Posted by: DD | September 6, 2008

THE WHITE GLOVE TEST

Just because I now have a baby girl and a school-aged son, does not mean this blog is no longer infertility related.

How’s that for just jumping to the crux of a post?

I started a blog over three years ago. I actually missed my anniversary, which was back in August. You can read last year’s recognition of my illustrious start, if you are so inclined. When I take into account the blogs I have been reading during these three years, it’s not a long time. However, when I look over Mel’s list of blogs over at Stirrup Queens, I’m a veteran.

It bothers me that this blog may no longer be perceived as falling under the topic of infertility. If someone new stops by they may read all my posts about my pregnancy with ZGirl, if they can even get past the most recent posts about breastfeeding and exhaustion as related to a new baby. Then there’s the posts about my son; and work; and my in-laws. And every once in a while, one will stumble into a post dedicated exclusively to infertility.

Here’s the thing, though. Just because many of my posts do not contain the details of a consult with my RE, or the internal dialogue for choosing a sperm donor, or my feelings when all my frozen embryos died, does not mean that infertility was shuffled unceremoniously to the back burner.

When we lost our second pregnancy in November 2004, every moment from that point became tainted. Here’s an analogy for you in case I’m being obtuse, if not just too damned wordy: we are living in a new home (coincidentally, construction started in 2004). It’s a gorgeous house. If you stopped by, I’m sure you would think we were very lucky to have such a lovely space to raise a family. It still has that new home smell to it. But what you wouldn’t realize is there is a fine layer of dust that has infiltrated every surface of the house due to the fact we are surrounded by sand, and no matter how many times I vacuum and dust and mop, the dust remains. It just takes a few days to build back up again. You may not see it, but I do. I see it every. goddamn. day.

That’s infertility. It may look to you as if my life as far as having the my son and now my daughter, is now “perfect”. But no matter how large my heart swells in my chest when I see ZGirl grin at me excitedly from her bassinet, or when my son hugs me tight and tells me he loves me, there will always be a fine dusting of infertility that I will have to work at to keep at bay.

My blogging began as a result of infertility. That was three years ago. Having a new baby at home for two months will never discount those three years. Maybe in three years, I’ll feel a little differently. Maybe then this blog will finally be something else, but I will guarantee if you run your white-gloved finger over the surface, you’ll still find a little dust.

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Responses

  1. You know, that describes things perfectly. I do believe there will be less dust over time, but always a lingering trace.

    Beautifully written post, my friend!

  2. Oh, babe, I hear you. I also think the experience colours how you parent or how you see the world years after. My feeling is, unless the person asks to be taken off the list (which happened once in over two years since I started the blogroll; that someone wanted to pretend IF never happened and go on to mommyblogging and not be seen on the blogroll), they will always be on it. There’s a lot to learn from reading a parenting after IF blog.

  3. OK. I sent you that e-mail BEFORE I read this. So you do get it and won’t think I am out of my freaking mind. I could not bring myself to say I *miss* infertility, because I don’t and for the record I am still infertile, BUT it was time spent in a place that I have memories from. Not all memories have to be happy to be part of your life package you recall when a bout of nostalgia hits.

    As I said, infertility is that dingy apartment you cannot wait to leave but once you are out you look back on it for the times you had there. That nasty torn up beer stained carpet will always be part of you.

    Eloquence and comparisons are not my strong suit today.. obviously.

  4. Dear DD, I hear you.

    And have I mentioned that I really hate dust?

  5. It’s dusty here, too. The eleven years between my kids often has people asking if LK was an “oops” pregnancy. If only it were that easy.

    Thanks for speaking the truth.

  6. 3 kids and my house is still dusty. *hugs*

  7. Exactly.

    I’ve noticed my traffic tailing off now all the babies!!! excitement has died off and it makes me feel a little saddened that it’s mostly probably because I’m Meant To Have Got There and therefore the old things don’t apply.

    Not true.

    Still infertile.

    Starting to think about my next FET and/or hoping to strike it very lucky the old fashioned way.

    J

  8. What a PERFECT analogy. Great things come out of that head of yours even if you are sleep deprived! My house too, will always be dusty.
    Karen

  9. It really is a wonderful analogy. You have said it so well yet again.

  10. The dust is always there but it does get to the point where you don’t really see it all the time.

  11. It’s as important now as it was then, the experience of having come through it is as valuable as the story from someone in the same boat at this moment in time.

    Don’t ever lose it.

  12. Definite dust here too. Too much in my husband’s eyes. It completely colours my attitude to parenting and reproduction generally. I think this is particularly so as almost no one outside the people who treated us has any idea of our infertility. Given the world thinks we planned two ideally spaced kids it in a way makes me feel/see the dust more if you know what I mean. We came off the motorway to the roundabout which leads to the clinic at the weekend and I got the same pit in my stomach as I did 2 years ago when we went for our last set of treatment. No need for that reaction at al but I guess in another 10 years I will still feel the same.

  13. Boy did you ever describe what was in my head and I couldn’t spit out. I too have a lot of dust hanging around. Hugs

  14. The dust always hangs around. {{{Hugs}}}

  15. I’m still here, honey. Not going anywhere.

    Plus, I had a dream last night that I visited your fancy new house and made you some delicious carbonated hot tea. I don’t know how that even works.

  16. Wow, that is a beautiful, bittersweet post. I know that sounds strange but that is the way I see it.

    I say the same about what kind of mom I am now that I KNOW you don’t just decide to have a baby and then boom your pregnant.

    I am a better mother because of infertility.

    Sadly, I feel like I am a worse wife.

  17. DD, stupid dust, eh? You and your family have been through a lot of different kinds of losses/difficult decisions etc. over the last couple of years. It’s a lot to process. I am glad you get a toothless smile once in a while!

  18. The dust aggravates my asthma – it gets in my lungs and I get wheezy and short of breath, my chest tightens up and it feels like an elephant is sitting on it sometimes..

    Thank you for this post. I don’t know why it is – but I feel so flipping guilty about having my kids sometimes. Guilty because it was harder than it should have been, because I had a lot of miscarriages and other issues – why should I feel guilty? Because I still know how it felt in the before. I still have that dusty, gritty feel all over my skin. I am in a chronic state of wishing to apologize to everyone who is in the before – for getting to the after.

  19. Found you through the Friday Roundup.

    Thank you for saying all the things that have been percolating in my brain for the past few months. This is a wonderful post.

  20. I also got here through the Friday Roundup. Wanted to thank you for writing this post.

    At 27 weeks pregnant, I sometimes feel like I don’t know where I belong in this community anymore. Sometimes I think am somehow betraying those who haven’t made it yet. Sometimes I feel like I’m in limbo between the two worlds.

    I don’t always blog about “infertility” per se anymore, but it’s always, always there. I hope that my readers can see and sense that.

    The infertility definitly still lingers and I think it always will.

  21. I don’t think it will ever go away.

  22. […] this is my post dedicated to NIAW. First review this post and come back to the picture below as I’m not sharing it with you to impress you with my obvious housekeeping skills. […]


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