Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Domestic Enemies of the Trying to Be a Mom

This post was submitted by our friends Roseanne and Sarah, who wrote it together about trying (and trying) to get pregnant.  Even though they wrote together, it's told from the perspective of one person.  Try not to be confused, we do it all the time.  That sounded porny.  Sigh... Sorry.

Here's a little blurbitty blub about them:
I’m Rosanne and I’m trying to be a mom. The odds aren’t good. I tried getting pregnant and instead got a cancer-like disease called Gestational Tropho. I deal with hard times by laughing, eating chocolate and reading RFM to be grateful I still get (almost) as much sleep as I want. My blog is rozzydozzy.blogspot.com.

Sarah is working through all the it’s-hard-to-get-pregnant-so-lets-try-every-shot-there-is sh*tstorm, and somehow does it with a laugh for everything.

And now we proudly present the:

Domestic Enemies of the Trying to Be a Mom

Okay, I know that me not being a mom technically should exclude me from writing a post about motherhood and its enemies, but what about wanting to be a mom. Like really, really wanting to be a mom.  So, these next enemies are a collaboration of my experiences with a molar pregnancy, and my great friend’s experiences with PCOS and infertility.

The Pee Stick – Know how nervous you get when you’re “trying” to get pregnant? You go to the store, buy the test (or 50) – along with maybe a couple other goodies to seem less conspicuous/excited/eager/neurotic, then wait like a good girl ‘til morning's first pee? So you do it and the staring contest begins… it is between you and the pee stick. [cue western stare down music] You have lost starring contests before but the stakes on this one are high because however faint, if there is a double line -- you’re pregnant!

But then this sometimes happen months and months and months in a row with no line whatsoever. And then you start to feel a little crazy.  And then the mean girl from high school runs into you at Target and starts gushing about how she got pregnant - on her period, the first time getting busy, on their first month of trying.  And you smile and nod and try to prevent yourself from crying or accidentally knocking her cart over and then running away really fast.

Doctors (AKA the bearers of bad news) – When you go in for your first ultrasound appointment, you’re generally full of butterflies and a tiny fetus, right? Imagine that you see the screen, know the image is wrong, and the doctor looks stumped for a second. Then, you see him realize what’s going on, and he beats around the bush for 15 minutes because he doesn’t have the cajones to be the one to tell you that you’re not actually growing a baby, but an extra-large placenta. Can you just get it over with, doc? I’m not paying you to dilly dally. Just say it and get it over with, Dr. Wimpy Britches and be sure to tell me like 100 times that its not my fault because I can already feel the guilty shame spiral starting.

Everyone else’s “infertility struggles” – I think the chart-topper are the “friends” who find out about your struggles, and say, “Oh my gosh! Me too! We’ve been trying for a month now and NOTHING! We’re STILL not pregnant! It’s so hard! After all, baby 1, 2, and 3 came almost by accident, they were so fast, I hate how long this one is taking! Let’s go out to lunch and cry together.”

Periods – These suckers already ruin your life for a week a month, but every one that passes is just another kick in the taco that your body can’t do what it was meant for. Double negative, menstruation.

The Question -“So when are you going to have kids? Do you even want kids?” Oh. My. Maude. Thanks for asking.  Yes, I want kids.  But just a little.  I mean I just take fertility medicine that makes me sick, work out 3 times a week - not because it improves my chances, but because I like to sweat for fun - chart my period because I have nothing better to do, pee on a stick on a regular basis because I like the challenge of getting the right pee-to-stick ratio. I have sex on schedule and put my legs over my head for 15 minutes after every time I have sex, because I feel like the look of my legs in the air makes me look sexy! There is something so flattering about having my cooch in the air while praying for this time to work. So yes. I want kids. Is that what you wanted to hear.  Or do you want me to look at you with very real pain on my face and answer your flippant question with the following: "We are trying."

We know that someday, we’ll be lucky enough to be in your ranks, and we know that when the time comes, we’ll have someone else's pee to complain about. But for now, hold your little ones tight for us tonight, ‘kay?


Thanks for reminding us how lucky we are. We will.
xo, K & L(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2011

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