A friend called me with some sad news last night, which compelled me to pull this out of the archives.  It is five years old, and yet reading it again brought me straight back to that pain and anguish.  To say it was a difficult time for me would be an understatement.  About a year after this post, we found out we were expecting Peter’s little brother.  That happy news was dampened by my father-in-law’s cancer diagnosis and quick passing.  SO much has happened in our lives, both wonderful and challenging, since this post.  And I pretty much stopped writing (not that I ever really started in the first place.) I’ve come to learn that life is filled with moments – both good and bad, and I am grateful for the friends and family who have held me up during the difficult moments and have celebrated during the good times.  Our struggles are a part of us, but we are so much more than those struggles.  And so, to my beautiful friend, please know that I am here for you: as a shoulder to cry on, someone to yell at, someone to sit with you quietly – whatever you need right now.   I know there are no words that can make this right, but please know that I am holding you in my heart right now.

2010

It is a beautiful Saturday afternoon and Peter is still napping, giving me a few moments to relax outside before the madness begins again.  I’ve “wasted” a good part of nap time chatting on the phone, reading parts of Oprah’s newest magazine and reading email.  Where does this efficient, “I have to always be doing something” persona come from?  I have some ideas, but am really not in the mood to analyze at the moment.  No, instead I want to type my first post for my new blog.  For years, I’ve wanted to write.  I’ve taken writing classes, joined a writing group, only to skip all the meetings except the first one.  I even taught a writing class to nursing students at a local university. And still, I don’t write. You see, I’m scared that no one will think my work is any good, or care about my thoughts, or find any relevance to what I have to say.  And yet, today, in Oprah’s magazine, in an article there was this very quote – “Accept that you’ll never get rid of self-doubt.  An adventurous person will always have moments of feeling like a fraud – it is a sign that you are creating new roles for yourself – that you’re evolving.”  (Oprah Magazine, June 2010, p. 141)  Oh it felt like a message to me.  Written just for me. And so, even though I feel like a fraud, I’m writing at this moment.  It feels scary and a little exciting.  So much crosses my mind that I’d like to share.  Little things – like the extraordinarily beautiful peonies that sit on my kitchen table or reading the paper outside before Peter wakes up.  And the big things  that eat away at my heart, like secondary infertility or disagreements with my husband.  Or the mundane – like how will I ever potty train Peter? The infertility feels like a huge weight holding me underwater.  We’ve been trying for over 20 months to get pregnant with our second child and have been unsuccessful to date.  I’ve put on a brave face for people around us and know that we’re truly blessed, but there is also a part of me that cries and hurts and screams because we’ve been unable to get pregnant again.  Everyone, and I mean everyone, around me has gotten pregnant with their 2nd or 3rd child (and they’ve all had their babies already).  Of course I’m happy for my friends – especially those who’ve had a difficult time conceiving or happen to be of “advanced maternal age” like me.  And then there are others -who seem a bit smug about their second (or third pregnancy) and say, “Well you need to stop trying so hard and you’ll get pregnant” or “You’re so blessed.” Do they not know that I already know all that?  That I try really hard to stop trying so hard and relax – except it is darn hard when you’re close to your period and you are focusing on every part of your body to see if there are pregnancy signs. (I’ve given up on pregnancy tests too early in the process as they throw me in despair when they are negative, which they’ve always been of late) As I write I worry about how people will judge my thoughts.  Are they going to think, ‘Oh get over it.. Get a life! Who cares about your infertility?’  And yet, I’m still compelled to write.  I can’t be the only one who feels this way.  I know there must be other women out there who suffer as I do each month when we find out that we’re not pregnant and then suffer again when we hear about someone else’s ease at getting pregnant.  Remember the “smug marrieds” from Bridget Jones?  Oh how that struck a cord with me at the time.  I didn’t marry until I was 35 and in hindsight, I am so glad I waited because I had so much growing up to do (but that’s another posting).  That said, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t suffer through the endless heartache of wanting to find “the one” while all of my friends were getting married in their late 20’s and early 30’s.   Like the “smug marrieds”, it seems like there are the “smug fertiles” out there  – the ones who “weren’t trying, but can you believe we just did it once and got pregnant again?” Or the folks who tell me to relax and it will happen. It is much harder to get pregnant than we realize, especially if you’re older than 35.  But this blog isn’t just about infertility because there is so much more to me than my infertility.  It is about trying new things – like cooking new recipes, growing a vegetable garden for the first time and trying new foods. It is about rediscovering old passions – like swimming, bike riding, spending time in nature and traveling to new places. It is about the simple moments filled with such grace and joy – my son’s and husband’s laughter as they play together, going on a bike ride with my family on a perfect spring day, laughing with friends or how great I feel after a 6 AM yoga class. And the things I hope to do someday, like complete a triathlon, make new friends, travel the world, potty train my son and continue to write this blog, as much as it may scare me.