A Bit of Wallowing

And now we're zero for two.

We had our second try-for-a-baby attempt two weeks ago (on Mother's Day, no less). This one went smoothly. We put a lot of intention into this one. This one, we were sure, would be the one.

Then, 11 days later, in an extra Nelson-y, HA ha kind of fashion, I was woken up at 2 AM with what can only be described as some spectacular cramps, and with that, we were out of the running again.

I am feeling less okay about it this time around. I am wondering if maybe there's something wrong with me, too. I am wondering how many times we can afford to keep doing this. I am allowing myself to indulge in just a little bit of "How come that crazy bitch gets to pop kids out like a Pez dispenser and it's so fucking hard for us?"*

I have a friend who has also dealt with infertility and is going through her own process, and while I wish she wasn't, because she will be the most amazing mom ever some day and it shouldn't be taking this long for her to have that chance, I am so grateful to have someone in my life who gets it. She doesn't tell me what we should have done differently, or tell me to "just relax" or spout some bullshit about how God has a plan. She just is sad for me, as I am for her, because she knows all too well what a shitty, shitty thing this is.

It's been almost four years since we found out we had a problem. And I'm wondering how long it's going to take for a solution. All those women who joke about their ticking biological clocks really have no idea how loud, and scary, that fucking thing can get.

*Since I work with pregnant women, I feel the need to clarify that I have a specific crazy bitch in mind who I do not have contact with at this time. I bear no ill will toward the pregnant ladies in my life on a daily basis!

Half Full

Well. So much for twice a month.

I've been busy, what with the outrage at our numbnuts governor and taking a weekend to drive down to Madison to protest, flying to Vancouver for the International Meeting on Indigenous Childrens Health, flying to Connecticut the following week for a training on a group model of prenatal care, trying to get to a place where I feel competent doing my job, making an attempt to leave the house at 5:45 a couple of times a week to get to the rec center and swim before work (that's been hit or miss--shocking, I know), planning my garden and starting seeds, telling the voice in my head that says I'll be 35 this summer and no way will this next attempt at getting pregnant work to shut the fuck up, thinking about getting started writing again, planning a hopefully-last-hurrah weekend in Minneapolis in May with Em, and spending a lot of quality time with my awesome husband.

Additionally, I haven't felt like I've had much to write about, which is absurd when you consider the preceding paragraph.

One thing I wondered about with my new job is whether it would be difficult for me emotionally to be surrounded by pregnancy and birth and babies. Somewhat surprisingly, it isn't really. Sometimes I get a twinge, but ever since we got our shitty news, almost four years ago, I've tried really really hard not to become bitter and consumed with envy and anger every time I see a pregnant woman. I've had my moments, for sure, but mostly I remind myself over and over (and over and over) that one sentence is not the whole story. In other words, there may be many things in that pregnant woman's life that I would not want, and infertility aside, I think my life is pretty awesome, so the balance (so I tell myself) is in my favor.

All this I'm-cool-with-it equanimity isn't to say that it doesn't hurt and I don't feel sorry for myself. And I know that if I'm never able to get pregnant and give birth to a healthy child, midwifery is out of the question. I'm not completely delusional. But I like working with young, first-time moms. I like watching them realize they can do this, and commit to being healthy and doing all they can for their baby. The rewards far outweigh the envy, at least for now.

New Beginnings, Etc.

I was looking forward to January for several months. I thought, "Oh, January. The deep, cold, heart of winter. It will be the perfect time to relax, hunker down, and stop running around all the time like a damn crazy person." Yeah, not so much. January has been hectic as all hell. This hasn't been an entirely bad thing, but it has not been relaxing in any way, shape, or form.

First off, I am not pregnant. This is okay, for now. In all honesty, the timing ended up not being great for a pregnancy (more on that in a minute) and we're going to give it a few months before trying again. I'm not going to lie, we were a little sad about it, but I think we'll be in a better place later on in the spring. Plus, if I wait a couple of months, I'll qualify for paid maternity leave, an awesome fringe benefit of my wonderful new job.

And thus begins the tale of why January has been so hectic. Last Monday, I started my new job as Maternal-Child Health Nurse at the tribal health clinic where I interned the summer of 2009. This has truly been a dream come true, and I still can't quite believe I got this job. During my internship, the MCH Nurse at the time was my mentor, and I fell in love with the work as well as the community. She was leaving her position that fall, but I had another year of school left. We briefly talked about me applying as a LPN, but it wouldn't really have been workable with school, even if the clinic had been willing to hire a LPN for the position. Someone else, someone with a really great resume and background, got the job, and I told myself I would just have to try to come back once I finished a midwifery program. There generally isn't a lot of turnover for that position, so I figured it wouldn't open up again for quite some time.

My internship mentor and I had become very good friends, and we always talked about how great it would be to work together again someday. She finished up her own school this spring and is now a nurse-midwife, and had gone back to the clinic to head up a new MCH department. I thought and hoped that maybe someday we could work together in a midwifery practice for the tribe. Then she called me at the end of November and said that the MCH Nurse had submitted her resignation. I got my application in as soon as I could, and wrote the most gushing cover letter I have every written. I knew that I didn't have the work experience to wow anyone, but I did have the passion and desire to be doing that work specifically, in that community specifically, and I told them so. I interviewed on January 3rd and was offered the position the next day.

So I've been there a week, and I could not be happier. I still don't have a phone or a computer, but I'm also still orienting, so that's okay. The staff is wonderful and I share an office with my friend, who is also now my supervisor (and I realize that's not always ideal, but we are both talkers with a similar vision for the program, and I am more than aware that she's a brilliant person with a lot of respect in the community and many years of experience doing my job, so I'm happy to take direction from her). It's a 40-minute commute, but I'm not exactly sitting on I-94--my drive to work takes me up the Bayfield peninsula and it's gorgeous. I get to go to trainings and conferences--I'm going to the International Conference on Indigenous Children's Health in Vancouver in March--and meet all kinds of intelligent people doing incredible work. Like I said, I still can't quite believe I got this job.

Several years ago, I went a long time struggling to find any job that I could actually live on, let alone one I actually wanted. I liked my job at the Cancer Center, but it wasn't my dream. If anyone had told me four years ago that I would be in this position, I would have found it hard to believe. I don't know that I'll ever be able to take this for granted now. I hope not.

Mail Order Family and the American Way

The constitutionality of California's Prop 8 is being argued again in federal court. Charles Cooper, the lawyer for the pro-Prop 8, anti-gay marriage side of the case, is arguing that the point of marriage is procreation, and since the gays can't do that without help, their relationships shouldn't be called marriage. Amidst a treasure trove of similar inanities, Cooper has given us this gem: "The clear reason for marriage is that sexual relationships produce children."

Well.

My husband and I have a sexual relationship that has never, and will never, produce children. It's nice to know that our marriage is purposeless in Mr. Cooper's view.

Our pointless marriage is going on five years now. We have built, and continue to build, a life together, just like our gay friends who are in committed relationships. We have supported each other through unemployment, poverty, career changes, illness, good fortune and bad, and yes, infertility. We are best friends, we hold each other up when things just fucking suck, and in my husband's words, one of us is always the light. But, you know, Chuck's probably right. Without procreation, we're just playing house.

I should say that plans are in the works for a baby, albeit one that will only carry one of our sets of chromosomes. More than three years after we found out that my husband was infertile, we are following the lead of the lesbians and placing an order with the sperm bank. We've chosen a donor based on his exceptionally good family health history and his wordy, funny profile. He wishes to remain anonymous, though he says he may change his mind. If so, it would be up to our child to track him down when she reaches 18, if she so chooses. But make no mistake; this donor will be the father, but he will not be the dad.

Some people think we should adopt instead, some people think we should accept God's will, which is clearly for us to be childless. And some people are so excited for us that they can hardly wait. Some people have told us what great parents we will be, they've prayed for us and made art for us and sent so much love our way that it makes me hopeful and helps give me faith that this will work, that four years after we started trying to have a baby, it will happen for us. We've talked and dreamed about this for so long, and now this first attempt is only weeks away.

And here's the thing. My husband and I, as we are right now, just the two of us, we're a family. Our marriage is not perfect, it is messy and we get pissed off and frustrated and slam doors and stomp up the stairs and bitch at each other and laugh together every single day and have dance parties in the kitchen to Lady Gaga and love one another unconditionally. Our child will join our family, with its imperfections, and he will be his own person, with his own thoughts and feelings and beliefs. But we will introduce him to all of the wonderful family and friends that we are lucky enough to know and love, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Native American, black, white, Asian, Latino, gay and straight, and he will have the extreme good fortune of getting to know all of those awesome people who will welcome and love him.

That may not be Charles Cooper's idea of family values, but I happen to believe that love is greater than fear and bigotry. Otherwise, what's the point?

procrastiwhining

I should really be working on a care plan right now. It's not due til the 9th, but it would be really nice to get it in early. But spending the morning hanging out in the local coffee shop plus a snowstorm, which always makes me feel really lazy, has left me disinclined to do much more than poke around on the Internet, where apparently everyone is pregnant or has a gorgeous new baby.

So, okay. Objectively, it is really good to not have children while we're in school. It makes things so much easier, and I know this. Believe me, I know this. But. It's getting really really hard to see all of these people I know who are pregnant and having kids left and right. I'm super happy for all of them, I really am. I've put a lot of effort into not turning into someone who resents those who get pregnant at the drop of a condom or already have the family they want. I'm thrilled that people I care about are happy.

I don't idealize parenthood, by any means. I know it often sucks and is beyond hard. I've seen the screeching tantrums in the grocery store. That's not the point. It's deeper than that and impossible to explain to someone who doesn't already know what it's like. I don't really expect anyone to get it otherwise; I certainly wouldn't have. I try to let the stupid comments roll off my back, unless they're just really blindingly ignorant.

Frankly, sometimes I'm glad we don't have anyone to take care of, like when I was sick last week. Sometimes I don't think about it at all. But a lot of the time, it just feels so glaringly obvious that something's missing.

Adopting A Better Attitude

So, if you go to the blogs on my MySpace page, you'll see a few that mention that we can't have kids. We don't have a final, word-of-god statement on this yet, but as far as we know, right now that's the situation. For the most part, both Kevin and I are pretty okay with this, at least insofar as we're not upset that we can't have "our own" baby. Adoption is not a lesser choice for us, and we just want to be parents. There are definitely downfalls, like that it's a pain in the ass, and it's really expensive, and we wanted to have a baby by now and it will be several more years, but you know, we'll deal.

So I really haven't been one of those infertile women who hate all pregnant ladies. But...it's still kind of hard sometimes. I watched The Business of Being Born the other night, and, propaganda aside, it made me kind of sad that I won't have that birth experience. Another friend just told me she's pregnant, and I'm absolutely thrilled for her, she's a wonderful person and will be an amazing mom. But I can't say I didn't feel a little twinge of envy.

And I don't think that's such a bad thing. I know some people dealing with infertility who are so angry and bitter that they become the self-designated arbiters of who "deserves" a baby. Someone who's had a miscarriage deserves a baby more than someone who got pregnant easily with no problems. That kind of shit. Honestly, it's incredibly sad to see. Infertility sucks, and it isn't fair that some people get to be parents a lot easier than others. But if it takes someone until their twenties or thirties to see that life can be horribly unfair, I would be willing to bet all of my Tom Waits albums that they have an awful lot of other things to be thankful for. I'm sad that we won't have a kid for several more years. But not sad enough to lose sight of everything else. Not sad enough to forget that I have an incredible husband. Not sad enough that I can't be happy for my friends who are getting pregnant and having kids. Not sad enough that I believe that I deserve a baby more than anyone else who wants one.