Darwin's an asshole
New post up today. People still seem to be following these links, so I'll keep posting them!
We're buying a crib today
I posted again today at my new space! I guess in the short-term I'll keep posting here because the linky information tells me that people are still arriving there from here.
Dear Mrs Duggar
Head on over to my new digs for my latest post!
http://missohkay.wordpress.com/2011/12/10/dear-mrs-duggar/
http://missohkay.wordpress.com/2011/12/10/dear-mrs-duggar/
Move
Hi. I moved to WordPress today. I've been wanting better commenting features so I can interact with you more. I will eventually also be password protecting some posts when our baby eventually (hopefully) arrives, so stay tuned for further instructions.
Here are my new digs: http://missohkay.wordpress.com.
Thanks and see you there!
Here are my new digs: http://missohkay.wordpress.com.
Thanks and see you there!
Thanks
On this Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for my dear husband. My family. My blog and twitter friends who've kept me sane and entertained. (And who made me realize that I'm not the only one with a penchant for dark and twisted miscarriage jokes. Hey - it's a coping mechanism. Stop judging us!) Two dear twitter/blog friends who live in my city and offered to throw me a baby shower. (How awesome is that?) My therapist. My career that sucks up all my time but at least allows me to adopt without so much financial strain.
And I'm grateful for the ridiculously adorable pictures of our baby that our agency sent this week. We started the process Thanksgiving week last year. I'll still abide by the rules and not blog it, but I will say this... I really like this guy's story of how he was once trying to explain the process of adoption to someone when he just gave up and said "if the adoption process has 150 steps, we're on step 6." Following that analogy, we're on step 144. Each of the final steps takes weeks, but we're getting so. darn. close. I will have the mother of all "birth" stories to relate when this is over. Missohkay and the Chamber of Secrets: Adoption Story Part 10 coming soon to a theater near you.
Also, one of my posts from a few weeks ago is syndicated on Blogher today! Fun - and frankly a little scary to go out of my comfort zone :)
And I'm grateful for the ridiculously adorable pictures of our baby that our agency sent this week. We started the process Thanksgiving week last year. I'll still abide by the rules and not blog it, but I will say this... I really like this guy's story of how he was once trying to explain the process of adoption to someone when he just gave up and said "if the adoption process has 150 steps, we're on step 6." Following that analogy, we're on step 144. Each of the final steps takes weeks, but we're getting so. darn. close. I will have the mother of all "birth" stories to relate when this is over. Missohkay and the Chamber of Secrets: Adoption Story Part 10 coming soon to a theater near you.
Also, one of my posts from a few weeks ago is syndicated on Blogher today! Fun - and frankly a little scary to go out of my comfort zone :)
Advocacy pants
Welcome ICLWers! I haven't done ICLW in about six months, but since I'm contractually forbidden to blog about my adoption, no one has missed anything! If this is your first time here, check out my About Me page. And now buckle your seat belts for a long post...
I work in a professional industry where 50% of entry-level people are women. Often in this field, two tiers of advancement exist. The first tier is reached after, say, 8 years. It's typically an all-or-nothing promotion - you either make it or you leave. No set time must pass before you go from the middle tier to the top tier. Reaching the top tier is primarily based on your ability to bring in business.
The work can be grueling. Interesting and intellectually satisfying - but the clock is always ticking. One of the most important standards you're measured by (at least in the early years) is how much time you put in. Every Saturday I wake up and debate whether I should blog... or work. Before I go on vacation, I have to plan out how I'll make up that lost time in the following weeks. When I've been sitting in the emergency room waiting to find out whether my pregnancy is viable or lost, the amount of time I'm losing at work weighs on me. This is why I skipped only 4 days of work through 3 miscarriages. Sick, right? And now to over-generalize, when working women have children, much of the childcare burden still falls on them. Or at least they feel the societal expectation that the burden should be on them. So they leave for greener work-life balance pastures.
You can see why by the time the original group of 50% males and 50% females reaches the first tier of advancement, it might become something like 70% males, 30% females. By the top tier, it might be 85%-15%. And the upper echelons of management - 0 to 5% female.
This is a long way of explaining why, in my industry, employers have begun to adopt policies that try to retain women. Generous maternity leave policies, for example. Which - finally - leads us to the point of today's post. I work for a company that - for positive reasons but ones I won't describe for zee World Wide Web - is re-evaluating everything. Management, policies, structure, benefits - top to bottom. Since I learned about this months ago, I've been nervous. Most of the changes are really good. But what will happen to my adoptive leave?
A little explanation for my non-U.S. friends - in the U.S. many employers are required by law to give 12 weeks off for birth or adoption, but none of it has to be paid. Most employers don't pay, in fact. And employers with less than 50 employees don't even have to allow you any time off - paid or unpaid. It's a terrible system. My employer falls in the generous category, and I am grateful for that. It gave a decent number of weeks off with full pay. Weeks that we've been counting on, since mrohkay wants to take some time off too but won't get paid for it. And of course saving up for this time off would be complicated - we're already using that money for the adoption itself. (As so many of you also face after paying out the wazoo for treatment.)
The announcement finally came this week. It was presented as an improvement over our current policies. And for the most part, it was! Men get some paid leave for birth or adoption. The number of paid weeks off for maternity leave was bumped up a little. Everyone benefited - except, apparently, me. I emailed HR to clarify and learned that I was correct: Adoptive moms get substantially fewer paid weeks than they previously got - and six weeks less than birth moms now get under the new policy. It's not an uncommon disparity for employers to embrace, but it's a step backwards for us.
Ouch. I was fighting back tears before the meeting even ended. I cried all afternoon. I couldn't sleep all night. A jumble of thoughts. You fuckers, I gave up three babies for you. (I know stress doesn't cause miscarriages, but when I get irrational, I blame my job.) I will finally get a baby after 3 years of trying and you people are going to take away some of my precious time at home? I'd love to squeeze a baby out my vagina and get six extra weeks! Your coddled little birth babies don't need as long of a transition time at home as my adopted baby does after going through so much in her infancy. OK, you get the picture. I boarded the train to crazy town.
By the next morning, I hadn't formulated a plan, but I knew I needed support. And this is where the fact that I've become fairly open about my losses came in handy. I put on my advocacy pants and emailed a few people at work who I knew had adopted. That was easy - they were all supportive. I emailed a few other women who knew my story. I got some positive reactions and some negative. (Pregnant women should get longer because they have to give birth, they said to me. Oh really? I never got that far, so I had no idea, I sniped back at them... in my head.) And some people whom I didn't even approach either knew my background or knew I was adopting and assumed an infertile backstory, and they were rarin' to go as well.
Two of the adoptive moms shared emails with me that they sent to the decision-makers. Wonderful poignant emails. One mom explaining the importance of leave to adoptive families, pointing out the obvious fact that this was an expense the employer would not incur very frequently yet they'd benefit very much by having such a family-friendly policy on the books, etc. Money line: "Becoming a parent by adoption should not be treated as a secondary or lesser means of forming a family and whether intended or not that would be the unfortunate message imparted by such a flawed policy." The other mom explaining how she'd given the employer so much free PR because of the positive way she'd been treated as an adoptive mom. Money line: "So much of what I do as a mother is to make sure my children - and everyone else - understand that they are my real children and I am their real mother. We have now adopted a policy that undermines those values." Excuse me, there's, uh, something in my eye again.
I don't know how this story ends yet. I've been told the change in policy adoption-wise was an oversight. While I think that's true, it doesn't explain why they doubled-down and confirmed it to me before the uproar. It's being reconsidered now. I've been told that they'll at least make it right for me. Thanks, and I'll take it, but not good enough. I know, I know - most of you don't get any paid time off. I am grateful for what I have. But I had the chance to take a decent (if unfair) policy and make it better. My losses, and this community, have made me passionate about speaking out. And I did not put on my advocacy pants to fix this problem just for me!
I work in a professional industry where 50% of entry-level people are women. Often in this field, two tiers of advancement exist. The first tier is reached after, say, 8 years. It's typically an all-or-nothing promotion - you either make it or you leave. No set time must pass before you go from the middle tier to the top tier. Reaching the top tier is primarily based on your ability to bring in business.
The work can be grueling. Interesting and intellectually satisfying - but the clock is always ticking. One of the most important standards you're measured by (at least in the early years) is how much time you put in. Every Saturday I wake up and debate whether I should blog... or work. Before I go on vacation, I have to plan out how I'll make up that lost time in the following weeks. When I've been sitting in the emergency room waiting to find out whether my pregnancy is viable or lost, the amount of time I'm losing at work weighs on me. This is why I skipped only 4 days of work through 3 miscarriages. Sick, right? And now to over-generalize, when working women have children, much of the childcare burden still falls on them. Or at least they feel the societal expectation that the burden should be on them. So they leave for greener work-life balance pastures.
You can see why by the time the original group of 50% males and 50% females reaches the first tier of advancement, it might become something like 70% males, 30% females. By the top tier, it might be 85%-15%. And the upper echelons of management - 0 to 5% female.
This is a long way of explaining why, in my industry, employers have begun to adopt policies that try to retain women. Generous maternity leave policies, for example. Which - finally - leads us to the point of today's post. I work for a company that - for positive reasons but ones I won't describe for zee World Wide Web - is re-evaluating everything. Management, policies, structure, benefits - top to bottom. Since I learned about this months ago, I've been nervous. Most of the changes are really good. But what will happen to my adoptive leave?
A little explanation for my non-U.S. friends - in the U.S. many employers are required by law to give 12 weeks off for birth or adoption, but none of it has to be paid. Most employers don't pay, in fact. And employers with less than 50 employees don't even have to allow you any time off - paid or unpaid. It's a terrible system. My employer falls in the generous category, and I am grateful for that. It gave a decent number of weeks off with full pay. Weeks that we've been counting on, since mrohkay wants to take some time off too but won't get paid for it. And of course saving up for this time off would be complicated - we're already using that money for the adoption itself. (As so many of you also face after paying out the wazoo for treatment.)
The announcement finally came this week. It was presented as an improvement over our current policies. And for the most part, it was! Men get some paid leave for birth or adoption. The number of paid weeks off for maternity leave was bumped up a little. Everyone benefited - except, apparently, me. I emailed HR to clarify and learned that I was correct: Adoptive moms get substantially fewer paid weeks than they previously got - and six weeks less than birth moms now get under the new policy. It's not an uncommon disparity for employers to embrace, but it's a step backwards for us.
Ouch. I was fighting back tears before the meeting even ended. I cried all afternoon. I couldn't sleep all night. A jumble of thoughts. You fuckers, I gave up three babies for you. (I know stress doesn't cause miscarriages, but when I get irrational, I blame my job.) I will finally get a baby after 3 years of trying and you people are going to take away some of my precious time at home? I'd love to squeeze a baby out my vagina and get six extra weeks! Your coddled little birth babies don't need as long of a transition time at home as my adopted baby does after going through so much in her infancy. OK, you get the picture. I boarded the train to crazy town.
By the next morning, I hadn't formulated a plan, but I knew I needed support. And this is where the fact that I've become fairly open about my losses came in handy. I put on my advocacy pants and emailed a few people at work who I knew had adopted. That was easy - they were all supportive. I emailed a few other women who knew my story. I got some positive reactions and some negative. (Pregnant women should get longer because they have to give birth, they said to me. Oh really? I never got that far, so I had no idea, I sniped back at them... in my head.) And some people whom I didn't even approach either knew my background or knew I was adopting and assumed an infertile backstory, and they were rarin' to go as well.
Two of the adoptive moms shared emails with me that they sent to the decision-makers. Wonderful poignant emails. One mom explaining the importance of leave to adoptive families, pointing out the obvious fact that this was an expense the employer would not incur very frequently yet they'd benefit very much by having such a family-friendly policy on the books, etc. Money line: "Becoming a parent by adoption should not be treated as a secondary or lesser means of forming a family and whether intended or not that would be the unfortunate message imparted by such a flawed policy." The other mom explaining how she'd given the employer so much free PR because of the positive way she'd been treated as an adoptive mom. Money line: "So much of what I do as a mother is to make sure my children - and everyone else - understand that they are my real children and I am their real mother. We have now adopted a policy that undermines those values." Excuse me, there's, uh, something in my eye again.
I don't know how this story ends yet. I've been told the change in policy adoption-wise was an oversight. While I think that's true, it doesn't explain why they doubled-down and confirmed it to me before the uproar. It's being reconsidered now. I've been told that they'll at least make it right for me. Thanks, and I'll take it, but not good enough. I know, I know - most of you don't get any paid time off. I am grateful for what I have. But I had the chance to take a decent (if unfair) policy and make it better. My losses, and this community, have made me passionate about speaking out. And I did not put on my advocacy pants to fix this problem just for me!
The Big Stuff
We didn't start out being superstitious about buying baby things. We hadn't bought any for baby #1, but not out of fear. I wanted to buy a little something for baby #2, but it was gone before we found anything we wanted to buy. By baby #3, we were too afraid to buy anything. After we started the adoption process, we bucked the trend and bought baby a Christmas present last year - a stuffed giraffe. Since then we've picked up a couple of things here or there (though honestly my mom has purchased more than we have).
By now, we can clothe our child for a whole week:
Not to say we didn't start making small preparations before then. We've given Goodwill enough junk - ahem, quality tax-deductible items - to outfit the population of Wyoming. (Yes, I know the population of Wyoming isn't that big... what do you think we are, hoarders?)
We agreed to paint after we finished the home study.
The room is mostly empty now.
And yet we keep procrastinating on buying the "big stuff." First, we said we'd do it after the referral. Then after passing court. Whether it is pregnancy or adoption, eventually a time rolls around when you have to start pretending like you believe a child will be the result of all of this. I say pretend like you believe - not actually believe. Because I've still got a protective coating that mostly prevents me from actually believing - we've been on the shit side of the statistics for too long. Not to say the pretending isn't fun! We're going to look at cribs today, in fact. But only looking.
Many people perceive adoption as a guarantee. Unfortunately, it isn't. The process of adopting is just as fragile and miraculous as any pregnancy. Less stressful on a day-to-day basis, perhaps, but with the potential for heartbreak always looming.
In addition to the usual fears - nutrition, health, safety - we're heading into a time of expected political unrest in the country we're adopting from. The next month or so will be critical to the stability of the government - and hence to our adoption. I've been pretty calm and patient through this adoption (despite the no-blogging restrictions that I mostly abide by), but my zen is fraying at the edges now.
The only thing that keeps me going (other than the cute referral picture that I can't share with you yet) is this:
By now, we can clothe our child for a whole week:
 |
| Note the purposeful pink to not-pink ratio. |
We agreed to paint after we finished the home study.
 |
| "What? It's not like the baby's going to come storming in here demanding dessert-colored walls." |
 |
| Where else would I keep my law books but in the baby's room? |
Many people perceive adoption as a guarantee. Unfortunately, it isn't. The process of adopting is just as fragile and miraculous as any pregnancy. Less stressful on a day-to-day basis, perhaps, but with the potential for heartbreak always looming.
 |
| Oogie Boogie baby snatcher. |
The only thing that keeps me going (other than the cute referral picture that I can't share with you yet) is this:
 |
| Socks that look like shoes are the bees' knees. |
Do you remember the 5th of November?
I try not to focus on dates but they haunt me. I feel a buildup of grief each time I approach one. Due dates, loss dates. I only have 6 landmines a year; I know some of you have many more.
Tomorrow, last year, we lost our only baby that ever had a heartbeat. Flashes of that day are still with me so vividly. Wearing a red dress with a black suit jacket. Riding on the train on the way to work, I smelled french fries. For the first time in weeks, I didn't gag at the smell. At work the sight of blood in my underwear, just a tiny bit... but I knew instantly that it was all over. Walking back to my office and logging onto twitter. Shaking my head: it wasn't appropriate to tell twitter before my husband. Hanging up the phone and turning back to my computer and typing the phrase that I'd been steeling myself to type for weeks. I was shocked, yet I'd predicted this moment was coming and had mentally prepared for it. "Bleeding. Fuck."
The twitter support came pouring in. Slackie O. and ababy4al were especially kind. A partner at my office who I'd recently confided in walked me to my building lobby. I knew she'd had a miscarriage once. She waited with me and tried to reassure me. I told her it was over. I told her we would be adopting.
Riding in the cab to the hospital. Talking about blood. Wondering what the cabbie thought was wrong with me. Walking into the ER. "I'm nine weeks pregnant and bleeding." "And what?" "Blee-ding." "Oh."
The resident who was going to be a gynecologist. Nice to me and sympathetic... but with an unmistakable air of being pleased that he was assigned a patient in his chosen field. Checked me in the stirrups. Cervix closed. Ultrasound machine. Couldn't get it to work. Then it worked but couldn't find a heartbeat. They'd send me down to a better machine. A doctor came by to wish us well. He sought us out because he'd been there before; his wife had IVF loss IVF loss IVF loss IVF triplets. One had a brain tumor and was operated on at birth. Now the triplets are healthy and 16. Encouraged us to keep trying. He was so kind that we couldn't tell him we were exiting this ride.
Waiting and waiting and waiting but we had no anxiety because we had no hope. We knew. "The ultrasound tech found no discernible embryo." We just nodded.
Calling my parents in the ER. Calling them again as we walked home. I still can't believe this was the same day - how did I survive this? Eventually they said kindly, "We heard from your sister. Do you want to know?" I knew the answer that hurt the most would be the correct one. "It's a girl," I whispered. "Yes," they replied. "Okay." Her anatomy scan was that day.
We weighed our options. We had Ben Folds tickets that night. Maybe we should go? As crazy as it sounds, I kind of wanted to go. We didn't go. We bought a log for the fireplace. We held hands and watched the flames. I checked twitter. I had nothing to say, but I silently - gratefully - watched the support roll in.
A year later, I'm surprised it still hurts as much as it does, even while we're thrilled to be adopting and over the moon to meet our child.
And I'm still so grateful for the support that rolls in.
Tomorrow, last year, we lost our only baby that ever had a heartbeat. Flashes of that day are still with me so vividly. Wearing a red dress with a black suit jacket. Riding on the train on the way to work, I smelled french fries. For the first time in weeks, I didn't gag at the smell. At work the sight of blood in my underwear, just a tiny bit... but I knew instantly that it was all over. Walking back to my office and logging onto twitter. Shaking my head: it wasn't appropriate to tell twitter before my husband. Hanging up the phone and turning back to my computer and typing the phrase that I'd been steeling myself to type for weeks. I was shocked, yet I'd predicted this moment was coming and had mentally prepared for it. "Bleeding. Fuck."
The twitter support came pouring in. Slackie O. and ababy4al were especially kind. A partner at my office who I'd recently confided in walked me to my building lobby. I knew she'd had a miscarriage once. She waited with me and tried to reassure me. I told her it was over. I told her we would be adopting.
Riding in the cab to the hospital. Talking about blood. Wondering what the cabbie thought was wrong with me. Walking into the ER. "I'm nine weeks pregnant and bleeding." "And what?" "Blee-ding." "Oh."
The resident who was going to be a gynecologist. Nice to me and sympathetic... but with an unmistakable air of being pleased that he was assigned a patient in his chosen field. Checked me in the stirrups. Cervix closed. Ultrasound machine. Couldn't get it to work. Then it worked but couldn't find a heartbeat. They'd send me down to a better machine. A doctor came by to wish us well. He sought us out because he'd been there before; his wife had IVF loss IVF loss IVF loss IVF triplets. One had a brain tumor and was operated on at birth. Now the triplets are healthy and 16. Encouraged us to keep trying. He was so kind that we couldn't tell him we were exiting this ride.
Waiting and waiting and waiting but we had no anxiety because we had no hope. We knew. "The ultrasound tech found no discernible embryo." We just nodded.
Calling my parents in the ER. Calling them again as we walked home. I still can't believe this was the same day - how did I survive this? Eventually they said kindly, "We heard from your sister. Do you want to know?" I knew the answer that hurt the most would be the correct one. "It's a girl," I whispered. "Yes," they replied. "Okay." Her anatomy scan was that day.
We weighed our options. We had Ben Folds tickets that night. Maybe we should go? As crazy as it sounds, I kind of wanted to go. We didn't go. We bought a log for the fireplace. We held hands and watched the flames. I checked twitter. I had nothing to say, but I silently - gratefully - watched the support roll in.
A year later, I'm surprised it still hurts as much as it does, even while we're thrilled to be adopting and over the moon to meet our child.
And I'm still so grateful for the support that rolls in.
Is my introvert showing?
When I went away to college, I wanted to become a different person. A person who was outgoing, had lots of friends, was more comfortable in her own skin. I even briefly contemplated going by my middle name - Kay. Or Katie. Katie sounded bubbly and fun!
I didn't actually try going by another name. And I have many great qualities, but I will never be described as bubbly. Scratch that. I can play the part - an interviewer made a comment once that I'd fit in well at the job because I was very outgoing - leaving me feeling pretty smug that I successfully pulled the wool over her eyes. I work at that job now.
The personality I have doesn't need to be changed. I am quiet until you get to know me (then you can't shut me up). I prefer to be a wall flower in group situations. I'm sarcastic with a dry sense of humor (surprise, surprise). I am sensitive and empathetic to a fault. (My therapist constantly has to remind me that not everyone is as attuned to others' feelings as I am.) I am too fond of parentheses! I am a classic introvert: preferring small groups to big parties, having a few really close friends, needing plenty of alone time to recharge, and gritting my teeth and chatting with strangers through cocktail parties with no outward sign that I'm dying to escape. I have a suspicion that many bloggers share those characteristics with me.
I entered the world of social media - twitter followed by blogging - with no agenda other than to connect with people who understood the traumatic experiences I'd recently had. I had no plans to remake myself this time around. (Not to say that I don't still wish my writing were funnier.)
And yet often I feel as though I'm doing something wrong. The longer I blog and use twitter, the more I have the perception that everybody else has formed dozens of close relationships - they skype, they text, they gchat, they mail each other crafty homemade presents "just because." I don't do that. I feel left out sometimes. I wonder whether I'm missing opportunities. Whether they don't happen because I'm too private or because I don't take the first step in reaching out or because people just don't like me as much as I like them? People I've never met are as much my real friends as anyone I know in real life, but I'm less secure about these friendships. I feel awkward when I reach out and it's not reciprocated. On the other hand, I've met a few people from the online world in person. It was fun. We clicked. We email and meet in person when possible.
What I'm starting to grasp - which I hadn't even thought of until exchanging some tweets with Esperanza last week - is that my real life introversion is mirrored in my social media life. I tweet - but not as often as most others. Just a quick log in and out a few times per day. I blog - but only once a week. I don't have the time or, um, verbosity to do any more than that. I connect - but usually only after someone reaches out to me first. (I'm also thwarted by my desire to remain quasi-anonymous online and my agency's no-blogging-about-adoption ban.) I'm a little disappointed that my introversion followed me online.
Instead of wishing my social media experience was more like my perception of everyone else's, I'm going to accept that I am who I am. And I am a person who genuinely cares about the people whose lives I spend my limited free time reading about. I am a person whose feelings are hurt for days when someone on twitter unceremoniously dumps me after a year of supporting her (ahem). Although meaningful connection is the purpose of my online presence, I've seen some of you write about how that is incidental, or just an unintended benefit, of your blog. The "social" in social media can take different forms without indicating failure.
So, I'm going to keep supporting the people I follow, avoiding the bullying I sadly sometimes see in our ALI community (a post for another day), and blogging for my own therapy. Because I like who I am. I think you'd like me too.
You know who else I like? Esperanza. We exchanged tweets the other day on the subject of how we'd like blogging and tweeting to be, in her words, a "social utopia" and our realizations that it isn't. We each planned to write our own posts on the subject and link to each other. I'm curious to see what Esperanza ended up with, but I know it will be thoughtful and poignant (she always is). Check it out, and let us know what your online experience is like and if it meets your needs or expectations. Or write your own post, and I'll link back to you too.
Updates: check out these great posts on the same subject
"Opening up" by boncheri05
"Do what you are" by thewrightday
"Virtual Social Life" by relaxed no more
I didn't actually try going by another name. And I have many great qualities, but I will never be described as bubbly. Scratch that. I can play the part - an interviewer made a comment once that I'd fit in well at the job because I was very outgoing - leaving me feeling pretty smug that I successfully pulled the wool over her eyes. I work at that job now.
The personality I have doesn't need to be changed. I am quiet until you get to know me (then you can't shut me up). I prefer to be a wall flower in group situations. I'm sarcastic with a dry sense of humor (surprise, surprise). I am sensitive and empathetic to a fault. (My therapist constantly has to remind me that not everyone is as attuned to others' feelings as I am.) I am too fond of parentheses! I am a classic introvert: preferring small groups to big parties, having a few really close friends, needing plenty of alone time to recharge, and gritting my teeth and chatting with strangers through cocktail parties with no outward sign that I'm dying to escape. I have a suspicion that many bloggers share those characteristics with me.
I entered the world of social media - twitter followed by blogging - with no agenda other than to connect with people who understood the traumatic experiences I'd recently had. I had no plans to remake myself this time around. (Not to say that I don't still wish my writing were funnier.)
And yet often I feel as though I'm doing something wrong. The longer I blog and use twitter, the more I have the perception that everybody else has formed dozens of close relationships - they skype, they text, they gchat, they mail each other crafty homemade presents "just because." I don't do that. I feel left out sometimes. I wonder whether I'm missing opportunities. Whether they don't happen because I'm too private or because I don't take the first step in reaching out or because people just don't like me as much as I like them? People I've never met are as much my real friends as anyone I know in real life, but I'm less secure about these friendships. I feel awkward when I reach out and it's not reciprocated. On the other hand, I've met a few people from the online world in person. It was fun. We clicked. We email and meet in person when possible.
What I'm starting to grasp - which I hadn't even thought of until exchanging some tweets with Esperanza last week - is that my real life introversion is mirrored in my social media life. I tweet - but not as often as most others. Just a quick log in and out a few times per day. I blog - but only once a week. I don't have the time or, um, verbosity to do any more than that. I connect - but usually only after someone reaches out to me first. (I'm also thwarted by my desire to remain quasi-anonymous online and my agency's no-blogging-about-adoption ban.) I'm a little disappointed that my introversion followed me online.
Instead of wishing my social media experience was more like my perception of everyone else's, I'm going to accept that I am who I am. And I am a person who genuinely cares about the people whose lives I spend my limited free time reading about. I am a person whose feelings are hurt for days when someone on twitter unceremoniously dumps me after a year of supporting her (ahem). Although meaningful connection is the purpose of my online presence, I've seen some of you write about how that is incidental, or just an unintended benefit, of your blog. The "social" in social media can take different forms without indicating failure.
So, I'm going to keep supporting the people I follow, avoiding the bullying I sadly sometimes see in our ALI community (a post for another day), and blogging for my own therapy. Because I like who I am. I think you'd like me too.
You know who else I like? Esperanza. We exchanged tweets the other day on the subject of how we'd like blogging and tweeting to be, in her words, a "social utopia" and our realizations that it isn't. We each planned to write our own posts on the subject and link to each other. I'm curious to see what Esperanza ended up with, but I know it will be thoughtful and poignant (she always is). Check it out, and let us know what your online experience is like and if it meets your needs or expectations. Or write your own post, and I'll link back to you too.
Updates: check out these great posts on the same subject
"Opening up" by boncheri05
"Do what you are" by thewrightday
"Virtual Social Life" by relaxed no more
Not-Penny's baby shower!
So, today we're having a virtual baby shower for Elphaba of eggsandsperm.com. (Thanks, Mo, for planning this!) In tribute to Elphie and her little girl, I'm writing a post on what Elphie's journey to motherhood has meant to me.
Elphaba has the honor of an important place on my blogroll... A category that I specifically created with her in mind. It's called "Cracks my shit up." (Not my literal shit, mind you. It has no sense of humor at all.)
Here's just a sample of her delicious writing: "So are you and your husband still planning to have kids? I begin to wrack my brain. Did I tell this woman we were planning to have kids? That must have been a really long time ago, because there is no conceivable way I'd walk around now flaunting that kind of information. That's a secret as closely guarded as the Colonel's 11 secret spices to anyone who hasn't shoved a medical instrument of some type up my vagina; stuck a needle in me; or sold me some bogus remedy." (Funny, right?)
She's not just funny, though. After the whole "I'm going to raise awareness for breast cancer by pretending to be pregnant on facebook" debacle, she wrote a quadfecta (you know, like a trifecta, but four?) of great posts that got some attention from outside our normal secluded ALI world. Not all positive attention - what with the "you're such a heinous person for daring to criticize my pretend pregnancy fun" comments - but she handled it superbly and made me proud to "know" her and be part of this community.
She's cute too! See?
Our fearless leader Mo also suggested that we take a picture of our present to Elphie's baby, but I'm lame and cannot do that because my husband is out of town with the camera. And I'm not cool enough to have a smartphone. I have a Blackberry so that I can be tethered to my job, but instead of taking crisp life-like pictures, it takes yellowy-orangey smear blobs. Very po mo. (Or something.) Anyhoo. I'll update later, but the present is adorable, I assure you.
Update: Haha, with the wonders of the modern internet, I found a picture of my gift to Not-Penny, so I don't need a camera after all! (And, just in case you were wondering, my baby has a matching outfit. Twinsies!)
Congrats, Elphie! I made every attempt to make this a persuasive Elphaba-infomercial in lieu of trying to make you cry :) I'm so happy for you, and so looking forward to seeing pics of your little girl safe and sound in her gorgeous nursery!
Elphaba has the honor of an important place on my blogroll... A category that I specifically created with her in mind. It's called "Cracks my shit up." (Not my literal shit, mind you. It has no sense of humor at all.)
Here's just a sample of her delicious writing: "So are you and your husband still planning to have kids? I begin to wrack my brain. Did I tell this woman we were planning to have kids? That must have been a really long time ago, because there is no conceivable way I'd walk around now flaunting that kind of information. That's a secret as closely guarded as the Colonel's 11 secret spices to anyone who hasn't shoved a medical instrument of some type up my vagina; stuck a needle in me; or sold me some bogus remedy." (Funny, right?)
She's not just funny, though. After the whole "I'm going to raise awareness for breast cancer by pretending to be pregnant on facebook" debacle, she wrote a quadfecta (you know, like a trifecta, but four?) of great posts that got some attention from outside our normal secluded ALI world. Not all positive attention - what with the "you're such a heinous person for daring to criticize my pretend pregnancy fun" comments - but she handled it superbly and made me proud to "know" her and be part of this community.
She's cute too! See?
Our fearless leader Mo also suggested that we take a picture of our present to Elphie's baby, but I'm lame and cannot do that because my husband is out of town with the camera. And I'm not cool enough to have a smartphone. I have a Blackberry so that I can be tethered to my job, but instead of taking crisp life-like pictures, it takes yellowy-orangey smear blobs. Very po mo. (Or something.) Anyhoo. I'll update later, but the present is adorable, I assure you.
Update: Haha, with the wonders of the modern internet, I found a picture of my gift to Not-Penny, so I don't need a camera after all! (And, just in case you were wondering, my baby has a matching outfit. Twinsies!)
Congrats, Elphie! I made every attempt to make this a persuasive Elphaba-infomercial in lieu of trying to make you cry :) I'm so happy for you, and so looking forward to seeing pics of your little girl safe and sound in her gorgeous nursery!
The infertile curse
"It costs a lot to adopt a baby?" my co-worker asks. "Why would it cost a lot to adopt a baby?" I watch him furrow his brow in confusion, trying to put the pieces together. Not aware of the sucker punch already heading my way. "Why, anyone can just pop out a baby!"
Oooph. Left breathless, but I rally. "Not everyone can just pop out a baby," I squeak. "What?" I can't believe he's going to make me repeat that. In front of another male co-worker no less. Ah, but it's a male co-worker with a wife of 8 years and no children. I can do this. I rally again. "Not everyone can just pop out a baby!" He flushes. Point made. And before I know it, I've put the infertile curse on him.
Have any of you read the book Lullaby by Ch.uck Palah.niuk? (Author of Fight Club.) First, some preliminary disclaimers and warnings. (1) Spoiler alert. (2) There's a SIDS plot. (3) I didn't really like it that much, so this isn't a recommendation - just a metaphor. (4) I read this years ago, so forgive any inaccuracies in the retelling.
So... There's a guy whose wife and baby just died. He's suspected of murder. The night before they died, he read aloud from a library book containing a lullaby. Through some intrepid research, he discovers a connection between library patrons who checked out that book and SIDS. The lullaby is actually a curse. When the reader completes all the lines in the lullaby, the listener dies. Of course, he didn't know that when he read it - he didn't mean to kill his wife and baby. While he's in the process of figuring this out, he inadvertently kills others with the lullaby. Once he's made the connection, however, he has the knowledge and the power. The words of the lullaby slip through his mind unconsciously. He kills others before he can stop himself, often for trivial slights. Sometimes, he kills people on purpose. He can't un-know the words he's learned.
This is how I am with the infertile curse. People complain bitterly about their pregnancies, and I think, "Well. I hope they don't have to learn the hard way." People announce their pregnancies at 6 weeks, and I think, "Won't it be hard when they have to un-tell everyone." My co-worker says, "Anyone can just pop out a baby." And I think, "I hope you can't."
In truth, I wouldn't wish infertility or recurrent loss on anyone. Yet it slips through my mind unconsciously. I assume everyone else will have problems. Sometimes, in a flash, I want everyone else to have problems. I don't think I'd take back my experiences if given the chance - but, from time to time, I'd like to un-know what I know. To spare the people in my path from being struck down by my infertile curse.
I can't remember the ending of the book. I think he was able to overcome the knowledge of the curse, but I don't remember how.
And that is what I'm working on.
Out there
Last year, I planned for weeks to "come out" on Facebook on October 15. I opted for subtle, stating just that the date was National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day and putting Faces of Loss's "I am the face" logo as my profile picture. People understood the significance and were supportive. What they didn't know was that I was pregnant at the time. What I didn't know was that I would lose that pregnancy too - 21 days later.
By then I knew my luck wasn't good. I knew that it was our last try before we turned to adoption. With that knowledge came the courage to post because, though pregnant, we no longer felt in the midst of it all. By then, the cards were dealt one way or the other. It was what it was.
This year, even further removed from pregnancy, I was not subtle at all:
I speak out to honor our 3 lost babies.
I speak out to thank our family and friends.
I speak out to remember the lost babies of my friends.
I speak out to advocate - because no one should have to feel alone or ashamed.
October 15 is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.
People were again universally supportive. (It helps to have twitter/blog friends giving me a thumbs up within minutes of posting.) But yet I feel incredibly awkward about it now. To me, Facebook should be for fluffy not-too-personal stuff. Like when I posted about walking to work in a dark suit and my "commuter shoes" (i.e. Sketchers) and a homeless man sprawled on the ground outside of McDonald's said to me in a seductive tone, "If I had a girl like you... [steeling myself for the next line] ... [wait for it] ... I would never let her wear shoes like that!"
I broke my own cardinal rule of Facebook: never post anything meaningful.* It's really hard to reveal myself that way - to picture people reading my post with their judgey-pants on, rolling their eyes at my personal traumas. Thinking it was inappropriate to post something so intimate for 200 people to see. But I thought it was important, so I did it anyway. More than anything else, I want other people who are grieving a miscarriage to know that they aren't the only ones. I felt incredibly alone before I found the online IF community, and if one person was comforted by my post, it was worth doing.
Advocacy is hard.
*Except occasionally a political article, but only if people are being obnoxious and really deserve it.
PS I have a new entry on my timeline over yonder --> Next year, folks. We're getting closer.
By then I knew my luck wasn't good. I knew that it was our last try before we turned to adoption. With that knowledge came the courage to post because, though pregnant, we no longer felt in the midst of it all. By then, the cards were dealt one way or the other. It was what it was.
This year, even further removed from pregnancy, I was not subtle at all:
I speak out to honor our 3 lost babies.
I speak out to thank our family and friends.
I speak out to remember the lost babies of my friends.
I speak out to advocate - because no one should have to feel alone or ashamed.
October 15 is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.
People were again universally supportive. (It helps to have twitter/blog friends giving me a thumbs up within minutes of posting.) But yet I feel incredibly awkward about it now. To me, Facebook should be for fluffy not-too-personal stuff. Like when I posted about walking to work in a dark suit and my "commuter shoes" (i.e. Sketchers) and a homeless man sprawled on the ground outside of McDonald's said to me in a seductive tone, "If I had a girl like you... [steeling myself for the next line] ... [wait for it] ... I would never let her wear shoes like that!"
I broke my own cardinal rule of Facebook: never post anything meaningful.* It's really hard to reveal myself that way - to picture people reading my post with their judgey-pants on, rolling their eyes at my personal traumas. Thinking it was inappropriate to post something so intimate for 200 people to see. But I thought it was important, so I did it anyway. More than anything else, I want other people who are grieving a miscarriage to know that they aren't the only ones. I felt incredibly alone before I found the online IF community, and if one person was comforted by my post, it was worth doing.
Advocacy is hard.
*Except occasionally a political article, but only if people are being obnoxious and really deserve it.
PS I have a new entry on my timeline over yonder --> Next year, folks. We're getting closer.
It's cheaper than adoption
After the last two heavy posts, I thought I'd share with you my back-up plan if the adoption doesn't work out.
The Bends
I am mad at God.
I shouldn't say that, but it's true. When I pray now, I say only two things. "I am sorry. I am trying." and, on occasion, "Don't let me die in a plane crash today. PleasePleaseThankYouAmen."
I don't talk about my beliefs much. Perhaps it's not very Christian of me, but I don't feel like I know all the answers and must convince you that I'm right. Perhaps it's not very Christian of me to swear like a sailor, to call Saved! and Life of Brian two of my top-10 movies, or to religiously watch Bill Maher either (pun intended). Ah well.
My anger stems from two events. One, when trying to get pregnant for the third time last year, I prayed what I felt was an accepting, "thy will be done"-type prayer. All I asked (and begged and pleaded and cried) was that if the baby wasn't meant to work out, that it be over quickly. That it be more like the second pregnancy (chemical) than the first (blighted ovum). Instead, that pregnancy lasted the longest. We saw a heartbeat. We took home the card labeled "baby's first photo." We had hope again. And then we fell off the cliff.
Two, when we got our first adoption referral on our third due date. It felt so much like a sign. A little targeted reassurance from above that everything up to that point happened to bring us together with that child. We had climbed back up the mountain. And then we fell off again.
I still believe there's a capital-P Plan. I have to. I get annoyed when other people presumptuously announce what God's plan is, but I still believe in one. Once I took a survey designed to unearth our "spiritual gifts" and translate them into activities we could do at the church to serve God. I'm a sucker for surveys, so I filled it out, la la la, thinking to myself all the while, "I don't have any spiritual gifts." Tallied it up, and boom. FAITH. Off the charts.
I suppose that was an accurate assessment. Despite my anger, I still have faith. If I had to explain my theory of God, it would be called "Choose your own adventure." Did you read those books as a kid? Where you got to a certain point in the plot and had options to move forward... if you want Alice to take the red pill, turn to page 32. If you want Alice to take the blue pill, turn to page 74. Sometimes after a few choices, the stories all intersected at the same point. And sometimes they led to vastly different stories. (I'll always remember the story where I was a scuba diver. I peeked ahead before choosing my adventure, and the results were (a) I got eaten by a shark; (b) I ran out of oxygen and died; or (c) I returned to the surface too quickly and got "the bends." Where the fuck was the happy ending? A little too much reality for a fourth grader.)
What I mean is that, under my theory, God has a hand in my life and certain elements will happen because they're Meant To Be, but as a whole my life is not predestined. Sometimes, the choices I make create a new branch in the path. I keep walking along, never to revisit any of the what-ifs that lined the branches I chose not to take. And other times, the paths intersect despite my choices. It's both a comforting and frustrating theory. Do you believe in a god? What's your theory on his involvement in your life?
I am grateful for my life. Incredibly grateful. I adore my husband. My immediate family members are all healthy. mrohkay and I make enough money to live comfortably in this city, own a modest condo, and pay for our adoption. We are so lucky.
But I still resent the shit in this Plan. I know that perspective will come in time. Until then I wait it out, and I hope the thunderbolt doesn't strike when I hit "publish" on this post.
Gulp.
I shouldn't say that, but it's true. When I pray now, I say only two things. "I am sorry. I am trying." and, on occasion, "Don't let me die in a plane crash today. PleasePleaseThankYouAmen."
I don't talk about my beliefs much. Perhaps it's not very Christian of me, but I don't feel like I know all the answers and must convince you that I'm right. Perhaps it's not very Christian of me to swear like a sailor, to call Saved! and Life of Brian two of my top-10 movies, or to religiously watch Bill Maher either (pun intended). Ah well.
My anger stems from two events. One, when trying to get pregnant for the third time last year, I prayed what I felt was an accepting, "thy will be done"-type prayer. All I asked (and begged and pleaded and cried) was that if the baby wasn't meant to work out, that it be over quickly. That it be more like the second pregnancy (chemical) than the first (blighted ovum). Instead, that pregnancy lasted the longest. We saw a heartbeat. We took home the card labeled "baby's first photo." We had hope again. And then we fell off the cliff.
Two, when we got our first adoption referral on our third due date. It felt so much like a sign. A little targeted reassurance from above that everything up to that point happened to bring us together with that child. We had climbed back up the mountain. And then we fell off again.
I still believe there's a capital-P Plan. I have to. I get annoyed when other people presumptuously announce what God's plan is, but I still believe in one. Once I took a survey designed to unearth our "spiritual gifts" and translate them into activities we could do at the church to serve God. I'm a sucker for surveys, so I filled it out, la la la, thinking to myself all the while, "I don't have any spiritual gifts." Tallied it up, and boom. FAITH. Off the charts.
I suppose that was an accurate assessment. Despite my anger, I still have faith. If I had to explain my theory of God, it would be called "Choose your own adventure." Did you read those books as a kid? Where you got to a certain point in the plot and had options to move forward... if you want Alice to take the red pill, turn to page 32. If you want Alice to take the blue pill, turn to page 74. Sometimes after a few choices, the stories all intersected at the same point. And sometimes they led to vastly different stories. (I'll always remember the story where I was a scuba diver. I peeked ahead before choosing my adventure, and the results were (a) I got eaten by a shark; (b) I ran out of oxygen and died; or (c) I returned to the surface too quickly and got "the bends." Where the fuck was the happy ending? A little too much reality for a fourth grader.)
What I mean is that, under my theory, God has a hand in my life and certain elements will happen because they're Meant To Be, but as a whole my life is not predestined. Sometimes, the choices I make create a new branch in the path. I keep walking along, never to revisit any of the what-ifs that lined the branches I chose not to take. And other times, the paths intersect despite my choices. It's both a comforting and frustrating theory. Do you believe in a god? What's your theory on his involvement in your life?
I am grateful for my life. Incredibly grateful. I adore my husband. My immediate family members are all healthy. mrohkay and I make enough money to live comfortably in this city, own a modest condo, and pay for our adoption. We are so lucky.
But I still resent the shit in this Plan. I know that perspective will come in time. Until then I wait it out, and I hope the thunderbolt doesn't strike when I hit "publish" on this post.
Gulp.
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