Ponderings on Normality
Last week, I had my first appointment with my ob-gyn pertaining to my pregnancy. Everyone in the office was very congratulatory, which was nice, even if it did feel a little premature. I guess after 10 weeks, I should get over that feeling. Things are looking good.
(And I am mostly optimistic, really. I think anyone who's pregnant, though, has concerns and worries for the first trimester, probably because of how paranoid the internet, etc, has made us about this. I know many moons ago, women told everyone they were pregnant as soon as they knew. They didn't wait and worry, which is more common practice these days. I want to be nothing but happy and positive, but doubt creeps in occasionally. I also want to support the women in the Infertility Groups I'm in on Facebook, though a lot of them post when horrible things happen. Just this weekend, a woman lost her baby at 19 weeks. There isn't a huge amount of positivity, and that's probably because a) people need more comfort when things are going wrong and b) all of us in the groups know the struggles of trying, so the desire to post about positive things is tampered by the desire to not want to cause anyone else more distress. There is a group I'm in for Pregnancy After Infertility Support, but the majority of the people in there are nearly due or have children already, and those two things are still a challenge for me.)
I had Jon come to the doctor with me, and we were so excited at the prospect of seeing and hearing the baby again. After peeing in an open paper cup and leaving it on a counter, which was just kind of weird, I put on the awkward backward open gown and sat on the table. And then I got a full on 100% regular gynecological exam. And my poor husband had to sit in the corner and witness the entire thing. So now he knows what women go through once a year. But there was no ultrasound. It was so disappointing.
Apparently my first "real" pregnancy appointment will be this Friday instead. I'm not sure what will be different about it, but we'll find out. Even there, though, I was told I most likely will have to go elsewhere for an ultrasound due to insurance, and that probably won't be for a further week, around the 12 week mark.
I get that this is normal, I do. One of my coworkers, who loves talking about all of this with me, has been very vocal about the fact that this is what's normal, that I'll only be going to the doctor once a month for awhile, that I won't have an ultrasound every week. I've just been spoiled, I suppose, by the close monitoring process. Nothing else about this has been normal so far, so the transition to that status is jolting.
What even is normal for a pregnancy, though? As I said, I'm still mildly anxious about miscarrying, and I guess that's normal. I have decided since I began writing this, though, to feel much more optimistic. Yes, 1/4 of pregnancies end in miscarriages, but that means 75% don't. I've already overcome lower odds than that with my successful IVF treatment, anyway. I've lost one or two pregnancies chemically as it is. I don't have a history of miscarriages in my family. (Not that I know if that does anything to increase your chance or not.) I'm going to be fine.
I know I touched on this before, but I still feel a twinge of awful when I see babies or hear about pregnancies or have to sit in on people's conversations about their children. I'm working on it. But every time I hear about a pregnancy, I feel the sadness of the three years of trying fruitlessly to conceive. The pain of stabbing myself in the stomach, bruising myself, becoming even more intensely depressed by the estrogen shots. Having to have my eggs retrieved like a chicken in a surgery that involved anesthesia. Countless different people taking my blood every other day and poking around at my lady parts. Meanwhile, most people get to enjoy the baby making process. I'll have to face joking discussions of that for the rest of my life, knowing that that's not how at least one of my children was conceived. And knowing me, I'll always make an issue about it. Because even though I know that I've been blessed to have success, there are plenty of women who don't. There are women whose husbands refuse to even go the IVF route, or the adoption route, or the surrogate route. And wouldn't it be wonderful if, as a society, we were sensitive to those people's needs? If we didn't treat having a baby like it's expected and normal and easy? Just a thought.
When I see babies or hear conversations about them, it also comes with a twinge of pain. Extremely often, people with multiple children are younger than me, but they've already joined the Mommy Club that I'm working my butt off to be part of. It's hard to get past the self blame of waiting as long as I did, or even the mild blaming of my doctor, who kept me on birth control for as long as he did and told me there would be no side effects at all. I feel resentful when I hear about my groups of friends who hang out and discuss their children and have them play together. I am outside of that. I am other. I am different. I am left behind.
I know I'm getting there, that soon I can be accepted as someone who asks if I took my kids out to play in the snow or whines about how little sleep I got due to my crying baby or yells at my kids to stop doing something while I'm on the phone with someone. But by the time I'm there, all the things that are new to me will be old hat to everyone else. They'll laugh at how inexperienced I am and say, "Oh, that's so common, this is what I did in that situation." And I'm not big on being shamed or taking advice. A lot of times, I've tried everything I can possibly think of, which includes most of what others have thought of, as well. If I want advice, I'll ask. (A strange pet peeve of mine.)
Being a parent seems to evoke a lot of comparisons, a lot of "this is what I did and therefore what you should do." A lot of simultaneous bragging and complaining. As of now, I'm not interested in any of these activities. I wonder if that's because I now listen to children be the only topic of conversation among parents. It feels as though many people lose their identities when they have children and become at least 75% parent. Much as I want to have a healthy baby, I don't want to lose myself. I understand that there will be many sacrifices I will have to make, but I don't want kids to be the only thing I can talk about anymore.
I'm sure they won't be. I'm sure the people I hear do this don't have much else in common, and that's why it's all they talk about, and that I will still be able to have other conversations with those I'm actually close with. And that we'll end up talking more about children than I plan to because that'll be what's going on in my life once they're around.
I'm just... I'm not a typical person. I'm not the woman to coo and ahh over babies. I know I want to retain my sense of identity. I know I don't want to talk endlessly about babies and baby stuff. I know I don't want to compare whatever I choose to do with my child/ren to whatever everyone else does.
I just want to do me. Why does that feel like it's so hard sometimes?
Sorry. Whining over.
Apparently my first "real" pregnancy appointment will be this Friday instead. I'm not sure what will be different about it, but we'll find out. Even there, though, I was told I most likely will have to go elsewhere for an ultrasound due to insurance, and that probably won't be for a further week, around the 12 week mark.
I get that this is normal, I do. One of my coworkers, who loves talking about all of this with me, has been very vocal about the fact that this is what's normal, that I'll only be going to the doctor once a month for awhile, that I won't have an ultrasound every week. I've just been spoiled, I suppose, by the close monitoring process. Nothing else about this has been normal so far, so the transition to that status is jolting.
What even is normal for a pregnancy, though? As I said, I'm still mildly anxious about miscarrying, and I guess that's normal. I have decided since I began writing this, though, to feel much more optimistic. Yes, 1/4 of pregnancies end in miscarriages, but that means 75% don't. I've already overcome lower odds than that with my successful IVF treatment, anyway. I've lost one or two pregnancies chemically as it is. I don't have a history of miscarriages in my family. (Not that I know if that does anything to increase your chance or not.) I'm going to be fine.
I know I touched on this before, but I still feel a twinge of awful when I see babies or hear about pregnancies or have to sit in on people's conversations about their children. I'm working on it. But every time I hear about a pregnancy, I feel the sadness of the three years of trying fruitlessly to conceive. The pain of stabbing myself in the stomach, bruising myself, becoming even more intensely depressed by the estrogen shots. Having to have my eggs retrieved like a chicken in a surgery that involved anesthesia. Countless different people taking my blood every other day and poking around at my lady parts. Meanwhile, most people get to enjoy the baby making process. I'll have to face joking discussions of that for the rest of my life, knowing that that's not how at least one of my children was conceived. And knowing me, I'll always make an issue about it. Because even though I know that I've been blessed to have success, there are plenty of women who don't. There are women whose husbands refuse to even go the IVF route, or the adoption route, or the surrogate route. And wouldn't it be wonderful if, as a society, we were sensitive to those people's needs? If we didn't treat having a baby like it's expected and normal and easy? Just a thought.
When I see babies or hear conversations about them, it also comes with a twinge of pain. Extremely often, people with multiple children are younger than me, but they've already joined the Mommy Club that I'm working my butt off to be part of. It's hard to get past the self blame of waiting as long as I did, or even the mild blaming of my doctor, who kept me on birth control for as long as he did and told me there would be no side effects at all. I feel resentful when I hear about my groups of friends who hang out and discuss their children and have them play together. I am outside of that. I am other. I am different. I am left behind.
I know I'm getting there, that soon I can be accepted as someone who asks if I took my kids out to play in the snow or whines about how little sleep I got due to my crying baby or yells at my kids to stop doing something while I'm on the phone with someone. But by the time I'm there, all the things that are new to me will be old hat to everyone else. They'll laugh at how inexperienced I am and say, "Oh, that's so common, this is what I did in that situation." And I'm not big on being shamed or taking advice. A lot of times, I've tried everything I can possibly think of, which includes most of what others have thought of, as well. If I want advice, I'll ask. (A strange pet peeve of mine.)
Being a parent seems to evoke a lot of comparisons, a lot of "this is what I did and therefore what you should do." A lot of simultaneous bragging and complaining. As of now, I'm not interested in any of these activities. I wonder if that's because I now listen to children be the only topic of conversation among parents. It feels as though many people lose their identities when they have children and become at least 75% parent. Much as I want to have a healthy baby, I don't want to lose myself. I understand that there will be many sacrifices I will have to make, but I don't want kids to be the only thing I can talk about anymore.
I'm sure they won't be. I'm sure the people I hear do this don't have much else in common, and that's why it's all they talk about, and that I will still be able to have other conversations with those I'm actually close with. And that we'll end up talking more about children than I plan to because that'll be what's going on in my life once they're around.
I'm just... I'm not a typical person. I'm not the woman to coo and ahh over babies. I know I want to retain my sense of identity. I know I don't want to talk endlessly about babies and baby stuff. I know I don't want to compare whatever I choose to do with my child/ren to whatever everyone else does.
I just want to do me. Why does that feel like it's so hard sometimes?
Sorry. Whining over.
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