I've been looking over my posts and realized that I haven't said anything about the third trimester. I'm there! Who'da thunk it, huh? Still can't always even process the fact that I'm actually pregnant and here I am at 28 1/2 weeks.
I'm definitely back to being tired like in the first trimester. And as for the "2nd trimester burst of energy", I kinda rank that with other mythological beings like dragons and unicorns. The 2nd trimester could better be referred to as the "few months when you somewhat stay alert for the majority of the day." It's by no means a burst of energy, at least not for me. It's more like the trimester when you feel more like a regular human for a bit.
My head has been in a rough place these last couple weeks. I've been really tired and just generally stressed. While I'm so excited to meet our son, I'm beginning to have some anxiety about it. I had my first baby dream and it was definitely stress related. In the dream, he was in a sling but the sling was really like this deep duffle bag. And he was in the bottom of it, completely swaddled but the swaddle was wrapped all around his face. I was in a panic thinking he couldn't breathe and had died, but when I get him out of the duffle and the swaddle, he was just all red and sweaty. And in that moment of relief, I realized my baby was not cute at all. Doesn't that sound horrible? Like completely shallow? But in the dream, he didn't even look like a baby, he was like a little ugly man baby. Sorta like Danny Devito.
I'm also having a lot of money concerns but that's really not anything new. It's just that now those concerns are a little bigger because we will be a family of three instead of two. Pile on to that the fact that I don't get paid over the summer because I teach and well, I'm just really stressed. Every summer, I teach a summer program but obviously won't this season, so I'm worried. I squirrel away money where I can but it still worries me to no end. There are proactive steps I've taken to address the money issue. I tutor 3 hours per week to generate some extra income. I'm in school full-time earning my Masters' so that I will have a pay raise next year. But the problem is that doing those things while pregnant is exhausting and is making me even more stressed.
Finally, my school district is screwing me on my maternity leave, like completely illegally screwing me. My union is in the process of grieving this issue and my understanding is that if it does not get resolved, a federal lawsuit will be filed. Basically, the district is saying that, because I will not be in school in June to finish out the year and do not have enough sick days to cover me through the end of the year, they are not responsible for paying my health insurance for the summer. This goes against everything in our contract as well as the law in general, but my district has a tendency to do whatever they want and deal with those pesky details later on. So even though I will only be missing the last 4 1/2 weeks of the school year, they are requiring that I take a full 12 weeks of Family & Medical Leave time which will last me through July (assuming I can work up until my due date). Then I will be responsible for paying health insurance for the month of August for myself, my husband and the baby. The sooner I have to go out on maternity, the earlier my 12 weeks will be up and the more health insurance I will have to pay. Awesome, right? Hopefully, my union and district will resolve this before my maternity starts but I honestly am not hopeful at all. In the meantime, I need to suck it up and keep my mouth shut because I won't be tenured until next school year.
Where's my husband in all of this? I don't know really. Finances are a topic we generally struggle with communication wise and there's often a large wall between us on this issue. Sometimes, I think he doesn't talk about it because it stresses him out. But most of the time, I kinda think he just thinks it will all work out in the end because it always has in the past. I handle the finances and sometimes feel like he has too much faith in my to fix things that are not fixable without some major, major changes.
How could I forget? There have also been some major issues with my baby shower....family stuff that is too personal to explain on a blog. But the issues are driving a major wedge between me and my husband as well as making me pretty unenthusiastic about my shower. Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely grateful that people I love are going to come together to celebrate the birth of our child and shower us with the many things needed to have a baby, but the stress of the other issues is just making me wish we had gobs of money so that we could just go buy what we need and forget about all of it. With the stress of everything else going on, the shower issues are just becoming too much to handle.
So that's where I'm at...stressed, tired and often teary. But still really grateful that I'm pregnant.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
In honor of Valentine's Day
Before I begin this post, you should know that these words are not all mine. In fact, most of them are not. This post was created after several wonderful nesties spoke of the important stuff, both big and small, that their spouses do to help them survive and manage this adventure called infertility. So here goes…
This is for our other halves…our husbands, partners and lovers. Infertility is one hell of a ride and, without you, we may have demanded to be let off this crazy roller coaster early. While nobody can be all of the things on this list all of the time, you sure are a lot of them…
This is for the ones who join us on the couch for the sobfest. They listen for as long as we need and manage to say exactly what we need to hear.
The ones who exude positivity.
The ones who bring us Cheetos….or whatever else may be the snack du jour.
The ones who ask the doctor questions other men can’t even imagine speaking aloud.
The ones who cook for us on the nights we’d just as soon starve than get off the couch.
The ones who arrange their work and social schedules around injections, even when we could easily give ourselves the shot.
The ones who support our dreams.
The ones who aren’t embarrassed to talk to others about infertility.
The ones who know how to read our charts.
The ones who don’t speak of their fear of needles even though we know it’s true.
The ones who keep a cool head when our heads have exploded.
The ones who get up early after working late just to go with us to have blood drawn or an ultrasound.
The ones with the endless supply of hugs.
The ones who never laugh at any of the kooky ideas we’re willing to try to get pregnant.
The ones who are all too familiar with the sterile cup.
This is for our other halves…our husbands, partners and lovers. Infertility is one hell of a ride and, without you, we may have demanded to be let off this crazy roller coaster early. While nobody can be all of the things on this list all of the time, you sure are a lot of them…
This is for the ones who join us on the couch for the sobfest. They listen for as long as we need and manage to say exactly what we need to hear.
The ones who exude positivity.
The ones who bring us Cheetos….or whatever else may be the snack du jour.
The ones who ask the doctor questions other men can’t even imagine speaking aloud.
The ones who cook for us on the nights we’d just as soon starve than get off the couch.
The ones who arrange their work and social schedules around injections, even when we could easily give ourselves the shot.
The ones who support our dreams.
The ones who aren’t embarrassed to talk to others about infertility.
The ones who know how to read our charts.
The ones who don’t speak of their fear of needles even though we know it’s true.
The ones who keep a cool head when our heads have exploded.
The ones who get up early after working late just to go with us to have blood drawn or an ultrasound.
The ones with the endless supply of hugs.
The ones who never laugh at any of the kooky ideas we’re willing to try to get pregnant.
The ones who are all too familiar with the sterile cup.
The ones who answer the phone when we know it's news from the RE's office and we just can't bear to hear it firsthand.
The ones who never comment on the extra mileage on the car because the RE’s office is an hour drive one way.
The ones who feel sad about our bruises.
The ones who are our endless cheerleaders.
The ones who don’t ever want us to feel alone on this crazy journey.
The ones who make us laugh…and laugh…and laugh.
The ones who show up for the IUIs.
The ones who know when the only thing they can do is hug us.
The ones who come to the endless appointments.
The ones who show up at those appointments with their questions written down ahead of time.
The ones who remind us to take our temp.
The ones who know just when to bring us flowers.
The ones who don’t point out when we’re having an irrational moment.
The ones who have the serious talks even when we know they don’t want to.
The ones who visit the dirty magazines room without complaint.
The ones who take their vitamins.
The ones who watch their alcohol and caffeine intake.
The ones who tell us we’re beautiful, regardless of our infertility weight gain.
The ones who bring us a little something special when we get our periods.
The ones who weather the moodiness of infertility meds like a champ.
The ones who love us unconditionally even though we feel “broken”.
The ones who don’t complain.
The ones who know when to cuddle up next to us for the pity party and when we need our space.
The ones who pack the igloo cooler for the day when we’re on bedrest.
The ones who are always there.
The ones who would rather be infertile with us than fertile with someone else.
The ones who will do whatever it takes.
The ones who one day will be the most amazing fathers.
Need something added to the list? Leave a comment and I'll be sure to do some editing.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Imposter!
Mr. Jaguar and I went to a 30th birthday party for a friend this past weekend. Besides the couple hosting the party, we weren't good friends with anybody there. It didn't really matter though, we had a nice time just the same.
But here's the thing. I was one of three visibly pregnant women there. Instead of being the infertile, unpregnant woman surrounded by bellies, I was one of the bellies. And the truth is, I felt like a fraud. It was like I was waiting for someone to come over and pull the pillow out from under my shirt and wave it around in the air all while shouting, "She's a fraud! The belly's a fake! She's an imposter! She's really infertile!" It amazes me how I can simultaneously feel so pregnant and unpregnant so often. It's been 26 weeks, I'm making all the preparations for our son to arrive and half the time I still can't believe there's a real, living baby inside me.
As I sat around chatting at the party, I found myself rewinding back in my head, recalling snippets of conversation from each woman throughout the evening in an attempt to be sure I wasn't in the room with another infertile, unintentionally but inevitably hurting her with my big bump. I was pretty sure that I was the only infertile gal at the shindig, but I couldn't shake the nagging worry that someone in the room was aching over three, joyful bellies. As the night wore on and pregnancies were discussed, I openly spoke about our infertility treatments, both for myself and for any shadow infertiles who may have been in the vicinity. I speak for myself for selfish reasons of alleviating self-imposed guilt but also to help lessen the stigma so many in our society place on infertility. I speak for others who, for whatever reasons of their own, haven't found or don't feel comfortable to use their voice and so that they know they're not alone in their quest for motherhood.
The whole night got me thinking about my niche as an infertile but pregnant woman. In counseling months ago, my therapist told me that I'm no longer infertile because I'm pregnant now. Infertile is simply a state of being. To be pregnant means that I'm therefore no longer infertile. You can't be both. I corrected her, informing her that my infertility is a huge part of me and it will remain that way regardless of the state of my uterus. And honestly, I wouldn't want to drop my infertility by the side of the road and just drive off. My infertility has been a journey with many lessons, both painful and rewarding.
About a year and a half ago, I participated in the Breast Cancer 3-Day. For those of you not familiar with it, it's a 60 mile walk over 3 days. Each walker is required to raise at least $2,900 to even show up. Just getting there is a project and, well, actually finishing all 60 miles is a major feat. Past walkers had explained to me what the weekend would be like beforehand, but there's no way to do it justice. It's one of those things that you just have to do for yourself to really "get it". Over the 3 days, I couldn't believe the support that everyone provided one another. The socks and bandaids that were passed around, the ice that was split up among water bottles when it briefly ran short in the 90 degree heat, the words of encouragement and the complete strangers that showed up along the course with signs cheering us on and giving out treats. I cried like a baby over those 3 days, sometimes from pain and exhaustion but often from being so overwhelmed by others' support.
At the end of the walk, we all meet in this large field. And then we wait. And we wait. And we wait. And that's fine because we're completely exhausted anyway so we're content with the idea of sitting for a while and most of us are probably just relieved we don't have to walk anywhere else. But why are we all waiting? Because closing ceremonies don't start until everybody gets there. So we wait by the finish line and we cheer for each walker as they cross over. Then we wait even longer. Why? Because we're waiting for the very last walker to finish. There are frequent announcements about how far away the final walker is from the finish line. Nobody's in a rush, nobody's frustrated. We just wait patiently.
And then she turns the corner and you can see her in the distance approaching. She's not walking alone though. Because every safety volunteer that has monitored the course for the last three days, greeting us with warm smiles and encouraging us, is there with her, forming a protective semi-circle around her as she takes her final steps. The crowd all gathers closer at the finish line as whispers that, "She's here," spread through the throngs of people.
The crowd goes wild for her. And, as I look around, I'm surrounded by a sea of tears and cheers as we welcome the last woman over the finish line. Complete strangers line up to hug her and congratulate her on getting there.
Pregnant and infertile can be mucky territory. We have a huge, bumpy barrier that now, in many ways, separates us from our other, infertile sisters. This issue comes up often on the Nest as women move from the infertility boards to "Success After Infertility" board. We want to remain active on the infertility boards. We've forged many friendships there and want to offer the same support that others have given us along the way. But at the same time, we know that some days the pregnancy tickers in our posts are the last thing someone needs to see. Our u/s pic might be too much for another infertile woman on a good day, let alone a bad one. Sometimes our words of hope, no matter how heartfelt, sting a bit. And that's just the way it is. And we understand. Because we were there, too.
But know one thing. Infertility is a lot like the 3 Day. As each infertile woman crosses over the finish line, the infertile sisters who have crossed before her are right there. Waiting, with open arms, cheering and shedding tears of joy for each woman to cross the finish line. And this is where we will remain, until our very last sister crosses over.
But here's the thing. I was one of three visibly pregnant women there. Instead of being the infertile, unpregnant woman surrounded by bellies, I was one of the bellies. And the truth is, I felt like a fraud. It was like I was waiting for someone to come over and pull the pillow out from under my shirt and wave it around in the air all while shouting, "She's a fraud! The belly's a fake! She's an imposter! She's really infertile!" It amazes me how I can simultaneously feel so pregnant and unpregnant so often. It's been 26 weeks, I'm making all the preparations for our son to arrive and half the time I still can't believe there's a real, living baby inside me.
As I sat around chatting at the party, I found myself rewinding back in my head, recalling snippets of conversation from each woman throughout the evening in an attempt to be sure I wasn't in the room with another infertile, unintentionally but inevitably hurting her with my big bump. I was pretty sure that I was the only infertile gal at the shindig, but I couldn't shake the nagging worry that someone in the room was aching over three, joyful bellies. As the night wore on and pregnancies were discussed, I openly spoke about our infertility treatments, both for myself and for any shadow infertiles who may have been in the vicinity. I speak for myself for selfish reasons of alleviating self-imposed guilt but also to help lessen the stigma so many in our society place on infertility. I speak for others who, for whatever reasons of their own, haven't found or don't feel comfortable to use their voice and so that they know they're not alone in their quest for motherhood.
The whole night got me thinking about my niche as an infertile but pregnant woman. In counseling months ago, my therapist told me that I'm no longer infertile because I'm pregnant now. Infertile is simply a state of being. To be pregnant means that I'm therefore no longer infertile. You can't be both. I corrected her, informing her that my infertility is a huge part of me and it will remain that way regardless of the state of my uterus. And honestly, I wouldn't want to drop my infertility by the side of the road and just drive off. My infertility has been a journey with many lessons, both painful and rewarding.
About a year and a half ago, I participated in the Breast Cancer 3-Day. For those of you not familiar with it, it's a 60 mile walk over 3 days. Each walker is required to raise at least $2,900 to even show up. Just getting there is a project and, well, actually finishing all 60 miles is a major feat. Past walkers had explained to me what the weekend would be like beforehand, but there's no way to do it justice. It's one of those things that you just have to do for yourself to really "get it". Over the 3 days, I couldn't believe the support that everyone provided one another. The socks and bandaids that were passed around, the ice that was split up among water bottles when it briefly ran short in the 90 degree heat, the words of encouragement and the complete strangers that showed up along the course with signs cheering us on and giving out treats. I cried like a baby over those 3 days, sometimes from pain and exhaustion but often from being so overwhelmed by others' support.
At the end of the walk, we all meet in this large field. And then we wait. And we wait. And we wait. And that's fine because we're completely exhausted anyway so we're content with the idea of sitting for a while and most of us are probably just relieved we don't have to walk anywhere else. But why are we all waiting? Because closing ceremonies don't start until everybody gets there. So we wait by the finish line and we cheer for each walker as they cross over. Then we wait even longer. Why? Because we're waiting for the very last walker to finish. There are frequent announcements about how far away the final walker is from the finish line. Nobody's in a rush, nobody's frustrated. We just wait patiently.
And then she turns the corner and you can see her in the distance approaching. She's not walking alone though. Because every safety volunteer that has monitored the course for the last three days, greeting us with warm smiles and encouraging us, is there with her, forming a protective semi-circle around her as she takes her final steps. The crowd all gathers closer at the finish line as whispers that, "She's here," spread through the throngs of people.
The crowd goes wild for her. And, as I look around, I'm surrounded by a sea of tears and cheers as we welcome the last woman over the finish line. Complete strangers line up to hug her and congratulate her on getting there.
Pregnant and infertile can be mucky territory. We have a huge, bumpy barrier that now, in many ways, separates us from our other, infertile sisters. This issue comes up often on the Nest as women move from the infertility boards to "Success After Infertility" board. We want to remain active on the infertility boards. We've forged many friendships there and want to offer the same support that others have given us along the way. But at the same time, we know that some days the pregnancy tickers in our posts are the last thing someone needs to see. Our u/s pic might be too much for another infertile woman on a good day, let alone a bad one. Sometimes our words of hope, no matter how heartfelt, sting a bit. And that's just the way it is. And we understand. Because we were there, too.
But know one thing. Infertility is a lot like the 3 Day. As each infertile woman crosses over the finish line, the infertile sisters who have crossed before her are right there. Waiting, with open arms, cheering and shedding tears of joy for each woman to cross the finish line. And this is where we will remain, until our very last sister crosses over.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Wobbling watermelon
Johnny: (approaches Billy and Baby) Hey cous, what's she doing here?
Billy: She came with me...she's with me.
Baby: I carried a watermelon.
(Johnny, unimpressed, exits scene to go dance with Penny)
Baby: (in digust) I carried a watermelon??!!
While I'm not actually carrying a watermelon, it sure looks like I am. This pic is from 25 weeks and 3 days, just a few days ago. Sorry, it's blurry. I didn't notice until just now. I actually think my body's a little funny looking in this picture.
Everybody keeps asking me lately how I'm feeling and, for the most part, I try to keep my answers peppy, but the truth is that my back pain is getting worse and worse. I'm having many moments of hobbling around briefly before I can get walking normally. I'm basically just trying to ignore it, but this is becoming a tougher and tougher task. It makes me feel very geriatric.
In related, very exciting news....we have 100 days left until we meet our son! That's right, 180 days down and 100 days to go. I can't believe it.
Billy: She came with me...she's with me.
Baby: I carried a watermelon.
(Johnny, unimpressed, exits scene to go dance with Penny)
Baby: (in digust) I carried a watermelon??!!
While I'm not actually carrying a watermelon, it sure looks like I am. This pic is from 25 weeks and 3 days, just a few days ago. Sorry, it's blurry. I didn't notice until just now. I actually think my body's a little funny looking in this picture.
Everybody keeps asking me lately how I'm feeling and, for the most part, I try to keep my answers peppy, but the truth is that my back pain is getting worse and worse. I'm having many moments of hobbling around briefly before I can get walking normally. I'm basically just trying to ignore it, but this is becoming a tougher and tougher task. It makes me feel very geriatric.
In related, very exciting news....we have 100 days left until we meet our son! That's right, 180 days down and 100 days to go. I can't believe it.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Much better than a crockpot
I've been thinking for a long time about how I would like to thank the staff at my RE's office. They really are amazing and I can't imagine what it would have been like to go through all of the stress of infertility without them there supporting me along the way.
So how do you thank people for a kid?
An Edible Arrangement? Healthy and delicious (provided you spring for the chocolate covered strawberries), but insufficient. Cookies? Yummy, but still insufficient. Sincere, handwritten note? Thoughtful and genuine, so let's give it a whirl.
I attempted this note several times to no avail. I sat in front of a blank piece of stationery wrestling with my words. I thought back to the many thank you notes I wrote throughout my life, especially around the time of my wedding.
There was the crockpot......Thank you so much for the baby! I can't wait to try it out once our new kitchen is set up!
The towels....Thank you so much for the wonderful baby! It's so soft and matches our bathroom perfectly!
The check...Thank you so much for your very generous baby. Joe and I will put it towards renovating our new bedroom.
The frame....Thank you so much for the beautiful baby. Every time we look at it, we will think of you.
Hmmm....this isn't quite working out the way I planned. How do you actually thank someone for your child? For starting your family? For the gift of life? For making a dream come true? The bottom line is there are no sufficient words in the English language, nor is there a tangible gift that can be purchased at Macy's that sums up my feelings about the impending arrival of our son.
So I continue to think on it and I've still got nothing, until I remember my post about my first RE visit titled, "A Day of Hope". The last bit of it goes like this:
"I was, and continue to be, overwhelmed that people take on the job of reproductive endocrinologist. This includes the nurses and office staff. I am in awe of them. I try to imagine being in their shoes, giving the news to a hopeful couple that a procedure has failed, taking the call from a pregnant woman who has begun bleeding, holding the hand of a woman trying again after yet another miscarriage. I bear the weight of only my own story while they shoulder the burden of so many women's heartbreaking journeys.
Without a doubt, they are doing God's work."
Deciding that this was the best I could come up with in terms of articulating my gratitude, I print out the entire post, write a note at the bottom explaining how there really are no words that can capture my thankfulness for the work they do every day, for my son that is on the way and for the support they provided me along the journey. I get in the car to drop it off along with my left over injectables to donate which are now resting on a bag of frozen edamame.
I head in the office to find three women, who bring an automatic smile to my face, chatting around the front counter. We catch up for a minute or so while I hand over my meds. One tells me how she saw our IUI pic on my blog! I had completely forgotten that I told her about the blog and was touched to see that she not only read it, but had continued to read it since that picture was posted fairly recently.
And then I hand over the letter. I quickly realize that this is going to be tougher than I anticipated. I stumble over a sentence or two, saying something to the effect of, "This is my attempt at saying thank you."
and then I say, ".....I have to go now because I'm going to cry." Maybe I kinda waved after that. I don't know. But I left because I was definitely starting to cry.
I made it about five steps out of the office before it hits me that I didn't hug them. These women who were so wonderful to me, so supportive of me and so happy for me when I finally got my positive. I turn on my heels, rush back in and say, "I didn't hug you" and, in full-on-tears, dole out proper hugs while thanking them for everything.
Eloquent? No. Dignified? Not quite. But sincere? Yeah, definitely sincere.
So how do you thank people for a kid?
An Edible Arrangement? Healthy and delicious (provided you spring for the chocolate covered strawberries), but insufficient. Cookies? Yummy, but still insufficient. Sincere, handwritten note? Thoughtful and genuine, so let's give it a whirl.
I attempted this note several times to no avail. I sat in front of a blank piece of stationery wrestling with my words. I thought back to the many thank you notes I wrote throughout my life, especially around the time of my wedding.
There was the crockpot......Thank you so much for the baby! I can't wait to try it out once our new kitchen is set up!
The towels....Thank you so much for the wonderful baby! It's so soft and matches our bathroom perfectly!
The check...Thank you so much for your very generous baby. Joe and I will put it towards renovating our new bedroom.
The frame....Thank you so much for the beautiful baby. Every time we look at it, we will think of you.
Hmmm....this isn't quite working out the way I planned. How do you actually thank someone for your child? For starting your family? For the gift of life? For making a dream come true? The bottom line is there are no sufficient words in the English language, nor is there a tangible gift that can be purchased at Macy's that sums up my feelings about the impending arrival of our son.
So I continue to think on it and I've still got nothing, until I remember my post about my first RE visit titled, "A Day of Hope". The last bit of it goes like this:
"I was, and continue to be, overwhelmed that people take on the job of reproductive endocrinologist. This includes the nurses and office staff. I am in awe of them. I try to imagine being in their shoes, giving the news to a hopeful couple that a procedure has failed, taking the call from a pregnant woman who has begun bleeding, holding the hand of a woman trying again after yet another miscarriage. I bear the weight of only my own story while they shoulder the burden of so many women's heartbreaking journeys.
Without a doubt, they are doing God's work."
Deciding that this was the best I could come up with in terms of articulating my gratitude, I print out the entire post, write a note at the bottom explaining how there really are no words that can capture my thankfulness for the work they do every day, for my son that is on the way and for the support they provided me along the journey. I get in the car to drop it off along with my left over injectables to donate which are now resting on a bag of frozen edamame.
I head in the office to find three women, who bring an automatic smile to my face, chatting around the front counter. We catch up for a minute or so while I hand over my meds. One tells me how she saw our IUI pic on my blog! I had completely forgotten that I told her about the blog and was touched to see that she not only read it, but had continued to read it since that picture was posted fairly recently.
And then I hand over the letter. I quickly realize that this is going to be tougher than I anticipated. I stumble over a sentence or two, saying something to the effect of, "This is my attempt at saying thank you."
and then I say, ".....I have to go now because I'm going to cry." Maybe I kinda waved after that. I don't know. But I left because I was definitely starting to cry.
I made it about five steps out of the office before it hits me that I didn't hug them. These women who were so wonderful to me, so supportive of me and so happy for me when I finally got my positive. I turn on my heels, rush back in and say, "I didn't hug you" and, in full-on-tears, dole out proper hugs while thanking them for everything.
Eloquent? No. Dignified? Not quite. But sincere? Yeah, definitely sincere.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I'd like to take a moment to welcome....
my second chin. Welcome to the world, little friend. I think you're completely overrated.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Public Service Announcement for sharing your pregnancy news with infertiles
Dear Infertile Abby,
I just found out that I'm seven weeks pregnant! My husband and I are thrilled and shocked! It was a complete surprise. We weren't even trying. My issue is that I have a very good friend who has been trying to get pregnant for a very long time and is going through infertility treatments. What's the best way to share my news with her? I think it's best that they hear the news from us in private. We're thinking of inviting them over for dinner and telling them then.
Thanks,
Fertile Fran
Dear Fertile Fran,
Are you high? It's called e-mail. If you don't have a computer, it's called a phone. Your friend's probably going to cry and doesn't feel like doing it in front of you and your husband. It'll just make her feel like a shmuck.
Take care,
Infertile Abby
This situation has reared its ugly head.....again. When my friend lured me to her house with the promise of sunny weather and a barbecue, I unfortunately responded to her pregnancy announcement by getting inebriated and crying on her front curb for about an hour before coming in to fail at faking enthusiasm throughout the rest of the evening (link here). This time, it happened to a good friend. Just two weeks after her 3rd IVF cycle had to be cancelled, her brother and sister-in-law felt the need to come over to visit and share their "big news". And it broke my heart.
Now here's the thing. I get what fertile people are thinking. I do. I really do. In their head, they have this vision of a sit-down where they gently and thoughtfully share the news of their pregnancy and then maybe place a hand on the infertile's knee, tell us how they know it will happen for us and that God has a plan for us or something to that effect. They think we'd be crushed to hear the news from someone else rather than directly from the source. And e-mail or phone? Instant message? No way! In most other situations, it's considered tacky or rude to share big news in these manners. I understand where you're coming from and that you have good intentions. I really truly do.
But here's the thing. You're wrong. I hate to break it to you, but for 99% of infertile people, you're wrong.
Let's change the scenario a little bit because infertility is something that is so difficult to connect with unless it's touched your own life. Let's talk about homes. Most everybody can understand that your home is your safe haven, a place where you find comfort. It's filled with memories. Most of us put a lot of effort into creating a home.
Now imagine my house just burned down. Or that I lost my home to foreclosure. You, on the other hand, have just sealed the deal on your custom-built McMansion. You're understandably thrilled. You want to shout your news from the rooftops. And that's cool. I'd want share it with the world, too. However, would you invite me over to share the news with me personally? Do I have to hear your news right before I sit down to enjoy a meal with you? A meal that maybe I was looking forward to as a nice distraction and a chance to get away from the stress of dealing with losing my home?
It doesn't seem so important, or even appropriate, that I hear the news directly from the horse's mouth, does it? In fact, maybe it would be better to hear it from someone I'm close with like my sister or my mom. Because I'm probably going to get upset. I'm not getting upset because I don't think you deserve your dream home or don't want you to have it. It's not personal (most of the time). But my first, second, maybe even third emotion is probably not going to be happiness for you. It's sadness for myself.
Your joy is a reminder that I'm in the process of losing a dream. Your news is a reminder that I am broken. Your granted wish is a reminder of my unanswered prayers.
Please stop telling us your news in person. It hurts us. Not because we don't love you. Because we do and we don't our pain to take away from any part of your joy. So give us a little time. Please. Send us the e-mail or give us a ring. And then give us some time. We really are happy for you. It's just that, for many of us, our dreams are now ashes scattered around our feet.
I just found out that I'm seven weeks pregnant! My husband and I are thrilled and shocked! It was a complete surprise. We weren't even trying. My issue is that I have a very good friend who has been trying to get pregnant for a very long time and is going through infertility treatments. What's the best way to share my news with her? I think it's best that they hear the news from us in private. We're thinking of inviting them over for dinner and telling them then.
Thanks,
Fertile Fran
Dear Fertile Fran,
Are you high? It's called e-mail. If you don't have a computer, it's called a phone. Your friend's probably going to cry and doesn't feel like doing it in front of you and your husband. It'll just make her feel like a shmuck.
Take care,
Infertile Abby
This situation has reared its ugly head.....again. When my friend lured me to her house with the promise of sunny weather and a barbecue, I unfortunately responded to her pregnancy announcement by getting inebriated and crying on her front curb for about an hour before coming in to fail at faking enthusiasm throughout the rest of the evening (link here). This time, it happened to a good friend. Just two weeks after her 3rd IVF cycle had to be cancelled, her brother and sister-in-law felt the need to come over to visit and share their "big news". And it broke my heart.
Now here's the thing. I get what fertile people are thinking. I do. I really do. In their head, they have this vision of a sit-down where they gently and thoughtfully share the news of their pregnancy and then maybe place a hand on the infertile's knee, tell us how they know it will happen for us and that God has a plan for us or something to that effect. They think we'd be crushed to hear the news from someone else rather than directly from the source. And e-mail or phone? Instant message? No way! In most other situations, it's considered tacky or rude to share big news in these manners. I understand where you're coming from and that you have good intentions. I really truly do.
But here's the thing. You're wrong. I hate to break it to you, but for 99% of infertile people, you're wrong.
Let's change the scenario a little bit because infertility is something that is so difficult to connect with unless it's touched your own life. Let's talk about homes. Most everybody can understand that your home is your safe haven, a place where you find comfort. It's filled with memories. Most of us put a lot of effort into creating a home.
Now imagine my house just burned down. Or that I lost my home to foreclosure. You, on the other hand, have just sealed the deal on your custom-built McMansion. You're understandably thrilled. You want to shout your news from the rooftops. And that's cool. I'd want share it with the world, too. However, would you invite me over to share the news with me personally? Do I have to hear your news right before I sit down to enjoy a meal with you? A meal that maybe I was looking forward to as a nice distraction and a chance to get away from the stress of dealing with losing my home?
It doesn't seem so important, or even appropriate, that I hear the news directly from the horse's mouth, does it? In fact, maybe it would be better to hear it from someone I'm close with like my sister or my mom. Because I'm probably going to get upset. I'm not getting upset because I don't think you deserve your dream home or don't want you to have it. It's not personal (most of the time). But my first, second, maybe even third emotion is probably not going to be happiness for you. It's sadness for myself.
Your joy is a reminder that I'm in the process of losing a dream. Your news is a reminder that I am broken. Your granted wish is a reminder of my unanswered prayers.
Please stop telling us your news in person. It hurts us. Not because we don't love you. Because we do and we don't our pain to take away from any part of your joy. So give us a little time. Please. Send us the e-mail or give us a ring. And then give us some time. We really are happy for you. It's just that, for many of us, our dreams are now ashes scattered around our feet.
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