, you just go somewhere else. That'll keep prices competitive, rather than your insurance company having you by the balls if you feel like you're paying too much, as is the case when you can only get a group plan from your employer's chosen company.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Assault Allowance
I think there should be an assault allowance. For special times when people say things that are insensitive or very hurtful. Like that scene in Parenthood when the dad of the autistic boy punches a man in the face in the middle of the grocery store checkout because the man called his son a "retard." That guy totally deserved it, because even if the child didn't have developmental difficulties, it's still never okay to say something like that about a child. If anyone ever said something like that about any of my kids, I would have trouble stopping at one punch in the face.
And I'd probably get away with it, because I'm a woman.
But so often I am too paralyzed by shock or pain to respond the way I find myself hours later wishing I had done. And it's one thing when strangers say something inappropriate made even worse by the personal history they don't know, but I keep finding myself in situations with people who, with two seconds worth of thought, could save me salt in the wound by keeping their mouths shut. Before they say things like, "Are you sure it's not twins? Did you want twins?"
So instead of saying, "Yes, I wanted twins. You remember the last time I was pregnant and did everything possible to try and keep my twin sons alive, but I only came home with a singleton? Yeah, that was when I wanted them. Now wanting twins would mean wanting to put two more babies in that same risky situation—a thought I find both terrifying and incredibly irresponsible." And instead of saying, in an inevitably sob-infused and probably incoherent voice, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you ask me that?" I come back with some polite answer and a smile, like "Nope, just one! Twins, ha!" and I sit there with that asinine laugh hanging in the air as if there were never anything a person could say to me that would make me sad.
And I kind of hate myself for that. Not for the not being bitter all the time, but when did I suddenly learn not to slap back? Self control is not my strongest personality trait; I'm not sure it makes the official list of my personality traits. I suppose it's a nod to my parents that they raised me not to slap people, even when they deserve it.
I wish I would at least give back that verbal slap people sometimes so deserve. At least to say, "Really? Do you really think that's an okay thing to say right now?" Gentle reminders as to why the question or comment is inappropriate might help too. Maybe people would stop asking infertile people if they're pregnant, or inviting someone on a diet to join them for dessert (okay, I'm really bad at that one), or telling someone whose dog just died all about their new puppy. I can tell you I appreciate it when people open my eyes to how to not bring them extra pain—I'm an accidental A-hole all the time. But I can't bring myself to do the same for others.
I guess I can ask you all now not to flippantly mention twins to me. If you are reading this, you probably know better than that anyway. Don't ask my if my son is doing things that your younger child is already doing months early. If you are not a pediatrician or therapist, you don't need to know if he is crawling yet or not, and I'm a bit sensitive about it. Cut your bragging teeth on someone else. I suppose those are my unique areas of sensitivity at the moment.
But if you're needing more help, here's a few more tips: Don't ever complain about being a single-digit pants size; you are only allowed to be happy. Never ask someone if they are pregnant or when they are due, even if they look huge, unless they mention being pregnant. Never comment on a woman's size, regardless of pregnancy status, unless you have something positive to say ("You look fantastic!") that isn't followed by a qualifier (". . . for a fat old broad!"). Don't complain about money, health, etc. in public places or to people you don't know to be in a better situation than you are in. Someone else always has it worse. Always. If you're feeling really poopy about yourself, maybe go find that person.
And as for me? I have it pretty good in the end. Wanting to slap people or not. I'm just hoping that a little slap now and then will keep all of us from offending that person we forget about that has it worse than we do.
And I'd probably get away with it, because I'm a woman.
But so often I am too paralyzed by shock or pain to respond the way I find myself hours later wishing I had done. And it's one thing when strangers say something inappropriate made even worse by the personal history they don't know, but I keep finding myself in situations with people who, with two seconds worth of thought, could save me salt in the wound by keeping their mouths shut. Before they say things like, "Are you sure it's not twins? Did you want twins?"
So instead of saying, "Yes, I wanted twins. You remember the last time I was pregnant and did everything possible to try and keep my twin sons alive, but I only came home with a singleton? Yeah, that was when I wanted them. Now wanting twins would mean wanting to put two more babies in that same risky situation—a thought I find both terrifying and incredibly irresponsible." And instead of saying, in an inevitably sob-infused and probably incoherent voice, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you ask me that?" I come back with some polite answer and a smile, like "Nope, just one! Twins, ha!" and I sit there with that asinine laugh hanging in the air as if there were never anything a person could say to me that would make me sad.
And I kind of hate myself for that. Not for the not being bitter all the time, but when did I suddenly learn not to slap back? Self control is not my strongest personality trait; I'm not sure it makes the official list of my personality traits. I suppose it's a nod to my parents that they raised me not to slap people, even when they deserve it.
I wish I would at least give back that verbal slap people sometimes so deserve. At least to say, "Really? Do you really think that's an okay thing to say right now?" Gentle reminders as to why the question or comment is inappropriate might help too. Maybe people would stop asking infertile people if they're pregnant, or inviting someone on a diet to join them for dessert (okay, I'm really bad at that one), or telling someone whose dog just died all about their new puppy. I can tell you I appreciate it when people open my eyes to how to not bring them extra pain—I'm an accidental A-hole all the time. But I can't bring myself to do the same for others.
I guess I can ask you all now not to flippantly mention twins to me. If you are reading this, you probably know better than that anyway. Don't ask my if my son is doing things that your younger child is already doing months early. If you are not a pediatrician or therapist, you don't need to know if he is crawling yet or not, and I'm a bit sensitive about it. Cut your bragging teeth on someone else. I suppose those are my unique areas of sensitivity at the moment.
But if you're needing more help, here's a few more tips: Don't ever complain about being a single-digit pants size; you are only allowed to be happy. Never ask someone if they are pregnant or when they are due, even if they look huge, unless they mention being pregnant. Never comment on a woman's size, regardless of pregnancy status, unless you have something positive to say ("You look fantastic!") that isn't followed by a qualifier (". . . for a fat old broad!"). Don't complain about money, health, etc. in public places or to people you don't know to be in a better situation than you are in. Someone else always has it worse. Always. If you're feeling really poopy about yourself, maybe go find that person.
And as for me? I have it pretty good in the end. Wanting to slap people or not. I'm just hoping that a little slap now and then will keep all of us from offending that person we forget about that has it worse than we do.
Friday, January 21, 2011
TTC and NSAIDs
You know those non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs? They include Advil, Motrin, Aleve, Naproxen, etc., and you should probably skip them and just stick to Tylenol when you're trying to make a baby. My friend April's post sums it up pretty well, so I'll just quote it in full here:
Sorry, I don’t have any pretty pictures for this post, it’s a little break from my regular programming.
My public service announcement is about the little-known issue of NSAIDS and infertility. NSAIDS when taken on a regular basis can inhibit ovulation BUT it’s more than that. All tests will appear normal. Hormones will still fluctuate, rise, fall etc as they are supposed to. Fertility charts will look good and indicate ovulation. The follicle, however is unruptured. Meaning no little egg actually goes anywhere. And that’s not all (insert tv infomercial voice)…if it DOES go somewhere by chance, the NSAIDS may even contribute to failed implantation.
How many women know this? How many doctors know this? I can tell you that in the past 6 months, I have listed my medications on 5 different doctor’s information sheets(rheumetologist, OBGYN, GI doc, sleep doc and Naturopath) and told all FIVE that I was trying to conceive and NONE commented on the 2X daily prescription NSAID I was taking. Most likely none of them knew anything about it. Which is why I will be sending them copies of these studies.
OXFORD JOURNALS – RHEUMATOLOGY
CLin-Alert – Google Books
1996!!! Rheumatology Journal
MORE REFERENCES
I’m thinking this is a seious enough side effect that ALL NSAIDs should have this warning ON THE LABEL (which was NOT on anything I received with the prescription):
(found on Drugs.com)
Impaired female fertility:
The use of Diclofenac Potassium tablets may impair female fertility and is not recommended in women attempting to conceive. In women who may have difficulties conceiving or who are undergoing investigation of infertility, withdrawal of Diclofenac Potassium tablets should be considered.
So, now here’s my personal case study. After 4 weeks off of Diclofenac, I have positive pregnancy tests. Plural. Lots of them. Because of my previous failed implantations (aka chemical pregnancy) I tested for 8 days straight. No disappearing lines. I am definitely pregnant. ONE CYCLE OFF OF THIS STUFF. Coincidence? No way.
So, I am putting this out there for anyone who may not know: If you are trying to conceive…lay off the NSAIDs. Including creams, patches, pills, syrups. Tylenol and Excedrin Tension Headache have no NSAIDs. And in the spirit of helping people through social media….share! Pass it on!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Confession of a Preemie Mom
Being premature isn't a disability. It's a disadvantage, for sure, but it's not something that will stop my son from doing the same things as other kids. In these early stages, it just takes longer. I hope.
In fact, when I talked to Finley's neurosurgeon about his brain hemorrhage (a not-uncommon occurrence among micro-preemies), she said that he may get straight A's in school, go to college, and play football. Or he may never walk or talk. And we can't know until he gets there. Or doesn't.
The pediatrician said at our last visit that he doesn't think Finley will face any big developmental delays or disabilities, and that we can just keep an eye out for some of the subtler stuff when he's in school. But really, what does this guy know?
Most of the time it is easy to live with knowing that my son might be different from other kids. I already know that he struggles with things like pushing himself up with his arms and crawling, where other kids do these things with little effort and no tears. And I know that he's not expected to be caught up to his chronological age, and those early months he spent with tubes all in and out of him he was struggling to survive when babies his age were practicing tummy time and learning to grab toys. He has worked so hard to catch up in the ways he has caught up.
But sometimes it's not okay. Like today, when we went to a playdate with a little girl Finley's age. She was so fat next to him, and strong. She could move wherever she wanted and sit and crawl and roll without a struggle at all, and without help. And the moment she got up on her fours and moved across the carpet, I had to hold back tears.
It's not anybody's fault, and I can believe these problems will be rectified with time, but it still isn't easy to watch your child drop sobbing in exhaustion from trying something that you see a baby his age doing effortlessly the next day. I wouldn't trade my baby for any super-coordinated, strong, genius baby. But I would trade my left and right legs for things to be easier for him.
In fact, when I talked to Finley's neurosurgeon about his brain hemorrhage (a not-uncommon occurrence among micro-preemies), she said that he may get straight A's in school, go to college, and play football. Or he may never walk or talk. And we can't know until he gets there. Or doesn't.
The pediatrician said at our last visit that he doesn't think Finley will face any big developmental delays or disabilities, and that we can just keep an eye out for some of the subtler stuff when he's in school. But really, what does this guy know?
Most of the time it is easy to live with knowing that my son might be different from other kids. I already know that he struggles with things like pushing himself up with his arms and crawling, where other kids do these things with little effort and no tears. And I know that he's not expected to be caught up to his chronological age, and those early months he spent with tubes all in and out of him he was struggling to survive when babies his age were practicing tummy time and learning to grab toys. He has worked so hard to catch up in the ways he has caught up.
But sometimes it's not okay. Like today, when we went to a playdate with a little girl Finley's age. She was so fat next to him, and strong. She could move wherever she wanted and sit and crawl and roll without a struggle at all, and without help. And the moment she got up on her fours and moved across the carpet, I had to hold back tears.
It's not anybody's fault, and I can believe these problems will be rectified with time, but it still isn't easy to watch your child drop sobbing in exhaustion from trying something that you see a baby his age doing effortlessly the next day. I wouldn't trade my baby for any super-coordinated, strong, genius baby. But I would trade my left and right legs for things to be easier for him.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
I Remember
I didn't spend as much time on the infertility road as most people do. It still felt like forever. And honestly, I don't think it's a road anyone gets off of, children or not. And it's different, having a son. Being pregnant somehow unexpectedly. Because I remember vividly.
I remember the day one of my closest friends had a baby, and I got to cuddle that sweet, tiny newborn on the day of her birth. The next weekend I made Tim take me to the PetSmart and we adopted my cat, Coco.
I remember hiding from Relief Society for months so I wouldn't have to hear the inevitable pregnancy announcements. And sometimes avoiding church altogether so I wouldn't have to see so many "fat'n'happies" and hear them complain about how huge they are, because, you know, the have a frickin' BABY in them.
I remember pretty much having a breakdown the morning I got an email announcing a co-worker's pregnancy (as much as I love her), spending half an hour crying in my bathroom, and calling in sick from work. And then seriously spending the day in bed.
I remember hating women with babies, and learning not to hate the women with babies I wanted to stay friends with. I remember one of those friends letting me sit and hold her new son and stroke his fuzzy baby head for an hour without saying a word of complaint. I remember tears of gratitude for that.
And I remember feeling alone among all of the mothers, and despising the way whenever I tried to join a conversation about babies from what little I could gather from the internet and personal experience, they looked at me like I was an idiot, or pointed out how I was wrong and wouldn't know anything anyway, or just ignored me and my useless non-mom comments.
More recently I remember feeling sad as my belly grew big enough to show, because I knew others would see it and mourn not having one of their own, like I so often did. And I hated that my presence could bring someone so much pain, and how intimately I knew that pain.
And now, there is a baby. He's here. I am a mom in every sense. I was a mom the moment I began to carry those babies. I was a mom when each of them was born. I was a mom when I took home my survivor. And I am a mom again, to someone totally new.
But I'm still as infertile as ever, some days. It's hard to stop being mad at women who get pregnant in a snap and have all the babies they want, when I, at 22, was told that I had only a few (sorta) fertile years left. Even when that means being mad at me for how easy I have it with my living son and living fetus. I remember being angry and sad and jealous and confused and depressed.
I remember how unfair it felt, and from this side, I'd say it feels just as unfair. But that's easy for me to say now, isn't it? Some days I hate myself for how easy unfairness is when it's in my favor.
I remember the day one of my closest friends had a baby, and I got to cuddle that sweet, tiny newborn on the day of her birth. The next weekend I made Tim take me to the PetSmart and we adopted my cat, Coco.
I remember hiding from Relief Society for months so I wouldn't have to hear the inevitable pregnancy announcements. And sometimes avoiding church altogether so I wouldn't have to see so many "fat'n'happies" and hear them complain about how huge they are, because, you know, the have a frickin' BABY in them.
I remember pretty much having a breakdown the morning I got an email announcing a co-worker's pregnancy (as much as I love her), spending half an hour crying in my bathroom, and calling in sick from work. And then seriously spending the day in bed.
I remember hating women with babies, and learning not to hate the women with babies I wanted to stay friends with. I remember one of those friends letting me sit and hold her new son and stroke his fuzzy baby head for an hour without saying a word of complaint. I remember tears of gratitude for that.
And I remember feeling alone among all of the mothers, and despising the way whenever I tried to join a conversation about babies from what little I could gather from the internet and personal experience, they looked at me like I was an idiot, or pointed out how I was wrong and wouldn't know anything anyway, or just ignored me and my useless non-mom comments.
More recently I remember feeling sad as my belly grew big enough to show, because I knew others would see it and mourn not having one of their own, like I so often did. And I hated that my presence could bring someone so much pain, and how intimately I knew that pain.
And now, there is a baby. He's here. I am a mom in every sense. I was a mom the moment I began to carry those babies. I was a mom when each of them was born. I was a mom when I took home my survivor. And I am a mom again, to someone totally new.
But I'm still as infertile as ever, some days. It's hard to stop being mad at women who get pregnant in a snap and have all the babies they want, when I, at 22, was told that I had only a few (sorta) fertile years left. Even when that means being mad at me for how easy I have it with my living son and living fetus. I remember being angry and sad and jealous and confused and depressed.
I remember how unfair it felt, and from this side, I'd say it feels just as unfair. But that's easy for me to say now, isn't it? Some days I hate myself for how easy unfairness is when it's in my favor.
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