Why I Can't Make Mom Friends

Being an introvert makes it hard enough to make friends.  Be an infertile introvert makes it nearly impossible to make mom friends.  There's a part of me that doesn't want to make mom friends. The infertile in me screams, "Why should your status as a mother define the kinds of friends you make?"  She's not off the mark, but the fact of the matter is, Chipmunk needs me to have mom friends.  She needs me to make friends with moms who have kids her age.  I need to be able to talk to another woman who is going through the same stuff I am right now with her toddler.  Since it took me so damned long to have kids, most of my friends have kids in elementary school.  I need to diversify my village.

Yet, the infertile makes diversification a continued challenge.  J and I took the day off work today to have family time.  The place was full of stay at home moms in their best Lululemon, with pods of strollers that looked like a convention of high school mean girls turned 20-somethings.  J was the only dude in the place and we were the only set of parents.  We are so dang thankful for our family time and we can't get enough of it, so we do crazy things like take time off of work to take our kid to a children's museum.  Anywho, Chipmunk was having a hard time warming up what with all the kids running around trying to take things out of her hands while their moms played on their phones.  So we found this little room that was just for toddlers and settled in there for a bit.  There were two Lululemon Ladies and their kids already in there playing, but it was much quieter than in the general play area. While we were trying to field the oldest of their broods taking things from Chipmunk's hands, we overheard the following gems:

LL1:  "So do you have a birth spacing plan?"
LL2: "Well my sister and I were 2 years and 10 months apart.  So when he is 2 I will get pregnant again because I think that's an optimal spacing."
------
LL1: "I just feel like no one respected my birth plan.  I had to wait 10 minutes see her and just didn't feel like we got enough bonding time at that optimal period, ya know?"
------
LL2: "And my next one will be a sweet little girl that I can cuddle with."
------
LL2: "It's just too much to be a mom full time.  I mean, I can't even paint anymore."

I was trying not to be judgey, really I was.  I know every woman's experience is her own, but there was no way I could have had any sort of a conversation with these women.  Everything I heard was so contrary to my experience of motherhood that I couldn't see myself commiserating with them, which was obviously what they were doing with each other.  They used the term "birth spacing plan" like it was an actual thing.  A thing that I evidently have no concept of.  Birth plan?  Hilarious.  I still can't tell Chipmunk's birth story without crying.  I hallucinated through parts of her delivery, vomited multiple times, feared for her life, and didn't hold her for a couple of hours. I wouldn't even be able to tell this woman my experience because I would be thinking about all the women I know who had babies in the NICU or didn't get to take babies home ever.  Hoping for a girl?  Don't get me started.  And I would gladly give up my hobbies to stay at home and be a mom full time.  Hell, I gave up my hobbies to work full time and be a mom.  Fuck painting!  And I STILL think my life is awesome!

I took solace in the moment when Chipmunk gave them one of her world famous, soul searching stares.  She has this way of looking right into the center of your being.  It's a little unsettling and I love it.  She was staring them down, pulled her pacifier out and held it in her little hand for effect, and they told me how "wise" she looked.  I'd like to think she was trying to wise them up telepathically.

I didn't say anything to J in the moment, but I knew I wasn't off the mark when we walked out of the room and J muttered to me, "I don't think we'll ever be able to be friends with normal people."  I said, "Let's not say 'normal people.'  How about 'Fertiles?'"

We settled on Birthers. Liberal backhanding at its finest.

Sticking It in a Bag and Worrying About it Later

I'm having a rough time at the moment.  Motherhood is hard and wonderful, but that's not the root of the problem.  I want to just love on my girl and enjoy her, but that isn't so easy when you are infertile.  I can't be infertile anymore, and I think that's a choice I can make.

It started with my OB.  Honestly, reason number 9,973,250 why I wish your RE could be your forever OB/GYN.  At my 6 week visit she was all about talking about a VBAC for "the next baby."  I tried to stay calm and just say, "We're so blessed to have her that we're really okay with just one."  She answered with, "Not there yet, huh?"  I said, "Getting pregnant was really hard."  She just grinned.  I wondered how much she actually knew about me.  Not to be melodramatic, but 3 rounds of IVF and a 4 transfers is kind of a big deal.  I certainly know which of my patients have more ear drama than others.  You'd think a gynecologist would remember which patients had reproductive drama.  Anyway, that conversation started the end of my acceptance zen.

The next domino to fall came in the form of my maternity clothes.  I had to get my sweaters in the closet and that meant pulling out the maternity stuff.  I left them all in a pile in the middle of the closet for a week.  God love J, he didn't say a work about it.  Eventually I brought it up to him.  I didn't know what to do with them.  Do I go ahead and donate them or do I keep them, just in case?  He was very wise.  He told me to put them in a bag, stick it under the bed, and worry about it later.  So I did.

The final domino came when Chipmunk outgrew her first outfit.  Same dilemma.  Do I go ahead and donate it, or do I keep it, just in case?  I took the same advice.  I put it in a bag, stuck it under the bed, and I'll worry about it later.

Whenever Chipmunk meets a milestone, I have a pang of sadness.  I've always been the person who celebrates milestones because they mean a new beginning.  It hasn't been that way with parenthood.  I'm sad that I'll never see a first smile again, or hold a tiny sleeping baby for hours on end.  I hate that I'll never again hear a newborn cry meant just for me to answer.  I need to stop that.  I just want to enjoy my little bits.  I feel another ghost child emerging and I don't want her following me around for the next several years.  I have this beautiful life.  Amazing gifts are all around me and I'm going to enjoy them.  I'm not going to be infertile for awhile.  I'm putting it in a bag, sticking it under the bed, and worrying about it later.

Don't get me wrong, I have infertility.  I'm not denying that, but I'm not going to be infertile right now.  Infertility is not going to be a defining feature of my existence.  It can be something I have, but not something I am.  I just want to be a mom.  A happy, flourishing mom who can give everything she's got to her kid.  Infertility isn't taking that away from me.  So it's going in a bag.

That's why I haven't been posting much and I wanted to let y'all know that that probably won't be changing anytime soon.  I'll update this space on occasion, but I can't promise loads of posts.  I just need to step away for awhile.  I'm still reading your blogs and cheering for those in the trenches, but I'll admit - I haven't been commenting with the vigor I used to.  It's hard to find where I fit and I'm really okay with being the square peg.

I understand now why people suddenly act like they had no trouble conceiving and everything is hunky dory.  That doesn't feel right for me, but I understand it better.  I'm not living the infertile life right now.  It's trying to follow me around like toilet paper stuck on my shoe, but I want it off.  I want to find a different way to be a champion for this community and to find that place, I need to celebrate what this journey has brought us.  I mean, look at this face!

I love all of you in sisterly way and am so grateful that I've had you on this journey.  I don't think I've ever expressed that adequately.  I would have given up a thousand times if I hadn't had the encouragement from all of you.  It's not just words on a page.  I know that you were thinking of me when I was having procedures just like I think of you when you are in a cycle.  That's an awesome community to be a part of.  I'm so happy to have found all of you ladies.

Blissed Out

I sit here watching my husband try to lull an overtired Chipmunk to sleep.  It's after 7 PM and I'm still in my pajamas... the ones I wore to bed last night.  I have inconveniently placed milk stains on my shirt and my hair makes a rat's nest look like an HGTV worthy abode.  I have never been happier in my whole life.

I find myself in that strange place many members of our community find themselves it.  The infertility journey is different now.  I've found my "resolution."  I will always have infertility and this journey has forever changed me, but I am no longer pursuing a pregnancy.  It's not that there's nothing to talk about, but the focus is different.  No more needles and no more drugs, just us, a baby, and reflections.

When I was in the trenches I remember that there were some blogs I stopped following when they brought their children home.  I also remember why.  They were blogs that went from talking about their treatment to whining about their children, lack of sleep, and sore nipples.  Yes, parenthood is hard, but we all know that.  We've been informed of that fact by fertile people forever.  The blogs I loved following after resolution were the ones who shared their peace and joy.  So that's what I intend to do.

This little goober has taken my heart to a place I didn't know it could go.  Loving my husband comes with an element of choice.  With the Chipmunk, it's primal.  It is the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing I have ever felt.  There is nothing more I want in this world right now than to keep her healthy and put her on a promising life path.  And hug her.  No it's more than a want to hug her, I want to just envelop her and cover her in love.  I'm so grateful and when I look at her and think about what a miracle she is, that thankfulness takes my breath away.

When you are bending over for yet another PIO injection, remember that there will be an end to all of this and it is worth it.  When you are waiting in agony to be chosen by a birth mother, remember that there will be an end and you will find joy.  If you are feeling that you no longer want to pursue treatment and plan to find peace in childless living, remember that there will be an end and you will find that peace.  I've seen it happen countless times in this community.  No matter where your path leads, it will get better.

An Open Letter

To All The Parents Who've Spotted My Belly,

It's the first question you ask when you recognize my bump as a something more than just too many cookies.  "Is this your first?"  Such a loaded question.

Yes, it's my first pregnancy.  I'm so blessed.  So many women having babies after loss must have a much harder time with this question than I do.  Still, it's a tough question to answer.

My first child?  Well yes, kind of.  She's my only, she's a culmination of years of struggle and pain, she's a gift, she's my everything.

How do I make you understand that without letting you into my private world?  I'm pregnant, but I'm infertile.  I know this may be an oxymoron to you.  Just by virtue of having a disease, I feel like I need to educate you and show you how hurtful your off-handed comments can be.  I know you mean well, and I'm not offended by your question, but it still stings.  Asking if she's my first is expecting that there will be more and my baby collection is just starting.  I know I can't make you understand that this is it for us.  If I tell you she's our only, you'll ask why.  If I tell you how lucky we were to get this one, you'll tell me about your cousin's best friend's sister's hairdresser who got pregnant naturally after IVF.  It's great that you have hope for a miracle, but my husband and I have accepted this life we've been given.  When you insist that other children will come, you're suggesting that what we have isn't good enough.  It's more than good enough for us.  It's wonderful.

I don't want to tell you that my eggs can't be fertilized without having a doctor inject them with a chosen sperm.  I don't want to tell you that my embryos need help to hatch.  I don't want to tell you that my body has to go through three months of menopause before my lining is receptive to implantation.  I don't want to tell you that I have to be on birth control despite my infertility just to avoid constant pain.  I don't want to tell you because I'm tired of telling you.  I've been sticking up for my limping womb for years and I need a break.  I just want to look forward to being a mom.  A mom to one amazing little gift.

So just smile and say that she's our first while I listen to your war stories on birth and parenting, but I wish you really knew.  She's so much more than a first.

Other

The inter-racial issue rarely comes into play in our lives.  There is the occasional weird comment, but they are usually just silly.  The only thing that really annoys me is going to our favorite, closed-minded, bigoted  chicken sandwich place.  In every fast food joint in the world it goes something like this:  Husband and I reach the counter, standing side-by-side.  Typically his hand is on the small of my back because he likes to stand that way.  The cashier looks at us expectantly, I look to J, he says, "Go ahead,  babe," and I place my order.  The cashier then looks expectantly at J, he places his order.  They ask, "Is that all for you today?" and we get the total.  Not at Chick-fil-a.  Every freakin' time they give me my total before J has a chance to get a waffle fry in edge-wise.  It's as if the man touching me with a wedding band on can't POSSIBLY be ordering with me what with his Asian-ness and all.  We just don't fit into their neat little box.

Apparently, Chipmunk doesn't fit into any boxes and s/he doesn't even have a fingerprint yet.  We had to pre-register with hospital for the delivery.  I agree, it seems completely ridiculous to do this so early on, but I'm following the directions from my OB.  I was on the website, plugging through all the boxes.  Mother's name, father's name, mother's maiden name, mother's mother's maiden name, mother's race, father's race.  There it was.  "Ethnicity of newborn."  There weren't many choices.  Asian, Hispanic, Caucasian, African-American... I was stuck.  I'm sure Chipmunk will look Asian, but s/he is Caucasian also.  Do I discount one part of him/her with a click of my mouse?  No way.  I looked at J and we both said the same thing at the same time.

Other.

We chose the last item from the drop down menu.

It left me thinking, why does it matter?  Is this a battle my child will have to face for eternity?  Don't we live in a melting pot?  Isn't there supposed to be some sort of revolution soon where mixed race individuals are becoming the largest minority?  So why doesn't my child get a drop down box?  Why doesn't s/he get to choose how to describe his/her ethnicity?  Why does the birth certificate get to define such an important piece of an identity with limited wiggle room?

Ah, America.  Land of diversity and restrictive little boxes.

Still Carrying My Card

***I've added a tab for Chipmunk.  If you're up for ultrasound photos, they will be posted there.***

Every Friday we have a meeting where more people that just my immediate team are in attendance.  Only my immediate coworkers know about Chipmunk.  I had told them that they were the only ones who knew and I wanted to keep it that way.  I sent them a text after my last RE visit because I figured that way they would know about the good news and I could avoid any looks or questions when I came to the meeting late.  Apparently my boss decided to whoop and holler in excitement when she got the text during the meeting and announce what her (group) text said.  So now people who I didn't want to yet know know. Another one of my coworkers reminded her that I didn't want people to know yet, but it was too late.  I appreciate her excitement, but two of the people at this meeting were infertile women who I wanted to tell one-on-one, in my own time.  I hadn't found alone time with them yet.

My boss whooped more when I came in and I shushed her.  My two coworkers (who have since adopted) just looked at me and smiled kindly.  I could see the pain in their eyes, though and I was crushed for them.  I know the rest of the world thinks adoption is a cure for infertility, but I know better.  I'm sure my boss thought there was no need for special sensitivity, but I know better.  And I'm sure that more than anything they were hurt that I didn't tell them in person.

My boss upset me more later in the day.  She shared that another former coworker who was struggling to get pregnant is also expecting.  I said, "Oh good.  I know she was struggling too.  I swear it's like you start working here at your uterus breaks."  She said, "Oh that's not true.  Look at you!"  I felt very defensive.  I said, "It's still good and broken."  She answered with, "You just needed a little help."  I got quiet and said, "I needed about as much help as you can get before moving on to donor gametes.  I will never need birth control and there will not be another pregnancy" and left the room.  She didn't say anything about it.  I'm sure she chalked it up to hormones.

I spent the rest of the day pondering why I was so defensive about her comments.  I think it was a myriad of things.  I'm not in denial about my infertility anymore.  It's become part of my story, and part of who I am.  I'm okay with that.  I'm okay with that because it's made me a stronger person.  I can recognize that I am still a woman with worth and value even if sperm has to be forcefully injected into my eggs for just a shot at fertilization.  Even though eight embryos have failed to implant in my womb, I am just as much of a woman as  the most fertile among us.  I know that.  I went through hell and back to know that.  Achieving a pregnancy doesn't erase all that I have been through.  It takes me on another leg of this journey, but it doesn't discount my pain.  I'm not actively grieving anymore, but there will always be an ache.

I'm keeping my infertile card. I'm pretty sure no one is going to revoke it.

Old Life, New Person

I am most certainly not the same person I was when this journey started.  I'm a little rougher around the edges and slower to smile.  Somehow I've managed to mix being less patient with people and being less likely to judge.  I've lost a little of the silly and gained a big dose of reality.  I'm learning that the life I once built for myself no longer fits the person I am.  J has been coming to the same realization for himself.

This week has been full of eye opening moments at work.  I've hit the wall.  Working with children means that at some point, you will end up working with parents who do not make the best choices for their kids.  Making decisions I don't necessarily agree with is one thing, making decisions that can hurt a child is another.  I'm reaching the point where I can't watch it happen anymore.  I can't help people who don't want to be helped.  I can give a professional opinion along with all of the facts, and then sit back and watch opportunity after opportunity pass a child by over the next several years.  At first I thought it came from a feeling of anger.  Anger at people who are busy popping out children without a second thought and mistreating them while J and I can't even make a child.  I told a coworker that I may consider a career change if the baby thing doesn't pan out.  As I was talking I realized that it isn't even about a baby anymore.  I'm just a completely different person and the old life doesn't fit the new me.*

I was talking about this with J and he said he's feeling the same way.  He's at work having a hard time dealing with people whining about things he feels aren't worth whining about.  Some of these things may have gotten a whine out of him a couple of years ago, but now he just wants to yell "GET OVER IT!"

So I guess we're both considering career shifts in the near future.  That's exciting and scary all at the same time.  The really scary thing is that J says, "Maybe if we don't have kids I'll start cultivating tomatoes for a living."  He figures that if there isn't a "family" to support, he can slack off.  My idea of a child-free career shift would mean making a crap ton of money so we can travel and spend money filling the giant childless hole that would be staring at us.

Hopefully we won't have to figure that out, but the changes infertility has brought to our personas is really starting to affect how we live our lives.  It's interesting to watch it unfold.

*I feel like someone wrote about this concept recently, but I can't find it in my reader for the life of me. Maybe I was dreaming it, but if I wasn't, chime in and holler "it was me, dummy!"

Artwork

I have quite a collection of artwork from little munchkins.  Some of them are hilarious and might be used for blackmail one day.  This week, I got a new one, and it is the greatest picture a kid has ever drawn for me.

It's J, Scout, and me (Notice the height.  What a riot.).  It's lovey and sunshiney.

There are pictures of kids on my desk.  My nephews, some patients, friends kids... She asked who they are and I told her.  Not ONCE did she ask if I had kids.  Not ONCE did she say, "where is your baby."  I'm pretty sure this is the first time a kid went through the photos on my desk and didn't give me the inquisition.  I was so thrilled by the acceptance of my little family, that I took this picture home and put it on our fridge.  We might even frame it.  This kid is my new favorite.

This IS my family.  This is what I have right now.  And it's lovely.

Biracial children

I grew up in what is probably one of the most racially segregated cities in the US.  It wasn't something born out of bigotry, it just was the way people lived.  It was cultural... at least that's what I tell myself.  Italians, Jews, Germans, Irish, African American, Vietnamese... pretty much every culture you can think of had an area of the city that they tended to live in and share their culture and values.

I'm pretty sure I was almost double digits before I met a person with a different skin color.  As an Italian, I was the darkest person in my class growing up.  So when an African American family moved in next door, I was completely fascinated with the little girl who became my new friend.  I loved the rich tone of her skin, the texture of her hair, and I thought she smelled really good.  Thankfully, her mother was not at all put off by my naivete, and I remember her laughing at all of my questions.

That being said, interracial couples were not something you saw around those parts in the 80s.  I distinctly remember being in Dairy Queen with my mom when a family came in.  The mom was white, the dad was black, and their two daughters were gorgeous.  I had to remind myself that it was rude to stare.  I wasn't staring because of the fact that they were a mixed race family per se.  I was staring because they looked so beautiful to me.  I told my mom, "I think God makes biracial children so pretty as a message to the world."

I dated a bunch of disappointing white guys until I finally opened up my eyes and heart to an Asian man.  We lived happily ever after - except that we really really want one of those messages to the world.  Not for the cute factor, but for a little piece of him and a little piece of me all mixed up in one person.

Ya Just Never Know, Do Ya?

Last night's performance was awesome.  I was standing on the stage and I spotted the reviewer in the second row.  He was chewing gum and that pissed me off for some reason.  Those familiar butterfly feelings crept in and my knees went weak.  Butterflies are especially sucky when you are trying to sing and need to be abolished quickly.  All the sudden, something really empowering smacked me in the gut.  I may not be able to make a baby, but damnit, I can sing like nobody's business.  I took that feeling and friends, I rocked it.  My solo was as good as I've ever performed it.  I enjoyed myself immensely the entire concert.  I was flying high.  J and I came home and had a really nice evening together.  It was one of those nights I just wouldn't let infertility be a part of.

Today's performance was a different story.  I don't know what set me off.  Probably a combination of things.  After warm up, we were all sitting around and it suddenly hit me why I feel like such a fish out of water recently.  It's a women's chorus and everyone sits around and talks about their kids.  That's all I hear swirling around me.  Breastfeeding tales, potty training woes, grandbabies on the way, little Johnny's teacher is so so mean... I have nothing to add to any of these conversations.  I used to attempt to, but now I just feel like a total poser.  In a big group of women, where you would think one would feel the most supported, I feel like a complete pariah.

While we were standing in line to walk to the stage for the performance, I was reading the community builiten board for a local "Women's Group."  Every freaking post was about being a mom.  There was nothing that was not related to parenthood on that board.  I felt like such a... I don't even know.  A woman who doesn't count?  I don't know how else to explain it.

When I stood up on that stage today, all I could think of were the times I sang with my mom and my grandfather.  I thought about my mom teaching me how to harmonize and my Papa teaching me how to love music and be a performer.  I had this sudden fear that I wouldn't pass that gene on.  That I wouldn't have those moments with my child and my mother wouldn't sing with my children like my Papa did with me and my cousins.  I checked my phone at intermission and there was a text from BFF, checking in on me since I hadn't talked to her since I told her our IUI cycle didn't work out.  I lost it.  I was sitting there trying to hide my eyes and keep my mascara from running.  I think our director saw me, and although he's a friend he's also a guy so I just kept praying that he didn't ask me what was wrong.   Thankfully, no one else spotted me, or if they did they either didn't care to ask or sensed that I have infertility and were afraid that if they got too close they might catch it.

It was hard to get through the rest of the performance.  We sang some beautiful arrangements of "My Shepherd Will Supply My Need" and "Deep River" that just stab me in the heart.  I got choked up a couple of times, but managed not to make a complete fool of myself.  Anyway, the point of this rant was that we can't always be prepared for what is going to set us off and bring on a sudden bout of sadness.  But what can we do to choose not to be sad in that moment?

Booted From the "Mommy Group"

I'm a planner.  This seems to be a theme among infertile women which is a shame because it often comes back to bite us in the ass.  When we decided to start "trying," I of course needed to make a mock baby budget.  To do that, I had to find out what day care runs in my area.  I googled and googled and couldn't find anything solid to go on.  So, I joined the area online "mommy group."  It was an online forum and I figured I could ask there.  I had to be approved for this elitist shit. I thought it was odd, but I didn't really care.  I'd be one of them soon enough.  When I got into the group, I found out it was mostly SAHMs.  There was an elitist jerk-face "working moms" group inside the elitist jerk-face "mommy group" that you had to join separately.  There were rules and crap about how much posting you had to have done, etc before they would let you in.  I figured that was a little more than I cared, so I stopped trying to figure it out and just did the normal thing and asked friends (duh).

Today I got an email from the group that I'm being booted due to inactivity.  Since I'm super crabby from the Prometrium, I was thinking of writing the following:

Dear Elitist Jerk-Face Mommy Group Administrator,

Really?  You have to kick me off because I haven't been on your "Oh-so important" forum enough?  I've been too busy trying to actually become a "mommy" to give a flying f&#* about what you pampered SAHMs are up to.  That means I have to work really hard so I can pay for fertility treatment.  Do you know what that's like? Not actually knowing if you will ever be a "mommy?"  It blows.  It's heart wrenching.  When you get a notice from an elitist jerk-face "mommy" group telling you that you aren't cool enough to be in their club because you've spent too much time trying to become a "mommy" and not enough time actually being one, it hurts more.  So you can take your membership and your condescending emails and shove them where the sun don't shine.

Sincerely,

An Angry Infertile Woman

PS "Mommy" is a dumb word.  You're grown women for crap's sake.

Maybe I should just delete the email instead.

"It's Like Your Always Stuck In Second Gear..."

I am very blessed to have several really fantastic friends. Trouble is, they don't live by me.

I grew up in the Midwest and have some great friends back home. Then I moved to MA and made some of the most fantastic friends a girl could ever hope for. Then I moved down here to NC, and my coworkers are awesome and I truly consider them friends.

A few years ago, I was all set on being a single chick and I bought a house. At the same time, Mr. Right was feeling the same way, and bought himself a house. Then we met, got engaged, and had to figure out what to do with two houses in the middle of a housing crisis. His is in a new development and hence WAY more underwater than mine and would be impossible to sell. Tried to sell mine, but it is also underwater and we weren't getting any bites. Thankfully, it's between two major universities and renting it out hasn't been a problem (knock on wood), but it meant moving almost an hour away to The Hubby's house. I had my coworkers nearby and friends to hang out with there, but now we hang with Mr. Right's friends since they are close. I like them, but I'm pretty shy and not altogether friendly really. And now I have THE HARDEST time trying to find something in common with these people. I can't find a common ground and it makes me feel like an even bigger loser.

They are ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT THEIR DAMNED KIDS!!!

They are comparing stories, one upping each other, talking about how to get them into the charter schools, what "cute" things they said... I just smile like a dummy. Mr. Right says I should start talking about my ovaries just to see what happens. 

Why do I left this make me feel like I have no worth? Before I was married, I never felt like that! Even my married friends had other things to talk about besides their kids. Now that this IF thing is hovering over my head, I feel all sensitive about it I guess. That and it seems like this group of friends is totally mom-focused. I find myself feeling relieved when the husbands are around because I'd rather try to pretend to know something about college basketball than to pretend to know something about mommyhood.

Pervy Waitress and Why I Hate Tennis

Last night, we went out to dinner and after we finished, the waitress asked if we'd saved room for dessert.  We said no and I added, "We've had enough dessert the last few days to last us awhile."  She didn't laugh, just paused and then said, "My mind is so dirty I took that completely the wrong way."

Well that's a stretch, pervy waitress.

Ah, if she only knew.

***************

I decided awhile back that Mr. Right and I needed a "thing."  You know, a hobby that we do together.  We both have varied intrests, but not really one that we share.  We tried running, and we still do run, but we both despise doing it, so that doesn't count.  He was a big tennis player back in the day.  I failed tennis lessons as a child and was asked not to return because I was so bad.  But he thought he could rehabilitate me, and so we attempted to make that our "thing."  Today was lesson number 2.  After I spent a good 10 minutes pouting around the court, this is how it ended.

Me: "I hate tennis."
Him: "But you're cute when you pout."
Me: "I don't like doing things I'm bad at.  I suck at running, I suck at making babies, and I suck at tennis."
Him: "Come on now, or I'm going to pop you in the nose."
Me: "I'm good at breaking my nose.  You should do it."

So tennis is not going to be our thing.  We went on a long walk with the mutt and after I tried popping the "It's A Boy" balloons we encountered on the way, he asked me why I thought we needed to have  a thing.  I didn't really know.  I just thought we should.  After we talked it out more, I said "Well, I guess I just thought that raising a family would be our thing and since we don't have that..."  He stopped and said, "I don't think you're really concerned with having a thing.  I think what you're really doing is trying to find a substitute for us for what we really truly want and that's not going to happen."

The bastard is right.  Again. (Don't tell him I said that.)

So how do you fill your time constructively in order to stay busy while going through all of this crap?  I could bury myself in work.  That's what I used to do when I was single, but I'd rather share my time with my hubby.  I could also eat.  I'm very good at stress eating and I like to do things I'm good at.  I'm also good at getting fat, so that's a problem.  I'd love to hear what y'all do.

Identity Problem Solved!

Message received.

Today, a deaf teenager was telling me about a project she's doing for school.  She's learning about Deaf cul.ture (don't want that bad boy googled.). She does not identify herself as "capital-D-Deaf."  She was talking about a book she was reading and apparently, most paragraphs started with "As a Deaf person, you should..."  My little friend was all fired up.  She kept saying, "It's the stupidest book in the world!"  I asked why she was so bothered by it and she said...

"Because!  You should just... just... be a PERSON!"

I can handle just being a person.

Identity

I emailed my mom about the religious tracts we received and I included the bit about how Mr. Right should have said I was "an infertile, white, Catholic, heathen." She responded with, "Would you please not identify yourself as infertile. That is not who you are. A heathen - maybe." It bothered me. After all 628.9 is the ICD-9 code splashed all over my medical everything. I fit the definition and I'm obviously not "fertile." I have infertility and I'm learning to identify myself as an infertile person. Of course I thought Mr. Right would feel the same way.

So when I told him about my mom's response (quite haughtily, I might add) I was very surprised when he said he didn't think of me as infertile either. In his mind, you're only infertile if you never can have a biological child, even with medical intervention. In my mind it's when you can't have a child without medical intervention. I'm sure my mom sees it the same way my husband does, but it got me thinking about how we as women identify ourselves and where infertility fits in.
I'm a wife, an audiologist, a musician, a daughter, a sister... those are probably my main identities. Mr. Right says he is a husband and a Korean-American (a man of short lists). Interestingly, he's adamant that his career doesn't define him, but it would if he were proud of it. Then I looked at my list. It's full of things I'm proud of.

I wouldn't say I'm proud of being infertile. I'm proud that I'm finding the strength to take steps to attempt to overcome it, but I don't think it's part of my identity at this point. I think Mr. Right is on to something. We identify ourselves by what we're proud of.

When we think about what makes us "us," we think about the positives. I have a complicated family and it does have a huge impact on who I am as a person, but the positive aspects of what came of it are what makes me "me." Yes, I tend to be a bit distrustful, but is that part of my identity? Not really. It did lead to me to be a bit of a control freak which morphed into a straight up type-A personality, but I don't really see that as a negative personality trait (other's might, but it works for me).

I'm a runner - but I didn't put that on my list. Probably because I really super suck at it.

How do you choose to identify yourself?