Before you roll your eyes at the bitter infertile talking, hear me out on this.
I do NOT believe that children are a blessing from God.
That is not to say that they aren't amazing, wonderful, innocent creatures -- indeed, they are. That is not to say that parents should not feel grateful for the amazing, wonderful, and innocent creatures that are in their care.
But please, let's stop mistaking gratitude for God's favor.
By saying that you have been "blessed" with a nice home, two cars, a good job, and a houseful of children -- you are also saying that others have not. What message does that send to the homeless? The unemployed? The infertile? That you are worthy of God's favor, and, by default, they are not.
Our society likes to publicly state that we owe everything we have to God. It's a way of sounding humble, of acknowledging that we in no way have done anything to "deserve" the magnitude of success we achieve. It's also total bullshit.
I am by no means saying that we should not be grateful for things in our lives. I am very fortunate to have been born into white, middle-class America and have benefited greatly from that. I got a good education, I have a good job, and Mo and I therefore have a lot of really nice things. I'm lucky in that, should times turn tough, I have a family to lean on and support me. I don't anticipate having to go to a shelter, or a food bank, or a welfare office in order to make ends meet. But -- does that make me more "blessed" than those that do? Am I, due to circumstances largely beyond my control, somehow in "favor" with God? I don't really think so.
I know that most parents, when they speak of the blessings that their children bestow, they are in fact trying to express the sincere sense of gratitude they feel for being able to parent. They are not trying to say that they are somehow "better" than those of us without children. And yet, to say that you have been blessed with children, it automatically begs the question: why have I not?
Kim. K. of Kar.dashian fame was heard saying recently, "I work hard, so I deserve nice things." While that may very well be true, don't all of us work hard at something? Is she more deserving of the millions she makes than a serviceman or woman fighting overseas? Let's face it -- most of us do not "deserve" the crap life hands us. And yet it keeps on coming, in one form or another.
And, for all that you (and I, for that matter) may someday feel that our as-yet-unconceived children ARE actually gifts from God, I simply cannot imagine that He is up in Heaven passing them out like candy for deeds well done. He doesn't look at the drug-addicts, or child-abusers, or neglectful parents and say "THESE are my chosen people! Let's bless them with an abundance of children!" In that same vein, I don't believe that my infertility is my "punishment" for lack of faith, or for any sins I may have committed unknowingly in the past.
Some of us are lucky in the game of life. Some of us are not. I do think we should focus on being more grateful for the wonderful things we DO have. We should never take them for granted, because life can change in an instant. But to publicly state that our material possessions, or our children, are given to us because we're "blessed" by God also sends the message that those who aren't, don't deserve it.
And THAT, my friends, is something I just can't embrace. So, disagree with me if you will, but I will continue to say it: children are a host of wonderful things and they bring pure, unadulterated joy to their parents. But neither they, nor your home/cars/diamonds/job, are a reflection of God's favor (or lack thereof). Should I ever be fortunate enough to have a child in my life to raise, I will likely thank God every day. But I will never, ever, ever imply that said child is a blessing, for that is just a slap in the face of those whose lives took a different path.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Left Behind
I didn't mean to go MIA, I promise. I'm simply swamped with life, and work, and trying to find a balance that leaves me time to do anything besides clean the house or work on lesson plans. I'm finally starting to get ahead, and promise to try to be a better blogger/commenter/friend.
I must confess, though, I'm finding it kind of hard to read many of the blogs in my reader these days. It seems like everyone is either pregnant or in the throes of an IVF cycle. Everyone else, here and in IRL, is moving on, except me. I am tired of being the bitchy infertile, but I just feel left behind. It's like everyone is graduating, and I've got to go to summer school. All I want is that diploma, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I'm stuck in the audience, watching all my friends walk across that stage. They are all celebrating (as well they should) and moving onto the next chapter in their lives. Meanwhile, I'm here in limbo, still unsure of whether or not I'll ever get to join them, and yet knowing that life will continue to go on regardless.
Mo is making great strides in softening up toward adoption. I think he's finally coming to the realization that that is quite likely the only way we will ever be parents. I've quietly started researching all our options, weighing pros and cons of the different paths, and trying to wrap my head around the entire process. Fellow adopters may shake their heads at my ignorance, but I honestly believe that after all we've been through in the IF world, adoption will seem a helluva lot simpler. Yes, there's a ton of paperwork, and yes, there's a ton of waiting -- but haven't I been doing that already? My medical history is as convoluted as my marital one, and I've filled out more than my fair share of forms, affidavits, etc. in the last six years. :-) And don't even get me started on the waiting!!!! After nine years and eight months of TTC -- what's a little longer?
Our "Final FET" as I've begun to call it is tentatively scheduled for November/December. I got the cycle plan in the mail today, and was so tickled to see how low-maintenance Dr. Down-to-Earth is making it. Estrace for a few weeks, ONE sonogram (done locally), followed by more Estrace. Start POI a few days prior to transfer. Continue until pregnancy test. That's it. It almost seems a bit anti-climatic -- certainly not the ending that I anticipated to our fertility treatment journey.
And that's where we are. Pretty much in the same place we were a month ago, but with slightly more optimistic outlooks for the future. I keep trying to convince myself that pregnancy is just a tedious, exhausting means to an end -- and through adoption, I can bypass all that misery! Certainly my body isn't a fan of gestating, as it so efficiently rid itself of all products of conception each and every time we tried to convince it that, truly, that WAS what nature intended it to do. (Ha! The uterus scoffs).
I know, I know...I'm a broken record these days. I've just been on this rollercoaster for way too long and, people, I really, really, really want to get off.
I just don't want to get off emptyhanded.
I must confess, though, I'm finding it kind of hard to read many of the blogs in my reader these days. It seems like everyone is either pregnant or in the throes of an IVF cycle. Everyone else, here and in IRL, is moving on, except me. I am tired of being the bitchy infertile, but I just feel left behind. It's like everyone is graduating, and I've got to go to summer school. All I want is that diploma, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I'm stuck in the audience, watching all my friends walk across that stage. They are all celebrating (as well they should) and moving onto the next chapter in their lives. Meanwhile, I'm here in limbo, still unsure of whether or not I'll ever get to join them, and yet knowing that life will continue to go on regardless.
Mo is making great strides in softening up toward adoption. I think he's finally coming to the realization that that is quite likely the only way we will ever be parents. I've quietly started researching all our options, weighing pros and cons of the different paths, and trying to wrap my head around the entire process. Fellow adopters may shake their heads at my ignorance, but I honestly believe that after all we've been through in the IF world, adoption will seem a helluva lot simpler. Yes, there's a ton of paperwork, and yes, there's a ton of waiting -- but haven't I been doing that already? My medical history is as convoluted as my marital one, and I've filled out more than my fair share of forms, affidavits, etc. in the last six years. :-) And don't even get me started on the waiting!!!! After nine years and eight months of TTC -- what's a little longer?
Our "Final FET" as I've begun to call it is tentatively scheduled for November/December. I got the cycle plan in the mail today, and was so tickled to see how low-maintenance Dr. Down-to-Earth is making it. Estrace for a few weeks, ONE sonogram (done locally), followed by more Estrace. Start POI a few days prior to transfer. Continue until pregnancy test. That's it. It almost seems a bit anti-climatic -- certainly not the ending that I anticipated to our fertility treatment journey.
And that's where we are. Pretty much in the same place we were a month ago, but with slightly more optimistic outlooks for the future. I keep trying to convince myself that pregnancy is just a tedious, exhausting means to an end -- and through adoption, I can bypass all that misery! Certainly my body isn't a fan of gestating, as it so efficiently rid itself of all products of conception each and every time we tried to convince it that, truly, that WAS what nature intended it to do. (Ha! The uterus scoffs).
I know, I know...I'm a broken record these days. I've just been on this rollercoaster for way too long and, people, I really, really, really want to get off.
I just don't want to get off emptyhanded.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Life Goes On
I think that's the hardest lesson Mo and I have had to learn over the last three years.
Even when you wish it wouldn't, even when you can't fathom it being possible, life does, indeed, go on.
It goes on despite deaths, and births, and devastating diagnoses. It goes on despite the pain, despite the sorrow, despite the desire to curl up in bed for days on end. Life goes on.
And so, when my sister texted me on September 2nd and asked me how I was feeling, I shouldn't have been surprised when it took me a moment to realize what she was referring to.
One year has passed since I first didn't get to bring my baby home with me. Had our first pregnancy worked out, my child would be turning one. And I almost forgot.
How is that even possible? I feel like the worst mother alive -- and I'm not even technically a mother. But how, HOW, could I forget, for even a moment? How could I not remember ever second of every day that life that grew inside of me? How could that experience -- and the next loss six months later -- disappear from the forefront of my mind?
It did because life goes on, and the pain that was so excruciating a year ago, has faded. It hasn't disappeared, but its no longer the blazing hole in my heart that it once was. No one wants to hear it while in the throes of grief (myself included), but there's a reason that it's a cliche: time does, indeed, if not heal all wounds, at least allow them to scab over.
Life goes on, whether we want it to or not, whether we think we can survive it or not. We continue to breathe in, breathe out, to put one foot in front of the other. We do it because we have to, but it could hardly be said that we enjoy it. We endure, until one day we realize that it doesn't hurt quite so much. We learn to smile again, to laugh without feeling guilty. We return to our everyday, mundane activities. We go to work, we cook dinner. Slowly -- oh, so slowly -- we learn how to live again.
Because life goes on, even in the shadow of death. And while I'm not sure of a whole helluva lot else, I am sure of this: life will continue to go on long after me, and Mo, and all of our trials and tribulations are long gone. Life will go on -- whether we're able to create it or not.
And for some reason I can't quite articulate, I find that strangely comforting.
Even when you wish it wouldn't, even when you can't fathom it being possible, life does, indeed, go on.
It goes on despite deaths, and births, and devastating diagnoses. It goes on despite the pain, despite the sorrow, despite the desire to curl up in bed for days on end. Life goes on.
And so, when my sister texted me on September 2nd and asked me how I was feeling, I shouldn't have been surprised when it took me a moment to realize what she was referring to.
One year has passed since I first didn't get to bring my baby home with me. Had our first pregnancy worked out, my child would be turning one. And I almost forgot.
How is that even possible? I feel like the worst mother alive -- and I'm not even technically a mother. But how, HOW, could I forget, for even a moment? How could I not remember ever second of every day that life that grew inside of me? How could that experience -- and the next loss six months later -- disappear from the forefront of my mind?
It did because life goes on, and the pain that was so excruciating a year ago, has faded. It hasn't disappeared, but its no longer the blazing hole in my heart that it once was. No one wants to hear it while in the throes of grief (myself included), but there's a reason that it's a cliche: time does, indeed, if not heal all wounds, at least allow them to scab over.
Life goes on, whether we want it to or not, whether we think we can survive it or not. We continue to breathe in, breathe out, to put one foot in front of the other. We do it because we have to, but it could hardly be said that we enjoy it. We endure, until one day we realize that it doesn't hurt quite so much. We learn to smile again, to laugh without feeling guilty. We return to our everyday, mundane activities. We go to work, we cook dinner. Slowly -- oh, so slowly -- we learn how to live again.
Because life goes on, even in the shadow of death. And while I'm not sure of a whole helluva lot else, I am sure of this: life will continue to go on long after me, and Mo, and all of our trials and tribulations are long gone. Life will go on -- whether we're able to create it or not.
And for some reason I can't quite articulate, I find that strangely comforting.
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