Or at the very least it's acceptance.
I couldn't let my last post on this blog be my last post on this blog, and so I've come back to say that I've learned that while I still get a certain level of annoyance whenever I see a woman with a baby, I quickly move beyond annoyance and once again look at how cute the kid is.
I've learned that being inconsiderate is not the same thing as being malicious. And I was equating someone's lack of empathy, someone's inconsideration to mean that they were purposely trying to hurt me. They just can't see beyond themselves at that moment.
Someone said to me the other day that in all I did trying to get pregnant, I can never say "if only I tried one more thing." I quickly said to her, "I should have started sooner." Meaning, I waited too long, 37 was too old. Meaning, I could have done more.
I thought about it all day and starting sooner wouldn't have made a difference. I've learned that this is the way I was supposed to be a mom. And going through the last three years got me to this point of acceptance.
All painful and expensive lessons, but lessons all the same. And lessons I'm paying attention to.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Blame Game
It seems like a day cannot go by without an announcement from someone that they are either pregnant or have given birth. Every single day. And I'm not exaggerating. I have a moment of angst, of pity, of sadness....and then I do what I do. I smile, I send a note of congratulations, ask when the due date is or when can I see a picture of the little bundle.
This morning, sometime between dreaming and being fully awake, I realized that I am taking out all of my resentment for pregnant people on a specific person. I am taking out my hurt feelings for lack of support from my family on her. Unfairly, I readily admit. But I am directing it all to her.
Because of the way she handled a situation.
Because of the way she reacted when I told her that if I got pregnant next month, I would have a baby for her wedding ("you better not steal my thunder").
Because of the way she told me she was pregnant.
Because of the way I specifically reached out to all my siblings and my older nieces, to let them know I was trying to get pregnant. That I was telling everyone early because I wanted, and might need, their support. And then never heard another word from the majority of them.
Because of the way the majority of them never sent me a note or reached out with their sympathies when I lost the only pregnancy I ever had. (And at this point, the only one I ever will have.)
And she is the symbol of it all. She is where I direct my anger and resentment.
This morning, sometime between dreaming and being fully awake, I realized that I am taking out all of my resentment for pregnant people on a specific person. I am taking out my hurt feelings for lack of support from my family on her. Unfairly, I readily admit. But I am directing it all to her.
Because of the way she handled a situation.
Because of the way she reacted when I told her that if I got pregnant next month, I would have a baby for her wedding ("you better not steal my thunder").
Because of the way she told me she was pregnant.
Because of the way I specifically reached out to all my siblings and my older nieces, to let them know I was trying to get pregnant. That I was telling everyone early because I wanted, and might need, their support. And then never heard another word from the majority of them.
Because of the way the majority of them never sent me a note or reached out with their sympathies when I lost the only pregnancy I ever had. (And at this point, the only one I ever will have.)
And she is the symbol of it all. She is where I direct my anger and resentment.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
First Pedicure of the Season
I got up this morning with a list of things to do, which could have been done in any order. I opted to do the post office and then everything else after the mall. I could have gone to the bank, could have done my grocery shopping or Kohl's, could have checked on Jill's cats -- any or all of the above before my pedicure.
This is important because all of those things enabled me to be at the mall and talk to the nice pregnant girl while we both got pedicures.
She commented how good the back massage felt. I asked her when she was due. "July, but I could go earlier because I'm carrying twins."
An inner voice, but I ignored it. I went back to making my grocery list, she talked to who I assumed was the baby daddy. He left to go smoke. I turned back to her, "do you know what you're having?"
"Identical boys."
Inner voice got much louder. It couldn't be, could it? "Wow, congratulations."
"Thanks. I have four other children." And then I could have repeated the ages and names of her children along with her. "Four, three, two and just over one." And then she showed me pictures of kids I've seen before. Kids I knew about. The baby I have actually held.
Yup. Leave it to me to be sitting next to and making small talk with the DSS mother I wrote about last week.
Are you shitting me?
This is important because all of those things enabled me to be at the mall and talk to the nice pregnant girl while we both got pedicures.
She commented how good the back massage felt. I asked her when she was due. "July, but I could go earlier because I'm carrying twins."
An inner voice, but I ignored it. I went back to making my grocery list, she talked to who I assumed was the baby daddy. He left to go smoke. I turned back to her, "do you know what you're having?"
"Identical boys."
Inner voice got much louder. It couldn't be, could it? "Wow, congratulations."
"Thanks. I have four other children." And then I could have repeated the ages and names of her children along with her. "Four, three, two and just over one." And then she showed me pictures of kids I've seen before. Kids I knew about. The baby I have actually held.
Yup. Leave it to me to be sitting next to and making small talk with the DSS mother I wrote about last week.
Are you shitting me?
Sunday, March 7, 2010
The Week in Review
It's been a weird week. My emotions have been on a roller coaster, mostly down. I'm sad. That's really the only way to describe it. And I know that I will get over it eventually -- or at least, if not over it, it will become a little more bearable each day.
I started to think about my birthday and how I'm going to be 40 in a little over a month. Never in a million years did I think 40 would look like this. But here it is. Where a few weeks ago, I wasn't making any plans for 40, because I so thought I would be pregnant, now I have plans to make.
So I'm going to Baltimore the weekend after my birthday, for my usual round of visiting. And Bubbles is making all sorts of plans -- I just have to show up. A day at the spa, fancy dinner out. And lots of drinks. Finally, something to look forward to.
My friend at work (who has several children through foster care) told me about identical twin boys to be born this summer. The mother has four toddlers (4, 3, 2 and 13 months) -- all in foster care. DSS isn't sure what the plan is for the babies. As Charlie was telling me, the woman who has the other four kids can't take two more. And the mother, if she doesn't have her babies right from birth to bond with them, doesn't want them.
She wants her 4-, 3-, and 2-year olds back, but not the baby. Because he was taken away from her as soon as he was born. She doesn't feel a connection with him. She doesn't have any bond with him.
So I called DSS, one of the women who taught the classes I was in last spring, and left a message. It was very generic -- just that I wanted to touch base, let her know where things were in my life, etc. She passed me off to someone else, who specifically handles adoption.
And when the adoption guy and I finally connected, I asked very specific questions about this woman who is pregnant with twins and doesn't have custody of her other four children. I knew more about the situation than he did. He didn't have a whole lot to say. They're not sure of what the plan is when she gives birth, if the twins can't go with the other four, the goal is still family reunification, can I do that?
I was honest. I told him no. These women give birth to throw away children, I'm not going to help them get their kids back. But knowing a lot about the situation, knowing how she feels after giving birth and giving up immediate custody, I'm willing to take the chance that she would get her kids back. He appreciated my honesty, and of course because of the business he's in, he can't agree with me.
I understand the premise of DSS. I understand why we have Child Protective Services. I do. I get it. And I understand that people makes mistakes, that there are circumstances.
But in the case of the kids that Charlie has -- a 4-year-old and a 3-year-old who have been in Charlie's care for more than two and a half years; and their 2-year-old twin sisters who have been with Charlie all but six months of their lives. (not to mention the three teenagers she has lost permanent custody of and who live with their grandmother). And then this other case -- four toddlers and now soon-to-be-born twins. They've been in foster care since last January. The baby has never been in the custody of his mother.
It's a fucked up world we live in. I can't get pregnant, I can't have a child, and these women are getting pregnant more often than Michelle Duggar. Explain the logic. Explain the fairness.
And my frustration is more than at these women, it's at the system, as well. So my conversation with the adoption guy, after he said he would talk with the woman I had called in the first place, I asked what my next steps should be. "Will you call me after you talk to her? Will she call me? Or should I check in with you or her in, say two weeks?"
He didn't know how to answer that. He's not sure what the birth plan is for the twins. "Well, they're due to be born in June. And they're twins, so she may go early...." My voice was trailing off, because I needed to keep my composure, but when the fuck were they planning to figure it out. It's March.
"Yeah, I'm really not sure what to tell you. We'll keep in mind that you're interested in these boys, and add you to the list."
And so that's that? WTF? No wonder people have the opinion of DSS that they have. I know they are understaffed, underpaid, over burdened. But here I am, wanting to do something, to help two children.
It's a frustrating place to be, for sure.
I started to think about my birthday and how I'm going to be 40 in a little over a month. Never in a million years did I think 40 would look like this. But here it is. Where a few weeks ago, I wasn't making any plans for 40, because I so thought I would be pregnant, now I have plans to make.
So I'm going to Baltimore the weekend after my birthday, for my usual round of visiting. And Bubbles is making all sorts of plans -- I just have to show up. A day at the spa, fancy dinner out. And lots of drinks. Finally, something to look forward to.
My friend at work (who has several children through foster care) told me about identical twin boys to be born this summer. The mother has four toddlers (4, 3, 2 and 13 months) -- all in foster care. DSS isn't sure what the plan is for the babies. As Charlie was telling me, the woman who has the other four kids can't take two more. And the mother, if she doesn't have her babies right from birth to bond with them, doesn't want them.
She wants her 4-, 3-, and 2-year olds back, but not the baby. Because he was taken away from her as soon as he was born. She doesn't feel a connection with him. She doesn't have any bond with him.
So I called DSS, one of the women who taught the classes I was in last spring, and left a message. It was very generic -- just that I wanted to touch base, let her know where things were in my life, etc. She passed me off to someone else, who specifically handles adoption.
And when the adoption guy and I finally connected, I asked very specific questions about this woman who is pregnant with twins and doesn't have custody of her other four children. I knew more about the situation than he did. He didn't have a whole lot to say. They're not sure of what the plan is when she gives birth, if the twins can't go with the other four, the goal is still family reunification, can I do that?
I was honest. I told him no. These women give birth to throw away children, I'm not going to help them get their kids back. But knowing a lot about the situation, knowing how she feels after giving birth and giving up immediate custody, I'm willing to take the chance that she would get her kids back. He appreciated my honesty, and of course because of the business he's in, he can't agree with me.
I understand the premise of DSS. I understand why we have Child Protective Services. I do. I get it. And I understand that people makes mistakes, that there are circumstances.
But in the case of the kids that Charlie has -- a 4-year-old and a 3-year-old who have been in Charlie's care for more than two and a half years; and their 2-year-old twin sisters who have been with Charlie all but six months of their lives. (not to mention the three teenagers she has lost permanent custody of and who live with their grandmother). And then this other case -- four toddlers and now soon-to-be-born twins. They've been in foster care since last January. The baby has never been in the custody of his mother.
It's a fucked up world we live in. I can't get pregnant, I can't have a child, and these women are getting pregnant more often than Michelle Duggar. Explain the logic. Explain the fairness.
And my frustration is more than at these women, it's at the system, as well. So my conversation with the adoption guy, after he said he would talk with the woman I had called in the first place, I asked what my next steps should be. "Will you call me after you talk to her? Will she call me? Or should I check in with you or her in, say two weeks?"
He didn't know how to answer that. He's not sure what the birth plan is for the twins. "Well, they're due to be born in June. And they're twins, so she may go early...." My voice was trailing off, because I needed to keep my composure, but when the fuck were they planning to figure it out. It's March.
"Yeah, I'm really not sure what to tell you. We'll keep in mind that you're interested in these boys, and add you to the list."
And so that's that? WTF? No wonder people have the opinion of DSS that they have. I know they are understaffed, underpaid, over burdened. But here I am, wanting to do something, to help two children.
It's a frustrating place to be, for sure.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Cleaning House
I know that many people wouldn't have done this so quickly, but I like things in order. I like things I can control (probably why the past three years have been so fucking hard). And so Friday afternoon, after I got plowed out from the 18 inches of snow that fell the previous evening and that morning, I went to Wal-Mart and bought a shredder.
I stood at my kitchen counter and threw away all open medicine, packing up whatever was unopened to be donated. And then I pulled out my binder and shredded every piece of paperwork from the doctor and related to prescriptions. I did save my ultrasound pictures and every picture of my embryos.
I pulled the two bins of maternity clothes out of the extra bedroom and put them in garbage bags, ready to bring back to my niece the next day. And the books I pulled from the shelf on Thursday got put into a bag and dropped off at the library book sale. Jill's fertility statue that has sat on my bedroom television since the summer of 2007 is wrapped in paper, in a bag, and ready to go back to her house. And this morning, I handed Heather a $50 gift card for Motherhood Maternity.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm not getting pregnant. I don't need it."
"Are you sure?" she repeated.
I'm sure. It's all gone. Any reminder of trying to get pregnant. Any planning that I did -- premature or otherwise -- is undone. My kitchen counter is void of needles, syringes, bottles of pills, and vials of progesterone in oil. My bathroom sink no longer holds my daily allotment of progesterone suppositories and the applicators.
I pulled my adoption paperwork out and immediately was over whelmed. Jill promised to come over early next week and help me sort through it.
And last night as I was laying in bed, trying to fall back asleep, I finally figured out what has perhaps been bugging me about international adoption. And "bugging" might be the wrong word. But I have been hesitant. And I've wondered if it's because of the race thing, but that's not it.
If someone handed me an African-American baby tomorrow, I would be thrilled. So why am I hesitant about adopting from Ethiopia? I think it's because if I'm going to spend all this money, if I'm going to take out a loan and drain my savings to the grand total of more than $25,000, I want a choice. I don't want to be told where I have to adopt from.
Just because I'm single, does that make me any less of a person? Will that make me any less of a parent? Apparently, in the eyes of almost every country in the world, it does.
And so just as I couldn't control what my body would and wouldn't do over the past few years, I can't control this. And the sooner I accept that part of it, and worry about what I can control -- saving money, raising money, getting all my paperwork in, continuing to work on me, getting back to the gym and wanting to do good things for my body -- the better off I will be, both physically and mentally.
I stood at my kitchen counter and threw away all open medicine, packing up whatever was unopened to be donated. And then I pulled out my binder and shredded every piece of paperwork from the doctor and related to prescriptions. I did save my ultrasound pictures and every picture of my embryos.
I pulled the two bins of maternity clothes out of the extra bedroom and put them in garbage bags, ready to bring back to my niece the next day. And the books I pulled from the shelf on Thursday got put into a bag and dropped off at the library book sale. Jill's fertility statue that has sat on my bedroom television since the summer of 2007 is wrapped in paper, in a bag, and ready to go back to her house. And this morning, I handed Heather a $50 gift card for Motherhood Maternity.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm not getting pregnant. I don't need it."
"Are you sure?" she repeated.
I'm sure. It's all gone. Any reminder of trying to get pregnant. Any planning that I did -- premature or otherwise -- is undone. My kitchen counter is void of needles, syringes, bottles of pills, and vials of progesterone in oil. My bathroom sink no longer holds my daily allotment of progesterone suppositories and the applicators.
I pulled my adoption paperwork out and immediately was over whelmed. Jill promised to come over early next week and help me sort through it.
And last night as I was laying in bed, trying to fall back asleep, I finally figured out what has perhaps been bugging me about international adoption. And "bugging" might be the wrong word. But I have been hesitant. And I've wondered if it's because of the race thing, but that's not it.
If someone handed me an African-American baby tomorrow, I would be thrilled. So why am I hesitant about adopting from Ethiopia? I think it's because if I'm going to spend all this money, if I'm going to take out a loan and drain my savings to the grand total of more than $25,000, I want a choice. I don't want to be told where I have to adopt from.
Just because I'm single, does that make me any less of a person? Will that make me any less of a parent? Apparently, in the eyes of almost every country in the world, it does.
And so just as I couldn't control what my body would and wouldn't do over the past few years, I can't control this. And the sooner I accept that part of it, and worry about what I can control -- saving money, raising money, getting all my paperwork in, continuing to work on me, getting back to the gym and wanting to do good things for my body -- the better off I will be, both physically and mentally.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Toxic
My uterus is the place where healthy, viable embryos go to die. There's no other explanation. It really is the only explanation, and honestly, it's what I have to believe or I will think that there's something more I can do, something else I can try, when really I have to believe that I've done all I can and it's time to move on.
The finality of that is frightening, because it makes me wonder if it will ever really happen.
I have to move on to plan B. And I will have to get my head wrapped around the fact that I won't ever be pregnant. I won't ever feel a life move inside of me. I won't ever experience the look that other people give a pregnant woman. I won't hear that there's a glow about me. Or that I'm carrying low (or high). Or that I'm breaking out because I'm having a girl and she's stealing my beauty.
I won't experience labor or delivery. And almost certainly, I will not hear the first sounds my baby ever makes.
I pulled pregnancy books off my shelf last night and piled them at the top of the stairs, not sure what to actually do with them. I have bins of maternity clothes to return to my niece, including some that have been bought specifically for me, just in case. And I have a $50 Motherhood Maternity gift card to do something with.
When I started this process with the egg donor, I went in thinking I would have at least three chances. Given the number of embryos they had previously extracted from Ginger, I thought the odds were in my favor. Even when I heard that there were (only) six embryos, I thought that I would have two chances.
Over the past nine days, I tried not to think about what FG had said about the remaining embryos when I asked if we were freezing those. I tried not to think about "if they're viable."
And so after 13 tries, it really is over. And it's time to move onto Plan B. Whatever that is. However that looks.
The finality of that is frightening, because it makes me wonder if it will ever really happen.
I have to move on to plan B. And I will have to get my head wrapped around the fact that I won't ever be pregnant. I won't ever feel a life move inside of me. I won't ever experience the look that other people give a pregnant woman. I won't hear that there's a glow about me. Or that I'm carrying low (or high). Or that I'm breaking out because I'm having a girl and she's stealing my beauty.
I won't experience labor or delivery. And almost certainly, I will not hear the first sounds my baby ever makes.
I pulled pregnancy books off my shelf last night and piled them at the top of the stairs, not sure what to actually do with them. I have bins of maternity clothes to return to my niece, including some that have been bought specifically for me, just in case. And I have a $50 Motherhood Maternity gift card to do something with.
When I started this process with the egg donor, I went in thinking I would have at least three chances. Given the number of embryos they had previously extracted from Ginger, I thought the odds were in my favor. Even when I heard that there were (only) six embryos, I thought that I would have two chances.
Over the past nine days, I tried not to think about what FG had said about the remaining embryos when I asked if we were freezing those. I tried not to think about "if they're viable."
And so after 13 tries, it really is over. And it's time to move onto Plan B. Whatever that is. However that looks.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
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