Category Archives: trying to conceive

Two Resolutions

I didn’t make any New Years Resolutions this year. I feel like I have a direction and enough focus to not need to get too bogged down.

But it’s now June so maybe I’ll do 2 half year resolutions. These are things I’ve been thinking about and needed to hash out get them firm in my mind. Two things I need to stop doing for my own sanity.

First, I’m going to stop telling myself that “of course I’m happy for them…”

I’m really not. Well, maybe if it was someone I was really close to, but as a general rule I’m not.

I have a large extended family so there are a lot of kids. No, I’m not happy for my cousin, having a 4th baby to a 4th mother. 

No, I’m not happy for a friend who was always competing with me and asked me out of the blue about having kids one day. I knew that meant she was comparing our relationships because they were “ready”… Well I was 18months in with a miscarriage under my belt, so no, I win that one. And I wasn’t happy for her that she was pregnant straight away either.

No, I’m not happy for strangers on the internet.

I wish I could be that person that roots for everyone, that is happy for people because their fertility doesn’t speak to my infertility. But I’m not, and that’s ok too.

I don’t have to guilt myself by saying that I *should* be happy for them, because I can process their news in the best way that works for me – sometimes that may be being happy, and sometimes not.

And secondly, I’m going to stop using parenting as an excuse for shitty friends.

I recently met up with someone for the first time, and their pre-schooler was also there. Nice kid, single mum, no problem. I’m not a kid-hater, so I was pleasant and patient. I asked him questions about his trip and activities, then moved back to mum to ask when they were heading back home.

Mum hears my question, but instead of replying to *me*, turns to the kid and says, “we are going home tomorrow, aren’t we?”. I mean, I thought I asked the question but whatever.

However, this type of exchange lasted the whole visit! I spoke to mum, she spoke to me through her kid. Again, I hadn’t ignored him in the slightest, and often he was busy in his own world eating or drinking and not needing to be engaged.

I left the café and drove home in tears, because I don’t have many friends and this person who wanted to meet with me (and wants to again!) couldn’t even treat me like a valued person. 

I always made the excuse that having and loving their kids was why people couldn’t maintain normal, adult conversations and friendships with non-parents. Their world revolves around their kids and it can be hard to break out from that.

I have now decided that’s bullshit.

Having a conversation with somebody is not hard. Empathy, listening and being social are all things we learn throughout our lives. When we don’t know somebody we talk about the weather or ask them about their job, this is something we have learned.. When somebody isn’t a parent, it is rude to talk about the intricacies of parenting. I don’t mean talking about the kids, I mean nappy changes and feeding and clothing layers. There are many topics where you both parties can join in with the conversation, to hijack conversations to be only about one topic is poor form and selfish.
Ok, how about those for mid-year resolutions. Maybe I’ll do some more in January that are a bit more upbeat!

Unmagical Mother’s Day

I’m not superstitious.

I don’t look for signs that *mean something*. I don’t really believe in special not-quite-coincidences or everything working out perfectly at just the right time, or pinning my hopes on special numbers or dates.

So then why am I getting worked up about Mother’s Day?

One (or half?) a pregnancy in nearly 4 years is an abysmal success rate, why would a cycle ending probably on Mother’s Day be the magic recipe? Just like the cycle that ended on Christmas day wasn’t magic and the cycles that ended every other damn time haven’t been magic either.

So why does my mind play these ridiculous tricks where my subconscious thinks it knows better than what I really know – what my rational brain and experience have shown me?

I’m trying to be ok with this not happening, and  trying to be ok with the world going on around me, but this upcoming Mother’s Day feels hard. Harder than last year which ‘should’ have been my first Mother’s Day, harder than the year before when I ‘should’ have still been pregnant.

Maybe because by all accounts, this year is do or die. This is the last year before we try to close this chapter and move into something else. The last year of still having hope (even if I try to suppress it).

Also, Mother’s Day is a shitty day for your uterus to tell you you’re still not pregnant. Screw you uterus.

Laparoscopy Experience in the NZ public system

I’ve written this post based on notes I took 3 days after my surgery, and now, 8 weeks after and having been given all the information from the procedure/s.

While the process itself is the same, the information I often see regarding surgeries and some other procedures are often from the private system perspective thanks to insurance. I’ve learned that infertility is not for poor people which is a situation I find myself in currently due to some pretty extreme outside forces. Anyway, I thought it would be good to have an account for those using the public health system and looking for experiences.

On the Day:
I went into hospital at 9.30am on the day and was admitted almost immediately. I was given a gown and paper underwear to put on and then sat around for.. around 2hrs. During this time I had blood pressure and heart rate taken, was given panadol and generally just regretted all my life choices which brought me to this place. My blood pressure and heart rate was high which seemed to be a concern, but I feel like I was fairly justified being that someone was about to cut me with a knife.

This was in a shared room within the Day Surgery until. Each cubicle was closed off by curtains, which is good because one person was snotting into the sink, and the other person was waiting for her mum after surgery (when mum turned up, there was a lot of abuse because staff didn’t let her sit in the comfortable chairs in the area for patients waiting to be discharged).

My surgeon came in about 10mins before they took me in  to just reaffirm what the procedure was. Fun fact – my surgeon ended up being the gynae I chose to stop seeing due to his manner, so I was feeling a bit awkward about that! He vaguely recognised me but didn’t stick around. I was surprised to be told they may not do anything! If they looked and decided it was too much work, they would reschedule for another day so the surgery wasn’t too long. I assume this may be to do with having other procedures at the same time and fitting everything in.

I was wheeled to theatre, then in one set of doors while they organised things in the room itself. Here I was given an IV line (successful 2nd attempt, but not sore), and waited around for about 10-15mins. I had a nurse and the anasthesiologst in this area with me, the nurse kindly using such cliched stories and phrases of “I struggled with infertility, but then I just relaxed” and “at least you can get pregnant”.

When they were ready I walked into the room and hopped up on the table where I was covered with a warmed blanket.

Almost immediately they gave me some sort of drug to help with relaxation and the room started moving around a bit. I was still quite anxious but it was like it didn’t fully compute and my body wasn’t responding to my brain signals. The best way I can describe it is that I knew I was anxious but I didn’t care. I didn’t feel trapped by my heavy body not responding. I think they might have put an oxygen mask on me a this point but that is a vague memory and the last thing I can recall.

Post Op
I woke in recovery, and while I felt fairly alert at the time, I don’t remember much now except the nurse telling me they’d call mum and I was on my way to the ward.

Pain wise, I had three lots of panadol that day on the ward (last at 11pm that night), I wasn’t offered any more after that and didn’t feel any need to ask for more. They did ask frequently about pain in case I needed something else so it was purely preference for me.

I first got up about 8.30pm that evening (about 5hrs after getting to the ward), and I did get the shoulder pain that is talked about a lot. It felt like a cramp in my shoulders and was probably the most painful part, but still a lot less than I was expecting. I only had this pain when standing so it was quickly relieved on lying back down. It lasted about 1-2 days.

I was hoping to go home that same day, and pain-wise I would have been fine, but I had quite low blood pressure and I was being given fluid via an IV until quite late that night.

As far as tiredness went, I didn’t get to sleep again until about midnight that night. I then woke up about 4am and was awake until I was at home that afternoon when I had a little nap. I didn’t feel particularly tired or wiped out, and the noises of being somewhere unfamiliar, plus a shared room with an extra visitor who had to be forced out at midnight and was back at 6am made for not a relaxing atmosphere! I’m sure a private room would be an upside to being in a private hospital!

The next day I couldn’t wait to leave, but it was definitely a slow process! I had to pee 3 times after catheter removal, so I drink a copious amount of water to make that happen as quickly as possible. I then sat and waited for about 2 hours while nobody did my paperwork, and in the end (after chasing them up), was discharged without it. It was supposed to be sent out along with a follow up appointment, but that never arrived.

I walked down 3 flights of stairs carrying my things and jumped in the car, ready to escape! I don’t like elevators much so skipped that, and had no problem being on my feet.

Recovery
Mild pain when changing positions for about a week.

I had a “jiggly” tum for a wee bit, like my muscles forgot how to hold everything in place. This only happened when I was moving faster (like quicky crossing the road!)

Bleeding – light for about 2 days.

After about a week I felt fairly normal, by 2 weeks I was completely back to normal.

Incisions had dissolving stitches – I have 4. The lowest one was about 3cm, the ones on each side about 1cm, and the belly button was mostly invisible as it’s in a crease. The belly button one was the only one I ever felt with a pulling sensation sometimes. Any pain was more muscular feeling.

Something I didn’t know about until it happened – first period afterwards was awful! I nearly cried from the cramps, even with pain killers. I tend to take them too late, so make sure you’re on the ball about taking them before the pain kicks in too much.

Results:
I’ve just had my follow up appointment and was surprised to find I had “severe” endometriosis. I knew they had removed some but not the extent of it. This would also explain being in surgery for about double the time expected. Being that I had no over the top pain I assumed it was a little, and I think I probably have a higher pain threshold which can make my assessment of pain inaccurate.

Something that has been mentioned and was in my surgery notes was “almost certainly adenomyosis”. I remember reading Robert Winston’s The Essential Fertility Guide and thinking that I hoped I was never diagnosed with that. It’s harder to diagnose as it needs to be done via biopsy (and they often don’t know *where* to biopsy), but regardless, there is little that can be done to treat it apart from hysterectomy.

I haven’t looked into it much, but I know it lowers the chance of pregnancy and heightens the chance of pregnancy problems like premature labour. It’s something that is playing on my mind but doesn’t really change my reality, which is that I hope my body can play ball, but it has to decide that on its own.

I can’t share any experiences with hysteroscopy or the dye test because I was asleep, so I can only recommend that having them while asleep is excellent 😉  But these both also came back with no problems.

A year is what I’ve been told, the timeframe of what I guess is typical before endometriosis takes over again for many. A year doesn’t seem very long when we’ve been at this multiple of years.

The Doctor was excited, spouting feel-good phrases about “good chances” and being “very optimistic”. I’m happy it’s been done and I’ve turned this stone over, but I also heard this speech 2 years ago when I started clomid. I’m realistic. We have a timeframe.

This is the best chance we’ve got.

The One About Land Rovers

s-l1600I remember back at the beginning, when there was still the excitement.

I looked online at articles with titles like “Cute Ways to Tell Your Husband You’re Pregnant!”.  I’ve never liked those types of public announcements, where posts to social media were supposed to be cute but (IMO) were a little cringey!

I didn’t have the desire to share joy with everyone, but my sentimental husband would have appreciated something meaningful to mark our next big step.

I had a little note pinned to my office wall to remind me of the idea I came up with.  Cut a Land Rover stencil out, create a stenciled image on a onesie.  Wrap, gift.

Joy.

But as time went on, that joy and excitement wavered.

When it happens, will be be excited or scared?

Do we take for granted that our struggle is over and that we will have a baby to fill that piece of clothing?

When the time came, a cute announcement didn’t even cross my mind.  A faint positive isn’t much to get your hopes up on, and then the worry about organising and waiting for blood test results means our excitement was put on hold.

I hadn’t even thought of this again until today.  That piece of paper has long gone off my office wall, I don’t even remember taking it down.

I feel like we have been robbed of so much.

The naivety, the innocence.  When I hear about someone getting pregnant easily with a planned baby, I just can’t fathom it!  You decide to have a baby and then you get pregnant and have the baby?  That is so far beyond my comprehension that it seems like a movie.  You mean, that *actually* happens in real life?

We didn’t purposely do anything sentimental for that pregnancy, we had a couple of weeks of rollercoaster emotions with no chance to settle in one spot.  But my husband had bought an old Land Rover a few days before we got that light pink line, and so I was a little over 4 weeks pregnant when he travelled a few hours to pick it up.

I’d forgotten about that with the chaos and heartache that followed.

But he remembered, telling me some months ago that it’s special to him because of that time, because it marks a memory, even though it’s ended up being a sad one.

Maybe it’s paralleling our life that he’s still restoring that Land Rover almost 2 years later, as we are still also restoring our hearts and working towards our finish.  That he’s spent years stripping it back, pulling it apart and now slowly putting it back again.  I feel like maybe that’s us too, coming to accept what is, trying to find ways around the rust.

Piecing our future back together with the hand we have been dealt.

The One About Grief

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We’ve all experienced grief in one form or another. Not many get to adulthood without losing a loved one, and the grief of loss is something we go through over and over again throughout our lives.

It’s a bit rubbish really.

I experienced quite a heavy grief after the death of my grandmother. Partly because I was there as she died, which my family described as “peaceful” but which I would describe as panicked on her behalf and traumatic on mine. While I had experienced loss before, I felt closer to her and at 19, it was more of an adult understanding of loss than a childs. I took it hard and then I moved 6 hours away and started over somewhere new which added to the sense of grief. I think I struggled for about a year before the pain started to fade.

I can’t help but to compare the grief of death to the grief of infertility. I don’t mean about better or worse, which is easier, which I would ‘prefer’. I mean how we process grief while on this terrible process.

Because infertility grief doesn’t have a start or sometimes an end.

Most of the time when we talk about grief, we talk about an event that happens that changes our lives. We talk about the moment when our world crashed and the process of rebuilding our new normal. We talk about how something happened and we learn to deal with it, slowly learning and healing, carrying it with us on our uphill trek to feeling like we’re not crumbling anymore.

With infertility there is no one event. There is no start date. You don’t start to grieve because you’ve been trying for the magic 12 months and haven’t been successful, or because a doctor said you might have trouble or need help. You start to grieve whenever it is you start to feel grief, and that grief intensifies over time.

It builds with each passing cycle, with each scan and procedure. It builds with each doctors visit, each milestone, each loss. It continues to grow and grow, until you are one big ball of grief. There is no ‘new normal’ because you are always in limbo, accumulating more grief, hoping something will happen so the building stops and the processing can begin.

I’ve felt lost in unhappiness for some time. My husband and I talk often about enjoying our *now*, making the most of each day, not wishing time to pass by. But I’m a bit stuck, because I don’t know how to be happy with the now whilst grieving for our future.

My mum went through infertility due to endometriosis but after 3 years she had my older brother (and then two other children without intervention). In the past she has used her story to try and give me hope. Maybe for some it helps. But for me this phrase runs through my head more often than I’d like to admit: “not everybody gets a happy ending”.

On a bad day, this is my message to myself about the lack of hope I feel, about how I feel my unhappiness will last forever.

But on a good day I try to challenge myself on that. I know my options are limited and my chance for my “happy ending” dwindles over time. But if my life is one without biological (or even any) children, I don’t want to doom myself by being smothered by grief and bitterness the rest of my life.

I want to have a happy and fulfilled life, whatever the outcome. I want to stop buying into this pressure that only in becoming a mother can I be fulfilled, feel love and find my worth.

How do I get to this place of acceptance while my direction is unknown? How do I process grief as it continues to build? Can I begin to heal while still in the storm? I don’t have any answers to yet but I hope I’m stumbling along in the right direction.

Finally – a step forward!

I finally braved going back to my GP for a referral.

I’ve seen 3 GP’s at my small doctors surgery in 3 visits.  The first suggested going on the pill (a bit counterproductive, but hey), and that I was “still young” so not to worry.  A few months later, the second referred me to a specialist because my symptoms clearly pointed to a problem, despite only being trying to conceive for less than a year.

I was hoping to see the second doctor, a woman, again.  However being a small town, a woman GP is apparently a rare thing, so while she’s usually there ONCE a fortnight, this time she was on holiday so it would be months if I was to wait.
After my dealings with the specialist I saw, I was anxious.  I made the appointment then cried.  I worried about it but I pushed through because I was continuing to get nowhere fast.

So I went there and saw him, and he was happy to do a referral.  But still subtle digs and arguments about my decisions, and a slight smirk after taking my blood pressure, which was slightly high because I was “a bit upset”.  There is a lot to me said about sexism from doctors surrounding “women’s issues”.
I know my anxiety wasn’t just about that visit, but I had worked it up to be a big thing in my head.  Not only that, but because it ultimately stemmed from how I was treated around my miscarriage, the anxiety was all tied up with grief around the loss and was a huge tangle of emotions.
So a month or so later, I saw the new specialist.  I felt much more calm about this, even though this relationship was likely the most important part of where we went from here.

I needn’t have worried.

He was so great.  He was thorough, he asked questions, he believed my answers.  I had another internal scan (yay!), we talked through options, he was understanding about my situation regarding my husbands involvement.

The good news:
Ovulation!  My last blood test showed good progesterone numbers (44), and the scan showed a 16mm follicle on my left ovary on day 8.  It’s looking like my body is doing ovulation on it’s own so no need to worry about clomiphene again at the moment.  This is such a relief, just knowing that I’m not reliant on anything to get over the first hurdle of having an egg available.

We have a plan!  I’m hesitant to call this good news, but I’m also pleased to have a direction.  He was tossing up between a laparoscopy and dye test, but in the end decided the lap is the way to go, with the dye test while I’m there, and he added in a hysteroscopy and D&C for good measure.

I’m not looking forward to it of course, but it will be such a relief to hopefully have some answers.  I want to know that there is nothing ‘major’ to worry about, and while I think he’s probably right with tentatively guessing endometriosis (despite a lack of typical symptoms), it’s a load of my shoulders to have a thorough investigation to rule out anything nasty.  In almost three years I have been unable to align my symptoms with any typical diagnosis, either gynecological or infertility related.  That has weighed on my mind this whole time.

I have some concerns regarding this, though none related to the actual surgery.  Work-wise, I’m self-employed so taking time off is basically an impossibility, but something I will have to work around for a day or two.  I won’t really be able to take recovery time off, but I can take it a bit easier and can have help.

My husband won’t be able to be with me, and I worry about his stress levels on the day.  He does find this sort of stuff really hard so I’ve not given him much details and have tried to reassure him it’s pretty minor.  This means I either have no support person with me, or I ask my mum which is a challenge all in itself.  In doing that, I know everything she knows and hears is going to be spread around anyone who will listen, and that she will feel her involvement is important going forward.  I don’t really want this to happen and I don’t mind going into this alone really, but I would like someone there who can contact my husband and reassure him as soon as I’m out of theatre.

Plus I’m sure some food won’t go unappreciated during the overnight hospital stay!

Anyway, status quo for now until the surgery is scheduled (likely in the next few months), and then I will make a decision.

Have you had a laparoscopy or hysteroscopy? Any tips?

Breaking Free

I’ve spent the last two and a half years being fucking scared of someone asking how I am.

I’ve moved around a bit and have an interesting relationship with my family, so it’s not as hard to avoid that question as you might think.  You hear the phrase often but frequently it is used in a way that means “hi”, and the asker doesn’t actually expect a response.  I don’t have people in my life to ask me that question for real anymore.

Some of that is not my fault, I seem to have friends that see me as a leader, so they don’t seek me out to check on my wellbeing.  But some of it is my fault.

I’ve pulled away from everybody.  I don’t know what to say and so I’d rather not say anything at all.  I’m not a talker, I’m a deep thinker and reflector, but by not sharing I isolate myself.

My situation is difficult in multiple ways.  Some people get part of it, but mix it all together and its a bit overwhelming. Trust me, I know.  I know I’m unlikely to receive understanding so I don’t start.

In our household we deal with infertility and mental illness, both diseases I find to be at the top of the list of “I will have empathy for you as long as it doesn’t become uncomfortable for me”.

But I’m sick of being stuck in this box.

This box where I can’t talk about the things weighing on my mind. Where I can’t tell anyone that today was a hard day and share some of that burden. Where I can’t find support either emotionally or physically. Where being vulnerable is off the cards because it might make someone think that I’m weak.

I’m allowed to be weak. I’m allowed to need picking up once in a while.  I’m allowed to interrupt people’s lives and I’m allowed to expect to have friendships where sometimes I need to be carried and refilled.

I’m allowed to tell the world who I am and what I feel.

I’m so tired of hiding, waiting for the day things get better. Life can’t improve if I dont take risks, life can’t change if I’m stuck in a cycle of wishing someone would ask me how I am, but being too scared to tell the truth.

I owe it to myself, and I owe it to everyone else who is hiding.

I don’t want to be scared anymore.

Subconscious Messages

I’ll admit that I got my hopes up this month.

It doesn’t happen often, the strange, unexplained symptoms I have always show up on day 21, just in time to thwart any potential implantation. This cycle it came and went, and I wondered if something was different this time.

Is my body finally starting to play ball?

Then I had a dream.

———————————————————-

In my dream, my husband found three pregnancy tests, all showing positive. But all were negative, I knew it; all were evaporation lines. My husband didn’t believe me and so I tried to convince him.

“I’m not pregnant, I’m not. I promise I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant, I’m not pregnant. Please don’t get your hopes up, I’m not pregnant”.

I had been to the hospital for something else and to make sure, they had done an ultrasound. I showed him the picture, my empty womb confirming my words.

I’m not pregnant.
———————————

I’m near the end of this cycle, and I’ve come to realise that I ovulated late this month. My cycle has continued along as “normal”, albeit just a few days later than usual.

I’m not pregnant, I know I’m not. I got my hopes up for once, and my subconsious tried to being me back to earth using my dream. Even when I’m sleeping my brain tries to protect me.

I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, with two friends due in the next month or two. These people got pregnant after my baby was due, and almost grown whole babies, while I’m still in the same place as two and a half years ago. It’s heartbreaking. I can’t be happy for them. I cry when I think about accidently running into one of them.

It’s Mother’s Day this Sunday… it would have been my first Mother’s Day, but instead it’s my second as a mother with no baby.

——————————————————-

My dream had a second half too.

My husband and I were walking along; him holding that ultrasound picture. That still empty picture.

But he was grasping it, looking at it in wonder… in awe. I couldn’t understand.

And then he turned to me with tears gleaming in his eyes and said,
“I can’t believe we have a picture of where he lived”.

Mumsplaining: Why you’re not always an expert.

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I have a number of friends who are currently pregnant, and it’s really reminded me how infertiles and pregnant women/mothers are looking at things from completely opposite viewpoints. Infertility is so isolating, I don’t feel like I can join in the conversations of my mother friends for fear of getting the old “just you wait….!”, or the few people I have told don’t seem to know how to deal with such an emotive topic and completely ignore what I’m going through.

But while I choose not to participate in parental converstations, I’m a good listener, and I’ve been trying quite hard to keep my eyes from rolling around in my head.

I know mansplaining is a thing, but I think we need to add mumsplaining (or momsplaining) to our dictionaries.  The amount of times mums and mums-to-be think they’re experts and need to explain child bearing to silly little me astounds me.  And I’m talking about women who haven’t even birthed the baby and had to change a nappy yet!

So, my mumsplaining friends, here are some things you aren’t an expert on:

How to get pregnant

Statistics don’t lie, most people will get pregnant in a reasonable time frame providing you’re doing it right.  If you’re one of those people, your advice can get in the sea.

No amount of,

“we did it every second day for a month” or
“I put a pillow under my bum” or
“It took us four months and it was SO HARD, but then I started taking unicorns piss capsules, I totally recommend them!”

is going to make a difference to me.

So you had sex at the right time, hooray for you!  What do you know about the lifecycles of sperm and eggs, or the position of your cervix, or the texture, acidity and use of your cervical mucous?  What do you know about hormones and chemicals and how your brain is connected to egg development? What do you know about having sex at the right time for literally years and what it does to a relationship?

Do you have some advice?  Is it based in science and something my Doctor is unlikely to have told me?  If not, keep it to yourself.

Experience with Medical Professionals

I had a friend try to ‘mumsplain’ a stretch and sweep to me, with added extra emphasis on how AWKWARD it was.   Trust me, I know how it feels to have medical professionals poke around in my business.  Was ‘poke’ an inappropriate word to use?  Good, because that’s how it feels.  It feels like a violation.

Maybe you remember the first time you saw your babies heartbeat?  Maybe you felt excited and nervous when the dildo wand came out and got lubed up.  Last time I had one of those up me it was to confirm a miscarriage, complete with blood.  SUPER AWKWARD HUH? LOL.

Your awkward situations with medical professionals get you one step close to meeting your child, mine get me a big fat bill, some hollow encouraging words and an extra tear in my already broken heart.  It’s not really much of a reward if I’m honest.

Hormones

Anyone remember the lady that used clomid as a defence in court?  I know pregnant women often use the hormones excuse, but maybe don’t use that on somone who has been on fertility drugs.
Every woman I’ve known who has given birth and taken clomid at some point has said pregnancy hormones were a dream in comparison.  And when I refer to clomid as “grumpy pills” to my husband, he smirks a little and keeps his mouth shut.  Men around the world are terrified of women on this drug, it’s not just crying in the supermarket feeling overwhelmed about deciding between carrots and pumpkin.

Clomid is of the devil, and I’m pretty sure your baby isn’t.

And don’t even get me started on the bonus hot flashes!

Pre-baby Lives

I know you’ve done it, admit it, if you’re a parent you’ve scoffed.  Someone has said something about childrearing while not a parent, and you’re ready to tell them why they’re wrong.

I know non-parents have plans and thoughts which may change with experience.  Maybe we don’t get just how hard it is to go to the shops now, what with all the baby paraphernalia and the actual baby.  And maybe we’re so lucky to have all the time and the money and the freedom.

A friend who is about to become a dad tried to dadsplain money and babies to me.  I wonder how much they spent, with their baby furniture and pram bought by family and hand me down clothes and free maternity appointments?  And yet I know a couple who recently spent $15,000 in one month to lose that wee embryo and come away with nothing.  I know what I’d rather spend my (lesser amount of) money on!

Maybe non-parents dreaming about becoming parents are living in la-la land.  Maybe we have it all wrong and we’ll roll our eyes at ourselves one day.

But just give us this.

Infertile or not, give us all the benefit of the doubt.  Infertility changes you, much like someone who has a near death experience might say “I’ll never take another day for granted”.  You don’t tell them that you’ll throw their words back in their face when their car breaks down.  We’re not saying we know the challenges, what we’re saying is, “this has had a profound effect on me, and I’ll never be the same again”.

But, even if you were an infertile (and I may get flamed for this one!), you no longer “get it”.

I know ex infertiles think they get it, but hear me out.

You are Captain Hindsight.  You are looking at infertility as a woman with a happy ending.  You know where your road ends up, you are a mother.  The number of children is irrelevent, and I’m sure it’s pretty awful to not have the family size you imagine if you’re dealing with Secondary Infertility.  But you know you are a mum, you know what it’s like to have a child, you imagine your future and theirs, ending your story being old and grey, your grandchildren or great grandchildren sitting at your feet.

You can’t help it, the journey was worth it for you and you should be happy.  When you got pregnant you moved to the outskirts of the group, and the moment you had your baby your membership was revoked and you joined The Mothers.  Don’t be upset, none of us want to be in this group anyway!

The moment you say “I’m so tired, I wish she would sleep”, you lose me. When you wish for some time to yourself you may as well be from another planet.

And while I said above that you’ll never be the same again, having your baby is also profound.  You might feel different from the other mothers, you might feel more grateful or be more worried; but when your child came into your life, your world shifted again in another permanent way.  In a good way this time.   I’m not saying you can’t offer support, just don’t use your happy ending as hope for anyone but you.