Can't help but hope

You know what hope is?
Hope is a bastard.
Hope is a liar,
A cheat and a tease.
Hope comes near you
Kick its backside.
Got no place in days like these.
--Ben Folds/Nick Hornby "Picture Window"

The first time I was pregnant, I spent my evenings and weekends exploring baby names, walking around Target admiring baby stuff, reading pregnancy books... I even read part of a book about newborns. And then our hopes were dashed.

I spent the next few months reading miscarriage statistics. And my hope grew back. The miscarriage was just bad luck. It wouldn't happen again. We were careful not to hope too much for the second pregnancy, especially when I failed to develop any pregnancy symptoms. Nevertheless, the second miscarriage was such a letdown. I spent a miserable summer crying behind sunglasses.

And yet, I still read the miscarriage statistics. It was unlikely to happen a third time. I tried so hard not to allow myself to hope that things would work out for Carlos. I didn't read the pregnancy books. I only looked online to see Carlos's weekly development once. I have still never bought any baby items; in fact, we avoided Target altogether. Even after the heartbeat, I hardly let myself think about the second trimester. (At nine weeks, I finally ordered a pregnancy yoga DVD and a belly band, which were delivered to my office on Friday and are waiting for my arrival tomorrow, yay.)

But hope is in my nature. Despite the two miscarriages and summer of despair, I really believed in the back of my mind that our fertility problems thus far had been a fluke. I wrote my Confessions of an infertile fraud because I thought you would all soon discover that the only thing wrong with me was that I was overdramatic. The third pregnancy would be easy, and I would gracefully exit the world of infertility with wonderful new friends and a greater sensitivity and appreciation for the miracle of pregnancy.

I was wrong. While no one has to "earn" the right to use the word infertile, I comfortably feel like I'm no longer an infertile fraud. So now what? Luckily mrohkay and I are on the same page. As I've blogged about before, we extensively discussed adoption if our third pregnancy didn't work out. We're not rushing into anything now, but we both still feel the same way. We haven't entirely ruled out trying pregnancy again in a few years (and I'm well aware that waiting for my eggs to get older isn't the ideal way to improve my recurrent pregnancy loss). But right now we are more interested in having a baby than we are in making a baby. It doesn't feel like giving up; it just feels like switching tactics.

I'm obviously going to be grieving this loss for awhile. (I spent the entire church service in tears this morning.) But I'm already hopeful to start a new path. Even though it's a path that will also involve waiting and frustration and more tears, it feels right for us. Adoption was always part of our plan, even though it wasn't what we imagined for our first child.

So we're going to explore our options. We have no preference yet for domestic versus international (though we had already narrowed down the international areas we're considering to Central and South America). We've barely scratched the surface in considering agencies. We welcome any advice for "beginner" reading materials.

I cannot thank you all enough for the support you've given me so far. Hope may be a bastard, but I'm hooked.

Baby beards and miscellaneous musings

mrohkay announced this morning that he was growing a baby beard. (I didn't understand it either. He likes to tell inside jokes to himself.) Apparently it's like a playoff beard so he's not allowed to shave it until we get a baby. At this rate, he'll be Zach Galifianakis before we're through. Or Abraham from the Old Testament. Not that I know what Abraham looked like, but I'm picturing a pretty awesome beard by age 175.

So the due date of my first baby is coming up this week. It's hard to imagine that I could have a baby already, but it also feels like a lifetime since I was so excited that I ran to the bedroom and woke up mrohkay with something incomprehensible like, "the thing! it said it! I peed yes!" I'm an entirely different person now - in ways that are good and ways that are bad. I appreciate things more (particularly babies, wine, and cheese... in that order), and I'm more sympathetic. But I also roll my eyes at pregnant ladies, which is a trait I could have lived without.

Thanks to everyone for the supportive comments last week. My "confession" resulted from feeling a little guilty for being sad about my situation when all we had to do to get pregnant was try for awhile - no giving myself shots, no monitoring at the RE, no spanking it in a Starbucks bathroom, no menstruating away our life savings. But your support despite my quasi-fertility means so much to me! I even tried to pay it forward by emailing a girl to tell her that she can find people who understand her situation on Twitter after she posted a note on Facebook about her endo surgery and her husband's sperm issues. She didn't respond. Maybe that was weird - I've admittedly lost perspective... but I haven't lost my sense of humor.

Confessions of an infertile fraud

I've been avoiding my blog like the plague lately. We're trying to conceive again, and it's a lot of pressure. Pressure because I'm afraid it won't work. Pressure because, if it doesn't work, we've pretty much decided to take a break and adopt. Pressure because my younger sister is pregnant and ready to start publicly announcing it.

And to be honest, I'm very much afraid that I'll be found out online as an infertile fraud. You see, I can get pregnant. Heck, I've been pregnant twice this year. I suspect it won't take long to get pregnant again. Instead, I have recurrent pregnancy loss or, if you're looking for a sassier title, I'm a spontaneous aborter. (Fun!) I wouldn't even be so presumptuous as to call my losses recurrent, but if two consecutive miscarriages are enough for the experts to call it recurrent, who am I to criticize the name?

So the infertility label isn't a comfortable fit for me - after all, what kind of person who gets pregnant twice in one year tries to call herself infertile? But the online infertility community has been a great source of comfort and reassurance and, yes, even humor. (I wanted this blog to be humorous too, but that bit isn't working out as I'd planned.) I still feel like I'm on the outside looking in. It sucks how infertility makes everyone feel alone... and there I go again. To quote my favorite movie, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."

Green-eyed monster pills

Of all the feelings infertility* gives me, jealousy is the worst.  And lately, my green-eyed monster is developing into a full-fledged Incredible Hulk.  I walk down the street frowning at the cute pregnant bellies.  Scowling at the cell phone talkers who ignore the adorable babies they're pushing in strollers down the street.  And feeling generally like other people haven't earned their happy family.

What kind of f-ed up thoughts are those?  Can't I just deal with my own situation without also worrying about whether other people sufficiently appreciate what they have?

My most guilty green-eyed monster feelings stem from my sister.  I love my sister.  Other than mrohkay, she's my best friend in the world.  And she's pregnant.  When I'm talking to her, I'm genuinely happy and excited for her.  In between talking to her, I'm so jealous.  Did she have to become interested in baby-making right in the middle of my journey?  Did she have to confide in me during her very first two week wait about how frustrated she already felt?  (Yes, she had only one wait.)  Couldn't it have taken her just a couple of extra months so that I could be (fingers crossed) on my third try?

Of course I know she should not have waited on my indefinite journey to start trying to have her own family.  I would never actually wish extra two-week waits on her.  And I am holding my breath for her heartbeat scan on Monday, terrified that she will have to go through what I've been through.

So my question is: are there pills to cure my green-eyed monster infection, and are they safe for my two-week wait?

*I'm uncomfortable with the word infertility because I feel underqualified to use it, but that's a blog post for another time.