Infertility sucks

I suffer from secondary infertility.  

My beautiful daughter turns three soon, and we’ve been trying for 20 months to give her a brother or sister without any luck.  Unless you count an early-stage miscarriage as luck, because your doctor will count that as a win – like, “You got pregnant.  It just didn’t stick.”  Great.  Comforting.  Thanks.

I had never heard of the term “secondary infertility” until things just weren’t happening for us.  Infertile meant not able to have babies.  We had a baby.  We were going to have another one.  And another one.  And maybe one more.  We fell pregnant really quickly the first time, and quite naïvely thought it would happen that way again, which is why we didn’t start trying until our daughter was 18 months old.  I just wasn’t ready to be pregnant again before then.  Had I known I’d be turning 35 after almost two years of trying, I would have gotten it together right from the six-week all-clear! 

And this sucks.  All kinds of sucks that people don’t understand unless they are or have been where I am – or even harder, not having been able to have a child at all.  And that is the only bloody silver lining here.  My beautiful girl.  She is funny and smart, kind, gentle, sensitive, stubborn, shy and outgoing depending on which way the wind is blowing, and I don’t think it’s possible for me to love her any more than I do!  She’s a cool kid.  She keeps me going.  And smiling when I so don’t want to because I’ve seen/read or been given yet another freaking pregnancy announcement.  I have honestly lost count of the number of friends and acquaintances that are having babies this year.  Stab.  It seems everyone with a uterus (or even part of one) and a partner (even a sketchy one) is pregnant! Stab. People have had babies who are now celebrating their first birthdays in the time we’ve been trying. Stab.

I’ve received fertility advice from every corner and on every aspect of conception, and even on coping with infertility.  Depending on my hormone levels, it can be funny, appreciated, annoying or really hurtful.  (And for the record, whatever you want to tell me to try/not try, I’ve done it, got it, tried it or been told about it but thanks anyway).  We are seeing a specialist who tested us both for all the obvious issues (clear) and operated on me last Friday to try and figure out what was going on, and turns out he can’t find anything.  Awesome.

I am a woman of faith, and I have prayed so hard about this that I’m sick of bugging God about it.  I’ve had other people pray for me. And while I have my moments where I am happy and content with just one (and it’s not like I don’t get how blessed I am to have her!  Truly!), there are all those other moments.  I don’t drop my bundle every month anymore, but man those ultrasound photos on Facebook announcing an impending baby just rock me to the core.  My stomach drops and knots at the same time (who thought that was possible?).  And I drop my bundle.  For a few days.  

And I had been feeling really bad about that part – I should just be happy for them and not feel any sadness or grief for myself, but oh boy, do I! – until a beautiful friend pointed out to me that I am entitled to lose it because I’m on a journey.  A sucky, difficult, frustrating, confusing, painful journey of wanting more children but not being able to, which often involves tears.

So I will cry every time someone announces they’re pregnant and I’m not.  Again.  And I will be hurt and sad it’s not me.  Again.  And I will feel a stab in my heart every time I see a newborn because that woman has what I want.  And I will give myself permission to feel all those things because it’s the truth, it’s honest and it’s painful, and the only way pain goes away is to let yourself feel it until it runs out.

We’re getting pet chickens instead.  I want cats too but don't think the two groups will cohabitate happily.  I may only be a parent to one child, but I can at least try and do that job well.

No more Mrs Nice Jen. Well, not really...

It’s hard to pin-point when exactly this happened, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been a people-pleaser my whole life.  I will take the blame for just about anything and am always quick to apologise, even when I am not to blame, because part of me secretly thinks it could be my fault – "It probably is my fault," I think to myself – but also so things can get back to happy.  “Please still like me!”

I stand there and take whatever negativity is thrown at me most of the time because I don’t want to fight.  I HATE to fight.  (That, and I’m usually stunned into silence and don’t think of my awesome comebacks until hours later!)  I roll over faster than an obedient trick dog!  Hec, I’m the human equivalent of a golden retriever!  “Forgive me, forgive me, rub my tummy, food?”

This self revelation (well, long-known but long-avoided) came about recently in the most has-to-be-God way.  (As an aside, I have no idea why this life lesson #173 has popped up right now, but I have to believe there is a reason for learning it now because only He knows what’s around the corner that I need the armour for.  It could be God's answer to my last blog post about tip-toeing around issues, though this isn't what I had in mind... Ah, God's timing).  Anywho.  Where was I?

I had a falling out with a friend right at the time I was subbing an article about how dangerous it can be to be a “nice” girl.  The author wrote: “You see, nice girls don't talk back. Nice girls don't want to upset people because nice girls are, evidently, responsible for other people's moods.” 

Hello!  I’m that nice girl, dang it!  At 34, I hate that about myself!  I love lots of things about me, but the fact that I take everyone else’s crap on board and roll over so bloody easily to try and keep the peace is not cool.  I hate it even more than I hate to fight.  So this revelation heralds a new start for me.

I wish I could be as dramatic as saying “no more Mrs Nice Jen”, but I will always be soft-hearted and kind.  That is one of the things I like about myself.  I will always forgive because that is how God wants us to be, and though I am a spectacularly flawed human, I will always strive to forgive.

But I will not carry other people’s issues anymore, or their choices, or their baggage, or the crap they throw back at me because of something going on in their lives.  That’s their stuff to get counselling for/sort out/process/or carry.  I will always be there to listen, or cheer them on if they ask for that, hug it out if that’s what they need, or leave them the hec alone if they tell me to.  And that’s fine.  I will be sad but I will not take the hit when it's not due.

I know me.  I like me.  If anyone doesn't like me, I’m cool with that too.

Tip-toe around the issues

So, don't you just hate it when you're the meat in the sandwich, and you could go a big old rant on Facebook or, say, a blog you happen to write, but the slices of bread and other sandwich filling would explode if you actually told the full truth and shared your true feelings and you're just trying to keep your shite together and keep the peace and everything's sunshine and rainbows?  Yep.  Me either. 

See, like the blog I wrote about being a different version of yourself when you're with different groups of people, it's the same with information and/or feelings.  There are times when you just have to keep your big mouth and heart shut!  And I struggle with that because I have both a big mouth (not in the blabbing-I-can't-keep-a-secret way, but in the I love to talk and share about my life way) and a big heart - and the bigger that is, the more easily it's trod on and hurt, and by age 34 that's happened a lot and surprisingly doesn't lessen with time... so far.  Yep, I'm a big old talking softie and there are lots of things I'd love to share with the world but in order to keep peace and unity, I have to keep it all inside.  And that's hard!  And it hurts!

I'm going to pray about this one, and try and be guided in the best way to handle it because I can feel myself changing into a cranky, snappy and cynical person.  And I don't like her.  Sometimes you just have to let it all out and let the cards fall where they may, because even though they might be a mess and will be damaged by the time they find their way back into the pack, at least you're not wondering and bottling any more.  The only thing worth bottling is a good beer.

Stay tuned.

Potty training blues

My darling daughter is determined not to potty train.  She's 2 and 7 months and doesn't want a bar of going to the potty.  It's not like she's never used it, or had nappy-off time and made messes on the floor, or been put in knickers to 'let herself feel uncomfortable' as a motivator.  We've also had the sticker chart that had been up on our wall for so long the BluTac lost its tac!  And lollies she chose as her 'poo reward' sitting in the pantry so long they're kind of gross-looking now.  And stickers for the aforementioned chart at the ready that are getting so old they're losing their stick too!  She knows what they're all for, how to get them; she wants them but not enough to use the potty for anything other than storage.  That connection between 'I need to go' and 'I'll go to the potty' is totally absent - either by design or by determination.  I even got my very first parenting book - the only book in the library about potty training, produced by a toy company!  But surprisingly, a lot of it made sense and showed me that the essential ingredients for potty training just aren't there with her yet.  And that's okay, because they will be.

In my mummy-mind, the fact that my more than 2 1/2 year old isn't potty trained makes me a failure because everyone knows girls should be toilet trained by age 2!  I didn't start early enough.  I've been too distracted.  I didn't try hard enough at the right time.  I'm doing it wrong.  I'm doing it wrong for her learning style.  The fact that I work and don't have the full-time availability to focus on potty training makes me a bad mum.  And on my days at home I'm running around trying to keep all the balls in the air, and because I'm not letting the washing overflow and the kitchen turn rancid to focus on potty training makes me a bad mum.  My child will not be allowed to go to kindy because she'll still be in pull-ups!  Bad mummy!

It might seem ridiculous when you read that back again, but that's the circular thinking I have going on most of the time these days.  I know she'll get there when she's ready and willing, like all the other milestones to date.  And if I try and force it beforehand, it turns into a battle of wills and not about learning to use the potty!  And with her heritage, she'll be wearing nappies into her teens just to spite me!

My husband and I have been on holidays this past week, and we had such great plans - one of which was trying out some of the new potty-training techniques in the book.  Perfect!  We're both home, nowhere to go, all the time in the world.  But then we all got gastro and have spent the week holed up in the house, feeling tired and 'delicate', riding out this virus!  Our next holiday is in January where we're going on a massive road trip!  Hardly conducive to potty training either!  Faaaa crying out loud! 

BUT!  She will get there.  When she's ready.  Like rolling over, crawling, walking, eating solids and using utensils.  She is a clever kid and I believe in her.

What makes a full life?

My beautiful mum turned 70 this month.  My sisters, brother and I are throwing her a big birthday bash on Saturday because she deserves it, she’s worth it, we love her to bits and want to make a big fuss of her, and making it to 70 is a pretty big deal!   It’s such a big deal that her sister, my aunt, flew into town earlier this week to help us get ready for the party (read: chill mum out and help her get ready for the party!).  After the initial excitement and fuss of seeing each other again, my mum answered my aunt’s exclamations of making it to 70 with “I’ve WASTED my life!” 

I was gob-smacked!  I was shocked at the time, but her words have been sitting in my mind since then like a stubborn bird on a branch in a storm.  “What do you mean you’ve wasted your life?”  Wind gust, lightening flash, rain dripping off beak.  She pretty much single-handedly raised four children who have grown into pretty awesome grown-ups.  She volunteered all through her life – from the school tuckshop and cake stalls and fetes, to fundraising drives and campaigns, to telephone counselling, which lead to her starting a university degree in her 50s and getting her Masters in counselling not long after.  “What do you mean you’ve wasted your life?”  Tree branch blown about, ruffled, soaked feathers, crash of thunder.  True my dad was a schmuck to her and left her for another woman, but she is now surrounded only by love - of family and friends and her seven beautiful grandchildren.  “What do you mean you’ve wasted your life?”

This got me thinking in the shower last night, where all good thoughts come and world problems are solved, what constitutes a fulfilled life?  Do you have to ride a bicycle around the world with nothing but a pump, spare tubes and a toothbrush?  Do you have to live on a remote Pacific island and build a school and teach poor children to read and write?  Do you have to go from rags to riches?   Do you have to foster 100 children and take in people in need? 

I’d never really thought about it before.  I like having adventures, though I’m getting more “settled” the older I get.  I’ve accumulated a few regrets in the first 34 years of my life, but I am content with where I am now – my beautiful husband, my beautiful daughter, our ramshackle house that needs work, my career (though I may still lose my job, I love what I do) and I have a small handful of awesome friends.   My life is small.  Meaningful and full of love, but small.   But since hearing my mum’s declaration, I’m starting to think…  Is that not enough?  Will I get to 70 (God willing) and be kicking myself for being so boring?

Maybe we should sell up and move to Tasmania to build that hay bail house my hubby and I talk about when we’re feeling crummy?  Maybe we should pack up and go live in a remote place of the globe and try and make a difference there?  Maybe we should throw caution to the wind and spend a year travelling around our own country?  Money, money, money!  Paper, plastic and coins run the world and we don't have much of it.  Dangnabit!

So what do you think constitutes a full and fulfilled life?  Is raising a family, paying off a house, working on your marriage, making friends, laughing and making memories and doing your part to make the world a better place (like having sponsor children, volunteering, raising your children well etc) not enough?  Or do you not figure it out until you’re 70?   I’ve only got 35.5 years to go!  Better get a wriggle on!

Facebook ditch?

Relatives of mine ditched their Facebook accounts last week, and it got me thinking – should I do the same?  If I’m honest, which is pretty much always, I’m a bit addicted to Facebook but particularly when I’m at work and there’s a few minutes lull in the workflow.  “I’ll just check Facebook,” I think… about 20 times a day.  And in this current climate with yet another round of redundancies around the corner at work, should I REALLY be checking Facebook at work 20 times a day?  Yeah, me either.

But it’s more than showing my bosses I’m not a slacker. 

I have 166 “friends”, some I haven’t “spoken to” since we friended each other several years ago.  That doesn’t mean I don’t like them or they don’t like me – we just don’t talk.  When I “friend” someone on Facebook or accept a friend request, it is because I genuinely like that person and would like to hear from them and keep in touch.  We all learned that lesson when Facebook was new and we friended anyone and everyone we’d ever met and ended up with 400 friends we could barely remember meeting in person!  There is one such old “friend” that I would love to hear from and reform a friendship with, but they seem content just to be number 150-something of 166 friends.  Weird.  But not unusual.  I’m not taking it personally.  Moving on!

But on throwing the question out there “What impression of me do you have from my Facebook life?” I was pleasantly surprised by the people who responded and what they had to say.  So then I think, “Hmm, perhaps I shouldn’t leave this little (massive) community just yet?  While I don’t hear from many people, there are actually people who take an interest in what I’m making for dinner or what epiphany I’ve had while hanging up the washing.  (Well, perhaps not interest so much as entertained by!)  And what if someone from 1987 wants to find me?”

And that is the dilemma – while I don’t always make contact with the 166 people on Facebook, I like knowing that I can.  If they need me for whatever reason, I know they can find me.  And if I ever need them, I know where to find them.  It’s the old fashioned equivalent of having everyone’s phone number in your old address book, though without the constantly changing numbers when people move cities!  And in those days, you didn’t rip out a page just because that person/those people hadn’t called you in two years.

But it’s more than the “friends” who aren’t actually friends.  Here is another reason to keep it. 

My life from 2007 onwards is on my Facebook account.  The milestones – meeting and falling in love with my now husband; rediscovering my faith and passion for Jesus; new jobs; moving cities; finding out I was pregnant and that whole journey; and now all the photos and stories of our beautiful girl – the ups and downs; the good, the bad, the ugly and the hilarious.  That’s all on Facebook, and if I take it down forever, I’ll lose that “family album”.  It would take me weeks to go through all my photos and save them.  But Facebook won’t be around forever so it’s probably not a bad job to start.

But it’s more than my family album.  And here’s the big reason to delete my account.

I want to focus on and add some new things into my life that are healthier and more productive – like starting to run again (but oh Lordy, that is going to hurt!), starting yoga, spending more time with friends, and no-technology-time with my husband.  And no, that’s not “code” for anything!  I mean spending time with my husband that doesn’t involve sitting in front of the TV, or sitting beside each other on the couch but each playing a game on our phones or checking Facebook for the 100^th time that day.

I don’t think I’ll go anywhere just yet – I need to get organised and save all those photos and videos first – and besides, how can I let anyone whose interested know that I’ve written another blog post??

Fight the frumps

My body and I have been around the block a few times.  We’ve run down dark roads on cold nights at 2am in high heels, hiding from passing cars in sugar cane fields (you know, just in case there was a mass murderer passing through town!).  We’ve jumped off roofs, out of planes, tripped down gutters, grown a baby, been in a car accident or two, run a race, skinned our knees and hands, broken a bone, crashed while skiing and slid downhill on my face, and all the rest. 

So, standing in the shower this week, it occurred to me just how little I actually look after my body.  I rarely do anything with my hair other than what one or two bobby pins can tackle.  I can’t remember the last time I went to a beautician for any reason.  My mum shouts me a haircut or two a year and I haven’t dyed the (ahhm!) greys for more than six months so I’m looking a little more salt and pepper than the 90s rapper girls.  And more often than not, my toenail or fingernail polish will wear off before I have a chance to get it with remover.  And that’s pretty sad people!  And I resolved to do something about it!

Now, money is tight so as much as I’d love to book in for a weekly massage like I used to in my single days, there are a few things I can do to look after my “vehicle” a little better.

1.        I can moisturise.  I’m usually beyond ready for bed by the time I get out of the shower at night, so I’m not going to kid myself into thinking I can do this every night, but I will try and do it more often than my current twice-a-winter.

2.       I can keep my polish in a reasonable state, especially when summer comes and my toes will be out in the breeze more often.

3.       I can dye my own hair.  Hair colour is regularly on special, so $15 for a box of colour every once in a while isn’t going to cause a mortgage default!

4.       I can make an effort to blowdry my hair before bed more often.  Sure it’s not perfect when I get up the next morning, but it sure is better than the scarecrow straw look I have going on most mornings after I’ve washed my hair!  Hence the bobbypins.

5.       I can give myself manicures, pedicures and facials at home sometimes.  Granted it’s never as nice as when you have it done professionally, but it’s better than nothing!

6.       Make-up and I get along about as well as me and hair product.  I love how I look with make-up on (especially when professionally done), but the next time I look in the mirror after applying it, you can’t even tell I’m wearing anything and my freckles and dark circles look just the same as always, so what’s the point?  It's like it just soaks in and disappears!  But a little compact “pat” every now and again through the day and a top-up of lippy (or pawpaw cream) helps.  Not every day, but at least on my office days.
 
7.       An occasional splurge isn’t going to break us, so perhaps every three or four months I will go and have a massage, or a facial, or have my eyebrows shaped *insert dreamy sigh here*

8.       Get moving!  I am still learning to walk properly after breaking my foot, so running is off the agenda for a while, but I’ve found a local yoga class at the end of my street.  I went on Monday night for my first class and really enjoyed myself – perhaps a little too much given I fell asleep in meditation!  The teacher is easily in her 50s and isn’t a small woman by any means, but my is she flexible!  I think going to her classes as often as I am able will also help my physical and mental health.  And it's so close I will be able to walk... when I can walk again!

9.       Me time.  I have a few really great friends who I love spending time with, and I’m always excited to make new friends, but I am one of those people who needs alone time to really recharge.  I’ve been so busy lately (and having lots of fun with friends) that I haven’t had much quiet time.  Again yoga and getting back out running will help when I’m able to do that again, but I will also try and find some time to myself – hec, even having an early shower and going to bed on my own to read for a while is enough to make me happy!

10.   Put in a bit more effort generally.  Yes I am at home doing the washing and cleaning and haven’t looked in the mirror that day, but instead of the tracksuit pants I will try and reach for a pair of jeans instead.  And instead of a super-sloppy jumper, perhaps a nice warm pullover instead.  And swap the Ugg boots for sneakers.  Frumpy is comfortable, but it does nothing to make you feel like a non-frump.

And a little aside here for my husband, who loves me even when I really am looking like a troll!  The man sure has his rosy glasses on when it comes to how beautiful he thinks his wife is, and I am so blessed by that!  I love that he loves my heart, even when the rest of me looks like something that fell out of a donation clothes bin backwards.  Thank you!