I know it’s been quiet around here (all of my recent posts seem to begin with some incarnation of those same words, I knooooow…), but I honestly just don’t have a whole heck of a lot going on right now!
Well, that’s not entirely true.
Since the last time I posted, there’s been a development.
Another year older, another year
wiser smart-assier, I guess. The thing about birthdays is that they used to be fun for me, a reason to celebrate.
Recently though, each birthday inches me closer to our wedding anniversary later in the month, which just reminds me that it’s getting closer and closer to that FIVE YEAR mark of trying, and failing, to build a family.
I want to point out that while I am feeling physically great lately, and have so much faith in the TCM treatments I’m receiving, there’s only so much confidence can handle before it starts to falter under the crushing weight of statistics and odds…
I guess I wouldn’t really care about getting older if it were just gray hairs and wrinkles I had to deal with, but each birthday I think about my poor, sad, aging eggs, and I wish on whatever birthday cake, pie, cupcake, or plate of bacon that they can just hang in there for ONE MORE YEAR.
Honestly, I just need them to feel all rejuvenated like they’ve been at the egg spa for the past few months, which is how I justify spending out of pocket for acupuncture treatments and gobs of Chinese herbs… Those pampered bitches probably feel like some desperate housewives up in here, but it’s time for them to earn their keep!
Anyway, I know that thirty-three is not the end of the reproductive road, and as Doctor McStabby keeps telling me, I have time on my side. At least part of me believes him, but the other, darker side of my subconscious thinks that I started this journey at age twenty-eight, basically on the later end of the average woman’s reproductive prime. Now I’ve reached the final stretch…
Thirty-five is the point at which you start dipping your toes into the “advanced maternal age” pool. If we’re looking at odds here, they get lower and lower with each year that goes by, and the more I age, the less chance I have at a successful pregnancy and a healthy baby.
Sometimes it feels pretty bleak to think about the uphill battle I feel I’m fighting. Sometimes it all feels like too much, as I see childless friends of ours living their lives to the fullest. Sometimes that seems like maybe not such a bad life…
And then other times I see my friends who had kids when they planned to, friends whose reproductive capacities haven’t dictated the terms of every month of their life, and those friends are seeing their offspring off to school every day, working on their careers and their social lives, and generally just living a whole, full family life.
This is what I see all around me, and I feel like I’m in such a rut. The worst part is that I feel like I’ve taken people down with me. The poor husband, our families, all of our friends. We’re in that awkward married couple tween phase where we’re not quite newlyweds but we’re not quite parents either.
And we’ve been in that awkward place for almost five years.
That shit gets old real fast, yo. And not just for us, I’m sure.
Some days I wonder what we would even be talking about if we weren’t on this rabid pursuit of parenthood. What if we had decided that we didn’t need to have kids? What would we be doing now? Traveling? Climbing corporate ladders? Spending every last dime on making sure our house is outfitted with the very newest of every Apple product on the market?
Maybe. Except the Apple part… We’re Droid folks.
And what if we had managed to have a family right away? Would we too be shuffling a kindergartener off to soccer and ballet and whatever else it is that the kids practice today? Would we be potty-training and watching Yo Gabba Gabba and child-proofing our cabinets? Would we spend that precious after-work time helping with homework and making a family dinner rather than cooking meals for two whilst watching Jeopardy in our sweatpants?
But that’s the wicked What If’s leaking in… There’s no sense in going there, as it only leads to heartache and regret, neither of which are conducive to fat, happy, relaxed, and mature (but not too mature) eggs.
I suppose the best I can do is try to be happy with the life we’ve made for ourselves while living day to day on this seemingly never-ending path.
And by day to day, I obviously mean in two week increments.
If you’ve been trying, failing, and living with infertility for some time, what are some of the “infertility milestones” you’ve reached?
How have you dealt with them? And have they caused you to reconsider your path?
At what point do you just say “Stop. This is far enough. It’s time to go back…”?
I’m not there yet, but I can see it in the distance.
There’s light at the end of this tunnel, but these days I’m not entirely sure it’s the light of a resolved infertility journey, or the light of accepting a childless life.
Where are you in your journey?