Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Happy Anniversary!!

I'd like to wish my love, S, a very happy anniversary. Today's not the actual day. But we decided we should celebrate ALL. MONTH. LONG.

And we have. Yummy dinners out and at home. Ind.go G.rls in our own backyard (not in our literal backyard, but you know, in our city). Amazing and very special presents (including my very own signed, first edition of the greatest novel ever written, The G.d of Small Things - it is the paper anniversary, you know). And a picnic on a school day, where my love kissed me in the sunshine.

Happy Anniversary, to my favorite.
All my love,

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Sometimes I forget...

...that I've been cast with the infertiles.

And then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Like a piece of me has been cut off. And I keep forgetting. Until I go and try to use it. And then shi.t does it hurt. Like phantom limb pains. these phantom limb pains (and that I can't even think of a better analogy).

And it hurts for the weirdest reasons. (i had to write this down for me. stop reading now if you don't want to join the fall down my spiral of morose self-pity. i will, however, promise to post something light and fluffy next. but don't say I didn't warn you. it's not pretty here.)

1. My body is a wonderland. I mean, a wasteland. I mean, I was picked last for dodge ball. And I was what could be only kindly described as chubby my entire childhood and adolescence (I still qualify as chubby, but I don't think you can use that word after the age of 15. By then you graduate to plain old fat). Anyway, the point being that I've not (ever) had a good relationship with my body. And failing in such a primal (reproductive) way has brought up old (body) baggage. And this body, she's reminding me of every single time I. let. her. down. She's not fighting fair.

2. My family is as dysfunctional as everyone else's. Do you ever talk about "little me" in therapy? That insistent childhood self who keeps wanting to be heard. And healed. Well little me is devastated that we don't get to redo playing house. My mother is a natural disaster area. My father is not aware of my existence. And little me is stomping her foot and crying in the corner because someone took her do-over away.

3. I want to control EVERYTHING. When I'm scared/hurt/insert-negative-emotion-of-your-choice, I like to believe that if I work hard enough, I can fix it (sometimes, S likes to call this being a martyr. sometimes she's right). I like to think that I don't need anyone's help because I CAN DO IT MYSELF. (Hmmmm, seems like little me might be rearing her pretty little head for this one too). But this time I can't. I can't do it myself. And that makes me feel sad and helpless.

4. Oh, jealousy. What would be a list of painful things without the list of pregnant bellies that have popped up around me. Why do my ex-girlfriend, co-worker, college roommate, and college BFF all have to be pregnant/birthing babies RIGHT NOW. infertility and the mess it makes.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Ever have one of those reality-defying daydreams?

You know, your period is late(r than usual) and a bit less, erm, flowy. And for a split second you let your mind wander. And you think maybe you're really pregnant (despite the fact that there is no such thing as an "accidental pregnancy" in your house). And that maybe that fibroid Dr. IVF found encroaching on your uterus was really a gestational sac. And even though he's been up in women's lady bits for over 20 years, he was mistaken, just this once.

Yeah, me either.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

On the road again

Plans have been changed. Again.
Maybe things have come full circle, maybe we've just taken a long, winding road. The kind that makes you nauseous. And leaves your stomach in your throat. But either way, we're here. On the other side. And on this side, we found the two things we lost along the way:
hope and excitement

Yesterday, we met with an adoption agency. That openly works with gay people.
Yesterday, we mailed in our paperwork and our (first) check.
Today, we are officially registered and beginning the (open) adoption process.

When S and I first started talking about having children, we were set on adopting from Guatemala. We were SO EXCITED. But we were also young (well, as young as you can be when you're pushing middle age) and about to face some pretty tough challenges in our relationship. By the time we got our shit together, Guatemala had closed the door on ALL adoptions (don't get me started on my feelings on that). And then we went to every MaybeBaby, GrowYourFamily, Help!We'reLesbians seminar in our general area. And the adoption obstacles seemed IMMENSE. And S had health insurance and I didn't and we had a pretty willing donor who looked suspiciously quite a bit like me and we had NO IDEA how hard it was to get knocked up so we commenced with some fumbling, at-home, "live" tries with S's body. No dice. We looked into adoption again - this time with an eye on Bulgaria. And decided it wasn't the right time (lying to adopt as a single woman was not something we wanted to do). So I bought insurance and the medical circus began. And after three strikes (bad ovary, bad tube, bad uterus) we looked into open adoption. And here we are.

I can't say I don't still shed a few tears over other people's pregnancy stories (This one totally got me today...loooove her writing, so jealous of her pregnancy). And then feel guilty over my negative feelings about someone else's happiness. But despite the neuroses I should probably seek therapy over, I'm pretty damn happy about our current plan. Excited even. And hopeful that we're 2 steps closer to our 3 (or 4) person family.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Them: Why don't you discuss it with your husband and give us a call back

Me: She's my wife, but that sounds good.

Guess they didn't write GAY in big red letters on my chart

We meet with an adoption agency on Tuesday. But to make matters more complicated, the above was the conclusion to the conversation in which we received our first good news about my f'ed up reproductive system. AMH = 1.1 ("Very good," according to the sweet, if not mistaken, NP)