Archive for the ‘bump envy’ Category

short and bittersweet

September 8, 2011

The grandparent visit is actually going pretty well, so far. They are very conscientious. Illyria is so enthralled with them that she has started calling me and Gimli “Grammy” and “Grandpa.”

In other news, that will never really lose its sting, my sister just e-mailed that she is unexpectedly pregnant. I am happy for her, and glad that she’s glad about it, and kind of hoping she’ll have a boy to be Oscar’s playmate. It’s just. You know.



Bump envy – already?

July 24, 2008

I miss being pregnant.  Somehow, I’m back in that mental space where I feel only envy when I see a pregnant woman walking by.  I look longingly at the maternity section of the clothing stores.  I’m happy that I still have my linea negra.  I wonder if it’s too soon to start trying again (of course it is, and we won’t yet, but wow – I really miss it).

Alone in a Crowd

February 6, 2008

At the prenatal yoga class I’m going to, we start out by saying our names and due dates (we always have the option to “pass”). Today, one woman said her name, and then added, “we’re still trying to get pregnant.”

I was floored by her courage in being there. I couldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have gone to a yoga class where part of the instructor’s mantra is “open your awareness to the baby within,” where everyone is surreptitiously sizing up one another’s bumps, or standing around after class comparing symptoms. No way.

I wanted to go talk to her but she vanished pretty quick. We did make eye contact while putting away our mats, and I smiled, but she slipped away. I just don’t want her to feel alone is all.

Oh, and something else

October 26, 2007

I find that I still look away from baby bumps (especially the big ones) and “that” aisle at the grocery store. Can’t quite go there yet. Like maybe it’s not meant for me after all.


August 30, 2007

Alert: I’m going to post a picture of something I made that could break your heart if you are feeling fragile or have recently experienced a loss. But it’s at the bottom of the post.

Medical update: It took about three minutes to determine that I have no cysts in my ovaries at this time. It’s taken about 48 hours even to be able to think that there is a way of looking at this situation that makes it good news: I had thought this past summer that the earliest we would be able to do another cycle would be October, but this is a whole month earlier than that. Small, small comfort, but at least an attempt to break out of my current mind-set of misery. That’s a good sign.

Nurse Serious told me “if there’s anything you can do to help you relax – yoga, anything – that will only work in your favor.” Even though this could be a variant of the “just relax” assvice, the way she phrased it communicated to me a concern for my well-being (albeit in her extremely efficient manner). My blood pressure was elevated and I’m sure my face revealed every ounce of stress I was feeling.

Taking walks, and candlelight yoga in the evenings help me relax. So does wine. And knitting absolutely helps me relax – even baby clothes.

I knit baby clothes on a regular basis. At one time I was selling baby stuff at the local farmer’s market to help raise money for my newly widowed sister and her 6mo daughter, plus there were all those pg friends to knit for as well. I like knitting baby clothes b/c they’re really quick knits and don’t take as much yarn. I don’t even use patterns anymore, usually; I make up my own designs. I often lurk at this baby-knit blog just to get ideas. As you can readily imagine, knitting baby clothes when you’re infertile can also be akin to raking your own flesh with a garden fork and then pouring a mixture of salted lemon juice and vinegar into the wounds.

But this is my talisman against the gingerbread cottage. This is what I do to keep from becoming that bitter, bitter person who cackles in the forest. This is how I try to turn and face into the light. I finished this today:


August 30, 2007

I wrote this post earlier today and didn’t post it. Until now I guess I thought that the self I present to the world through this blog is pretty true to who I am “in real life” (this assessment made in response to a question on Niobe’s blog some time ago), but I realized as I hesitated over the “publish post” button that … this really is a social space. It may be my metaphorical living room (and sometimes, sadly, bedroom and bathroom) but if it is, it’s in a glass house, and I don’t really wander around naked. The fact that I know others are reading and commenting shapes how I present myself here (and Thank you, Thank you all for your comments – you have NO IDEA how much less alone it makes me feel. I take that back – you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about. So Thank you).

So, in the interest of transparency – because so many bloggers comment on how much they appreciate hearing honest accounts of other people’s struggles – here’s what I wrote earlier today. It ain’t very pretty, but it’s unedited.

I’m getting in touch with my emotions here… I’m just really angry that we have to deal with this, all of us, all of this. I’m pissed. I just got of the phone with the clinic, it’s fine, we’re going to go for it, but I have to go in for a pelvic exam tomorrow morning and it’s pissing me off. As interventions go I know it’s still a long shot from the full-on IVF treatment but I’m just angry that (my) reproduction has to be medicalized AT ALL in this way. I think of that book that all my friends were reading when pg., I think it was called “giving birth the natural way” or something like that – anyway – it makes me feel a little violent. Being able even to think in those terms seems like such a luxury. Right now I resent everybody who got knocked up at home in bed and those who did the begetting with every fiber of my being.

This is just vitriol. It makes me feel ill. This doesn’t feel like me. But this is how I feel.

My nurse is very efficient, and I appreciate that, but somehow after talking with her I feel tremendously tense and wound-up. I feel like I’ve done something wrong and I have to go in for punishment. I feel like I’m inconveniencing her. I feel like a bad patient because my situation is unconventional (what with the commuting constraints and all) and that I’m an annoyance, that I ask for too much.

Evidently the nearest RE is in Syracuse and that’s where I’ll be sent after 4 more Clmid cycles. I’m going to try to do 2 this fall and then in the Spring, when T is here, might just go ahead and switch over.

Meanwhile, I called the naturopath for an appt. but they’re already closed for Labor Day.

I just want someone to take care of me. I don’t feel like I’m doing too hot a job of it myself right now.

Ok, the Inner Editor is speaking again. I just got off the phone with T., letting out all the tears I’d been bottling up throughout my evening class. I suspect that’s why I was so tired that by 9:30 I could hardly think. While it was helpful to analyze why I respond to the nurse in this way (it all comes back to, of course, my relationship with my mother) it was even more helpful just to hear his voice and know he’s going to be here tomorrow night.

Oh, and notice how I’m assuming this isn’t going to work.

Evil Eye and Wishing Well

August 18, 2007

This morning I had unexpected news about B, who will not be back this fall. She is on medical leave, due to premature contractions (week 23) and is now on bedrest for at least a month. She is also now planning to take parental leave in the Spring, so I probably won’t be seeing her for perhaps a year…

Good God, I felt sooooooo guilty when I received this news. I quickly sent her an encouraging little e-mail wishing her well.

It’s something I’ve been working on: wishing well.

A little bit over a year ago, I was walking home the day before my HSG feeling enormously distraught. The full import of what I was getting into, what I was up against, had just swept over me and the intensity of the emotion took me completely by surprise. The fact that I had to go to the hospital to have metal implements pierce my most private places shook me so that all I could do was cry. At that point, I suddenly felt that I understood, deeply and intimately, the human emotion underlying belief in the evil eye. My despair over my own condition was so acute, so powerful, I truly felt that I could damage or harm someone if I only looked at them. And the conduit for this destructive power could only be envy.

I’m not sure I believe in the evil eye, but I do believe that what I put out into the universe will come back to me: love, hate, anger, generosity. If I want people to rejoice in my good fortune and mourn with me in sorrow, that’s what I need to offer them.

After the HSG, I immediately went back into therapy. One of the things my therapist told me was, “you will hate pregnant women and you will want to steal other people’s babies.” In saying this, she normalized those socially unacceptable feelings and made it safe to feel whatever I was feeling. But I feel like I need to find the safe space to keep and corral those feelings, not in the sense of repressing them totally, but to keep them from provoking harm to others.

In wishing others well, I cast a penny into my own wishing well. You all know what I am wishing for right now.

the Plan

August 18, 2007

Thanks for all the advice – the plan is: no peeing on sticks. Carry around a beer bottle (all the better to conceal color and quantity of contents), possibly pour some/all down the sink and refill with water. But whatever. It’s really all about my own uncertainties – uncertainty about this cycle (and all future cycles), uncertainty about how to manage others’ perceptions and assessments of me, uncertainty about the social role of alcohol. Well, tonight I’m having sushi with two good friends who are oenophiles so yet another hurdle presents itself. Whatever. I actually feel ok telling them we’re trying. They’ve been friends for a long time.

The other hurdle at Sunday’s get-together will be facing B’s bump for the first time this fall.

August 13, 2007

So here I am in Colombia, where violence and terror have destroyed thousands and tens of thousands of lives, feeling sorry for myself. Doesn’t really make sense. But I can’t deny the slice of pain I feel for what isn’t.

This morning at church I noticed a young couple a few rows ahead of us both looking across the aisle at a toddler and simply beaming. For some reason I thought, “she’s pregnant” – but then I thought, well maybe they’ve just started trying. Or my preganoia is acting up. Only then during a hymn she sat down abruptly, and her husband sat down next to her and started rubbing her back. Definitely pregnant, I thought. After church someone we were talking with confirmed my suspicions.

As I walked back to the place we’re staying with an older gentleman who is on our consultant team, he started talking about different phases of his career, and how hard it was to travel when his kids were little. He went on to talk about his son and DIL who are expecting “their first child” (as it happens, I actually know the couple, and know that they lost a baby at about 16 weeks several years ago, so not technically their first) and how he doesn’t think they realize how much it will change their lives. He said “I don’t know how old you and T. are,” but his son is 38 and DIL 37, “so the clock was ticking.”

I said nothing at all in response to all this, nothing at all. I couldn’t tell how much of the distress I felt was over the unspoken warning in his words, and how much was due to the intense stomach cramps I was feeling at the moment, I just knew that it hurt.

Since I Last Posted

July 17, 2007

* I’ve been putting in a lot of hours with a summer research/service project
* I taught myself how to make mojitos and had a rip-roaring Friday night home alone with the phone
* The Bear came home!!!!
* Our favorite restaurant changed its name which we deplore

Yesterday while waiting to meet friends for dinner I saw a man and woman walking down the street, pushing a stroller and a generous bump. As they got closer the red haze in front of my eyes dissipated as I realized that I know them (well, I know who they are – it’s a small town); their little girl in the stroller has Downs. Which makes me feel like they’ve “earned” their current bump, so it’s “ok”. What a twisted way to think/feel.