Secondary Infertility is .......(Part 2)

As I mentioned yesterday, I've been on the fence about what focus to pursue with this blog.

 I could unload all the horrible, yucky stuff about secondary infertility and miscarriage until I get it all out of my system.  The problem with that is that it's not all I think about and it doesn't consume my entire life.  I also don't want to seem like I'm whining all the time.  Yep, part of my life really stinks and I pray it were different.  I also know that there are so many others who have been given much heavier crosses to bear.  I need to remind myself occasionally to count my blessings instead of my burdens.

I could focus just on the light fluffy fun stuff - silly things my girls do, my domestic failures, fun link-ups, etc., but that's not all of who I am either.  Besides, there are only so many ways I can write about my knack for burning dinner before we all get bored.

That leaves me with what I originally said I'd do - a mixture of the two.  Despite my concerns that people may comment on the state of my mental health after I follow up a post about how much I want another baby with a story about how bananas the two children I have drive me, that's exactly what I'll do.  Because THAT is my life, thanks in part to massively imbalanced hormones that refuse to be subdued.  Be glad you don't have to spend time in my head - it's a scary place.  So comment away.

Today, as the post title suggests, I'll return to the topic that I started this blog with - what secondary infertility means to me.  It's taken me a while to get back to this, partly because my miscarriages have been on my mind more than infertility, and partly because it took me a while to sort my running list into categories and add checkboxes so I can mark off when I've written about each thought.  It's still not in a spreadsheet, but this will have to suffice. 

Okay, now that I've bored you all into clicking over to a more interesting, less wordy part of the internet, here goes.....


Secondary Infertility is....

Seeing pregnant bellies everywhere
You know how after you learn a new word, you suddenly see that word in all sorts of places?  Or after you purchase that car that you think is such a unique color that you'll be able to spot it in even the most crowded parking lot, but then you realize every fourth car on the road is that same exact color?  The same goes for pregnant women.  As soon as you find yourself unable to conceive (or carry a baby to term), suddenly all you can see is an army of women waddling toward you.

 Jocelyn scribbled this when she was 18 months old, just a week before Meredith was born.  Does anyone else see a pregnant woman, or is it just me?

Some of the infertility resources tell you to steer clear of places expectant women are likely to be.  I have no idea how easy that is for women with primary infertility, but it's darn near impossible for those of us with secondary infertility.  Pretty much anywhere the girls enjoy going - the library, the parks, the children's museum, to name a few - are full of young, growing families.  Add in participation at a church that is full of families open to life and weekly errand days that are shared with retired people and other stay at home moms.  Unless we stayed home every day and kept the shutters closed (which introverted me is more than willing to do, but the girls aren't on board), I'm bound to bump into a belly or two or ten nearly every day.

A lot of days, I have no problem with that.  I won't lie and say I don't notice, but I can laugh it off.  One day, about a year or so ago, I'd had one of those days when I couldn't turn around without feeling someone else's unborn baby kick me in the elbow.  That evening I turned on the tv to a cooking show on PBS, figuring that would be safe.  The chef was pregnant.  All I could do was laugh. 

Other days, it's much harder to take.  I'm pretty used to it now, so it doesn't bother me as often.  My hormones right now are in a really volatile state of attempting to  recover from miscarriage, adjusting to a supplement change, and probably entering a new phase of perimenopause.  That means I have no idea what emotion will dominate any given situation.  I'm a whole lot of fun.  Pray for Jon.

On Sunday, I found myself sitting in our usual spot in church, give or take a few pews.  For whatever reason, though, most of the people around us were not the ones we usually sit near .  One possible reason could be Meredith's month long regression into two-year-old behavior during Mass a few weeks back that caused everyone around us to find a new favorite pew.  Anyway, as I watched the pews fill in, I saw a young mom expecting a baby sitting a few rows in front of us.  Not a problem.  Then came a family with 6 or 7 young children and a mom who appeared to be in those uncomfortable last few weeks.  Hmm....still okay.  Another large family that will be adding a new member in a few months filed in behind us.  Seriously?  Where are the elderly people in the parish today?  I was still holding it together though.  Then, as we stood for the Gospel, a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.  A boy a few pews up from us, put his hand on his mom's tummy to feel his baby brother or sister kicking.  That was the straw that broke me.

I spent the rest of Mass trying to refocus being attentive to the Mass and simultaneously attempting to pass off my tears as allergies.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to leak tears without any Kleenex?  I don't bring a purse into church anymore because it's too much of a temptation for Meredith, but I might need to take a pack of tissues with us in case my hormones get the better of me again.  I don't think my "wow these allergies are making my eyes water" nor my "I have such a headache I need to take my glasses off and rub my eyes (and then wipe my wet hands on my skirt)" tactics fooled anyone.  There will likely be a new group of people trying to avoid sitting near us next week.

Today was better.  We ran our weekly errands and despite the fact that I was sandwiched between two pregnant women in the checkout lane at the grocery store, my "allergies" didn't act up at all.  However, a few 80s songs playing on Spotify later in the afternoon caused a brief flare-up.  I'm not telling which songs.

Okay, is anyone still reading?  Probably not.  I don't blame you a bit.  If I wasn't writing it, I would have stopped reading too.  This is way too long, but I'm too tired to edit.  I'm just going to hit publish and go to bed so I can lie awake for a few hours courtesy of the return of my insomnia.

I'll be back tomorrow --or sometime later this week -- with a post about gratitude and there will likely be an amusing picture of at least one of the girls.

A Prayer Request on Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day....for a few more hours at least. I've been trying to decide all day whether to post today or not. I could write about how infertility - even of the secondary variety - makes Mother's Day a hard day. Or maybe about how it feels to celebrate a holiday with only half of my children. I could write about the pain of that or about how thankful I am to have two living children to celebrate with. I could write to those of you with lots of kids reminding you how blessed you are.  I could tell a funny story about how Jon was going to make dinner tonight, but my indecision about the menu led to a miscommunication and we ate leftovers for dinner. I could write about how Meredith asked me to help her write spell the words for my homemade card (complete with a drawing of me making her a sandwich).

 I could write about any of those things. But I won't. There are others who have already written about infertility and/or miscarriage in relation to Mother's Day far more eloquently than I could ever hope to. Same goes for the posts about how fortunate we all are to have been blessed with the gift of children - whether we have 1 or 20.  The funny stories aren't long enough to make a whole post out of them - and they are probably only funny to me anyway. And to be honest, Mother's Day has never been one of those holidays that I get excited about.  I tend to shy away from the "Hallmark holidays" and all the consumerism and hype that go with them.

 I do have a few thoughts I want to share about an often ignored group of women. On this day, we we remember our mothers. We remember the moms that are here with us, the moms we've lost, the single moms who've raised their children on their own, the moms who have lost their children, and the women who long to be mothers. One group of women that isn't often included is the women who have chosen, for a wide variety of reasons, to abort their child.

Until nine days ago, I would never have thought to include them in my prayers on Mother's Day.  Throughout these years of infertility, I have unfortunately, developed a bitterness toward the women who are blessed with the opportunity to have a child and throw it away.  Then I talked to a nurse who was warning me not to pretend my baby didn't exist.  She told me how much harder it was for her to grieve her baby when she chose to do this with one of her miscarriages.  Then she said, "This must be how women who've had abortions feel.  They have to pretend that their baby never existed.  No wonder so many of them suffer from depression and/or substance abuse."

Even in my grief, that statement hit me hard.  I can grieve my babies.  I can talk to my husband about them.  I can tell my children that God gave us two babies and then took them to Heaven.  I have family members who support me through my grief.  I can blog about my experiences and complete strangers can empathize.  What about the women who aborted their babies?  Who do they turn to for support?  How do they get through days like today when everyone is celebrating mothers and they are trying to come to terms with what they've done to their child?

I ask you include these women in your prayers today and everyday.  It's easy for me to feel bitter toward women who have aborted their baby, but the truth is, I don't know what factors led them to that decision and I don't know what agony each of those women may be suffering as a result of that decision.  I do know that I can pray for them.  Please join me in praying for all mothers burdened with the weight of grieving for an aborted baby.  They need and deserve our prayers just as much as all of the other mothers we've honored and prayed for today.

Secondary Infertility is . . .(Part 1)

I've been contemplating writing for a long time, but I'm a perfectionist and I wanted to have the perfect first post and the perfect header, and the perfect profile.  I've started several blogs over the past 3 years but abandoned them without ever posting because the name wasn't witty enough or because I couldn't find just the right color scheme. Then today I remembered that this is a new blog with an audience of zero.  If it's not perfect, no one cares.

This isn't meant to be a blog about infertility or miscarriage but since that is a big part of my life these days, that will be what I write about some of the time.  I also have a great husband and two really fun daughters, so sometimes this will be more of a mommy blog.  My father-in-law sometimes tells me to return to blogging to document the funny things that happen in our lives so sometimes I'll do that.  I will try to be clear in my post titles and in the first few sentences as to which category each post falls. That way if you are here for the funny quotes from my girls or pictures from our park outing, you won't have to read all the sordid details of my broken reproductive system.  Likewise, if you are here looking for someone who understands all about the emotional roller coaster of infertility or the heartache of a miscarriage, you won't have to wade through all the cutesy kid stuff you are trying to avoid.

As I am currently waiting to miscarry a second baby, today's post will be heavy on the broken reproductive system and I'll save the kid stuff for another day.

After nearly two years of diagnosed secondary infertility and during a bout of insomnia brought on by my hormonal imbalance, I typed out a list of experiences and emotions that describe secondary infertility for me. I titled it Secondary Infertility Is......Kind of like the book Happiness is a Warm Puppy, but not quite as warm and fuzzy.  Over the last 18 months I've slowly added to the list here and there and it's quite a long list.  I'd like to take time to flesh out some of those experiences so I'll write about them a few at a time when I am feeling the need to share that information.  Here is the first installment:

Secondary Infertility is....

Feeling like God forgot about you.
Yes, I know this is very much untrue and yet it's so hard to not fall into this line of thinking when sitting at Mass at watching the large families file through the communion line.  I know what you're thinking: Close your eyes and pray during communion like you should be doing.  You won't have to see all the big families that way.  You are right.  That is what I do now.  But for about a year or so, the only way I could keep my two year old quiet during communion was to play "I spy babies" with her.  Exactly the game an infertile woman wants to play.  The things we do for our children.

Forcing yourself to go to playdates for the sake of your children.

This is some I used to do on a regular basis when my girls were younger.  I felt it was unfair to them for me to isolate them from other children just because I had a hard time talking to the other moms about their pregnancies and newborns.  After a few years, it just became too difficult and I quit doing it.  My girls play with their cousins and with our homeschool co-op families.  While they enjoyed playing with the other kids, they didn't fit into the group anymore as the other kids were all part of big families and played together frequently at other times.  In addition, I wasn't exactly a pleasant person after the playdate while I wallowed a bit in my self-pity.  It didn't seem fair to the girls or myself to attend these big playdates.  I handle smaller playdates with one or two moms much more easily.

Crying silently in the middle of the night so your husband doesn’t hear you.

Jon has been there for me throughout this experience and is always willing to offer a shoulder to cry on or listen to me cry, rant, hyperventilate, etc.  I haven't always wanted him to know, however, the extent to which this diagnosis affects me.  It's with me every single day and every single night.  Some of those nights my mind goes to dark, horrible places and I don't care to drag anyone there with me.  I have perfected the art of the silent cry.  You know, because I'm a perfectionist.  If I'm going to silent cry in the middle of the night, I'm going to be better at it than anyone.

Being jealous of the pregnant moms in children's books.

You know the books I'm talking about right?  Franklin's Baby Sister.  A Baby Sister for Frances.  The Berenstain Bears' New Baby.  My girls loved them all.  Sadly that phase hit right around the time of my first miscarriage.  The day after I learned I lost the baby, my daughter brought me Franklin's Baby Sister and asked me to read it to her.   I burst into tears and probably scared my three year old who didn't yet know about our baby.  That particular book is my least favorite of all the new baby books.  In addition to feeling silly for being jealous of a pregnant turtle, I feel ridiculous for being upset that the mommy turtle doesn't even ever look pregnant.  There's no bump, no larger shell, no swollen ankles or puffy face.  Just a calm, patient non-bloated turtle teaching my children that babies come in the spring.  I might not be as over that book as I thought I was.  Thankfully the girls have forgotten Franklin in their move to I Can Read books.  So far they haven't found any books entitled Henry & Mudge & The New Baby or Nate The Great and the Case of the Newborn.  I pray that continues.

That is just the tip of the iceberg of my giant list (which for those of you who know me is arranged chronologically and also by topic, but strangely NOT in a spreadsheet) but my children are up and I need to focus my attention on them for now.  I'll write more tomorrow.....or next week.....or whenever the Spirit moves me.