Funny – I thought every week was Infertility Awareness Week

While I’m painfully aware every week – or rather, every DAY – of my infertility issues, this week is officially Infertility Awareness Week.

I had this grandiose plan to reveal my true identity during Infertility Awareness Week.  To lift the veil on the issue and stop lurking about, crying in my office, into my pillow and in my car when no one could see me.

I was going to share my blog with my friends and family who aren’t already in the Circle of Trust – opening my heart and hopefully, their eyes, to the pain and frustration of this.

Yeah.  Not gonna happen.

I’m ok with it, though.  As much as I don’t want the struggle to be silent anymore, and as much as I hate feeling like I have to hide this from people, I’ve recently come to terms with it.  As I mentioned before, it’s not about talking about it in general.  It’s about talking to the right people about it.  Opening up to people who don’t get it or to well-meaning people who say all the wrong things is just as painful and unhelpful as holding it all in.

So, if you are open to all of those around you about your infertility, I applaud you.  From the bottom of my heart, I am proud of you and support you and hope that it is the release that you need.  But, if you are like me and can only open up to a small number of people, I want you to know you’re not alone, and it’s ok.  You’re not hiding from your problem.  It’s ok.

And you always have the Eggs to turn to.  We’ll always listen, comfort, scream, laugh, cry with you.

But, I do support the cause – and want more folks to be aware of infertility facts, in general.  Because the more folks who are aware, the easier it will be for me to come out of my bathroom and tell my story.

If you want to learn more about Infertility Awareness Week, check out the folks at Resolve.org and even learn how you can help.

 

[Article Recc] How not to say the wrong thing

Sharing from the LA Times – and it’s brilliant.  I am going to begin sharing this with people who want to help me, but can’t seem to find an appropriate way to do so.  THIS is a resource for everyone.

How not to say the wrong thing

It works in all kinds of crises – medical, legal, even existential. It’s the ‘Ring Theory’ of kvetching. The first rule is comfort in, dump out.

(Illustration by Wes Bausmith / Los Angeles Times)

Susan Silk and Barry Goldman

When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favorite came from one of Susan’s colleagues. She wanted, she needed, to visit Susan after the surgery, but Susan didn’t feel like having visitors, and she said so. Her colleague’s response? “This isn’t just about you.”

“It’s not?” Susan wondered. “My breast cancer is not about me? It’s about you?”

The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors, but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie’s husband, Pat. “I wasn’t prepared for this,” she told him. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”

This woman loves Katie, and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say. And it was wrong in the same way Susan’s colleague’s remark was wrong.

Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. It works for all kinds of crises: medical, legal, financial, romantic, even existential. She calls it the Ring Theory.

Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. For Katie’s aneurysm, that’s Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie’s aneurysm, that was Katie’s husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of Susan’s patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, “Life is unfair” and “Why me?” That’s the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you’re going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn’t, don’t say it. Don’t, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don’t need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, “I’m sorry” or “This must really be hard for you” or “Can I bring you a pot roast?” Don’t say, “You should hear what happened to me” or “Here’s what I would do if I were you.” And don’t say, “This is really bringing me down.”

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that’s fine. It’s a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

There was nothing wrong with Katie’s friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn’t think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat. She dumped IN.

Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn’t do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to her principal caregiver may be the best thing you can do for the patient.

Most of us know this. Almost nobody would complain to the patient about how rotten she looks. Almost no one would say that looking at her makes them think of the fragility of life and their own closeness to death. In other words, we know enough not to dump into the center ring. Ring Theory merely expands that intuition and makes it more concrete: Don’t just avoid dumping into the center ring, avoid dumping into any ring smaller than your own.

Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you’re talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.

And don’t worry. You’ll get your turn in the center ring. You can count on that.

Susan Silk is a clinical psychologist. Barry Goldman is an arbitrator and mediator and the author of “The Science of Settlement: Ideas for Negotiators.”

Sharing via the LA Times.

IVF pioneer Robert Edwards dead at 87 [copied from USA Today]

The Nobel prizewinner’s in vitro fertilization research led to the first test tube baby.

(Photo: Alastair Grant, AP)

Story Highlights

• Edwards developed in vitro fertilization
• First test tube baby was born in 1978
• Technique led to births of more than 4 million babies

LONDON — Robert Edwards, a Nobel prizewinner from Britain whose pioneering in vitro fertilization research led to the first test tube baby and has since brought millions of people into the world, died Wednesday at age 87.

The University of Cambridge, where he was a professor, said Edwards passed away peacefully in his sleep at his home just outside Cambridge.

Together with Dr. Patrick Steptoe, Edwards developed in vitro fertilization, or IVF, which resulted in the birth in 1978 of the world’s first test tube baby, Louise Brown. At the time, the two were accused of playing God and interfering with nature.

Since then, more than 4 million babies have been born using the technique, which creates embryos in the laboratory before transferring them into a woman.

“(Edwards) was an extraordinary scientist,” said Dr. Peter Braude, emeritus professor of obstetrics and gynecology at Kings College London, who was at Cambridge when Edwards and Steptoe were developing IVF.

“There was such hysteria around the kind of work he was doing,” Braude said, noting that Edwards stopped his research for two years after he published details on how he had created embryos in the laboratory. “He wanted to work out what the right thing to do was, whether he should continue or whether he was out on a limb,” Braude said.

Braude said that Edwards collected donor eggs from Oldham, where Steptoe worked. Edwards then put them into test tubes which he strapped to his legs to keep them warm before catching the train to Cambridge, where he would attempt to fertilize them in the laboratory.

After Brown was born, Braude recalled a celebration at Cambridge, where scientists toasted Edwards and Steptoe’s achievement by drinking champagne out of plastic cups.

Braude said public opinion has evolved considerably since then.

“I think people now understand that (Edwards) only had the best motivation,” he said. “There are few biologists that have done something so practical and made a huge difference for the entire world.”

In 2010, Edwards was awarded the Nobel prize in medicine for the development of IVF. Steptoe had already passed away; the Nobel prizes are not awarded posthumously. The Roman Catholic Church denounced the award, arguing that human life should only begin through intercourse and not artificially. The Vatican said Edwards “bore a moral responsibility for all subsequent developments in assisted reproduction technology and for all abuses made possible by IVF.”

In 2011, Edwards was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II “for services to human reproductive biology.”

Other scientists called Edwards a visionary who forever changed the lives of people helped by IVF and the medical community.

“(Edwards’) inspirational work in the early 60s led to a breakthrough that has enhanced the lives of millions of people worldwide,” said Mike Macnamee, chief executive of the IVF clinic that Edwards and Steptoe co-founded, in a statement. “It was a privilege to work with him and his passing is a great loss to us all.”

Copyright 2012 The Associated Press and copied from USA Today.

THANK YOU to Dr. Edwards.  Though IVF has not worked for us yet, I know his work has helped many miracles happen and allowed many dreams to come true.  Hopefully one day his work will introduce me to my second little miracle.

How as Dr. Edwards’ work helped you?

How do you know when to stop?

Recognizing personal limitations is one of the hardest things to do.

My husband’s grandmother is elderly and sickly.  She lives alone in a home that needs repair.  She forgets to eat.  She forgets to take her meds.  Yet, she wants to remain in her home.  How can she tell herself it’s time to stop?  Time to stop caring for herself, and let someone else help?

My uncle has been diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s Disease.  He’s cognizant of most things, but has momentary lapses in memory or presence.  His favorite thing to do is drive his old truck.   It’s too dangerous for him to do this at all, much less alone.   Yet, he feels capable.  How can he make the decision to stop doing the one thing he loves?  To give up his independence?

It’s easy for other people to see when it’s time.  When loved ones have had enough.  When they’ve reached the limits of their capabilities.  When they need to move on, walk away, let go.

It’s not so easy for the person holding on.

This weekend was tough for me.  It was the one year anniversary of my miscarriage.  Last year, on Good Friday, I found myself in the ER at almost 6 weeks pregnant, in excruciating pain.  Last Good Friday I was released from the hospital and told there was nothing to do but wait out the inevitable.  Last Easter, through a painted on smile, I soldiered through Easter celebrations at my home as my uterus shed all evidence of a pregnancy no one knew about.

A year later, the wound has healed, but the emotional scar remains.  A year later, we celebrated Easter with the same family members again.  A year later, on Easter Sunday, I got my period.  A painful, bloody reminder of what I haven’t been able to achieve over the past year; of what I lost a year ago.

A painful reminder of the past 16 months of unsuccessful attempts at having another baby.  Of giving my sweet boy the sibling for which he continues to ask.

How much more can I take?  How many more months do I try, and fail?  How do I know when it’s time to stop?  Every time I think I can let it go, to settle in to the life we have and accept the cards I’ve been dealt, I find that I’m wrong.  I see the signs of ovulation, and think “maybe, maybe this is the month.”

I think it would be easier to let go and move on if I was just harboring the pain.   But, I’m harboring pain mixed with hope.  That’s a strange cocktail to imbibe.  When the bitter pill is wrapped in the sweet coating of hope, you keep swallowing the pill.

How do you know when to stop?

My Scarlet Letter

As you may have picked up, I’ve been all over the place lately, bouncing around like a ping-pong ball in a dryer.  Up, down.  Happy, sad.  Rational, irrational.  Gracious, jealous.  Content, Angry.  I’m the yin to my own yang these days.

So, I’ve spent the past few weeks re-evaluating things — the TTC process, my relationships (marital, family and friendships), my goals, my dreams, my emotions.  Just trying to get a grip on myself and find some semblance of the person I once knew.  Because this ticking time bomb of a blubbering mess ain’t it.  I used to be so strong, so optimistic, so determined.

Now, I’m just broken.

We’ve previously talked about the Silent Struggle, and questioned why it has to be such a secret; why it’s ok to publicly mourn the death of a loved one, but not the loss of an unborn baby.   So, I recently decided to stop being so silent about it.  I’m not screaming it from the rooftops, or writing, “Hi, My Name is Infertile” on my conference badges, but I’m opening up to more friends and family about my struggle.

I thought it would help.  I was wrong.

The good news is, these people don’t look at me like I’m a total bitch anymore.  And they don’t look at me and wonder when I became so emotionally unhinged.   Now, they just give me that look.  You know the one.  The pity eyes.  The “I don’t know what to say” look.

And now, I’m a marked woman.  I walk the halls at work with a Scarlett M on my chest.  M for the miscarriages branded in scarlet red – how apropos.

Now, the pregnant women on my hall look at me apologetically, and ask a drawn out, soft spoken “How are you?”

Now, my mother doesn’t ask me how my week has been.  She asks me, “How are you?”

Now, my friends monitor my drink order at dinner and when I order wine or a cocktail, their faces drop. “So, how are you?”

I’m marked.

I’ve decided that being open about it isn’t the answer.  It’s being open about it to the right audience.  Talking to people who will say more than “I’m sorry” or “Just keep trying” or “It’ll get better in time.”  Talking to people who understand the complexity of this; the confusion; the burden.  That it’s more than just not being able to have another baby.  Or a matter of time til I can try again.  It’s so much bigger than that.

My heart has been wound too tightly, trying to suppress my emotions so as not to appear marked, to protect others from their discomfort in talking to me about this.  The pressure has built, and I’m about to explode.

In the words of the oh-so-insightful Britney Spears,  I need to scream and shout and let it all out.

Last week, I met with a counselor at work.

She assessed that my emotional fuse isn’t detonated because of just the inability to get pregnant, or the disappointment of getting my period; rather, it is the grief I never truly dealt with during my miscarriage(s).  She told me to stop differentiating between my “real” miscarriage and the two “chemical pregnancies.”  She told me to stop downplaying it, and to call them what they are – 3 miscarriages – because I downplay it only to make other people feel more comfortable at the risk of my own healing.  She assessed that I never truly grieved for them, and when I get my period every month it’s like revisiting the miscarriage every month.  She also told me that grief has the same symptoms as clinical depression, and if the grief remains untreated it’s like being clinically depressed without getting treatment, which is why I become unhinged.

The best part?  She reminded me that this is temporary.  It’s not Scrambled 2.0.

So, this week, I’m visiting a counselor who specializes in infertility and miscarriage.  And I’m going to talk to someone who won’t give me the look.  Someone who will give me an action plan other than “keep trying” – and maybe, just maybe, help me rip this letter off my shirt.

Russian Dolls and US Weekly drive me to drink

Sorry folks.  I dropped off the planet.   First of the year is always a little nutty for me in my “day job” – and this year in particular was more crazy than usual.

You see, I got promoted at work (yay, me!).  And that changed my job scope and volume tremendously.  This has become a good distraction for me in this whole baby-making adventure.  It was working wonderfully!

Until last week.

Remember the Jennifers?  The ones who do everything together, including (apparently) ovulating and sexing?  The ones who waddled past my office together to the bathroom every day for 9 months last year, and all went on maternity leave at one time?

Yeah.  They’re pregnant.  Again.  And yes, I said “they.”

I know you recall my Christmas Party from Hell where they’re non-Jennifer friend announced her pregnancy just before Christmas (and the same day I got my period).  Well, a month later, one of the Jennifers announced she was pregnant again (after only being back from maternity leave 3 months).  She sent it out in a weird “thumbprint” email announcement– her thumbprint, her husband’s thumbprint, her baby’s thumbprint making a little flower.  And, yes, I got my period the same day she announced.

The good news is, when the next pregnancy announcement came, I didn’t get my period.  Not because I didn’t get my period at all – THAT would be absurd.  It was because the next one came a mere TWO weeks later.    Another Jennifer.  Pregnant again.    She told us by way of an email depicting three little Russian dolls decreasing in size – Lindsay Beth (due in July!!), Jennifer 1 (due in August!!) and Jennifer 2 (Due in September!!!).

I came home and turned into the girl from the Exorcist – screaming, throwing up pea soup on anyone who came near me.  I get on Facebook (with wine in hand) to try to distract myself from the day’s announcement, when what do I see?

ANOTHER teammate announcing her pregnancy on Facebook.  Except SHE created a personal US Weekly cover to announce the news.  What IS IT with these people?  When did pregnancy announcements become the new birth announcements?

Next thing I know we’ll be getting professionally designed cards in the mail proclaiming, “WE OVULATED!”  or “WE UNFROZE THE SPERM!”  or simply “WE SCREWED LAST NIGHT!”

For those keeping score at home, that’s FOUR women on my team (of only 20 people) who are all pregnant and due between July and September.  FOUR.  THREE of whom announced within 2 weeks of one another; TWO of whom announced the same.damn.day.  People.  I can’t make this shit up if I tried.

Remember when I said I was getting better at dealing with it?

Yeah.  Just kidding.

My “Moonstrual” Cycle

Admittedly, I’ve been a little lackadaisical and uninspired with conception efforts and cycle tracking the last few months. I still want a baby badly, but after more than a year of obsessive tracking, peeing, temping and charting, it has become frustrating.

I was sitting in my backyard by our fire pit a few nights ago and noticed the moon was getting close to full. It got me thinking. Do I ovulate on the full moon? The next morning, I pulled up the moon calendars back to November and, sure enough, I have ovulated within a day of the full moon and started bleeding a day within the new (or no) moon. That’s odd, I thought. How have I not noticed this before? Is this normal? My cycle averages 29-31 days and the lunar month is 29.5 days long. I just didn’t bother to put two and two together.

My acupuncturist consulted the moon calendar each time he set a new appointment for me, but I didn’t make the correlation. I just thought certain moons had certain effects on a cycle, not ever realizing my cycle followed the moon cycle so closely. I knew the word “month” was originally “moonth” thanks to the History Channel and that the words shared an origin. I did not know that “menses” and “menstruation” were of the same root. Obviously, I should have picked up on all of this a lot sooner, and paid a little more attention to the in-your-face etymology.

Google time. It turns out that early women (think huts, loin cloths and monoliths) ovulated and bled according to the moon. The light energy of the full moon, to which they were readily exposed, triggered ovulation and, when the sky fell black with the new moon, menstruation began. These women, all living in close proximity, were completely in sync with the moon and each other. Even better, the full moon acted as a bat signal to the men for sex and procreation.

I’m sure you’ve heard people say, “Watch out. It’s a full moon. The crazies are out.” Yeah, crazy horny people that is. Perhaps, the sexual link to the moon in early times served as the foundation for what we think of now when we see a full moon. We think, “Watch out for the drunks, werewolves and freaks,” but maybe we should be thinking, “Let’s get it on!”

I found an interesting site that explained what each moon phase means, and I couldn’t believe how much it correlated to the menstrual cycle and the accompanying emotions. This site includes information on bleeding during different moons, so feel free to check out how your cycle matches up.

Here’s a break down. I’m adding personal notes parenthetically, the rest is word for word from this site.

(Ovulation) The full moon represents fire, abundance, power and vitality. It’s time to claim one’s own power, make decisions, work changes, and bring something into being. (This is definitely the time of the month during which I’m most confident and productive.)

(Two Week Wait/Luteal Phase) The waning moon represents maturity and harvest. It’s time for persistence, for making reality out of the visions and impulses. (I spend quite a bit of time during this phase attempting to stay positive and convince myself good things are in the works.)

(Menstruation Begins) The new moon represents the dark and mysterious power of the deep. Existing structures have fulfilled their purposes, and need to be destructed, or reconstructed to make room for the new. (Wow. If that doesn’t describe your period, I don’t know what does.)  The energy of new moon bleeding is inwards, self-nourishing. During this time, anxieties, memories, and experiences may rise up, eager to be dealt with. It’s a good time to take stock, and to draw conclusions from them. New moon menstruation is a strong time of healing and renewal. (Yes, yes and yes. Dealing with emotions, anxiety, and darkness? Check!)

(Follicular Phase) Waxing moon represents new beginnings and growth. New ideas are being planted. New processes are coming into play. New experiences and events are within reach. (I make new plans and decide to try new things regarding TTC. This seems to be the time of the month I’m most creative, too.)

Pretty cool, right? I was excited to see how closely I followed the moon cycle, but not all women do. Times have changed, we no longer live by the moonlight, and artificial light can cause women to follow different moon cycles. I found a website with tips on how to get back in sync with the moon cycles. One suggestion was to sleep in complete darkness (no TV, night lights, etc.) during the new moon.

I mentioned above that I compared my charts to moon calendars dating back to November. Since November, when I left my job and started my own company, I have spent much more time outdoors than usual. I work on my patio throughout the day and night, instead of sitting indoors. I’m not sure if this had an impact on regulating my cycle, but it’s intriguing nonetheless.

I found an interesting study regarding moon cycles, ovulation and the resulting gender of the children conceived. I’m including the abstract below, but you can find more information here.

Effects of full moon and no moon on the birth of male and female offsprings were studied in Indian Couples of the age group 20 to 40 years. It was observed that 42 wives who were conceived within 24 hours of ovulation at full moon gave birth of 40 male and 2 female babies. On the other hand 40 women conceived on the day of ovulation 3 days prior to full moon gave birth of 13 male and 27 female babies. But only 5 women conceived on no moon, all of them gave birth of female babies. It was also observed that vaginal pH of the ovulated women during full moon was alkaline (pH 8.7 +/- 0.4) while pH was weak acidic in women ovulated 3 days prior to full moon and no moon (pH 6.4 +/- 0.5; 6.2 +/- 0.5). The basal body temperature (BBT) was increased 0.7 degrees F to 1.3 degrees F during the ovulation period when compared with women during the absence of ovulation. But there is an increase in temperature 0.5 degrees F more in women ovulated in full moon than no moon. Together, these results indicate that alkaline vaginal fluid medium and more rise of BBT during full moon favour conception of male [corrected] babies. This method gives the couple more chance of having male child if conception occurs in the day of ovulation in full moon and having female child if conception occurs in no moon.

This was a small study, but the findings were considered statistically significant. Some interesting take home inferences:

-Full moon ovulation resulted in a much higher rate of male births

-Ovulation three days before full moon resulted in more female births

-New moon ovulation resulted in all female births

-Only a small percentage of women ovulating on the new moon conceived at all

-The moon may have an impact on vaginal pH and body temperature

I could spend years researching the moon and tide effects on the body, but I won’t. It was fun to learn what I have included here and now I know to buckle down and get to business as the moon begins to grow. And to prepare myself when the sky gets dark. I don’t think any of this means I have a better chance of conceiving just because I ovulate with a full moon. I do, however, have a lunar reference if I run out of OPKs.

What do you guys think of this? How does your cycle match up with the moon?  Have you heard of any other moon/menstruation/conception myths, studies or theories? 

Time to run! It’s a full moon today, baby. Owwww owwww owwww! (That was supposed to be a wolf howling.)

Train of Thought (WTF)

We’ve all done this: You’re driving in your car, maybe singing along to the music, and you realize you’re thinking about something bizarre. You stop and try to trace it back to its origin. Z came from Y, Y came from X, X came from W, and so on. You try to get back to A. Good luck. It’s a pain in the ass. By the time five minutes has passed, you have forgotten the “bizarre” thing that ignited your puzzle and you’re in your driveway. “Did I run that last stop sign?”

This is how my twelve minute drive went heading home from the grocery store today.

I haven’t had sloppy joes in ages. Quick simple meal. I like it. 

Should I toast the Hawaiian sweet rolls? 

BBQ or oven? 

Oven. 

Oh, Facebook yesterday. Eww. 

The sign is hard to read. This food has been sitting our for 2 years!

And eww. 

Wanted to vomit watching this movie in college. Went to McDonald’s the next day anyway.

Reminds me of all that crap that came out about school lunches a while back. Pink sludge. 

I’m making lunches for my kids once they start school. 

I loved PB&J when I was little. 

Shit. Peanut allergy restrictions in schools. 

Almond butter.

“Green light! Go asshole.”

When can toddlers eat almonds? 

Thoughts of baby choking. 

I look into my rear view mirror. 

FANTASY

“It’s okay sweetie. We’ll be home soon.” (SAID OUT LOUD)

Humiliation. 

I’m Pathetic. 

I’m Delusional.

There’s no baby back there, idiot! 

REALITY

I need to rake my front yard. 

Not my house

Why did I just speak aloud to an imaginary baby? 

Trace train of thought back to sloppy joes while sitting in my car. 

I’m blogging about this. 

I’m fucking crazy. 

Shit! Frozen food! 

Welcome to my _______ life. You can choose the adjective. I can’t decide. 

I’VE OFFICIALLY LOST MY MIND. 

I just spoke aloud to an imaginary baby in the back seat of my car like I was a seasoned mother just going about her day. Seriously? This did not just happen.

It’s Sunnyside’s Birthday, y’all!!!

Y’all – show some birthday love to my girl, Sunnyside!

Sunnyside is one of THE:

• sweetest
• funniest
• cutest
• hippest
• smartest
• givingest
• lovingest
• badassiest

people I’ve ever met.

I honestly think that my personal TTC journey and detours were part of a larger plan to introduce me to this wonderful woman and insert her permanently into my life.

Happy Birthday, Sunnyside.  I love you, girl!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you could describe Sunnyside in ONE word, what would it be?

I held a baby, and I liked it.

Folks, I’ve turned a corner.

I held a baby.  On purpose.  And I liked it.

I didn’t cry.  I didn’t mentally calculate how many weeks I’ve been trying to get another one of my own.  I didn’t try to smuggle him into my purse while his mama was in the bathroom.  And, most importantly – I didn’t begrudge his mama.  Instead,  I snuggled his little neck and remembered when my 4 year old was that small and how good he used to smell.  I looked at my friend and was so proud of her – for being a great mama.

Maybe it’s because I know my friend went through an infertility scare herself when trying to conceive this sweet little man.  Maybe it’s because I knew she had tried for a year to get pregnant – after having a miscarriage – and was one week away from filling her Femara prescription when she found out she was pregnant.

Maybe it’s because I realized that by sulking in my own disappointment and heartache I was indirectly wishing someone else pain.

I’d never wish someone unhappiness or ill-will.  I’d never intentionally want someone to feel the emptiness, frustration, disappointment, anger and uncertainty that I have felt for the past 18 months.  But, by rolling my eyes at every pregnant woman to walk past me, or cringing at the sight of a new mama with her snuggle-bug, I realized that I was indirectly wishing that she didn’t have that happiness.  To me, I thought I was wishing that I could have that.  But, the reality was, I was wishing these women didn’t have it if I couldn’t.

So, I was inadvertently wishing them the same pain and sadness that I was feeling.

Whoa.  Reality check.

Ever since I read “Love and Infertility,” my perspective has been shifting slowly.  Sex has been more about sex and less about the expected result.   The BBT thermometer hasn’t come out of the medicine cabinet in 3 weeks.   I’ve found myself using words like “When” instead of “IF” and am just overall a happier, less-stressed person.

And, I invited my friend to come to my work and eat lunch with me.  Hell – I even bought her lunch.  I found myself inhaling my lunch so I could get that sweet young’n out of his stroller and love on his little 5 month old cheeks.  And, not once did I find myself feeling sad or bitter.  I found myself happy and hopeful.

No, I am not a subscriber to the “hold a baby and you’ll get pregnant” philosophy.  But, I’m now a subscriber to the “holding a baby won’t break you” philosophy.

And that’s good enough for me.