AF? Anyone?

Having been a blogger for a month-and-a-half now (woop woop!), I have pretty much got the blogging/infertility abbreviations down. But there's one that, although I know what it means, I haven't a clue what it stands for. AF. 

From previous posts I've read I know it means the start of the menstrual cycle. The day the painters and decorators arrive. Menses. The blob. The monthly cycle. Arsenal are playing a home game. Woman troubles. And since that's where I'm at right now I thought I should really know what it stands for.

I have been thinking it over and over and have come up with some possible solutions to what AF could stand for:

At First

Achy Feeling

Acutely Feminine

Achy & Flustered...

.....but my favourite has to be

Ahhh F*@k!

 this one definitely seems most appropriate for TTCers.

However this month I was totally expecting my unwelcome visitor, after all it's been our first month of not trying, so at least there has been no major heartache involved this time. In fact I can't believe a whole month has passed since the yoga incident (backstory here). A whole lunar cycle.

I love the fact that my body is connected to the moon. That as she changes throughout the month, the shifts in her beauty, her personality, her power - are reflected in me, in us, the women on this planet. I found this website (click here) that relates our monthly cycle to the lunar one and this is what it recommends for my particular time of the month:

The luteal phase is likened to the waning moon. The buildup for ovulation has come to pass and women will benefit from taking time for inner reflection and deep rest. As the energies wind down, taking time to deeply nourish with healthy foods and self care will help with the transition to menstruation, marking the beginning of the new moon, and help to combat PMS.

I like the sound of the deep rest and self care. I'll definitely show this to Mr. T. And if anyone knows what AF really stands for, please enlighten me. I'm sure it's going to be a Durr, Of course! moment :)

When Everyone Else is Expecting

This has been plaguing my mind for days now. Ever since I heard that a friend of my husband’s is expecting a baby with a girl he doesn’t really know so well.  They were just messing around and now they’re planning a family and a future together. And then I heard that two other couples we know, who just got married, are now expecting. I also have three girlfriends who are about to give birth in the coming weeks. And recently a girl I went to school with, who got married on the same day as me, just gave birth to a baby girl. The storks have been busy this year, for some people. None of them experienced IF issues and all got pregnant quickly.

So you can understand why some days it just seems that everyone is pregnant. Except me. I know this is an exaggeration. I know a lot of couples are going through IF too. My blogging experience has shown me that. All the wonderful people I meet through the blogosphere, who have been and are still on their IF journeys, helps me to realize I am not alone.

But in my life outside of the blogging world, it really feels like I am the only one.  I’m so tired of not being the one with any good news. And it especially hurts when I hear about a pregnancy that was not even wanted, when it’s problematic. Recently a fellow blogger, Through the Eyes of a Stranger, blogged about her experience at the clinic where she and a 16 year-old girl went to get tested, sadly Stephanie got a negative, but the 16 year-old was positive, and she was devasted.

Why does it work this way? Why do people who desperately want children, who are completely ready to give them a loving and stable home, remain without, no matter how hard they try? And why do people who are not ready for a baby, who are totally unprepared, seem to get pregnant at the drop of a hat?

I don’t want to come across bitter. I do sympathize with those who have become pregnant in difficult circumstances - I used to work as an activist for young women’s reproductive health issues. I get it, I do. But recently I’ve found it harder to accept given my current predicament. And with every pregnancy I hear about it just brings home our emptiness, our failures. I don’t want to be this woman. I want to be happy for people when they are expecting (when that’s what they want). I want to take it all in my stride and say to myself, one day it will be your turn. One day.

For me the biggest challenge will be this upcoming Summer. There are two family weddings in July. One from my side, one from Mr. T’s. There is always a wedding from Mr. T’s side of the family. At least one, every year, since he has over 70 cousins, and over 30 aunts and uncles. His Grandma had 11 children. And the older generation of aunts and uncles had at least eight kids each, too. You get the picture.

And then there we are. Mr & Mrs Barren Von Barren. At last year’s weddings, we had only been married for 6 months, so nobody expected to see any babies yet, but a pregnancy? Yes that was asked about. By nearly every one of the 400 people at the wedding. But at that point we had no idea we had a problem. We thought it would all happen in due course.

Now I am faced with the imminent prospect of having to reappear at another family wedding, with the same people, all asking the same question. But this time it will be more intense. This time I’m sure people will ask ‘What’s wrong, don’t you want children?’ I don’t think I can face that. Even if people are nice about it and instead give us a knowing smile and a reassuring hug. I don’t think I can take our infertility being under such an intense spotlight, while the next generation of children are running around and the new babies lie in their mothers’ arms. My heart aches just thinking about it. Am I going to avoid going to this wedding because of this? I just don’t know.

The other wedding, the wedding from my side of the family, will not be like that. It’s a different culture, with different expectations, and most of my very very small family, especially in comparison to Mr. T’s, will not ask. The only person who will have a problem with this is me. I’m the one who set up a TTC schedule in my head. I’m the one who has a problem with passing another birthday (in July) with still no pregnancy news – thirty is looming over the horizon for me and I always thought I’d have my first child before then. 

I’ve got to learn to let go of all the pressure I’ve built on myself, to stop caring what people think, to let the ill-thought words just wash over me and come out the other side calm and serene, ready to tackle the infertility path that lies before us. But of course, as many of you know, this is easier said than done. Much much easier.

How do you stay sane? Do you avoid pregnant friends? Friends with babies? Family weddings? Or does that just make you a bitter person?? Whatever I do in life I want to do it with compassion, hope and dignity, and that includes infertility. While I walk this road I want to do it with my head held high. But I can already feel my eyes staring at the ground beneath me, unwilling to meet the gaze of those standing on the opposite path, and every step I take on this lonely uncertain journey feels like forever.

Furbabies!

Okay, really this post should be called furbaby because we only have one. But this is part of my attempt to convince my husband that while our elusive human baby has yet to materialize, we really need to fill that void (as much as is possible) with another furbaby. A kitten or perhaps a puppy?? Pleading eyes, batting eyelashes, angelic look. 

Yeah, it hasn't been working.

So let me introduce to you our first and (as yet) only furbaby. Her name is Mika. She's a strange sort of baby. Okay, first the obvious: the tail, pointed ears and sharp teeth, oh and let's not forget, claws, that never fail to remind both of us that she is not a baby and nor should she be held or treated as such! Though sometimes I can get away with it for a couple of seconds and escape with no major injuries... Alright, she's not that bad. She just wants love on her own timetable that's all. 

But maybe that's all because of how she came to join our little family. Two years ago, I had just come to Marrakech to start a new job and to hopefully make a life. I remember the day she came into my life so clearly. I was only about a week in and I was on a steep learning curve. It had been a superbly crappy day. I couldn't wait to get home, and while struggling to find a cab in a city that has a major public transport problem, and while trying not to look like too much of a confused tourist so that I wouldn't get ripped off, the heavens opened and I got drenched in a freak-downpour. Yep, it was just one of those days.

Returning home miserable and wet, and knowing Mr. T was away, I just wanted to get into bed and get this day over with as quickly as possible. My mother-in-law greeted me at the door, I've got a present for you! She exclaimed excitedly. Huh? I grumbled through shivering teeth, my soaked hair dripping on the carpet. She led me by the hand to the corner of the living room and there curled up in a little ball, no bigger that the palm of my hand, was this tiny white and ginger kitten sleeping soundly. I couldn't resist and picked her up. She was so little! It was love at first sight. Where did you get her? I asked.

This old man in the medina was holding her and I stopped to look and he offered her to me as a gift. My MIL explained. He said many tourists had asked to have her but he loved this little creature too much. So then I told him about you, Clare. He told me he had a special feeling about you and so wanted to give this little kitten to us. He said he thought she would have a good life with us. 

As I looked into her little blinking green eyes, life in Morocco was starting to look much brighter. That night she slept next to my bed and when I awoke and stretched and yawned, as is my morning custom, I looked over to her and she repeated the same. Yes, we were going to be great friends of that I was sure. Though that friendship was about to be tested. A lot.

I took her to the vet for the obligatory check-up. For a newbie in Marrakech that is no easy feat. Vet? Where the hell am I going to find a vet? Well I did eventually find one. And this would be the first trip of many. To sum up the visit: 

Where did you get this thing from? 

Uhh.. the medina. 

Hmpf, a sound of contempt emanated from the Vet. Well she has an eye infection, a nose infection, a mouth infection and her ears are full of flea-eggs! 

Flea-eggs? Eww, gross. 

The vet proceeded to dig out the eggs in Mika's ears, which she did not like one bit. There was hissing, scratching and struggling, and a falling incident. Mika hid under the bookcase in the vet's office and I had to crawl underneath to get her out. She clung to me. Please don't let that horrible woman at my ears again! Unfortunately, there was no other way.

Once it was done and her ears filled with this sticky gel, 6 medicine bottles later and a not too hefty bill, we were out of there. But now it was my turn. Every morning and every evening, I had to clean out her ears, put the drops in her eyes, put cream on her nose and squirt medicine down her throat. Yes our friendship was tested. Yes I was covered in scratches. But I still loved her totally.

Now she is all grown up and is a well-established member of the family. No one can imagine life without her. She still does weird stuff, like attack your legs as your walk down the hall, she only drinks water from the bathroom tap and has a crazed-obsession with cue-tips. I have a theory that this particular neurosis stems from her early trauma of all that ear cleaning. Perhaps she is getting her own back? Here's a little clip of her in attack-mode, but still being very loveable at the same time: 

Sorry for the bumpy filming she was attacking the camera strap. Oh and ignore the creepy music in the background - Mr. T is a musician and was creating scary ambient music for a new project he's working on and was definitely not created for this piece of skillfully filmed reportage. Ahem.