Monday, May 4, 2015
Still...
Struggling a little...stress eating, overwhelmed at work...but took the action I needed by going back to the gym. Workouts have been great, food is still my Achilles heel.
I'll never have that.
I remember the moment that I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be a mom. And for a fleeting second, a doubt that it would ever happen.
I was in my 20s, living in Rochester. I had found a church I really enjoyed -- good pastor, good sermons, good cantor -- and I became a regular church-goer.
It was Mother's Day and the priest asked for all to stand except the moms. We were to raise a hand and say a prayer over the mothers. The young family in front of me had three boys; the youngest stood on the pew and put his hand on his mom's head as we repeated after the priest. And then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
I'll never have that.
As soon as the thought popped into my head, it left.
My maternal yearnings kicked into high gear and I spent the rest of my 20s and early 30s moving my deadline a little further out. I kept pushing the deadline because, to me, it felt like making the baby dream happen in this way was to give up on love. If I'm not married by XX age, then I'll have a baby on my own. First it was 32, then 35 and then finally at 37, I made the appointment with my OB to discuss my options.
I had the blood work done in anticipation of my first appointment. The nurse practitioner called me a few days before the appointment to give me time to digest that this wasn't going to be easy. "We'll have a lot to talk about, but your numbers indicate a fertility issue."
I'll never have that.
For the second time in my life, that thought popped into my head. And this time, it stuck a little longer.
I would learn at that appointment that my egg reserve, at the age of 37, was that of a post-menopausal woman, even though I showed no other signs of being near menopause. That my eggs did not mature. Each month -- for a few years or my entire reproductive life span, who knows? -- I released an egg that would not be capable of creating a life.
During that time, even though I was a regular church goer, I did not attend mass on Mother's Day.
I was in my 20s, living in Rochester. I had found a church I really enjoyed -- good pastor, good sermons, good cantor -- and I became a regular church-goer.
It was Mother's Day and the priest asked for all to stand except the moms. We were to raise a hand and say a prayer over the mothers. The young family in front of me had three boys; the youngest stood on the pew and put his hand on his mom's head as we repeated after the priest. And then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
I'll never have that.
As soon as the thought popped into my head, it left.
My maternal yearnings kicked into high gear and I spent the rest of my 20s and early 30s moving my deadline a little further out. I kept pushing the deadline because, to me, it felt like making the baby dream happen in this way was to give up on love. If I'm not married by XX age, then I'll have a baby on my own. First it was 32, then 35 and then finally at 37, I made the appointment with my OB to discuss my options.
I had the blood work done in anticipation of my first appointment. The nurse practitioner called me a few days before the appointment to give me time to digest that this wasn't going to be easy. "We'll have a lot to talk about, but your numbers indicate a fertility issue."
I'll never have that.
For the second time in my life, that thought popped into my head. And this time, it stuck a little longer.
I would learn at that appointment that my egg reserve, at the age of 37, was that of a post-menopausal woman, even though I showed no other signs of being near menopause. That my eggs did not mature. Each month -- for a few years or my entire reproductive life span, who knows? -- I released an egg that would not be capable of creating a life.
During that time, even though I was a regular church goer, I did not attend mass on Mother's Day.
This weekend, I will avoid public places -- the grocery store, a restaurant -- where someone could wish me a happy Mother's Day.
I'll never have that.
I will call my mother, and wish her a day she so richly deserves. I will walk Bernie around the lake and enjoy six miles of tranquility. And I will do everything I can to avoid remembering what that day means...because I'll never have that.
PS: After I posted this, I got an email from a friend asking if I was ok. I'm fine. I wrote this post very matter-of-fact. It's not about sadness anymore. I think I'm numb to it all. My infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions are so not about emotion anymore; the point of the post is that I will not put myself in a position to be sad. It's about self-preservation so that my infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions stay not about emotion. It's just the facts, ma'am.
PS: After I posted this, I got an email from a friend asking if I was ok. I'm fine. I wrote this post very matter-of-fact. It's not about sadness anymore. I think I'm numb to it all. My infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions are so not about emotion anymore; the point of the post is that I will not put myself in a position to be sad. It's about self-preservation so that my infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions stay not about emotion. It's just the facts, ma'am.
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