Tag Archives: motherhood

Infertility: I am here, but I am not

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labor-diagramAnyone who has been journeying down the life experience of infertility knows there are stages.

There are stages of shock, stages of grief, stages of hope, stages of despair, stages of defeat, stages of acceptance, and in the end, there is a stage of joy and moving on.

We all live for that last stage in one way or another. I live for that last stage.

Over the last three years I have sat captive on this roller coaster ride. I have experienced the ups and the downs and held close a flickering flame waiting to ignite a future where someone calls me “mama.”

And over the last six months I have had my life dissected, my privacy invaded, and every major decision I ever made questioned, during the process of being approved for adoption. For those who believe that physical labor is the most excruciating experience a woman can go through, give this experience a shot.

So here I am, in 2013, maybe just maybe the year my child is born.

Am I excited? Yes. Am I terrified? Yes. Am I scared to believe that it’s even possible. Oh yes. Yet am I ready for all of these years of labor pains to end. YES!

When I am at work I am there, but I am not. When I am with friends, I am there, but I am not. When I am enjoying date night with my husband, I am there but I am not.

Where I am is with my child. I suppose where a part of every woman who desires to mother always resides is with her child, it’s just that for those of us who labor for years and years to bring our child into our world, as the years move on the contractions of the heart get stronger and stronger, and closer and closer, drowning out the rest of the world.

I am not sure if I was ready before. I mean I thought I was ready, I could have convinced any single person, close friend or stranger, that I was ready, yet I’m not sure that I really was strong enough to push through these contractions. But now, I am ready.

The unfortunate part for women who labor in this way, in my way, is that there is no epidural to numb the pain, there is no room full of supportive professionals coaching us through the pain, telling us what to expect at every turn, and holding our hand. And there is no definitive marker of just when the contractions will usher forth our child.

And so, for me, these days feel the most difficult.

In a week or two we will be “fully approved” and then the waiting does not begin, it continues: the waiting for the call, the waiting for the meeting, the waiting for the words “she picked you,” and the waiting to hear our child’s first self righteous cry.

And so until that moment, I am here, but really I am not.

Infertility, 12-21-12, and the end of the world: why am I still here?

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12_21_12-2012-The-End-of-the-World-It is hard to imagine anyone who has not heard the hype about the world ending, along with the Mayan calendar, on December 21, 2012.

So  if the world ended yesterday, why am I still here?

Perhaps December 21st was an opportunity not to end our existence, but rather to end the selfish ways that we live our existence.

How would the world change if each person did just one selfless act every day, or every week, or every month? Leave sticky pad love notes on the computer screen of a spouse from whom they have drifted. Call an elderly relative once a week just to say “I want you to know how much you matter to my life.” Buy one toy a month for a local shelter.

There are so many small acts that could put an end to suffering.

Infertility can also feel like the end of the world. It can leave us feeling like no day will ever be quite as bright again, nor any rainbow quite as magnificent. We can find ourselves hating Santa Claus because he reminds us of what we do not have–children. And we can resign ourselves to an unhappy existence while we place all of our cards on the table in hopes of winning the jackpot; even though the odds are stacked against us.

So too perhaps 12-21-12 can remind us infertiles to end our suffering by looking outside of ourselves. In the words of Pema Chodron “It isn’t what happens to us that causes us to suffer; it’s what we say to ourselves about what happens.”

The world did not end yesterday, and infertility is not the end of the world. Yet perhaps it could be the end to suffering, our own and others, one small act of service to loved ones, acquaintances, and strangers at a time.

Infertility is hard, family can be insensitive, yet in life there’s always a “Cherry” on top

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Here are three things that I know: (1) Marriage, mixed with infertility–like a dangerously exotic drink at a seedy roadside bar–is not for the faint of heart; (2) Family, never having experienced infertility, can be unintentionally hurtful and insensitive; and (3) Life often feels too busy and too full with the years whirling by in a home where the nursery sits empty. And here is one important lesson that a three-and-five-year-old and their four-month-old sister taught me; at the end of the day none of those matters and there’s always a “Cherry” on top.

As part of our adoption process we had to spend the afternoon/evening with a newborn. A dear friend of mine was generous enough to offer her little one up, and we insisted on watching their other two so that they could get a romantic evening out alone together.

By the end of the night I was in love.

I was in love with the way their three-year-old had to first take his shirt off so that he could “box” his brother on the x-box. I was in love with the way their five-year-old soaked in every ounce of me rubbing his back–inquiring into whether we could spend the night–while my husband read bedtime stories. And I was in love with how their four-month-old laughed hysterically at her brothers, and then cuddled in and fell asleep on my shoulder.

I was also however in love with the “Cherry” on top–my husband. Of course I always love him, however the sweetness of this tiny person smiling away as he held her made me only love him more. And so, dubbed “Cherry” by the three-year-old, who was unable to pronounce his name, I found my “Cherry” on top.

Yes, there have been times when infertility felt like just too much to bear. There have been times when I was ready to throw all of the adoption paperwork into the trash–overwhelmed by all that we need to do and all we that we have to share with complete strangers to be dubbed “acceptable parents.” And there have been times when family members have unknowingly deeply hurt me, so immersed in their own joys and never considering how I might feel. Those things are like heavy weights at the bottom of lead boots. They have made me angry, tearful, and exasperated.

Yet in the end, there really is a “Cherry” on top and soon where there was two, there will be three, and nothing else will matter.