Don't Count Your Eggs

Momo Monday: What baggage do I bring to parenting after IF?

I hesitate to write about sleep strategies and parenting choices because people have strong opinions about these things and I don't really want to stir the pot. My opinion about strong opinions is that every person/couple has to do what feels right to them for their family. Whether that means co-sleeping or an immediate sleeping schedule, it's a very personal choice.

The problem Noah and I seem to be having is we don't really know what feels right yet and we have these moments in the middle of the night where we go back and forth about what to do. Should we put Momo in the bed? Give her a few minutes to cry before jumping in? Pacify with a pacifier or repeat Dr. Harvey Karp's Five S's until one of us passes out? Is it true that you can't spoil a newborn or do babies learn behaviors from the get-go? The past few weeks have been a bit of trial and error. Sometimes Noah and I hit a home run outta the ballpark and we are very pleased with ourselves and our blissfully sleeping baby, and other times we strike out miserably and can clearly hear each other's frustrations, even though Momo is crying like mad.

These are all normal moments of early parenthood. Flipping the pages of various baby books, checking our Wonder Weeks app, trying to remind ourselves that Momo has only been a person for five weeks-- feeling the fluctuations of fear and anxiety and pride and mastery. What I'm trying to figure out is if there is an added element to these questions for people who are parenting after infertility, and specifically for people who are parenting children not genetically related.

I remember my friend Candace, who adopted a baby boy after years of infertility that included nine rounds of IVF and multiple pregnancy losses, saying that sometimes when her baby would cry in the middle of the night she wondered if he couldn't be comforted by her because he somehow knew that she wasn't his biological mother. That was the trauma of her years of infertility seeping into her psyche. All new babies cry. She knows that. And she is very much his mother. She knows that too. But the automatic thoughts some of us have can sometimes be a reminder of our alternative path to parenthood, and I'm starting to pay close attention to how the journey might impact my own parenting decisions. 

I feel extremely connected to Momo. I was lucky enough to have been able to carry her and give birth to her, even though both processes were kind of a nightmare. I never question if she knows that I'm her mother, but during these moments where Noah and I are trying to decide things like where she should sleep, I do think her not being genetically related plays an unconscious role in my thought process. Maybe my fears that she won't feel attached to us makes me lean towards having her sleep in our room for as long as possible. Maybe me intervening immediately when she starts to fuss or get upset is my way of not wanting her to ever feel scared or alone... OMG, as I write this I realize how normal yet insane it all is.

Every parent wants the best for their child and wants them to feel no pain. Every parent's heart breaks at the sound of their baby's cry. Maybe there are a few things that make parenting after IF a little bit different, but maybe a lot of the feelings and fears are common too. I think it's most important to try and figure out where the feelings and fears are coming from so that we can work through them best we can. 

What are your thoughts about brining IF baggage to the next stage?

You Are Not Alone #NIAW

In 2010, when my husband Noah and I began trying to create our family, we took up residency on what I refer to here as IF Island.  We weren't hitting the developmental milestone of parenthood in the same way our friends were, and we began to feel more and more isolated. By 2012, I was diagnosed with Diminished Ovarian Reserve, and we started various assisted reproductive procedures-- IUI, IVF, IVF with donor eggs. The divide between us and our peers increased and Noah and I felt like it was just the two of us, with our RE floating in deep waters. It was a lonely place to be.

I started writing this blog as a way to process our efforts and share our experience, and what I found was an entire community of people-- warriors who were going through the same struggle, and I realized that we really weren't alone. I started learning more and more about infertility and assisted reproduction and found stats that made me understand how prevalent infertility really is. 

• 7.3 million Americans and millions more around the world suffer from infertility.
• As of 2012, approximately five millions births have been aided by modern reproductive technologies.
• According to an LA Times article published in 2012, more than 1.5% of babies born in the U.S. were conceived in a lab.

That’s a lot of people and a lot of babies, and yet a common theme while living on IF Island is isolation. I've done what I can to build a little community here and have a few new friends to talk to, but wanting something so badly and not being able to get it somehow can make a person feel totally alone. Maybe it's the sense of longing that creates a distance between us and the rest of world. Maybe it's the sensation of feeling misunderstood. Maybe it's the gap that's created when someone says "Just relax," or "Stop trying so hard and it will happen," or "Why don't you just adopt?" Often it takes a lot of effort not to slug these people, but we need to find ways to just let those comments go and quickly try to find people who understand us. 

There are so many people who are struggling to make a family. While that doesn't necessarily make it better for any of us, it is a reminder that our situation isn’t unique to us.  We are not being singled out or punished.   We are not any less worthy of being parents. It is just harder for some than others. There are medical conditions that negatively impact fertility, and there is technology that can often help in many cases. And if not, there are other ways to become parents. 

Noah and I finally became parents via embryo donation/adoption last month, and we truly feel that our success was a group effort. So many people were involved in helping us finally create our family, that in the end I realized that we were the opposite of alone.

Many people struggling with infertility are living out a slightly different version of the same story, and regardless of what works in the end, the emotional experience is very similar. We can relate to each other's sadness and frustration. We know the disappointment of a BFN. We know the very specific feeling of having to grieve the loss of something that could have been but never was. And we know how to pick ourselves up off the floor, get grounded, and stand tall again, ready to face the next hurdle head-on, with grace, dignity and determination. We know we need to appreciate all that we do have in our lives, and we know we can never, EVER feel ashamed to be hopeful.

Noah and I have met some incredible people and made some good friends here on IF Island. We interviewed many of these IF "survivors" for our film documentary,One More Shot, in order to explore the many different ways a family can be created, and to build a sense of connection. Here's a short montage of a few of the people we've spoken to that proves IF Island is a very populated place!

 

For more info on infertility, check out:

• http://www.resolve.org/about-infertility/what-is-infertility/  (Basic understanding of the disease of infertility.)
• http://www.resolve.org/national-infertility-awareness-week/about.html (About NIAW)
• You can also support RESOLVE'S advocacy day but clicking HERE

Momo Monday: Thinking of Number Two (and other News)

Momo is one month old today. I can't believe it. Every day things start to make more sense. We "practiced" leaving the house a few times and it's a true lesson in anxiety management for me. I have to stop imagining germs attacking Momo's face every time we are in public. Leaving the house is as difficult as people say it is-- both emotionally and physically. And trying to nurse her in public with milk squirting all over the place is its own dance. But it's all about the small victories (like a smooth diaper change on the sink of a public bathroom) and learning our roles one step at a time. 

Noah and I have done lots of things we swore we would never do. Like let Momo sleep in the bed, with her arms stretched out like she owns the place. Let's face it, she does, and honestly, I keep thinking she might be our only one so might as well screw things up however we want. If it feels right, we're going with it, until we have to rethink things. 

The fact that she might be our only one fills me with gratitude and sadness at the same time. Many people on IF Island have to start thinking about how to expand their family right away-- like once their first baby is one month old. Many IF Islanders think about number two even before number one is born, because number one is often such a process. If you have frozen embryos, the game plan is more clear and it becomes just about timing. Which can be stressful as many Islanders end up with kids much closer together in age than they would have initially hoped for. If it took years to get P for number one, chances are there's some anxiety about the time it will take for number two. It's crazy to think we could spend a decade trying to build our family. If you don't have embryos, or are going through secondary infertility, the process can be quite time consuming and stressful. Thinking about the age + time + money+ eggs + the physical process of ART can be overwhelming. But for many people who want more children it's a necessary thing.

Noah and I always wanted two kids. Various people have been telling me that I'm "lucky to have one" and I very much agree. But that doesn't necessarily change the fact that we have always wanted two-- a sibling for Momo. And there is a potential sibling for Momo, her full genetic sib that is still on ice. While Noah and I always planned on going back for that embryo--actually, don't tell Noah but I actually planned to get P naturally because that kind of craziness sometimes happens, right? And then go back for the embryo as number three! But I'm afraid my body might not allow for any of it. My doc said that because of the placenta accreta I had and the damage form the D & C, my uterus is "all screwed up" (that was the medical term he used) and might be for a while. If things heal well, in a year or so I might be ready to try for to get P with the idea that I'd need a C-section/hysterectomy for the birth. It's too much too think about right now, but I admit that I do. Even with a beautiful one month old sleeping in my arms. I don't think that makes me ungrateful. It's just something I think about.

But what I think about more is Momo. I think about how she is outgrowing her newborn onesies and how we've cut the feet off of a few of her pajamas and it makes her look like Huckleberry Finn. I think about how her eyes seem to be taking in more information, and how everything she is doing and feeling right now is the first time she's doing and feeling whatever it is. I think about how one month ago I couldn't picture what she would be like, or look like, and now I can't imagine not having her. It's such a crazy feeling.

In other news, we won the Indiewire's project to the week for our documentary, One More Shot. 

Momo says YAY!!!

It was a really close race in the end, but IF Island rallied (and my dad's FaceBook friends) and we pulled ahead by about 50 votes. This gives us a phone meeting to discuss distribution options for the film and a shot at winning project of the month, which will give us a meeting with The Tribeca Film Institute. What that means to us is exposure, connections, and awareness-- that will help us get this movie to as many people as possible when it's released which will spread understanding about IF to the general public, which Noah and I feel is one of the main purposes of this documentary. So thanks to everyone who voted and for all the support. It seems like perfect timing as National Infertility Awareness Week kicks off today. I'll be writing some posts and posting video specific to RESOLVE'S NIAW theme this year, which is You Are Not Alone. 

Please vote for our #infertility #documentary for @Indiewire Project of the Week - just a few hours left

Hope y'all are having a good weekend! Just a quick post to ask you fabulous peeps in the IF community to take a second to vote for our film about infertility and alternative family building, which was nominated for Project of the Week on Indiewire. Winning this would be a great way to build awareness about IF and gain some important contacts in the industry! So please take a sec to vote at the link below. Voting is open until Monday morning at 8am PST. But no need to wait, vote now. Thank you again for all of your support for our film project. This is one step closer to getting this important film out to the world.

Or click the link below: 

http://www.indiewire.com/article/vote-for-project-of-the-week-the-genderton-project-one-more-shot-from-mass-to-the-mountain-or-king-of-peking-20150417

HUBS POST: It all Matters

Happy Friday, Egg Counters. This is my first Hubs Post since the arrival of the one we call Momo. I’m quite fond of her, to be honest. As babies go, she seems to be pretty cool. 

 

I’ve now had four weeks to digest what’s happened. We’ve taken five years of infertility - all the hopes and frustrations and prayers and heartbreak - and just like that it seems like they’re out the door. Gone.  I think about the people we’ve spoken with who have come out the other side of infertility challenges and it’s always the same thing. “I’d do it again because it was so worth it,” or “The moment I saw my baby, none of the problems I had before mattered.” To a certain extent I agree with them. Having a baby shifts your perceptions and priorities. But then again so does infertility.

 

Here’s the thing: it all matters. Everything you are going through or went through on the way to realizing your family matters. The injections and the money discussions and the frustrations all matter. They matter because this is what got (or will get) you here. They matter because they have changed you. I think those challenges of the past will help me with the challenges of the future. I believe I’ll have a perspective on parenthood and family I might not have had otherwise. And that’s a good thing. It’s an important thing. 

 

I have been spending some late nights editing on our documentary recently, more chances to relive those painful days and the angry reactions to failed procedures. It still hurts. Some scenes I simply don’t have the stomach to watch. I don’t think I want to forget those moments, though. Those moments got us to this point. And there were a lot of them. Still, I think that Momo is making it better. Every smile, every staring contest, every time she falls asleep on my chest as I sing Tom Waits songs to her, these things all help to write new memories. Good memories. And when you struggle for so long to begin your family, you want to accumulate all the good memories you can. So I won’t forget the bad stuff but I’m going to work extra hard to make sure I notice all the new good things that happen with this little one.

 

One last bit of self-promotion… Our documentary ONE MORE SHOT was recently selected as Indiewire's Project of the Day.  Now, we are in the running for Indiewire’s Project of the Week campaign. You can go here to vote for our project. Project of the Week honors would be great exposure for the film and another way for us to bring infertility conversations to the rest of the world.

 

Also wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who helped support our film,  One More Shot. We are working hard to make an awesome documentary about the IF struggle and what alternative family building really looks like! Stay tuned. Have a great weekend. I’m going to go stare at a baby. 

Sometimes she sh*ts the chicken

Since Momo was born I feel like I'm always in a rush and time is moving so quickly. It's the exact opposite of how I felt during the dark infertility years. Time on IF Island stands still as you wait to start a cycle, slug through a cycle, wait for your first beta, second beta-- then either start the madness all over again or take a hiatus to heal, or hopefully wait for a heartbeat. It's all so long and drawn out and I remember just wishing the days would move faster so we could move forward. Or sideways...whatever. I just wanted to move. 

Now I can't believe a month has almost flown by. Every day I'm playing catch up and scarfing down food when I can and wondering how it got to be 5pm so soon. Sometimes I feel panic that I'm going to regret not taking her in more-- but that's kind of all I do. It's just that there isn't enough time in the day for idiotic staring and organizing the house so we aren't living in complete chaos. 

It's kind of this ebb and flow between total tranquility and total insanity. I try desperately hard to keep up and still make dinner etc., but there are times when Momo and I are both starving, covered in milk with no clean clothes that fit. And that's ok. Nothing I think I need to do in the day gets done and when I finally feel like I've got a handle on the day, something... messy happens, and I'm learning to be in the mess and embrace it. It's much more pleasant to be wrist deep in yellow baby poop than to be crossing off the days on an IVF schedule calendar. I'm so grateful for every messy poop. 

The other night Noah and I had our first moment of feeling like we got the hang of things. We gave Momo a little bath and wrapped her in her chicken towel (a little white hooded towel with a chicken face on the hood) and we were basking in the success of having a clean baby and then all of a sudden there was a rumble from down under and then a poosplosion. Momo shit the chicken. It was a hot mess and we had to start all over again and add a load of laundry to the to-do list. 

And that's life right? No matter where you are. Just when you think things are making sense or feeling calm, there's a disruption. Patiently wading through the crap of ART will hopefully soon lead to wading through actual crap.

Sending lots of love and patience. 

Momo Monday: Three Weeks Three Days

...But it feels like she's always been here. Or that she was always supposed to be here. Momo was actually made/frozen the year Noah and I started "trying," 2010. It just took five years to find her.

I hope it doesn't take five years for Noah and I figure out how to...be parents. Every day I feel like we are getting better. She's started looking around a little more and it seems like she is recognizing who we are, especially me, as the lady with the food. We've started calling Momo La Piranha because of the ways she latches and feeds-- needless to say she's gained a good amount of weight (mostly in her cheeks) which at this age is apparently the marker of good parenting, so maybe we are doing something right. When she doesn't eat well, or she passes out at my boob, I immediate feel like my body isn't working right. I realize that mentality is left over from IF Island-- this feeling that my body is somehow failing. I felt it all through IF, through my pregnancy with the hematoma and previa, and even through birth with the placenta accreta. It's like my body just doesn't want to cooperate and it's frustrating and makes me feel bad and inadequate-- but then I remind myself that I survived years of IF treatments, grew this baby from a tiny embryo, blasted her out of me despite all that went down, and she's healthy and chubby. If my boobs need some time to figure out what's happening, then I have to be patient. It will get figured out, and what I'm learning more and more is that this is normal. Most of the overwhelm and hormonal fluctuations and breastfeeding anxieties are completely normal. I've never been normal before. Hm.

I actually went to a breastfeeding support group the other day, and that's when I learned that there are so many issues with feeding and it is all normal. I also learned I have carpel tunnel from nursing...ugh. As I sat and listened to the new moms talk about their different feeding concerns, I thought about how much support there is for new moms. There was an instructor who validated everyone and addressed their issues. No such support group existed when I was on IF Island. If they did they were at a far distance-- no, there really wasn't much. Seems unfair to me.

Noah just put some tiny pink socks on Momo and is taking her outside to try and teach her that it's day time. She apparently is confused about that and sleeps all day and is up for much of the night wanting to hang out. She was like that in my belly too.  

Yesterday I realized I don't know the words to many songs, and I felt a slight moment of panic. How do I not know any songs? I find myself singing songs that are imprinted in my brain from my 6th grade graduation (Bette Midler's The Rose anyone?), songs from school plays (Momo will know all of the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack by the time she's two), and most frequently I find myself singing the Christmas song, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, but I change the words around so that it's I saw Momo kissing Santa Claus. Really?? Noah can at least sing a few Pearl Jam songs-- and one Tom Waits song Momo actually really likes. Between the two of us we aren't sure what kind of musical taste she might have.

But if that's what we are worst at, singing to her, I think we are in pretty good shape. Staring at her never gets old and I'm constantly visualizing her as that embryo picture we have, and am completely amazed that all of her perfect parts grew from that single cell-- or group of cells. I took the technology for granted when I was having transfers and what not. But now I see the utter miracle it all is, and how science has to meet chance in a moment of life. All the stars and organisms have to be lined up just so to create a person. There's no doubt in my mind that Momo was meant to be here, meant to be ours, and of course I think she is destined for greatness. How can I not? I'm her mom.

Let's Get Physical

This Friday let's all take a minute to honor our bodies because, let's face it, on IF Island and beyond our bodies go through some s*&t. 

I was thinking about this at 2am as I struggled to strap the handsfree pumping bra around my ribcage. I was covered in milk and wondering when I last felt good in my body. Going through years of infertility treatments does something really specific to a person physically. Aside from a little added weight and an overall feeling of heaviness, for me I just didn't feel good. Hormones injected straight to the gut can do that to a gal, I suppose. I can't fully describe it, but for years everything kind of hurt. My body was sore from shots, my clothes didn't fit right, and during stimulation cycles I felt like I was carrying around a bag of rocks in my ovaries, even though I hardly had any follicles. I can't imagine what it would feel like for women who have a ton of eggs or who hyper-stimulate.

I think I somehow thought that after all the ART treatments, being P would be blissful and feel amazing. Ummm. No. I was well aware that birth wasn't going to be like a day at the spa, but didn't realize I'd be three weeks out and still feel like I've been crapping lightbulbs for the past few weeks. Yeah. Things down there hurt. And I definitely didn't consider how physically hard it would be to breastfeed. But it's just how things are and have been I suppose, and my years on IF Island have helped condition me to sitting with the physically uncomfortable and being ok. 

I vividly remember the first shot I got in the stomach. I was so nervous and terrified. And slowly the pain of the shots was just a little pain, and my new norm was that of being sweaty and bloated. But perhaps the worst part was feeling so bad about my body at times. Feeling frustrated with how it was or wasn't functioning, and feeling uncomfortable overall. It's hard enough to have to go through infertility treatments, to look and feel crappy on top of everything just sucks. 

That's why it's so important to be kind to yourself, and that's the reminder I want to throw out today. What we tell ourselves about our bodies is important. Being patient and thankful that our bodies are as strong and resilient as they are is vital. And of course treating yourself to a massage, a long walk outside, a new pair of slimming black pants-- whatever you can do to feel good. You deserve it. We all deserve it.

I hope everyone on IF Island has some time this weekend for self-care and pampering. Whether you're in a cycle, newly, or not so newly P, parenting after IF or whatever, take a moment to recognize how amazing your body is and do something that helps you feel good in your skin. 

Dear Anonymous, Thank You For Our Baby...

When Momo was born, I sent an informal birth announcement to the fertility clinic where we had the embryo transfer. I think I wrote "an addition to your success rate" in the subject line. That's what many of these places really care about, right? Whatever. Their success is my success. I'm fine with it. Along with Momo's stats and a pict, I asked if it was...appropriate for me to write a thank you letter to the couple who donated the embryo.

Wow. It's so weird to talk about Momo as an embryo now. She is such a human--though she sounds more like a bulldog and resembles a piglet when she eats.

Anyway. The donor coordinator never responded to the birth announcement, or my request to write a thank you. I was going to follow up today but then thought twice. Maybe it isn't appropriate? Is it selfish of me to want to express gratitude, while hoping that the couple will be willing to connect with Noah and I so Momo can eventually get to know her genetic sibling, a boy that's around 5 years old now? Is it an invasion of this couple's right to remain anonymous if I...break that boundary, even if it goes through the clinic? What can of worms could I potentially be opening? 

Maybe I won't follow up just yet. Maybe I'll let it be for a sec. I wish things were more open, but this is the situation and I probably should respect this couple's desire for anonymity. 

Momo was made from an anonymous egg donor from a frozen egg bank and the husband of the infertile couple who sought the help of the egg donor. The egg donor was shared, so there are perhaps more half siblings. The egg donor herself has at least three kids. I want to find everyone and be one big extended family but I know things don't work that way. Much of what happens with all of this is not up to me. I wonder what Momo will want for herself. Perhaps this part belongs to her. 

For those of us using donated parts, these kinds of issues are going to come up. I'm learning how to navigate and how to better understand how I feel about all of it. When I look at Momo I see our baby. That's it. But I know there is more to the story, and I'm trying to figure out if I have any role in how the story unfolds or if it needs to unfold naturally. Over time. With Momo's desires taking the lead. With respect to the generous strangers who helped her be. 

Hm.

Every situation is so different, and the more I feel curious, or the more I feel like I need to find Momo's genetic history, the more I realize this isn't really up to me. I will stand by my baby girl and help her do whatever she needs to do when the time comes. I'd like more information, but maybe she won't. The bottom line is she has two parents who love her to death and can't stop staring at her and counting her breaths. Maybe in the end that's all that really matters. 

Momo Monday: I still can't believe she's here

I still can't believe we have a baby. 

We searched for her for so long and now when we stare at her for hours on end like two idiots, Noah and I agree she was well worth the wait. 

I'd heard the first few weeks with a newborn are insane. It always kind of annoyed me when people complained because all I ever wanted was to have even a little piece of that insanity. Now I have a little piece, and honestly, it's not that insane. Well, I'm insane. No doubt. I shuffle around the house topless with the Nose Frieda dangling from my lips because I'm obsessed with the idea that a booger is going to block Momo's nasal passage and something terrible will happen. I think it's normal for new parents (I wanted to write the word mom there but it still makes me cry to think that I can actually call myself that) to worry about...everything. And I am no exception. When I'm not staring at her and counting her breaths, I'm Googling is it normal that my newborn... grunts like a bulldog, has one foot that seems colder than the other, is losing her hair on only half her head and is starting to look like that bald character from the children's board game Guess Who? 

And when I'm not worrying about her, I'm worrying about my boobs. Breastfeeding is indeed it's own ride. Not enough milk has quickly turned into too much milk and if I'm not sashaying around topless, I'm in a "transitional bra" stuffed with frozen cabbage leaves, because a doula friend told me that helps slow down the milk production process. I think the fact that my milk is so readily available has made Momo a bit lazy with her latch--it's shallow and painful and in the middle of the night when she's gnawing away at me I cry, but I'm still so grateful.  Each day we get the hang of things a little bit better and I know this time will go by so fast, I need to soak it all in. 

But none of it seems real. Time feels different. Day and night blend together. The washing machine is constantly running. And Momo sleeps. And dreams. And rolls her eyes and giggles and startles herself and squeals and when she finally opens her eyes for good, she sees my giant head, or Noah's, in her face, telling her we love her. She then rolls her eyes again and squeezes her eyelids tight. Who can blame her, she's got two idiots in her face all the time. 

Right now she sound asleep, grunting next to me. I can't remember if I gave her her vitamin D drop today and I can't stop putting a blanket on her, then taking it off. My body temperature is so off and I end up projecting my own comforts and discomforts onto her. She's too hot, no too cold-- Noah thinks I'm totally nuts. Maybe he's right. But the worry is a welcome worry. It's so much better to be worrying about her rather than worrying about how to get her/make her. I have a lot of Island friends who are struggling every day with cancelled cycles and decisions about egg donors-- that's a much harder spot to be in.

So we will keep doing what we are doing, armed with our Baby 411 book and What to Expect the First Year. We are slowly figuring out what it all means. Yesterday we took our first walk with her in a bassinet stroller. We walked in silence and I thought about all the times I walked around the neighborhood and saw people pushing their strollers, and how hard that was for me. Yesterday I felt guilt and gratitude and everything in between. I asked Noah what he was thinking, as he pushed the stroller down the street. He doesn't quite look comfortable with it yet. He said, "I'm not really thinking about anything. Just taking it all in. It's nice to feel like we're coming out of hiding." 

First Flashback Friday: How to Deal/Cope with Explaining IF to your family?

I got an email the other day from a fellow IF Islander who is struggling with getting her family and in-laws to GET IT. How does one explain the process of ART, the reasons why certain interventions are the best options, and the idea of donor conception to folks who are baffled by and uneasy about the science? How does one field the same questions over and over again? How does one deal with the added stress of trying to justify yourself and your decisions when you might not even be sure yourself?

Good questions. I'm not sure I have the answers. Helpful, right? Anyone who wants to comment, please feel free to chime in.

I've been lucky in that my family has been very supportive. While they didn't always understand the science and they did feel uneasy about the hormones I was injecting into myself, my family really respected our determination and willingness to try whatever it took to find our baby.  That doesn't mean I didn't have to explain things over and over again. But I knew these questions were coming from a place of love and concern, and remembering that helped decrease any feelings of frustration. 

When my my sister donated eggs to us, I knew my parents were uncomfortable. Perhaps it seemed so totally futuristic, perhaps they were worried about both of our health, perhaps they had fears about how a child conceived in this way would adjust--perhaps all of the above. But they knew Noah and I were on a mission, and they respected that. That respect is really key. They knew nothing they said or asked was going to change our course, so they decided to get behind us not matter what. 

But I didn't always feel this level of support from everyone in my life, and I learned to let go of needing it. I knew that everyone had their opinions, their definition of right and wrong, their individual comfort zone, and I knew that making babies in a lab out of genetic material not our own might not jive with everyone around us. And I stopped caring. I stopped letting that stress me out because that stress wasn't productive. Noah and I were going to be our child's parents, not anyone in the peanut gallery. We knew our intentions and we knew what felt right, and in the end that's what mattered. 

Helping your family understand that infertility, even unexplained, is a medical diagnosis with a treatment protocol may aid in facilitating awareness. Clearly stating your goals--for example, to parent a healthy child-- may help open their minds and hearts to the alternative path you my need to follow in order to achieve that goal. Sometimes these conversations are less of a conversation and more about setting boundaries and explaining the game plan. If the questions keep coming, different organizations like RESOLVE or ASRM or INCIID often have information for friends/family-- an infertility specific therapist might also be helpful. 

At the end of the day, each of us knows what is right for ourselves and our family-to-be. My heart really goes out to those who have family members who don't approve of their choice to pursue treatments. I remember talking to a woman who had done several rounds of IVF, who told me her family didn't believe in making babies through ART. It was clearly heartbreaking to her not to have that support, but she was 100% sure in her decision and ended up having a baby through a gestational surrogate. Now no one cares how the baby got here, because, well, there's a baby! 

If anyone has any thoughts on this, please comment. 

Sending lots of love and strength and wishing everyone a great weekend. 

A better birthday, finally

Today is my 35th birthday.  Thankfully, I have a very different birthday feeling than my birthday last year. It was on my 30th birthday that I tossed out my birth control and we started this crazy ride. Five years felt like an eternity to live through, but now seem like a dark shaded area on a long timeline of my life. I wish I could have had more perspective. I wish I could have taken a few steps back to see the bigger picture, to know I would find my baby. But it's just so hard when you're drowning in the despair of the search. I tried to tell myself things would be different one day and the baby that's meant to be mine would be.  Now, looking at my little sumo piglet I believe it with all my heart. She is the baby that was meant to be mine.

I woke up this morning to her grunting. She's finding her voice and constantly has this look on her face like she owns the place. She pretty much does. She's surpassed her birth weight and doesn't yet realize day and night are two different things. We're working on it. 

I was going to take the rest of this week to write more about Momo's birth, but it's already Thursday and thinking back to the weekend of her birth seems surreal. 

We were supposed to go home on Sunday (Momo was born Friday night), but because of the complications I had, our discharge date was up in the air. On Sunday morning, Nurse Ratched stormed into our room with three pieces of information. She was the one who told us Momo had jaundice and needed to be force fed formula while she glowed in a special light blanket. Then Nurse Ratched declared that the underside of Momo's tongue needed to be cut in order for her to latch properly. Then she said we weren't going to be able to go home that night. Actually there were four things. She told me that because I had a blood transfusion, my milk would come in later than expected. She came in guns blazing and it just sent me over the edge. I cried like I've never cried before as Noah and I force fed Momo syringes full of formula and whatever droplets of colostrum we could squeeze out. I didn't want to do formula. I didn't want to spend another second in the hospital. I didn't want the IV lines in my veins to jab me when I bent my arm to try and hold my baby. But there we were. Life on IF Island had taught us how to sit with what it. How to make the best out of a scary situation. And how to remember it would all pass. 

"You're not cutting my baby's tongue," was I could think to say to the nurse. Then I hooked myself up to the breast pump and pumped until my nipples were raw.

Everything else is kind of a blur. Noah and I sang to Momo as she baked in the light therapy box in the NICU. We ate nasty hospital food in silence in the middle of the night. And we kept reminding each other that we had a baby. We finally had a baby and we get to keep her. Everything else was going to heal. 

And it does. It will. 

I hope our story continues to be a reminder that having a family when all cards are stacked against you is possible. That being open to how your baby will come to you can only help through the process. Noah and I both hope our documentary will help normalize alternative family building options and help others remember that sometimes miracles do happen. 

We have just a few more days to get closer to our fundraising goal. If you haven't checked it out, please do. 

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