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Thursday, December 15, 2011

Hubby and I vs. The World

Things Not to Say to an Infertile Couple...especially around Christmas:

"Isn't Christmas so much better with kids?"

This quote wasn't so much directed at us, as it was a large group of people with us in it...at a church function, and said by someone who knows our story.

I know the person who said this didn't really mean to hurt my feelings, but they did.

I know I'm probably being overly sensitive, but honestly, it stung to hear these words. I had to ask Michael if I had heard the statement correctly and he confirmed that what I had heard was in fact correct.

I'm finding that in times like these, where certain holidays revolve around children or having children - I cling to Michael more. I crave his company and attention because its incidences like this that it feels like its us vs. The World.

Its incidences like this where I'm reminded how safe I am with him and only him, which explains why I get apprehensive when it comes to family get-togethers and church functions. Its also at these events where my introverted nature gets increasingly magnified, and I'm mistaken for being rude and standoffish.


Luckily I'm married to a fellow introvert who will sit in the corner with me, people watching and making me laugh. We have silly conversations about stupid things like "What is mistletoeing?" and "Why scary ghost stories during Christmas, wouldn't that be during Halloween?" Because no one else would appreciate the banter going back and forth about defining "mistletoeing (It's either going after someone with mistletoe, being pursued by someone with mistletoe or dragging someone while holding mistletoe [I really can't remember which definition we decided on as I was laughing so hard I was crying].

Its these stupid silly moments together that make me love him even more. Because I know he does this on purpose to cheer me up, and I like to think I cheer him up in return by indulging the conversation.

Last night as we were lying in bed, Michael told me something that was said at a meeting he attended that evening. Someone had insinuated that to be a Pastor, they had to have kids, because kids are good and attractive to other young couple with kids. WHAT? Later that night at the same meeting, Michael was asked in passing (from someone else) if he would ever consider Pastoring a church (once a year Michael will guest speak at our church). Michael said, "No, we don't have kids", no one really heard him except one person.

I hugged Michael, and told him I was sorry he had to hear that. "Its you and me vs. the world," I said. "Its times like these I wish we had our own island."
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He took me in his arms and said, "We have own own island, right here."

I know I can't expect everyone to be that sensitive around us, but I would appreciate it if they would just think before they speak. Is that asking too much? It hurts even more when these words are said by people who know are struggle. I know this won't be the last time something insensitive is said in front of us, or inadvertently directed toward us. It just solidifies my thought process - Us vs. The World, Us vs. A Fertile World.

ETA: Final definition of mistletoeing - Michael: Dragging someone with mistletoe using a rocket powered engine (missile towing).

Monday, December 12, 2011

Look what I won!

I was selected to pick a prize for the Creme de la Creme 2011 and I received this in the mail today. Its a one of a kind cigar box purse made by Denver Laura. Thanks Laura!

Here are some pics:

Isn't it pretty?


The interior is velvet with a sequin border.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

High Expectations

Thanks for all the supportive comments on my last post.

Sometimes I need to be reminded that grief isn't linear. Instead it has its peaks and valleys. I'm just so tired of finding myself in yet another valley. I know I'll make it out eventually, and that it will take time. But because of the holidays it feels extra hard to climb and reach my peak.

After Friday's post I was hit with a bit of an epiphany.

I sometimes wonder if after being on this rocky road of infertilty for so long (8 years, this last September), if I've become so callous, so closed off, that there isn't anything anyone can tell me that will make me feel better about my situation.


This whole time I've been waiting for someone to tell me something that will make me feel better. Encouraging words that will save me and pull me out of the darkness that has found me. Words of wisdom that will help me navigate through the perpetual grief that seems to find me whenever I find a respite.

The harsh reality is that I don't think such words exist. There are no words to ease the grief, unless I want to hear useless platitudes that are about as useful as a chocolate teapot (ooh chocolate). And if I'm waiting for such words to be said to me, that is a horribly high expectation I have put on my friends.


This whole time I've been expecting them to know what to say to me, and that is a bit twisted, not to mention utterly stupid.

This is what I have been struggling with, until I had this epiphany Friday night.

Most of my friends don't know the pain we've gone through to have a child. They know our story, and the struggle, but they have never experienced the pain of infertility, and honestly, I don't wish for them to know that particular kind of pain. It's lonely, and it sucks.


So what words do I not want said to me? Please don't tell me that our baby is out there somewhere, because what if she/he isn't. Please don't tell me that we'll be great parents someday, because what if we never get the opportunity. I know this may sound harsh, but these phrases don't help us.

Just tell me you are thinking of us, and if you are the praying kind, just say you are praying for us. Truly, those are the best words.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Putting a Time Line on Grief

I'm trying to enjoy the upcoming Christmas season...but really I can care less. I've partically decorated our apartment, which means I've put a red tablecloth on the kitchen table and replaced the everyday placemates and seat cushions to the Christmas ones.

I feel like I'm suppose to be joyful and really...I'm not feeling the joy.

I feel like I should be over the grief from the failed adoption, but I'm not. I know my pain isn't unique. I know that there are people out there in the ALI community that have gone through much worse. And really, I think we were quite fortunate that the adoption fell through a week before the baby was born, so it shouldn't feel so horrible, but I do.


I just hate that we have to go through the grieving process again. Its so exhausting, and its so much harder during Christmas. I'd like to be over this by January, but I don't think I can put a timeline on grief. Can I?


Church is becoming a hard place to go to lately. Nearly everyone knows what happened, which is making me feel a bit exposed.

There's a new baby at our church. The interim pastor was holding her on Sunday and my heart hitched as I looked at him hold her while talking to her parents. I looked away, and as I did, I met the eyes of a woman who knows what happened to us. I felt ashamed that I got caught looking at the baby.

To help me survive December, I'm looking forward to January - we are getting a new kitten. Hopefully, Jack will be up for having a new sibling.