The bear's sister announced to us last night that she is pregnant. The pills must be working because I only had a small cry, rather than the exhaustingly bitter torrents of tears that have been more usual of late. I wonder if I'm suppressing it and it's all going to explode when we spend Christmas together with the in-laws. I hope not!
The awful thing was that we did it over webcam, so I had to plaster a smile across my face, and maintain it for a good ten minutes. The bear's sister announced it in a nice way - that we're going to be an aunt and uncle - which actually is a very nice feeling. That baby will be very special to us. As everyone says I look like Nick's sister, the baby might even look a bit like me in spite of not being a blood relative!
I had a very small cry to my parents over the phone while the bear was still on Skype to the Rouennais, so that by the time he got off the phone I could be happy and positive about it. I didn't want my poor husband to feel he couldn't be happy for his own sister because his wife was falling apart. The sad thing was that actually, regardless of my bravado, he is feeling a bit depressed about it in his own right. He wanted to be a father before he was an uncle, and now his little sister has overtaken him! I worry for the bear at the moment. I think he is going through one of the darkest phases of the infertility journey - he can't stand seeing families with young children, tells the telly to f*** off every time there's a pregnant woman, or baby, etc. I was there about 6 months ago - couldn't see a baby in Sainsburys without welling up.
The poor bear. I at least have chemical assistance now to get me through it all, and I also have this blog, which no-one reads, but which is a wonderful overflow for my darkest moods! Perhaps I should encourage the bear to do the same!
Monday, 15 September 2008
Sunday, 14 September 2008
Oh for a desert island
It’s hard enough to alter my thinking on the pregnancy thing. I accept now that the pressure I’m putting on myself to get pregnant might be the very thing that’s preventing it, but the million dollar question is how to change it? I can tell myself to relax about it till I’m blue in the face, but the reality is that I feel I can’t escape from constant reminders of other people’s luck/talent/ability to achieve what I have as yet been unable to.
Take today, for example. After my GP appointment this morning I was feeling quite positive – yet after lunch I yet again found myself in the midst of one of those baby conversations from which there is no escape. This time it’s a proud father to be, so at least I didn’t have to sit there looking at a great big bump mocking me. I just had to listen to him talking excitedly about how the baby’s due literally any day now, and his mother’s on call to help out etc, etc. The stupid thing is that I ASKED! I must be a glutton for punishment! Still, we learn by these things. I’m not going to ask anymore, even if it does make me look heartless!
Then I turned the radio on – only to hear another proud father on BBC1, celebrating his new arrival – the DJ empathises, ‘I’ve got one of my own that’s 10 months’. I throw the headphones down in disgust. Is it just me or is it more prevalent at the moment? Is it the wave of celeb births that’s making it into such a popular topic – like a Birkin bag, or the latest dress seen on Cameron Diaz? Or is it just that the birth rate in this country is in boom? Am I just being a miserable old cow thinking that this media obsession with babies is tasteless and insensitive? After all 1 in 6 of us suffers from some kind of infertility so I’m sure I can’t be the only person who gets upset… maybe I should petition the Baby Broadcasting Corporation, but I’m afraid they’re going to think I’m that crazy lady I’m so keen not to be.
Take today, for example. After my GP appointment this morning I was feeling quite positive – yet after lunch I yet again found myself in the midst of one of those baby conversations from which there is no escape. This time it’s a proud father to be, so at least I didn’t have to sit there looking at a great big bump mocking me. I just had to listen to him talking excitedly about how the baby’s due literally any day now, and his mother’s on call to help out etc, etc. The stupid thing is that I ASKED! I must be a glutton for punishment! Still, we learn by these things. I’m not going to ask anymore, even if it does make me look heartless!
Then I turned the radio on – only to hear another proud father on BBC1, celebrating his new arrival – the DJ empathises, ‘I’ve got one of my own that’s 10 months’. I throw the headphones down in disgust. Is it just me or is it more prevalent at the moment? Is it the wave of celeb births that’s making it into such a popular topic – like a Birkin bag, or the latest dress seen on Cameron Diaz? Or is it just that the birth rate in this country is in boom? Am I just being a miserable old cow thinking that this media obsession with babies is tasteless and insensitive? After all 1 in 6 of us suffers from some kind of infertility so I’m sure I can’t be the only person who gets upset… maybe I should petition the Baby Broadcasting Corporation, but I’m afraid they’re going to think I’m that crazy lady I’m so keen not to be.
Three pieces of advice
It’s much harder to write this blog now I’m back at work – plus the anti-depressants seem to make me a bit sleepy after 6.00p.m, so I’m never in the mood to switch on the computer once back at home. So, I’m writing this on my lunchbreak ready to upload this evening (blogs are sensibly blocked by our Websense filter at work).
This morning I had another appointment with the kindly GP. He’s got an obvious interest in psychology and is keen to ensure that I don’t feel guilty or inadequate for needing help. He’s very understanding and we’ve agreed that I’ll finish off the month’s pills and see how I feel – whether I want to carry on or not. He also gave me three pieces of advice, like a fairy godmother for the depressed:
People aren’t telepathic; tell them how you feel, even if they won’t like it. It’s not my responsibility to regulate other people’s feelings.Let friends and family know that you just need to talk, you’re not expecting them to fix or cure!Put a time limit on how long you talk about your feelings, so you and the listener don’t get exhausted.
The first of these I found interesting. It’s true that I have sat through many, many incredibly painful baby conversations and smiled simply because I don’t want to make the other person feel they can’t be happy around me. But why do I insist on sublimating my own happiness to theirs?
A colleague of mine who recently gave birth was absolutely aware of my struggle to get pregnant and how upset it made me, and yet she carried on blithely giving me daily updates of her pregnancy, from ‘Oh, I’m definitely in a bone-making phase, I can’t stop eating dairy’ to ‘You won’t believe how much closer this has brought me and Simon – you can’t know until you get pregnant’. I’ve sat through details of birth plans, pram shopping, and name choices. I’ve made appropriate noises about scans, and listened to the whys and wherefores of not wanting to know the sex of the baby before the birth. I’ve listened while other colleagues come over and chat for 20 minutes about how wonderful their lives have become since having children and all the cute things that the little buggers do. No more!
I’m also feeling really bad about the thought of handing in my notice. I’ve got a new job - a great job - lots more money and responsibility, and instead of being excited I’m feeling guilty about leaving my colleagues in the lurch at a time when so many are out on maternity leave, and another is about to leave to look after her children full time! I realised this morning that rule no 1 above has applications beyond coping with subfertility. I care too much about what other people think and how they feel. I am so desperate to avoid making others unhappy or stressed out, that I reflect it back onto myself instead. I don’t need to resign for another few days, but I’ve decided that when I do, I must try to feel strong about doing something great for myself.
This morning I had another appointment with the kindly GP. He’s got an obvious interest in psychology and is keen to ensure that I don’t feel guilty or inadequate for needing help. He’s very understanding and we’ve agreed that I’ll finish off the month’s pills and see how I feel – whether I want to carry on or not. He also gave me three pieces of advice, like a fairy godmother for the depressed:
People aren’t telepathic; tell them how you feel, even if they won’t like it. It’s not my responsibility to regulate other people’s feelings.Let friends and family know that you just need to talk, you’re not expecting them to fix or cure!Put a time limit on how long you talk about your feelings, so you and the listener don’t get exhausted.
The first of these I found interesting. It’s true that I have sat through many, many incredibly painful baby conversations and smiled simply because I don’t want to make the other person feel they can’t be happy around me. But why do I insist on sublimating my own happiness to theirs?
A colleague of mine who recently gave birth was absolutely aware of my struggle to get pregnant and how upset it made me, and yet she carried on blithely giving me daily updates of her pregnancy, from ‘Oh, I’m definitely in a bone-making phase, I can’t stop eating dairy’ to ‘You won’t believe how much closer this has brought me and Simon – you can’t know until you get pregnant’. I’ve sat through details of birth plans, pram shopping, and name choices. I’ve made appropriate noises about scans, and listened to the whys and wherefores of not wanting to know the sex of the baby before the birth. I’ve listened while other colleagues come over and chat for 20 minutes about how wonderful their lives have become since having children and all the cute things that the little buggers do. No more!
I’m also feeling really bad about the thought of handing in my notice. I’ve got a new job - a great job - lots more money and responsibility, and instead of being excited I’m feeling guilty about leaving my colleagues in the lurch at a time when so many are out on maternity leave, and another is about to leave to look after her children full time! I realised this morning that rule no 1 above has applications beyond coping with subfertility. I care too much about what other people think and how they feel. I am so desperate to avoid making others unhappy or stressed out, that I reflect it back onto myself instead. I don’t need to resign for another few days, but I’ve decided that when I do, I must try to feel strong about doing something great for myself.
Saturday, 6 September 2008
Aren't you glad you asked?
So today I had lunch with an old friend I haven't seen in a couple of years. (He's been living the other side of the world, so there's a good excuse). As I'm not much of an emailer, we haven't had much communication at all in three years, so I was worried it might be a little awkward. Actually, it was much less awkward than I feared, until he asked "so, you've been married a couple of years. Don't you want any kids?"
We'd been talking about mutual friends, who are expecting their second child at the moment. Three years ago, they'd been visiting the bear and I in Oxford, and I'd asked them a version of the same question my old friend had just asked me. In response, the girl had burst into tears, and it turned out she'd just had a miscarriage. "It was then that I learned never to ask anyone about their baby intentions," I had just said to my old friend. Not taking the hint he followed up with his insensitive question.
My tactic for dealing with this kind of questioning is three strikes and out. I'll let it slide a couple of times, and the third time I'll let them have it. People get really squirmily uncomforable when I tell the truth, but I figure it'll teach them a lesson and maybe they'll think twice about asking those questions again! Unfortunately for my friend he'd already had his first two strikes on the phone when we were arranging to meet, so I just told him straight - unexplained infertility. "Aren't you glad you asked?" I said when I finished. "I told you it's a bad idea to ask about people's baby intentions!"
He's not really the type to get embarrassed, so we moved on, and the rest of the meal went OK. I was really quite pleased that I managed to talk about it without getting emotional, and then move on. So either the anti-depressants are working, or else I'm just learning to relax about it some more. Probably it's neither and I'm just lucky my hormones are in balance today! Anyway, after my friend went on to meet his girlfriend in London I drove into town and did some retail therapy. The bear won't be happy when he sees how much I've spent, but I'm very happy indeed. What's the point of having more disposable income if you're not going to dispose of it!
We'd been talking about mutual friends, who are expecting their second child at the moment. Three years ago, they'd been visiting the bear and I in Oxford, and I'd asked them a version of the same question my old friend had just asked me. In response, the girl had burst into tears, and it turned out she'd just had a miscarriage. "It was then that I learned never to ask anyone about their baby intentions," I had just said to my old friend. Not taking the hint he followed up with his insensitive question.
My tactic for dealing with this kind of questioning is three strikes and out. I'll let it slide a couple of times, and the third time I'll let them have it. People get really squirmily uncomforable when I tell the truth, but I figure it'll teach them a lesson and maybe they'll think twice about asking those questions again! Unfortunately for my friend he'd already had his first two strikes on the phone when we were arranging to meet, so I just told him straight - unexplained infertility. "Aren't you glad you asked?" I said when I finished. "I told you it's a bad idea to ask about people's baby intentions!"
He's not really the type to get embarrassed, so we moved on, and the rest of the meal went OK. I was really quite pleased that I managed to talk about it without getting emotional, and then move on. So either the anti-depressants are working, or else I'm just learning to relax about it some more. Probably it's neither and I'm just lucky my hormones are in balance today! Anyway, after my friend went on to meet his girlfriend in London I drove into town and did some retail therapy. The bear won't be happy when he sees how much I've spent, but I'm very happy indeed. What's the point of having more disposable income if you're not going to dispose of it!
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
Blind sided
Well i think now that there's no point pretending to myself that this isn't a fertility blog. I think I need to just accept that and go with the flow, hoping that it might be in some way therapeutic.
I went back to work today after my op, and this afternoon suffered what I think is about as close as I've ever got to a nervous breakdown. It was all going so well... I was almost bouncing off the walls this morning, feeling great. Feeling like I'd had a good week of rest and managed to get some perspective back in my life. Boy, was I deluding myself.
Over lunch I sent an email to the lady who leads the Guide unit I assist with. She'd already mentioned that her old assistant wanted to come back this term, which would now make 4 of us. I was emailing her to see how she'd feel if I looked for another unit, who might need my help more. (There's such a dirth of volunteers for Girlguiding - if you're interested, let me know!). She wrote back to say that after Christmas there would only be 3 of us again, as she's expecting.
WHAM! I don't think I've ever been quite so affected by a pregnancy announcement before. I've suffered, sure, but I've always been able to hold it together. It's not like I don't like this lady - I really do - and yet news of her happiness just plunged me into a pit of depression. 'Why not me, why not me, why not me', going round my head like a mantra. I started to cry at my desk, right out in the open in the middle of the office. Luckily no-one was immediately around, so I managed to dry my eyes a bit and make a dash for the toilet, where I then sat for 20 minutes in hysterics. Eventually I realised I was just going to have to go home. I went to tell my manager and then cried on her shoulder for 10 minutes too. She is so compassionate, and it helps a lot although in some ways makes it easier to fall apart, I suppose. My department is so incredibly female, (and also incredibly fertile at the moment - 5 pregnancies in the last 12 months - HELL), which has its advantages, and disadvantages.
The bear works at the same place as me, so I saw him before leaving (to give him bus fare as I was taking the car). He just looked so worn out by it all, as though he was thinking 'here we go again, I thought she was making some progress' (I expect that was a bit of transference, he didn't actually say so). i felt as though if I were a celeb I'd be booking myself right into the Priory, so on my way home I drove past my turning, and straight on to the doctor.
I thought he'd probably tell me to relax, and send me on my way, but actually he was great. He told me it was good that I had asked for help, and was incredibly understanding and nice - and kept the Kleenex flowing. He's given me a prescription for some anti-depressants that are baby-safe (just in case) and some sleeping tablets to take the edge of the night anxiety attacks I've been having. I haven't even taken one yet, but I feel better knowing I have them - like I've been thrown a lifeline. I didn't want to go down the medication route unless I had to, but I've just been finding it increasingly hard to cope with my feelings by myself, and I just look forward to at least a month where the edges are just rubbed a little smoother.
In my blog of a couple of days ago, I mentioned not wanting to become the crazy lady who just thinks about babies all the time, and now I realise that it's no always about what you want. I guess nobody ever really wants to go crazy! I know I'm a long way off the psych ward just yet, but I realise how fragile the mind can be, and how if the pressure just keeps building up, it's going to blow eventually, no matter how hard you try to tell it you're fine.
I went back to work today after my op, and this afternoon suffered what I think is about as close as I've ever got to a nervous breakdown. It was all going so well... I was almost bouncing off the walls this morning, feeling great. Feeling like I'd had a good week of rest and managed to get some perspective back in my life. Boy, was I deluding myself.
Over lunch I sent an email to the lady who leads the Guide unit I assist with. She'd already mentioned that her old assistant wanted to come back this term, which would now make 4 of us. I was emailing her to see how she'd feel if I looked for another unit, who might need my help more. (There's such a dirth of volunteers for Girlguiding - if you're interested, let me know!). She wrote back to say that after Christmas there would only be 3 of us again, as she's expecting.
WHAM! I don't think I've ever been quite so affected by a pregnancy announcement before. I've suffered, sure, but I've always been able to hold it together. It's not like I don't like this lady - I really do - and yet news of her happiness just plunged me into a pit of depression. 'Why not me, why not me, why not me', going round my head like a mantra. I started to cry at my desk, right out in the open in the middle of the office. Luckily no-one was immediately around, so I managed to dry my eyes a bit and make a dash for the toilet, where I then sat for 20 minutes in hysterics. Eventually I realised I was just going to have to go home. I went to tell my manager and then cried on her shoulder for 10 minutes too. She is so compassionate, and it helps a lot although in some ways makes it easier to fall apart, I suppose. My department is so incredibly female, (and also incredibly fertile at the moment - 5 pregnancies in the last 12 months - HELL), which has its advantages, and disadvantages.
The bear works at the same place as me, so I saw him before leaving (to give him bus fare as I was taking the car). He just looked so worn out by it all, as though he was thinking 'here we go again, I thought she was making some progress' (I expect that was a bit of transference, he didn't actually say so). i felt as though if I were a celeb I'd be booking myself right into the Priory, so on my way home I drove past my turning, and straight on to the doctor.
I thought he'd probably tell me to relax, and send me on my way, but actually he was great. He told me it was good that I had asked for help, and was incredibly understanding and nice - and kept the Kleenex flowing. He's given me a prescription for some anti-depressants that are baby-safe (just in case) and some sleeping tablets to take the edge of the night anxiety attacks I've been having. I haven't even taken one yet, but I feel better knowing I have them - like I've been thrown a lifeline. I didn't want to go down the medication route unless I had to, but I've just been finding it increasingly hard to cope with my feelings by myself, and I just look forward to at least a month where the edges are just rubbed a little smoother.
In my blog of a couple of days ago, I mentioned not wanting to become the crazy lady who just thinks about babies all the time, and now I realise that it's no always about what you want. I guess nobody ever really wants to go crazy! I know I'm a long way off the psych ward just yet, but I realise how fragile the mind can be, and how if the pressure just keeps building up, it's going to blow eventually, no matter how hard you try to tell it you're fine.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Five go on an adventure part 1
For the August bank holiday weekend me, the bear, mad sister and the quiet man (her boyfriend) and lovely guy (quiet man's best friend) went on a camping and walking trip to North Wales.
Charleze (our faithful C5) was bulging at the seams with tents, sleeping bags, mats, mattresses, etc, with pillows and extra detrius spilling over onto the back seat, making for a cosy 6 hours in the car - at least for those in the back! Departing on the Friday afternoon, we hoped to beat the traffic, but it became swiftly obvious that our cunning genius was neither cunning nor genius, and that astonishingly, many more thousand weekenders had also taken an extra afternoon off work to get the edge. Who'd've guessed?
Still, the mood was good; our new gadget to transmit from our MP3s onto a radio channel ensured a steady stream of music paletable to our (or at least my) ears; and some rare sunshine bouyed our spirits. Lots of Famous Five jokes flew around the car - Five go on an adventure, lashings of ginger beer, etc, etc - although no-one wanted to take the role of Timmy the dog.
We had picked out our campsite over the internet during the week, selected for the fact they allowed campfires, and rolled up to its gates just before 8.00p.m; luckily still with an hour of light to go in which to pitch out tents. The campsite was the most populated place we'd seen in at least an hour, and had a festival feel about it. We were greeted at the gate by a bevvy of Australian workers (What does Pom stand for? Answer: Miserable Pommy Bastards. What do we call Australians? Answer: bar staff) who were jovial and welcoming, and with something akin to Blitz spirit informed us that vehicles were not allowed onto the fields as they were already in such a state. Minutes later, we discovered what they meant. At the bottom of a valley, with nowhere for the water to go but into the earth, the fields were totally waterlogged, and bordered by mudpits where the vehicles were allowed to park. My toeless sandals, and the mad sister's flipflops quickly proved to have been the wrong footware for the weekend!
An hour later though, we had the tents up, mattresses blown, sleeping bags unrolled, and a fire burning in a hastily dug pit (courtesy of a weed-smoking business lecturer from Manchester who's true passion was the slate slopes of Snowdonia), and while there was already plenty of water beneath us, the skies were for now being merciful. After a box of wine, and a meal of pasta and sauce that was far tastier than I would've expected, we were all very merry and contented, and the promise of a fantastic weekend ahead of us.
Monday, 1 September 2008
Let's talk about procreation, baby!
I didn't want this blog to be all about subfertility but as that's what's going on in my life I can't resist the temptation to write about it. (I wanted this blog to be pithy little exerpts of our reassuringly average life but I realise already that this was a major over-estimation of my writing abilities and capacity for humour!) So, embracing the fact that all I really want to do is scream at the world about infertility and maybe, just maybe, in the process make myself and maybe someone else feel a bit better.
The bear thinks that our inconceivable inconceiving can be explained by my own mental attitude to it; that from the beginning I've been petrified by the idea of infertility and have therefore turned it into a self-fulfilling prophesy. This has been the root of many arguments over the last 24 months, as you can imagine. When my period rolls into town, all I'm looking for is sympathy and understanding, and instead I get told that it's all my own fault and if I could just stop stressing and worrying about it, it would all be fine. (The bear denies that he has ever said this in this way - and I wonder if it's a Venus/Mars thing because that is definitely what I hear! "Everyone I've spoken to says you just need to relax", he says, and I hear "I've told everyone how neurotic you're being, and they all think you're causing your own infertility.")
That's not to say that the bear and I are falling apart over this. On the contrary, he has been extremely sweet and supportive and I think it has brought us closer together if anything. I have to feel sorry for him actually - he mentioned to me the other day that he gets no sympathy from anyone over our situation, whereas I at least, have legions of female friends who have been very patient and understanding. It's true that because I live through the hormonal ups and downs, the hyper-sensitivity to any small change in the way my body feels, and the fantasies of getting pregnant each month, I tend to feel that I am more affected by this mentally than he is, and of course that's not entirely the case.
I guess because of our age, we have been surrounded, ever since we began trying, by couples who've had better luck than us. There's a whole host of new little Frenchies over in Normandy, while back on this side of the channel, 5 women in my department at work have fallen in the last 12 months, and - worst of all (for me) - one of my closest friends is now expecting. If anyone is reading this, you will either think I am a selfish, heartless witch for not being totally happy for my friend, or, if you are going through the same thing as me, you will understand that it's just really hard to see someone else get exactly what you want! I love my friend, and I'm trying hard not to push her away because she deserves this baby and she deserves good friends around her during this time, but I sometimes do have difficulty handling it. Partly, because I know she feels bad for me, and she is uncomfortable around me as a result! What a mess.
On a plus side, I have found a really good friend at work who has been through the whole infertility thing and come out the other side. She and her husband decided that if it was not meant to be they wouldn't push it. This lady is so strong and beautiful and poised and wise... it gives me so much hope for if I never do get pregnant. I'm sure the bear would be tearing his (copious) hair out right now because he would see this as an example of me being defeatist, but actually, it is quite the opposite in my mind. I realised recently that the thing that has been hardest for me all along is that nobody would recognise the fact that it might not happen for us. Everyone keeps saying "give it time, relax, it'll happen eventually, there's loads of things you can try if you can't get pregnant naturally" and so I was unable to get any help dealing with my greatest fear - what happens if we can't?
Now, I have started to feel calmer about the possibility of it never happening (although I am secretly hoping that this will help me get pregnant, so maybe I'm not there yet!). I can see now that it wouldn't be a total disaster, and I so do not want to fall into the trap of being an obsessive, neurotic, crazy lady who drives all her friends away because they can't be pregnant around her. That said, I do wish there wasn't quite so much 'baby-ness' all over the TV and internet. I can't seem to get away from baby images, wherever I go, and have stopped listening to BBC Radio 1 because in my view it's turned into the Baby Broadcasting Corporation (there I go... on that track to crazy lady ville).
I think that in summary to this mammoth blog, all I can say is that it's complicated. But I'm really going to try not to let my emotions rule me... but I am going to make sure the bear is pretty busy next month!
The bear thinks that our inconceivable inconceiving can be explained by my own mental attitude to it; that from the beginning I've been petrified by the idea of infertility and have therefore turned it into a self-fulfilling prophesy. This has been the root of many arguments over the last 24 months, as you can imagine. When my period rolls into town, all I'm looking for is sympathy and understanding, and instead I get told that it's all my own fault and if I could just stop stressing and worrying about it, it would all be fine. (The bear denies that he has ever said this in this way - and I wonder if it's a Venus/Mars thing because that is definitely what I hear! "Everyone I've spoken to says you just need to relax", he says, and I hear "I've told everyone how neurotic you're being, and they all think you're causing your own infertility.")
That's not to say that the bear and I are falling apart over this. On the contrary, he has been extremely sweet and supportive and I think it has brought us closer together if anything. I have to feel sorry for him actually - he mentioned to me the other day that he gets no sympathy from anyone over our situation, whereas I at least, have legions of female friends who have been very patient and understanding. It's true that because I live through the hormonal ups and downs, the hyper-sensitivity to any small change in the way my body feels, and the fantasies of getting pregnant each month, I tend to feel that I am more affected by this mentally than he is, and of course that's not entirely the case.
I guess because of our age, we have been surrounded, ever since we began trying, by couples who've had better luck than us. There's a whole host of new little Frenchies over in Normandy, while back on this side of the channel, 5 women in my department at work have fallen in the last 12 months, and - worst of all (for me) - one of my closest friends is now expecting. If anyone is reading this, you will either think I am a selfish, heartless witch for not being totally happy for my friend, or, if you are going through the same thing as me, you will understand that it's just really hard to see someone else get exactly what you want! I love my friend, and I'm trying hard not to push her away because she deserves this baby and she deserves good friends around her during this time, but I sometimes do have difficulty handling it. Partly, because I know she feels bad for me, and she is uncomfortable around me as a result! What a mess.
On a plus side, I have found a really good friend at work who has been through the whole infertility thing and come out the other side. She and her husband decided that if it was not meant to be they wouldn't push it. This lady is so strong and beautiful and poised and wise... it gives me so much hope for if I never do get pregnant. I'm sure the bear would be tearing his (copious) hair out right now because he would see this as an example of me being defeatist, but actually, it is quite the opposite in my mind. I realised recently that the thing that has been hardest for me all along is that nobody would recognise the fact that it might not happen for us. Everyone keeps saying "give it time, relax, it'll happen eventually, there's loads of things you can try if you can't get pregnant naturally" and so I was unable to get any help dealing with my greatest fear - what happens if we can't?
Now, I have started to feel calmer about the possibility of it never happening (although I am secretly hoping that this will help me get pregnant, so maybe I'm not there yet!). I can see now that it wouldn't be a total disaster, and I so do not want to fall into the trap of being an obsessive, neurotic, crazy lady who drives all her friends away because they can't be pregnant around her. That said, I do wish there wasn't quite so much 'baby-ness' all over the TV and internet. I can't seem to get away from baby images, wherever I go, and have stopped listening to BBC Radio 1 because in my view it's turned into the Baby Broadcasting Corporation (there I go... on that track to crazy lady ville).
I think that in summary to this mammoth blog, all I can say is that it's complicated. But I'm really going to try not to let my emotions rule me... but I am going to make sure the bear is pretty busy next month!
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