We're car shopping. We haven't had to spend a lot of money on infertility lately, my new job came with a good pay increase, and I'm driving more. Hence, car shopping.
Here's my ideal car: it goes fast and gets there quickly, it handles well, it makes no noise, it gets great gas mileage, it's comfortable, and it feels sporty but if I have a baby ever in this lifetime it will be practical. Does it exist? No. Is it weird and sad that the closest thing we can find is a Toyota Prius?! Because seriously, what else can be all those things AND a baby mobile? If you have ideas, please weigh in, because right now we're pretty sure we're going to be in the Eco-bubble...
Monday, May 25, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
No Time For Infertility
I hardly blog anymore. The truth is, I'm too frickin' busy. I hardly ever get home before 8 p.m. My job keeps me hoppin'. I completely, 100%, love, love, love it. The work is good. The pay is good. The challenge is good. The boss is good. It's ALL good.
And it's a blessing. I have about zero time to think about infertility or anything else. I remember hearing this broker guy on the radio who, in the heyday of the stock market, didn't have time to go to the bathroom until 11:30 a.m. And now I understand. I mean, nature calls me before that, and I listen, but you bet your ass I'm thinking about something I need to be doing while I'm there.
So, no blogging. But no hurting about this, either. Today in the bathroom, my thought was, "How the heck am I going to have time to have a baby?" I understood, for the first time, why some career women wait until they're 95. Cause if you don't have time to pee, how the heck can you have time for children!?
And it's a blessing. I have about zero time to think about infertility or anything else. I remember hearing this broker guy on the radio who, in the heyday of the stock market, didn't have time to go to the bathroom until 11:30 a.m. And now I understand. I mean, nature calls me before that, and I listen, but you bet your ass I'm thinking about something I need to be doing while I'm there.
So, no blogging. But no hurting about this, either. Today in the bathroom, my thought was, "How the heck am I going to have time to have a baby?" I understood, for the first time, why some career women wait until they're 95. Cause if you don't have time to pee, how the heck can you have time for children!?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Who Hears Me?
Sometimes, I think the only people reading this blog are people who have to hear me bitch anyway. Those people are super frickin' patient (thank you to unnamed people in Boulder, Truckee, Oakland, Los Angeles, and throughout the Sacramento area--I know I torture you so). But recently I got an email from someone to tell me that she'd read the blog and sent it to people struggling with infertility, and I remembered that actually, a crazy stalker in Cambodia could be reading this, for all I know.
Just kidding--that's not what it made me think at all. What it made think is, "Thank you." Thank you for telling me you heard my voice, and thank you for telling other people. Maybe this friend understands infertility in a way she didn't before. Maybe her friends suffering from it feel less alone than they used to. Or maybe, I am just hugely self-inflated and like knowing what I say matters to someone, that this time I could spent watching the playoffs with my husband right this second is not wasted.
Well, regardless. Thank you. And if you are reading this, and you are one of those women angry or sad or just wanting, wanting a baby, let me assure you: You are not alone. We are united, and we are united in part by women who are loving and kind enough to hear our voices.
Just kidding--that's not what it made me think at all. What it made think is, "Thank you." Thank you for telling me you heard my voice, and thank you for telling other people. Maybe this friend understands infertility in a way she didn't before. Maybe her friends suffering from it feel less alone than they used to. Or maybe, I am just hugely self-inflated and like knowing what I say matters to someone, that this time I could spent watching the playoffs with my husband right this second is not wasted.
Well, regardless. Thank you. And if you are reading this, and you are one of those women angry or sad or just wanting, wanting a baby, let me assure you: You are not alone. We are united, and we are united in part by women who are loving and kind enough to hear our voices.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Who Wants These Feet?
I am not a hideously ugly person, but I am not particular attractive either. I have size 11 feet, and they're skinny and flat. I have wide hips and a nose that moves when I talk and funny round cheeks.
And I'm not super gifted. I can pat my head and rub my tummy but I can't break a 10 minute mile, hardly ever. I do decently in tests but I don't have the attention span or dedication or probably the brain to be an Ivy-leaguer. I can't read an entire Economist and I'm always grateful for the map at the front, that bottom lines the news. I laugh too loud and I ask nosy questions and I think there only needs to be one of me in the world.
So I never really felt the need to replicate who I am in a child. That's never been what infertility is about for me. I know those people are out there, who want a "Mini Me". I am not one of them. I don't need that. I'm not that great. And frankly, I'm not wild about sticking a kid with my husband's 20/4 billion vision--and his feet aren't a picnic by any means, either.
But the thing is, my my totally awesome, amazing grandmother died. I can't really talk about it except to say how it totally sucks. Except to say that I can't help but think to myself, "What if I had a child that was a little piece of her?" What if I could have a daughter that could stand up to the world when it was cruel and ugly? What if my son could see how to open his heart and his home to anyone, lovingly and trustingly and hoping always for the best? I want that. I want to feel her, to see her every day. Is that a reason to procreate?
And I'm not super gifted. I can pat my head and rub my tummy but I can't break a 10 minute mile, hardly ever. I do decently in tests but I don't have the attention span or dedication or probably the brain to be an Ivy-leaguer. I can't read an entire Economist and I'm always grateful for the map at the front, that bottom lines the news. I laugh too loud and I ask nosy questions and I think there only needs to be one of me in the world.
So I never really felt the need to replicate who I am in a child. That's never been what infertility is about for me. I know those people are out there, who want a "Mini Me". I am not one of them. I don't need that. I'm not that great. And frankly, I'm not wild about sticking a kid with my husband's 20/4 billion vision--and his feet aren't a picnic by any means, either.
But the thing is, my my totally awesome, amazing grandmother died. I can't really talk about it except to say how it totally sucks. Except to say that I can't help but think to myself, "What if I had a child that was a little piece of her?" What if I could have a daughter that could stand up to the world when it was cruel and ugly? What if my son could see how to open his heart and his home to anyone, lovingly and trustingly and hoping always for the best? I want that. I want to feel her, to see her every day. Is that a reason to procreate?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
