We’ve officially (finally!) entered into a full court press on Team Baby, and I’m researching all options here – from sweet potato diets to fertility doctors and their success rate. We’ve lost a few years, but now that we finally found it again, we are making up for lost time (isn’t that the way it always works?).
Focusing on the “forward” of our lives, I’m doing some research on fertility acupuncture. Acupuncture has been around for centuries which tells me it has to work. I also understand that it may not work for everyone, but am wondering if you know of any success stories around it?
We’ve done several tests and all we know is it’s “unexplained”. So with no further answers, sweet potato diets and acupuncture does not seem like too far of a leap…for now.
Last night, as I was sitting on the couch, my mind began to wander much like it does every night. For some reason it settled on 40. I’ve never been worried about turning 40 and I still have several years to go. My scary age, to be honest, is 86. At that point, you are getting close to calling it quits. Not 40. But last night? Last night was different.
Quick math, once I was fixated on 40, told me that if I was to get pregnant tomorrow (which could actually work) places my oldest child at 7 years old when I reach 40. 7! That’s second grade. For. my. oldest.
I’ve always seen myself having 3 children. We agreed upon 3 children – back when we thought all it would take is the “look” to get pregnant. So let’s say we still have three children. That means my youngest two may not even be in grade school by the time I turn 40. I’m getting gray hairs just thinking about this. Plus, at 35 you are now what the consider to be a “geriatric mother”. Geriatric – adjective – relating to old people, especially with regard to their health care. Are you freaking kidding me? So now when I have my two youngest I’ll be considered old in the health care world.
I get that people are having children later in life, but that has never been the case, nor the expectation, in my family. When my mom turned 40, I turned 20. When my mom turned 20, my grandmother turned 39. When my grandmother turned 20 my great grandmother was 41. See the youthfulness that goes along here? Same with my fathers’ side of the family. I knew my great-great grandfather and all of my great-grandparents. Very blessed, I know. My husbands side of the family, on the other hand, are all older parents. I never pictured being an “older” parent. The plan was to get married, wait a year and then start popping out those babies. That one year has turned into 6.5 years … I know, “if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans”.
So anyway, 40… 7… Deep breath….
At first it was just a delay and then they called it…
I don’t have children yet but I do work for a school and when the school is not open, this sassy girl does not have work. So what does one do with an impromptu snow day? Well there’s:
- Cookies and coffee for breakfast
- No rush of getting out of your over sized plush robe, and when you do there’s
- Yoga pants – all. day. long!
- A quick trip to the store – without a bra. Why torment yourself when you can just hide underneath a large coat?
- Stew and peach cobbler making – oh the good smells floating throughout the house right now.
- Load of laundry – I’m still an adult and have needs that consist of clean clothes
- 2 hours of Fuller House on Netflix
- Handful of jelly beans – I swear I actually eat really healthy, just not today.
- One freezing cold (stupid wind) walk around the block with the dog
- Mind-numbing games of Bubbleshooter
There is not:
- Cleaning the house
- Bill paying
- Makeup or done up hair
- Overthinking anything
- Checking e-mail
- Talking to employees
- Facebook – mostly because I don’t want to.
- Talking on the phone. Period. To anyone.
- Homework (yes it’s there twice)
Thank you Snow Day. You were the much needed mental health day I didn’t know I wanted.
“When are you going to be a mom?” It is asked as a simple, innocent question. It comes in many forms but it all means the same:
“When are you going to start having children?”
When asked, in a matter of a few nanoseconds my brain comes up with at least a dozen responses ranging from the immature response of “Nunya Business” to a more mature response of “my dear sweet co-worker, that question is hard for me to tell you as the last few years of trying to get pregnant have led to a rocky marriage, tears, questions and anger. I can’t tell you when I’ll be a mom because my husband and I have been provided a label of unexplained fertility.”
I quickly rationalize every aspect of telling him whether or not “it’s not impossible but it will be difficult”. There’s prying ears. If I say it out loud then others will inadvertently know – and that thought terrifies me.
It’s not like infertility is a contagious disease and yet that’s how it’s treated in society. I have found that when I open up, very few people are understanding. Rather, people either get super uncomfortable (since you know, they are the ones who brought up your personal sex life and you “rudely” turned the tables on them) or they offer up a wide range of unsolicited advice that is completely useless.
I know the only way around the stigma of infertility is education. That education comes from honest conversations from none other than those who are going through this rough time in our lives. I don’t know about you, but I’m not a big fan of this. More specifically, I’m not a big fan of this conversation with those around me. Those words are hard for my mouth to say (unlike my fingers which can easily tap across the keyboard and put it out there to whoever is reading). Instead, I’d rather go with the natural course of wanting to protect myself and play it all off when it comes to those face-to-face conversations.
So, tell me. For those who are in similar situations, do you too play it off or do you take the direct approach and let 40+ of your co-workers with prying ears know why you are not yet a mom?
The email came across my screen “Timely Alert” regarding a Peeping Tom who follows women into the bathroom and peers over the bathroom stalls.
It’s sickening, infuriating, and it’s sad that I now even think about bringing pepper spray into the restroom with me. I really thought about not doing so, but honestly, if I saw some creepy little eyes peering over at me in the stall, I’m pretty sure I’d rather give them a blast of fire in the form of pepper spray than a couple choice words and idle threats. But then again, they will probably get the words as an added bonus.
It’s sad, that this is the society we live in. Where creepy old men can’t get their jollies from naughty magazines anymore, and instead have to pry on innocent women tinkling. Ridiculous.
Shortly after I got married, I chopped 14 inches off of my hair. That was 6.5 years ago. I miss my super long hair almost every day and I’m pretty sure my hair is revolting and will no longer grow past the few inches off my shoulder.
So, I’m debating extensions. My hair stylist does tape in extensions. I’m reading mixed reviews. Has anyone gone Rapunzel lately with tape -ins? Pros? Cons?