Monday, November 28, 2016

a crazy dream of unresolved anger

I was sitting somewhere - a living room perhaps? - with my old co-worker friend who hid her pregnancy from me.

She leaned forward and said, "You know, I have to tell you, I am really upset that you never reached out to me to congratulate me on Baby ___."

And I let out in a gigantic roar of tears, "You're upset?  You're upset?  I have six fucking rings on my finger (as I flip her my middle finger where these rings now lie).  My babies are dead.  All dead.  Six dead babies.  I had to find that you  gave birth to a beautiful healthy girl on facebook?  ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?

And scene.

Dreamin' ain't pretty.

Monday, November 21, 2016


"You know Niblet read like 28 books last week?  I mean 28 chapter books!"
"Well, she's smart like you  - and your Mom. That's inherited. She has your genetics."


Mom talked to him and he clearly isn't on the same page.


There's other glitches too on this road.  For another post.

Monday, November 14, 2016


I bit the bullet last friday and had a long - like nearly three-hour-long - conversation with my mom.

Her initial response to my positing the scenario of attempting a donor egg pregnancy was not encouraging:  "You have to make the decision that makes you happy," she said, in that unconvincing tone.

She was very concerned about a whole mess of things that are rational to be concerned about when you know less than jack about this form of ART.  Could the donor seek custody of the baby?  What if the donor carries a disease?  What if they're a serial killer?  Isn't there inherently something wrong with a woman who would donate her eggs for money?  Wouldn't Niblet be confused?

I gave her as many assurances I could about the whole process - the fine-tuned screening of donors.... the legal contract that prevents them from claiming custody.... the cross your fingers element on serial killers.  Niblet would be genetically related, but at the end of the day, Niblet would have a sibling. 

Think of the young women who have lost their ovaries to cancer or premature menopause, or who carry genetic diseases, who would be childless but for this option.  This is a miracle, it's been around for decades, it isn't going away and it's a means to build a family.

And the biggest:  "Think of your own DNA."  You see, my mom has some shitty as all fuck relatives.  Abusive, horrible human beings, and that is putting it lightly.  She has often said aloud, "I used to wish that I was adopted, they're so awful I didn't think it was possible that I could be related to them."

We had a crash course in vocabulary.  What is a gestational carrier?  What is a bio mother?  What is a genetic mother?  What is a MOTHER.

Mom, you know how you tell me what an incredible mother I am to Niblet?  Well, the same lady who loves and supports this amazing girl, would parent a baby from donor DNA no differently.  When Niblet says, "I hate you mom" (as one does), because I make her eat a vegetable with her meal, well, I would be making this child eat a vegetable with their meal too. You know how I schlep this girl to ballet lessons?  Yeah, I would do that too.  The most meaningful thing I have ever done is mother this child.  The way I mother - the devotion to the act of mothering that you know I possess - that is what makes me a mother.  The way I deeply consider every action and its ramifications upon my family.  It would be no different with a baby that didn't share my DNA.

I pulled out all of the rhetorical guns I have.   I guess it's a testament to the fact that I used to argue for a living, that I moved my Mom.  I also don't think she realized how much my whole family aches for an addition.  How painfully incomplete we have all felt.

After two hours, Mom was convinced that my exploring this option was a good thing. That if I'm going to do this, it needs to be now.  That I shouldn't even consider the money (but that's for another post).   And her biggest concern with the whole shebang came to be the exact same one I have now:  That I will fall into the percentage of people for whom this does not work.  That I will lose another baby, heartbreakingly, in utero.

I feel you Mom, I sure do.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

A surreal day after

This morning I woke up to Donald Trump being the President-elect of the USA.  I promise not to discuss politics here (at least overtly), except to say that my job often has me deep in the fray.  I have been talking to voters for the past two months, and this past weekend I worked long long hours, until the polls closed.  To say I was spent and exhausted was an understatement.

So how funny it is that Viking and I dropped our daughter off at school this morning and headed north, over an hour up I-95, to a new clinic.  We took the opportunity to schedule a free consult the day after a man was elected who deeply politicized the horror I went through with my TFMR and saying goodbye to Celine.  Portraying me and the women who had to make the same heartbreaking decisions as monsters to millions of Americans who are chomping at the bit to call us murderers in public.

What a day.  I had to tell my long and painful story twice - first to the youngest physician's assistant ever, then to a new doctor, Dr. N.

Some people on my facebook feeds note their tears today with the outcome of our election.  Well, I cried a lot today, in a doctor's office filled with tchotchkes (Dr. N sure has a liking for the home goods aisles at Marshalls).

Four miscarriages.  A partial molar pregnancy.  One termination for a giant omphalocele.  Asherman's Syndrome.  MTHFR.

Dr. N was as compassionate as an RE doing the hard sell could be I guess.  She offered no guarantees.  She understood that we're as skittish as rabbits about miscarrying again and didn't scoff at our desire for PGS, even on embryos from the youngest of eggs.

On a day where there's a palpable question about the future, Viking and I are seriously considering adding to our family.


Tuesday, November 1, 2016

just an average tuesday morning panic attack (edited for honesty)

What if I waited too long?  What if the delicate balance we have in our household - one where Niblet has undivided attention - will be destroyed with another little person?

I have long said that I wanted a baby because I want a baby, but what would this do to Niblet?  She has always wanted a sibling.  But she is now almost 8.  She thinks she wants to love another little person in our home - that a sibling, even a baby, would just mean another soul to love. Just yesterday, she expressed that she would love to "teach a baby all kinds of things." But any adult could tell her that her life would change.  She would be a part of a larger unit. She would no longer live the only life she's known as an only child.

Let me say at the outset that I don't believe that she should be expected in any way to help with a baby, if one were to fall into my lap tomorrow.  I write this because a the few people I have spoken with this about in real life have commented that I would have an automatic mothers' helper.  Well, that makes me uncomfortable.  She is not a mother, she is a little girl who has her own loves and joys and dreams.  I want to continue on her own path, with the activities that she loves.   I am really uncomfortable with theoretically laying an expectation on her as she gets older, like being a built-in baby-sitter when she's a teenager.  That would be the road to resentment, wouldn't it?

But what would a home look like if we were no longer three?  Is it even possible for me not to upend my daughter's life if my attention is divided?  I am quite sure that other moms who work outside the home with more than one child would be laughing their asses at me right now, but REALLY, is it possible for me to parent the way I currently parent if I am parenting more than one?  Of course it isn't.  Is that a bad thing?  I just don't know.

Sorry for my whining.  It's just that this is just feeling so-goddamned unfair today.  All of it.  The pesky fear that I am on the wrong path, and potentially ruining the lives of my loved ones, most importantly my one living daughter.  By not just leaving well enough alone and coming to terms with my infertility.

Jesus I'm sad.  We started at this when she was ALMOST THREE years old.  Five years later.  A fucking eternity has passed. And I am still here.  Stuck.