MJ, by all accounts, is a very good baby. On average, he sleeps two to three hours, wakes up, gets his diaper changed, eats and then for the most part, goes right back to sleep. He can get crabby here and there but even at his worst, he’s more like an old man kvetching that he hasn’t pooped in a while than he is a baby screaming bloody murder. If he could talk, I imagine him saying, “Hey lady… do you have any prunes? I’m backed up and it’s annoying me.” That’s his general tone when he’s fussy. He complains rather than cries. I can respect this as I’m a big fan of complaining. It’s often been a hobby of mine. That and worrying.
During the day, I have “Sophie’s Choice” moments where I have to ask myself, “Ok… do I want to try and have lunch or take a nap?” I simply can’t do both. Often throughout the day, I must decide things like that. Pump or sleep? Call the insurance company or sterilize bottles? Call my therapist or pay bills? More often than not, I end up holding MJ and falling asleep while watching either reruns of The Golden Girls or Sex and The City (it depends if I want my women with estrogen or without). This is the reason I haven’t blogged in a while. I don’t even have time to find out what’s going on with Carrie and Mr. Big lately or who Blanche is sleeping with in today’s episode let alone take a proper pee break. Even now, as I’m typing, I’m pumping with the “hands free bra”. I’m feeling very Madonna circa 1990-something in that cone-shaped bustier while I’m currently typing this. Instead of “Vogueing” though, I’ll just “Vague”. It feels more appropriate to my current mental state.
My father asked me recently if I’ve put "that whole infertility thing" behind me. I love how he said it like it was a fad (i.e. “Infertility! It’s all the rage in Paris!”) I know this is something that many women in my situation blog about. I don’t want to go on about it too much as it really is discussed and debated so often that it seems almost redundant to visit it here. I also discussed it quite a lot during my pregnancy, that I always felt like a “pregnant infertile”, so I’m pretty sure you all know how I feel anyway.
In general though, at least for me, when you spend your life savings on getting pregnant, when you spend almost three years getting negative pregnancy tests while everyone around you gets pregnant after simply sharing a soda with a man, and after going through the hormonal, physical and emotional strain of timed cycles, inseminations and in vitros, you tend not to forget it. I know some women who have gone through what I have that do in fact forget all about it and I admire that. I, however, don’t feel that way. It’s not that I’m a victim of infertility as much as it is, as I mentioned in my very first paragraph, that it gives me a level of gratitude that I wonder if the fertile community at large has. Every poopy diaper, any lack of sleep, any meltdowns, I remember that I never thought I’d even get to do any of this and that immediately puts things in to perspective. I’m BEYOND proud of what we endured and I’m grateful for where we are at.
I’d like to end today’s blog post with a quick note of appreciation to my breasts. Yes, you read that right. Of all of the many things I’ve learned recently, I’ve really grown to appreciate how awesome boobs are. Men have often said that if they had them, they’d stay at home and play with them all day. For the first time, I truly get that. They often serve as both MJ’s food and as a place for him to rest his head. It’s because of this that my husband and I now refer to my chest as a “Bed and Breakfast for Babies”. Sincerely – when MJ is at his worst, I just rest him on my chest and he’s quiet and happy within seconds. Since my day job is with all men, I may start considering using this strategy when I return to work. I don’t think my husband will like it but I have no doubt that not only will it shut up whichever male co-worker is being difficult that day but it also may result in me getting a bigger bonus this year.
Until next time… hoping all of YOU are doing wonderfully!