I wrote this list (below) yesterday after spending quite a few days in the throes of an anxiety so intense that there were times I felt that I was going to fall into small pieces of Leslie. We were waiting on the results of an important fertility test. Finally, yesterday afternoon I got the call from the restricted number that never fails to make my heart start pounding. It was the nurse practitioner at the fertility clinic letting us know that we had passed another test with flying colors. Roy and I were so ecstatic that we had a nice dinner out to celebrate. And then I added in #10 below.
There are more tests to come and more sleepless nights to live through, but for now, I am so grateful for the good results. Each test we go through is more and more nerve-racking, but if there's anyone that I want to be on this roller coaster ride with, it's Roy.
And now, my notes.
***
1) The waiting (for the tests to be performed, and for the results as well) is excruciating.
2) You spend a lot of time each day preparing for the news that could change your life forever.
3) You also spend a lot of time anticipating pregnancy announcements from people you know and trying to figure out ways to gracefully handle them.
4) You seem to be surrounded by babies, children, and mothers-to-be. If they aren't surrounding you in real life, they run rampant in the virtual world.
5) A story about kids in foster care can reduce you to tears in a matter of seconds.
6) You often wonder how you ended up here. You are healthy, educated, employed, and in possession of all the traits that would make one a good parent.
7) You have started to consider that conceiving a baby could cost thousands upon thousands of dollars.
8) You no longer wonder if you will get pregnant this month. Instead you wonder if you will get pregnant this year.
9) You begin to "come out" to more and more people about your issues, and you find that people are much more supportive than you expected them to be.
10) When you get the news that your husband's sperm analysis is normal, you feel like you won the lottery.
11) You begin to realize that the advice that people gave you before you got married, to marry the person you want to go through hell with, is actually very good advice. And then you realize that waiting for a diagnosis is more like purgatory than hell. And then you begin to wonder how bad it's going to get before it will get better.
12) For all your sorrows and frustrations, you know that someday it will all be worth it. Because if there's anything worth waiting for, it's your child.
Showing posts with label pre-pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pre-pregnancy. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Things I Learned This Week
1) Work can be good if I'm busy. Which I was. All week. A very nice change of pace.
2) Life is better when Myra is around. But she needs to be off doing her own thing, and I respect and understand that.
3) I have great friends. The best, really.
4) It does not feel good to have your vagina propped open for an extended period of time while a radiologist injects dye into your uterus to make sure your fallopian tubes are open. But it is totally worth the uncomfortableness when you see the dye spill out around your ovaries, thereby letting you know that your tubes are indeed open for business.
5) It's hard to live without a computer. But if you have a husband who recognizes that you have a strong Internet dependency and lets you use his computer, that helps lessen the pain of separation.
6) Sometimes the only thing you can do is make it through a moment. Some days are a-moment-at-a-time days.
7) It's important to keep your eyes open and notice the world around you. I found this little thing on the sidewalk outside my office building and loved photographing it. It's been hanging out on my office windowsill ever since I rescued it.
Happy weekends to all!
2) Life is better when Myra is around. But she needs to be off doing her own thing, and I respect and understand that.
3) I have great friends. The best, really.
4) It does not feel good to have your vagina propped open for an extended period of time while a radiologist injects dye into your uterus to make sure your fallopian tubes are open. But it is totally worth the uncomfortableness when you see the dye spill out around your ovaries, thereby letting you know that your tubes are indeed open for business.
5) It's hard to live without a computer. But if you have a husband who recognizes that you have a strong Internet dependency and lets you use his computer, that helps lessen the pain of separation.
6) Sometimes the only thing you can do is make it through a moment. Some days are a-moment-at-a-time days.
7) It's important to keep your eyes open and notice the world around you. I found this little thing on the sidewalk outside my office building and loved photographing it. It's been hanging out on my office windowsill ever since I rescued it.
Happy weekends to all!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Best Things in Life
Thank you all for your thoughtful, supportive, and loving comments on my last post. I really needed them.
I have this theory. When you write something down, it makes it real (or more real). I have been avoiding the topic of TTC in most of my interactions with people. I didn't want it to become the center of my universe or the thing that people started asking me about all the time. I thought I could keep it a secret until I actually got pregnant. (It wasn't a total secret. There are a few people who have known what we've been up to.)
As it turns out, I couldn't. Our secret is out. It's real. But I refuse to let it define me. So what if we haven't conceived yet? It doesn't mean that I won't be a good mother when that day finally comes. It doesn't mean that women who get pregnant easily are somehow more meant to be mothers or will be better at it than those of us who have had to wait awhile. It's just random. It's a crapshoot.
Anyway, the whole point of this post is not to rehash my feelings concerning TTC. I've said what I need to say for now. I'm glad that I have opened the doors of communication concerning this, because as we continue down this road, there will be times when I will need to vent and express my feelings, whatever they may be.
And so we've decided to tell our families (only parents and siblings). We are going to need them. I thought we could do this alone, but the fact that I've leaned so heavily on my close friends through this shows that we can't. We need people to get us through. And you guys are those people, too. Thank you so much for your support. It means more than you will ever know.
To those of you who have been there for me from the start of all this, I love you so very much and cannot thank you enough for putting up with the insanity. It has been a crazy ride, but it has been bearable because of you.
I have this theory. When you write something down, it makes it real (or more real). I have been avoiding the topic of TTC in most of my interactions with people. I didn't want it to become the center of my universe or the thing that people started asking me about all the time. I thought I could keep it a secret until I actually got pregnant. (It wasn't a total secret. There are a few people who have known what we've been up to.)
As it turns out, I couldn't. Our secret is out. It's real. But I refuse to let it define me. So what if we haven't conceived yet? It doesn't mean that I won't be a good mother when that day finally comes. It doesn't mean that women who get pregnant easily are somehow more meant to be mothers or will be better at it than those of us who have had to wait awhile. It's just random. It's a crapshoot.
Anyway, the whole point of this post is not to rehash my feelings concerning TTC. I've said what I need to say for now. I'm glad that I have opened the doors of communication concerning this, because as we continue down this road, there will be times when I will need to vent and express my feelings, whatever they may be.
And so we've decided to tell our families (only parents and siblings). We are going to need them. I thought we could do this alone, but the fact that I've leaned so heavily on my close friends through this shows that we can't. We need people to get us through. And you guys are those people, too. Thank you so much for your support. It means more than you will ever know.
To those of you who have been there for me from the start of all this, I love you so very much and cannot thank you enough for putting up with the insanity. It has been a crazy ride, but it has been bearable because of you.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
If This Uterus Could Talk
Last night we all gathered in support of Z and her husband, who had found out earlier in the day that Z's pregnancy was not viable. Z was right around eleven weeks pregnant, I think, but the baby never really developed at all. Z will have to undergo a D&C tomorrow. I have never been through this, and I can only imagine it is similar to what hell is like.
I found out about Z's pregnancy about six weeks ago. I didn't know it then, but her story has become inexplicably wound up with and connected to my own story.
And so, this is her story. And this is my story, too. And maybe, just maybe, it's your story as well.
***
I have made a solid effort to keep baby talk out of my blog. I wrote this post and then decided that I wouldn't talk about the issue any further until I had a pregnancy to report. The blogosphere is full of blogs devoted to trying to conceive, infertility, pregnancy loss, and just babies in general. While I don't look down upon those blogs at all (I actually really enjoy reading them), I didn't want my blog to become one of them.
The reason for this is because I wanted to keep my private life private. Despite some very personal posts that I've written, I don't reveal everything about my life, my past, or my feelings. This is the internet, and I don't always feel safe to let it all hang out.
Another reason I have chosen not to discuss certain things is because I don't want to obsess about them. Having a place like this blog, a place where I can pick and choose what I want to talk about, is therapeutic for me. It gives me a break from reality, which lately has seemed very grim. And in a sense it gives me a chance to paint my life in a way that is positive, which always helps when I'm not feeling so great about it.
I transferred these preferences for keeping my private life to myself to the rest of my life as well. If I posted on any online message boards, my signature didn't indicate anything about my sex life or when I could expect to ovulate or how many cycles I'd been trying or what I'd been diagnosed with. If people that I didn't feel especially close to asked me if we were trying to conceive, I would say no. (If you were one of those people, sorry about that. It's nothing personal, I swear.)
So why all the secrecy? Well, frankly the contents of my uterus are no one else's business, unless I choose to make it their business. However, enough time has passed that I feel like sharing (some of) my business with the rest of the world.
My uterus is very, very empty. And she needs a public forum.
***
Back in October, I went off the pill. In November, I charted my first cycle. During that first charted cycle, we had a small oops moment that resulted in about a minute of panic and about ten days' worth of "Wouldn't it be cool if I was actually pregnant?" We both knew then that our excited reaction pointed to something that we never could have anticipated so soon: we were ready to expand our family. We were ready for a baby. Those feelings came out in this post, although I was trying like hell to not reveal the reason behind them.
There is no way I can describe the hope and promise that one feels at the beginning of the journey of making a baby. It was a time when I looked at Roy (and myself) in utter amazement, not believing that we had finally made it to this point. After so many years of fumbling with condoms, late periods/possible pregnancy scares, and trying to avoid getting knocked up, I was ready to embark on the journey of parenthood. The level of commitment that it brought to our marriage made me love Roy so much more.
Of course, I wasn't pregnant, but we began actively trying in December, over half a year earlier than we originally intended. My theory: it could take us awhile to actually conceive, so starting early was actually a good thing.
As it turns out, I was right. Nine months later, I am still not pregnant.
***
In the nine months that we've been trying, here's what's happened (in no particular order):
Mandy and Paul got engaged and married.
I got two SLR cameras and started thinking seriously about photography.
I shot two engagement sessions.
I went to the OBGYN to talk about my long cycles (and they later got shorter).
Roy got a new job.
Roy took his comps (and passed).
Roy graduated.
I planned and hosted Mandy's bridal shower.
Roy and I got our asses kicked in school.
I completed my internship.
Roy completed his internship.
I taught for the first time.
My dog was put to sleep.
All of my melanoma blog people have died.
Myra moved away.
Beans moved away.
My uncle got sick (and is now on the mend).
We went to Vegas.
We stayed at the Morey Mansion.
I had my mole removed.
We found out our wedding videographer is no longer in business.
I learned Photoshop Elements, Lightroom, etc.
I deleted my knot/nest account.
We celebrated our first wedding anniversary.
We went to Minneapolis.
Z and her husband got pregnant and then lost the baby.
Two of my friends have been diagnosed with infertility.
I finished my thesis proposal, and it got rejected by the graduate committee, thus delaying my graduation date.
And so on and so forth.
You see, it's not so much that nine months is a long time to try to conceive (it's actually considered average). It's that so much has happened that it feels like we've lived a whole lifetime in these nine months. So much has changed, highlighting the fact that the state of my uterus has not.
***
Six weeks ago, when I went over to Z's house and saw her chart indicating her pregnancy, I experienced my first true blow related to TTC (trying to conceive). Z and her husband conceived their first month trying, and they had started trying about seven months after us. Once I was able to actually make sense of what I was seeing on Z's chart, I excused myself to the bathroom. I was shaking. I just couldn't believe it. I was now in a position that I never wanted to be in, and it was the first time that I truly began to consider that something might be keeping us from conceiving easily.
I got a taste of my own bitterness that day. I could hear it in my voice when I told Z's husband how lucky they were to get it on the first shot because it sucks to have to try for awhile. I heard that and couldn't believe it was me. But it was. And I immediately felt like such an asshole for letting my own baggage interfere with their good news. Later, I sent Z an email and apologized. And then I cried and cried and cried. It was one of the worst nights ever. I felt so torn. I was happy for them, but I was so sad for us. And I was so angry at the randomness of the universe and at myself for letting that "Bitter Betty" moment slip through.
It took me about a week and a half until I felt like I had accepted Z's pregnancy. I had several days where I just cried in my office at work, feeling like a complete and utter loser for not being able to be so overwhelmingly and joyfully happy for Z and her husband. My sorrow was never really about Z; it was about me and my failure to get pregnant and my desire to join that exclusive pregnancy club. And yet I was almost immediately invested in Z's pregnancy, wanting to know if she was feeling symptoms, when her next appointment was, etc. Despite my own frustration with our situation, I already loved the baby that Z and her husband had created.
***
And now, Z's baby is gone (for no apparent reason), and Z and her husband are reeling, and my heart just hurts for them. I didn't sleep much last night. I got up and watched an episode of 90210 around 3 AM. Ironically, it's the episode where Kelly's mom finds out she's pregnant and experiences a big moral dilemma about whether she should keep the baby.
Why can't we all be so lucky to have that choice? Some of us have no choice in what happens with our bodies or with our babies. Infertility is on the rise, and so are miscarriages. Everywhere I hear stories about women who have lost babies or who can't get pregnant without medical intervention, and it is all so heartbreaking. It makes me want to stop now because right now, with the loss of Z's baby, I don't know if I can take anymore.
I love Z and her husband so very much and am wishing them the best with their physical and emotional recovery from this tragedy.
***
Where does this leave us?
We have been trying for less than a year (but not much less), and many people think that you shouldn't seek medical attention until you've been trying for at least a year. I used to think that way, too. And then I realized that enough time has passed and that we want some answers. We are both 29 years old and would like to have at least two children before we are 35. It's time to start ruling some things out. We have absolutely nothing to lose, and we are tired of being in the dark. If the tests come back clear, then we will be able to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that nothing is obviously wrong and that it's probably just a matter of time until we get pregnant on our own. If the tests indicate that something is wrong, it's better that we find out sooner rather than later.
I am terrified, sad, and angry that we are headed down this road. But part of me has always known that it wouldn't be easy to get pregnant. (I am basing this on some very wild years that I had - I really should have ended up pregnant, but I didn't. This is not a very scientific reason, and I am aware of that. Let's call it a hunch.)
Despite my less-than-stellar feelings concerning our TTC journey, I don't want to be one of those people who constantly posts things on their blog about what is and what isn't appropriate to say when someone is trying to conceive or has issues with infertility. I don't want to be the girl who's been trying for sixteen months and jumps down the throat of the person who is upset because they have been trying for six months without success. Trying to conceive month after month without success is hard, and you can't quantify the pain related to it, and you can't treat TTC/infertility like it's some kind of contest. And you certainly can't control the ignorant and insensitive things that people are going to say to you. All you can control is your reaction to it.
Recently, I heard that bitterness is a choice. This came from a very wise someone who posts on a message board that is full of the most bitter and angry women I've ever seen. Granted, we have no known infertility problems right now, and I don't really know what these women are going through. At the same time, it does no good to play the infertility card constantly like these women do. I understand the feelings of anger and sadness that can come from not being able to join the pregnancy club, truly. But I don't understand the need to drag everyone down as well.
I am terrified of becoming this way. And so I keep reminding myself that it is what it is. Whatever "it" is, I know I can handle it - no matter how big or scary.
***
I feel quite sure that Z is probably terrified too. Because being a woman is terrifying. It's about subjecting your body to the dangers (and the rewards) of housing a fetus. It's about early miscarriage, blighted ova, late losses, stillbirth, and infertility. It's about giving birth, breastfeeding, parenting, working, loving, giving, creating, and living. (And don't get me wrong - I feel that women who are childless by choice are great and don't mean to exclude them in any way with my description above. In a world that is overpopulated and yet is so geared towards keeping women as incubators and housewives, I respect the choice to not have children. It's just not my choice.)
Life is overwhelmingly tragic sometimes. It's scary and sad. It's filled with moments of doubt and anger. And it doesn't make a whole lot of sense a lot of the time.
But life is beautiful, too. I believe that. I believe that Z and her husband will get through this and have beautiful children. I believe that Roy and I will get pregnant and that we will also have our own beautiful children. I believe that everyone else I know that is struggling with reproductive issues will receive the gift of a child. Until then, I wish all of us the serenity and grace to wait patiently. I am happy to wait if that's what it takes.
***
There. My uterus has spoken. And for the moment, she is satisfied.
I found out about Z's pregnancy about six weeks ago. I didn't know it then, but her story has become inexplicably wound up with and connected to my own story.
And so, this is her story. And this is my story, too. And maybe, just maybe, it's your story as well.
***
I have made a solid effort to keep baby talk out of my blog. I wrote this post and then decided that I wouldn't talk about the issue any further until I had a pregnancy to report. The blogosphere is full of blogs devoted to trying to conceive, infertility, pregnancy loss, and just babies in general. While I don't look down upon those blogs at all (I actually really enjoy reading them), I didn't want my blog to become one of them.
The reason for this is because I wanted to keep my private life private. Despite some very personal posts that I've written, I don't reveal everything about my life, my past, or my feelings. This is the internet, and I don't always feel safe to let it all hang out.
Another reason I have chosen not to discuss certain things is because I don't want to obsess about them. Having a place like this blog, a place where I can pick and choose what I want to talk about, is therapeutic for me. It gives me a break from reality, which lately has seemed very grim. And in a sense it gives me a chance to paint my life in a way that is positive, which always helps when I'm not feeling so great about it.
I transferred these preferences for keeping my private life to myself to the rest of my life as well. If I posted on any online message boards, my signature didn't indicate anything about my sex life or when I could expect to ovulate or how many cycles I'd been trying or what I'd been diagnosed with. If people that I didn't feel especially close to asked me if we were trying to conceive, I would say no. (If you were one of those people, sorry about that. It's nothing personal, I swear.)
So why all the secrecy? Well, frankly the contents of my uterus are no one else's business, unless I choose to make it their business. However, enough time has passed that I feel like sharing (some of) my business with the rest of the world.
My uterus is very, very empty. And she needs a public forum.
***
Back in October, I went off the pill. In November, I charted my first cycle. During that first charted cycle, we had a small oops moment that resulted in about a minute of panic and about ten days' worth of "Wouldn't it be cool if I was actually pregnant?" We both knew then that our excited reaction pointed to something that we never could have anticipated so soon: we were ready to expand our family. We were ready for a baby. Those feelings came out in this post, although I was trying like hell to not reveal the reason behind them.
There is no way I can describe the hope and promise that one feels at the beginning of the journey of making a baby. It was a time when I looked at Roy (and myself) in utter amazement, not believing that we had finally made it to this point. After so many years of fumbling with condoms, late periods/possible pregnancy scares, and trying to avoid getting knocked up, I was ready to embark on the journey of parenthood. The level of commitment that it brought to our marriage made me love Roy so much more.
Of course, I wasn't pregnant, but we began actively trying in December, over half a year earlier than we originally intended. My theory: it could take us awhile to actually conceive, so starting early was actually a good thing.
As it turns out, I was right. Nine months later, I am still not pregnant.
***
In the nine months that we've been trying, here's what's happened (in no particular order):
Mandy and Paul got engaged and married.
I got two SLR cameras and started thinking seriously about photography.
I shot two engagement sessions.
I went to the OBGYN to talk about my long cycles (and they later got shorter).
Roy got a new job.
Roy took his comps (and passed).
Roy graduated.
I planned and hosted Mandy's bridal shower.
Roy and I got our asses kicked in school.
I completed my internship.
Roy completed his internship.
I taught for the first time.
My dog was put to sleep.
All of my melanoma blog people have died.
Myra moved away.
Beans moved away.
My uncle got sick (and is now on the mend).
We went to Vegas.
We stayed at the Morey Mansion.
I had my mole removed.
We found out our wedding videographer is no longer in business.
I learned Photoshop Elements, Lightroom, etc.
I deleted my knot/nest account.
We celebrated our first wedding anniversary.
We went to Minneapolis.
Z and her husband got pregnant and then lost the baby.
Two of my friends have been diagnosed with infertility.
I finished my thesis proposal, and it got rejected by the graduate committee, thus delaying my graduation date.
And so on and so forth.
You see, it's not so much that nine months is a long time to try to conceive (it's actually considered average). It's that so much has happened that it feels like we've lived a whole lifetime in these nine months. So much has changed, highlighting the fact that the state of my uterus has not.
***
Six weeks ago, when I went over to Z's house and saw her chart indicating her pregnancy, I experienced my first true blow related to TTC (trying to conceive). Z and her husband conceived their first month trying, and they had started trying about seven months after us. Once I was able to actually make sense of what I was seeing on Z's chart, I excused myself to the bathroom. I was shaking. I just couldn't believe it. I was now in a position that I never wanted to be in, and it was the first time that I truly began to consider that something might be keeping us from conceiving easily.
I got a taste of my own bitterness that day. I could hear it in my voice when I told Z's husband how lucky they were to get it on the first shot because it sucks to have to try for awhile. I heard that and couldn't believe it was me. But it was. And I immediately felt like such an asshole for letting my own baggage interfere with their good news. Later, I sent Z an email and apologized. And then I cried and cried and cried. It was one of the worst nights ever. I felt so torn. I was happy for them, but I was so sad for us. And I was so angry at the randomness of the universe and at myself for letting that "Bitter Betty" moment slip through.
It took me about a week and a half until I felt like I had accepted Z's pregnancy. I had several days where I just cried in my office at work, feeling like a complete and utter loser for not being able to be so overwhelmingly and joyfully happy for Z and her husband. My sorrow was never really about Z; it was about me and my failure to get pregnant and my desire to join that exclusive pregnancy club. And yet I was almost immediately invested in Z's pregnancy, wanting to know if she was feeling symptoms, when her next appointment was, etc. Despite my own frustration with our situation, I already loved the baby that Z and her husband had created.
***
And now, Z's baby is gone (for no apparent reason), and Z and her husband are reeling, and my heart just hurts for them. I didn't sleep much last night. I got up and watched an episode of 90210 around 3 AM. Ironically, it's the episode where Kelly's mom finds out she's pregnant and experiences a big moral dilemma about whether she should keep the baby.
Why can't we all be so lucky to have that choice? Some of us have no choice in what happens with our bodies or with our babies. Infertility is on the rise, and so are miscarriages. Everywhere I hear stories about women who have lost babies or who can't get pregnant without medical intervention, and it is all so heartbreaking. It makes me want to stop now because right now, with the loss of Z's baby, I don't know if I can take anymore.
I love Z and her husband so very much and am wishing them the best with their physical and emotional recovery from this tragedy.
***
Where does this leave us?
We have been trying for less than a year (but not much less), and many people think that you shouldn't seek medical attention until you've been trying for at least a year. I used to think that way, too. And then I realized that enough time has passed and that we want some answers. We are both 29 years old and would like to have at least two children before we are 35. It's time to start ruling some things out. We have absolutely nothing to lose, and we are tired of being in the dark. If the tests come back clear, then we will be able to breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that nothing is obviously wrong and that it's probably just a matter of time until we get pregnant on our own. If the tests indicate that something is wrong, it's better that we find out sooner rather than later.
I am terrified, sad, and angry that we are headed down this road. But part of me has always known that it wouldn't be easy to get pregnant. (I am basing this on some very wild years that I had - I really should have ended up pregnant, but I didn't. This is not a very scientific reason, and I am aware of that. Let's call it a hunch.)
Despite my less-than-stellar feelings concerning our TTC journey, I don't want to be one of those people who constantly posts things on their blog about what is and what isn't appropriate to say when someone is trying to conceive or has issues with infertility. I don't want to be the girl who's been trying for sixteen months and jumps down the throat of the person who is upset because they have been trying for six months without success. Trying to conceive month after month without success is hard, and you can't quantify the pain related to it, and you can't treat TTC/infertility like it's some kind of contest. And you certainly can't control the ignorant and insensitive things that people are going to say to you. All you can control is your reaction to it.
Recently, I heard that bitterness is a choice. This came from a very wise someone who posts on a message board that is full of the most bitter and angry women I've ever seen. Granted, we have no known infertility problems right now, and I don't really know what these women are going through. At the same time, it does no good to play the infertility card constantly like these women do. I understand the feelings of anger and sadness that can come from not being able to join the pregnancy club, truly. But I don't understand the need to drag everyone down as well.
I am terrified of becoming this way. And so I keep reminding myself that it is what it is. Whatever "it" is, I know I can handle it - no matter how big or scary.
***
I feel quite sure that Z is probably terrified too. Because being a woman is terrifying. It's about subjecting your body to the dangers (and the rewards) of housing a fetus. It's about early miscarriage, blighted ova, late losses, stillbirth, and infertility. It's about giving birth, breastfeeding, parenting, working, loving, giving, creating, and living. (And don't get me wrong - I feel that women who are childless by choice are great and don't mean to exclude them in any way with my description above. In a world that is overpopulated and yet is so geared towards keeping women as incubators and housewives, I respect the choice to not have children. It's just not my choice.)
Life is overwhelmingly tragic sometimes. It's scary and sad. It's filled with moments of doubt and anger. And it doesn't make a whole lot of sense a lot of the time.
But life is beautiful, too. I believe that. I believe that Z and her husband will get through this and have beautiful children. I believe that Roy and I will get pregnant and that we will also have our own beautiful children. I believe that everyone else I know that is struggling with reproductive issues will receive the gift of a child. Until then, I wish all of us the serenity and grace to wait patiently. I am happy to wait if that's what it takes.
***
There. My uterus has spoken. And for the moment, she is satisfied.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Baby Fever
Life has a way of surprising me. 6 months ago, I was all about weddings - mine, in particular. These days I can't be bothered with anything wedding-related. I've moved on - to babies.
Of course, Roy and I discussed the children issue before we got married. We both agreed that we wanted them but would wait for awhile after getting married so we could enjoy each other, finish school, pay down debt, buy a house, go on cool vacations, and move away from Southern California. I had a 5 year plan in the back of my head. I figured we could get all the other stuff done within 5 years and be totally ready to be parents by time we're 33. It's not a bad plan, actually.
I recently went off my birth control pills after reading Taking Charge of Your Fertility. This book teaches a natural method of birth control called the Fertility Awareness Method (FAM), where you chart your temperature and other fertility signs in order to become familiar with the patterns and intricacies of your menstrual cycle. It's actually a phenomenal book. I decided to go off the pill after reading it because 1) I wanted to become more familiar with my body and its cycles, 2) I wanted all the pill's effects to have worn off by the time we were ready for children (which can sometimes take years to happen), and 3) I prefer natural things to chemicals any day.
I didn't count on getting hit with the wave of baby fever so early into my marriage. But really, what else did I expect from a method called "Fertility Awareness"? Because I am now charting, every day I am reminded of my child-bearing ability. What a change from taking the pill in order to prevent pregnancy for so many years.
I am not saying that we are going to start trying anytime soon. In fact, I don't even want to try. I just want it to happen (which is really naive, I know). But let's face it, we can't really just let it happen at this point. Roy and I are both so close to finishing our Master's degrees. We don't have a ton of money. We are still working those stepping-stone jobs. We haven't had much freedom to go do lots of awesome things because we have school deadlines and money issues that take priority. We have done some really awesome things, don't get me wrong, but there are so many more things I want to do. Having a kid right now would make it harder. Not impossible, but harder.
I am trying really hard to be realistic about this, but it's becoming increasingly harder to deal with the desire to have a child. I truly feel like I don't have a choice in the matter. It's like my body has completely taken over and is really desperate to conceive. If you combine that with the fact that I am really not a patient person, this is hard for me. What is truly scary is how fast things have changed and how quickly the desire has overwhelmed me.
Anyway, I think we will re-evaluate things during the summer. Roy will have graduated by then, and I will hopefully be working on my thesis with most, if not all, of my coursework completed. In the meantime, I'm going to continue what I've been doing: going to school, working, hanging out, and enjoying life. I will be doing research on baby-related things though, because I want to make sure we're both healthy and as ready as possible when the time is right. I am going to try really hard not to obsess over this, which is totally contradictory to my personality. That will be a huge challenge.
Don't worry, baby-haters, this blog is not going to turn into a pregnancy/TTC (trying to conceive)/mommy blog. You can always count on me to be completely random!
Of course, Roy and I discussed the children issue before we got married. We both agreed that we wanted them but would wait for awhile after getting married so we could enjoy each other, finish school, pay down debt, buy a house, go on cool vacations, and move away from Southern California. I had a 5 year plan in the back of my head. I figured we could get all the other stuff done within 5 years and be totally ready to be parents by time we're 33. It's not a bad plan, actually.
I recently went off my birth control pills after reading Taking Charge of Your Fertility. This book teaches a natural method of birth control called the Fertility Awareness Method (FAM), where you chart your temperature and other fertility signs in order to become familiar with the patterns and intricacies of your menstrual cycle. It's actually a phenomenal book. I decided to go off the pill after reading it because 1) I wanted to become more familiar with my body and its cycles, 2) I wanted all the pill's effects to have worn off by the time we were ready for children (which can sometimes take years to happen), and 3) I prefer natural things to chemicals any day.
I didn't count on getting hit with the wave of baby fever so early into my marriage. But really, what else did I expect from a method called "Fertility Awareness"? Because I am now charting, every day I am reminded of my child-bearing ability. What a change from taking the pill in order to prevent pregnancy for so many years.
I am not saying that we are going to start trying anytime soon. In fact, I don't even want to try. I just want it to happen (which is really naive, I know). But let's face it, we can't really just let it happen at this point. Roy and I are both so close to finishing our Master's degrees. We don't have a ton of money. We are still working those stepping-stone jobs. We haven't had much freedom to go do lots of awesome things because we have school deadlines and money issues that take priority. We have done some really awesome things, don't get me wrong, but there are so many more things I want to do. Having a kid right now would make it harder. Not impossible, but harder.
I am trying really hard to be realistic about this, but it's becoming increasingly harder to deal with the desire to have a child. I truly feel like I don't have a choice in the matter. It's like my body has completely taken over and is really desperate to conceive. If you combine that with the fact that I am really not a patient person, this is hard for me. What is truly scary is how fast things have changed and how quickly the desire has overwhelmed me.
Anyway, I think we will re-evaluate things during the summer. Roy will have graduated by then, and I will hopefully be working on my thesis with most, if not all, of my coursework completed. In the meantime, I'm going to continue what I've been doing: going to school, working, hanging out, and enjoying life. I will be doing research on baby-related things though, because I want to make sure we're both healthy and as ready as possible when the time is right. I am going to try really hard not to obsess over this, which is totally contradictory to my personality. That will be a huge challenge.
Don't worry, baby-haters, this blog is not going to turn into a pregnancy/TTC (trying to conceive)/mommy blog. You can always count on me to be completely random!
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