I’m not sure what to do. It’s a decision that nobody can make but me. The only thing completely out of the realm of possibilities is option C. No way. If I don’t use them I’ll offer them to someone else.

If I don’t use them.

I’m mulling things over. Pros and cons both ways, back and forth and back and forth.

I don’t know if I’m tough enough to do all that again. The shots for a year…the waiting and wondering and hoping. The falling apart and dragging myself back together. Can I handle all that and still keep up with taking care of a 15-month old? And myself? ‘Cause this chicken sure ain’t getting any younger, you know? Care will definitely have to be taken.

I honestly don’t know. I see now how IVF after a successful pregnancy can definitely be yet another nightmare. It puts a face on the on the end result. It smells like warm milk, sounds like dreams and feels like a tiny warm bundle hugging onto you. And if/when it goes badly (depending on if you’re an optimist), you now know exactly what you’ve lost.

I’m not sure I’m that tough, and I’m scared to be wrong. Maybe I’ll just stay on the fence until I fall off or something knocks me off. That’s usually how things work for me, anyway. Aren’t my decision making-skills amazing?

I’m obviously not posting much, but I can’t walk away from this site. It’s mine, I poured my soul into it when it had nowhere else to go. The online IF community was a lifesaver for me, and in many ways still is. I still check in on people and their blogs, but I’m a horrible commenter. Maybe I just don’t really have that much to say right now. The time that I’ve spent in the presence of this tiny person living with me has been very introspective. A time for reflection and preparation. I’m sort of a scraped-together person. I’ve had some ugliness in my life (done to me as well as by me). Who hasn’t? I’ve managed to suck it up and move on as best I can. What wisdom and confidence I have has been hard-earned, hammered together, recycled and dragged through all kinds of muck. But I still have it. Growing up me was kind of horrific for reasons I’m not ready to air. My memories are by no means intact – there are gaps of years when I just lived in my own head rather than face my shitty little world. My history is disjointed and jagged, full of rocks and riptides. I’ve been incredibly self-destructive, but I’m still here. The days when I wished I wasn’t have been in the rear-view mirror for a long time (for which I thank every deity available). I’m jaded, I’m cynical and I’m sarcastic. And that was all before infertility joined the parade. I usually feel like a gorilla with a teacup at shiny happy events/occasions. Out of place, just not quite…..right.

And now I have a daughter. Who says God/The Universe doesn’t have a sense of humor? So much of being a parent seems to be sharing who you are, your experiences, living by example. So far I can only think of attempting that last one (just don’t drink out of the wine bottle with a straw when she’s around). Pulling out happy memories to pass on, conveying a sense of history and belonging to her – will be difficult for me. Getting her here was only the first challenge. I knew this was coming, I just wasn’t…really, well….all that prepared.

I guess we’ll both just have to learn as we go, huh?

What would you DO??

My heart goes out to his family, as well as his other victims….

Peace, y’all.

I’m posting that link for me as much as for anyone else. For the days when it all comes flooding back and I can’t think of how to explain how I’m feeling.

A part of you stays in the trenches forever, even if you finally have a child. It just morphs into a different kind of hurt.

So today, my Daily Dharma was most refreshing and appropriate. I give you:

The Power of Failure

Everybody, even the best of us, will sometimes behave ingloriously, and to think otherwise is to be hemmed in by vanity. As sad sinners wandering through samsara, one of the few things we can count on is that we are on occasion going to screw up miserably. For those of us who are exceptionally reliable in this regard, it is nothing less than a saving grace, is it not, that in our guise as bodhisattvas, falling down on the job is the biggest part of the job, and sometimes, somehow, failure, if allowed to do its work, can actually be surprisingly emancipatory. It can even help make us whole. We have to try to be better—wiser, kinder, more generous—people, but mostly there’s no getting away from our embarrassing, maddening, harebrained selves.

Andrew Cooper, “The Debacle”

Wishing you all a very merry weekend….

That’s all I have to say about that.

How do you realistically comfort someone when you know what a crapshoot it is? I remember stretches of time when I thought I was drowning. Things got much worse before they got better. They did get better, and I have a daughter to show for my years of agony. But sometimes it doesn’t get better. As bad as you think it is it can always, always get worse. The whole process is so overwhelming, and I remember being so emotionally raw. Despair, anger, jealousy and fear all fighting for top billing. And echoes of those emotions are right underneath my skin, I was shocked at how much came flooding back. My throat closed up and all that came out was “I’m so sorry”….. When I heard that their cycle had failed, it all came rocketing back and hit me so hard I could barely breathe. I honestly thought I’d be better at this, but I don’t blow sunshine well. I wanted to be encouraging, I wanted to be comforting. I was none of those things. PTSD much? Probably. I sent her a couple of emails, sensing she didn’t want to talk. I don’t blame her, I didn’t after my failed cycles. Told her I was here for her, sent her a couple of links. I told her that I remember how hard it was to talk about, that just because I’m not asking doesn’t mean I don’t care. I pondered bringing her brownies. And then I marvelled at just how ineffective I was. I wish I’d been better for her. What would you have said?

Gratitude

Gratitude, the simple and profound feeling of being thankful, is the foundation of all generosity. I am generous when I believe that right now, right here, in this form and this place, I am myself being given what I need. Generosity requires that we relinquish something, and this is impossible if we are not glad for what we have. Otherwise the giving hand closes into a fist and won’t let go.

- Sallie Jiko Tisdale, “As If There is Nothing to Lose”

I find myself feeling very quiet and serene when life is anything but that for me just now. A baby is a lot of work, my relationship with my husband is a work in progress as is my relationship with myself. But it feels like I’ve stripped away all the worthless crap in my life, and am finally only worried about what truly matters. All things are not wonderful in my world – there are financial, marital and family issues that I’ve dealt with for a long time, and they ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. Such is my lot. Things in my life don’t ever work out as planned, easy turns into complex and to be honest, I’m a pretty jaded person because of all that.

And yet.

For the first time I feel I can let all of that go. I’ve apparently made a choice not to clutter my life with any of my stupid baggage any more. I don’t know how or when I made it, but it’s done. I had no idea one of the things I’d get out of this motherhood deal was a new lease on my own life. So here I go about my tiny little day, being grateful…and damn, does it feel good.

I’m still working, still amazed by how very little I care about my job anymore. Don’t see that changing any time soon. I’m not the person I was before, never will be. Still wish part time was an option, but it isn’t at this time. I know, oh woe is me – poor, poor pitiful me. I got absolutely nothing to bitch about. Even if I do, I don’t. And if I feel like I want to start bitching about something, I look at this:

…….and it all goes away. I still can’t believe this is my life, keep wondering when the universe will realize a mistake was made, will take it all back. I wonder how people who have never been through infertility do it. I wonder how they don’t ever have breath die in their throats at the possibility of losing their child, and I wonder how it doesn’t seem to occur to them every 15 seconds. I wonder how people can hurt anyone’s child, much less their own. And then I wonder what happened to create this piece of shit. And how does he get a kid and so many other people don’t. I mean really. WTF?? Then I go hug my kid and promise to do my level best for her forever and beyond.

We had nothing at home for taking care of a baby. Nothing. A couple of newborn onesies and socks, newborn diapers that swallowed her whole. No place to even put her down. Two of our best friends in the world got our carseat/stroller combo we’d registered for while we were still in the hospital or we wouldn’t have been able to bring her home. The day I was discharged, my mother set out from Chattanooga bringing with her everything she and other family members had dug out of attics or bought in a rush. Bags full of newborn/preemie clothes and blankets, a bassinet and a changing pad/cover. An old pack and play, a blanket my favorite aunt started knitting for me a year ago. Then I’d miscarried and she put it away. She’d stayed up really late finishing it the night before my mother left so she could bring that as well. Mom arrived at our house about 30 minutes after we got home, sent D to the store to get diapers and formula, go rent a breast pump and get food for the adults. She did my laundry so I could at least have the clean panties I was so upset about before going to the hospital. And she stayed for a week and a half. It was like living someone else’s life. It was everything I’d wanted and been afraid I’d never have. It didn’t happen at all like I thought it would, the more we plan the more things go to shit, it seems. And yet….it all still works out. We still have her. I am still in awe of her, amazed that she’s really here.

I no longer check on her every 15 minutes. But I have woken up from a sound sleep to run into her room, heart in my throat only to find her snoring peacefully, her arms tucked behind her head. I have these visions, I see horrible things happening to her and I’m always just too late to stop them. I try to figure out how to get to her before she’s hurt, or lost, or frightened. My stomach clenches at the thought of taking any part of this journey for granted, we fought so hard to get here. I am so keenly aware of knowing I have to live with myself if something happens to her. Does every mother think like this? Is this just the ever-pessimistic infertile? I’m not so paranoid that I always have to have her in my sight, but I can’t stop the dark thoughts from occasionally flitting across my sunshine. At first I was always asking D “is she alright” if I was driving, or if I had been away from her for a period of time. Sometimes I’d ask multiple times during a 15-minute car trip. He’d indulge me but I knew he thought I was just being crazy. We picked her up from daycare the other day, and 4 times during a 30 minute ride home he asked me the same question. I finally just climbed in the back seat and held her hand and chatted with her until we got home. Made us both feel better. We’re amazed and thankful every day, and we know exactly how lucky we are. And we love this little girl more than either one of us thought possible…..