Don't Count Your Eggs

Embracing A New Identity

I've been thinking a lot about identity lately. Again. The concept of identity has come up now and again for me during the years of figuring out who I was as a woman trying to make a family. It's a no-mans-land, an in between place you are stuck, but when you are stranded on IF Island for a significant amount of time, you kind of can't help but notice that infertility becomes part of your identity. 

Now that Momo is six months old--I know, can you believe it? She's amazing. She's in the 95th percentile of weight and height (thank you 5'11 egg donor!) and she's starting to crawl and find her voice (especially at 5:30am when she has SOOO much to talk about). Watching her develop is all that I've ever wanted. Watching me develop as a parent is...interesting. And that's where identity comes to play for me. Even though I have embraced that I'm lucky enough to have that coveted role of parent, I still identify way more with being infertile (though I hate that word). Why?

Infertile, hopefully, for most people, is a transient identity (even though it often feels like it goes on forever). It is temporary until you transition to being an expectant parent (whether being P, or through surrogacy or adoption), then you land on the identity that you've so been wanting for, hoping for, fighting for. But there is so much insecurity and fear through all of it for different reasons, it kind of feels like you... (or maybe I should just say I because I don't know if others can relate at all to my brain ramblings here-- I have 20 mins to write as Ms. Cat Napper is ten min into nap #2 of the day) one day just become a parent. That's exactly what happens. Though it can be years of struggle and heartache and then nine months of expectation, becoming  a parent does happen in a moment. A single, painful, incredible moment. 

Now what, right?

It's taken me about six months to feel like I can consciously start to incorporate the different identities that I've had over the past five years. While part of me wants to just let the past go and focus on where I am, who I am now, I know one of the added bonuses of being a parent after infertility is getting to think about these things and reflect on how the "journey" has added to who we are as people and as parents. I say added here, though I know the process can also sometimes take certain things away. But why focus on the deficits? 

I was an infertility patient for a lot longer than I've been a parent, so I know how to navigate that realm. This other stuff I'm still figuring out. All of our experiences make us who we are, make our relationships grow, and make us more complicated and interesting people. I have to believe that. Perhaps much of this is about embracing this new identity without needing to completely shed the past. Integrating infertility into parenthood. 

"She looks just like you!"

Here's the thing. She does. Momo, though she started as a donated embryo meaning not genetically related to Noah or me, does, in fact look like us. Well, more me.  I wonder if it's because we are a similar ethnic mix, complete chance, or because I carried her. I wonder if Epigenetics is somehow at play. I'm not sure I'm using that term correctly. Epigenetics is the study of how, basically, environmental factors (in utero) switch on and off certain genes. I don't know much about it, but I wonder what Momo's full genetic sibling looks like. The clinic told me he is a blonde, and I wonder if the mother who carried him was blonde. Anyway, I digress.

Momo looks like me. She's actually way cuter, but in a general sense she looks like me. And when people tell me that, and a lot of people do, my first instinct is to say thanks. I don't know why. How does that even make sense, to say thanks. But that's the word that comes to mind. But I often do one of two things, depending on the situation, the amount of time I have to 'splain myself, and who I'm talking to. I either agree-- "Yeah, she does a little." Then I smile. And then the person will ask if I had lighter hair as a child (because Momo's hair is starting to lighten a bit, maybe she'll be a blonde too) and I answer the question. Yes. My hair was lighter as a child. All truths. All simple answers. I'm not faking anything. I'm not hiding anything. I'm answering questions. This is usually what I will do when I'm in a rush or talking to a random person at the market or whatever. Then I let them point out all the specific traits that Momo has inherited from me and I smile. But if I'm talking to someone I kind of know-- like when I first started going to a baby group and someone would comment on how she looks like me and ask if my husband is tall or a "big guy" (Momo's pretty long, and big overall), and I'll say, "No, he's not a big guy, but it's funny how much she does look like us (me ;) because she's not genetically related to us." Then I get to watch their mind explode. But wait... who... how... egg donor?... wait... hold on...

That's my favorite part. People can get an entire lesson in human reproduction in five minutes. I should go teach sex ed at middle schools. I like that I can share our story and feel proud of it and normalize our alternative baby making. Because it's totally normal. I'm just another mom in a group with a baby that resembles her. Sometimes I wonder if Momo hearing, "she's not genetically ours," is... I don't know what. I'm sensitive about saying a lot of this stuff in front of her but at the same time she will always know her story and I hope she feels proud and special. 

She is really special. 

How each person wants to share or not share is very personal. Anyone else with a donor conceived baby have thoughts? Would love to hear. 

Our Journey to Her

For a long time, Noah and I talked about our "journey to parenthood," and wanting a "baby." I put those words in quotes because while we on our mission to resolve our infertility crisis, those words were these distant ideas. It was just this process to an end goal. A baby. I couldn't fathom what being P would be like. I couldn't imagine birth. I couldn't picture the "baby." 

Now that I've had these experiences and can reflect a little bit, I honestly have to say it wasn't about getting a baby, it was about finding this baby. Our baby. During our process, I talked to a lot of different people who said they eventually found the baby that was meant to be theirs. I believed them, but didn't fully get it until we found Momo.

Momo (or the embryo that is Momo) was created and frozen the year Noah and I started trying to create a family. It took us four years, multiple procedures and heartbreaks, but everything we did that didn't work led us to her. If the IVF or IUIs or donor egg cycle worked, Momo might still be in a freezer in Seattle and we wouldn't have gotten to her. While I'm sure if something worked we might feel that was the baby that was meant to be ours, I can honestly say I would do it all over again--every shot, every confused moment, every invasive procedure, every penny-- to end up with this baby. 

I rarely think about her origins, and the trauma of the "journey" has begun to dissipate. When you're in it, it's so intense and at the forefront of your mind all the time. But once a resolution has been found, once your baby is in your arms, the "journey" is just that. A journey. It isn't the most painful thing anymore. The baby doesn't erase the experience, but the intensity of longing and frustration are replaced with the intensity of love for this little being. 

Our little being is almost 6 months old. She has two little shark teeth and has started eating a little avocado and sweet potato. She's trying to crawl but ends up rocking herself back and forth until she gets frustrated and sprawls out on the floor with her fingers in her mouth. Every day I can't believe she's ours and while I have moments of, I don't want to say worry, but maybe I'll say curiosity about the day she asks about her bio sibs or about her genetics, I have no doubt in my mind that she will know we are her parents and hopefully it will be an interesting conversation. Hopefully we can find her origins. Hopefully she will see what a miracle she truly is. 

I wish I had known that all our struggle would lead to this moment. If I could have just believed that the nightmare would end and we'd get to watch this baby girl grow and laugh and grab things and scream (that's her new favorite thing, screaming. Just screaming. For fun), then maybe I could have gone through all of it with more grace and less fear. 

Retrospect is funny like that. Of course I can say this all now. I don't even know if I would have, could have believed it then. But I always say if you're open to how your baby comes to you, there is an end to the stay on IF Island. And there is a "baby," YOUR baby waiting on the other side. 

How to be P after years of trying

Lately I've been getting emails from people who have been stranded on IF Island for years, letting me know that they are P. I love these emails-- as much as some of these ladies have been following my story, they've shared parts of theirs with me so I also follow theirs as well. A win is a win for the team! But one thing I noticed that was common in all these emails was this feeling of hesitancy. This feeling that they are P... for now...with that hanging, lingering fear that something bad might happen. They feel this way, as I often did, because something bad has happened before, and that's all they know. 

Now they are trying to learn how to be open and hopeful to this new possibility. Trying to believe that good things can happen. The cycle of infertility is exactly that, a cycle. It's active and there's a lot of motion until you're in the two week wait, but even then you're counting down the days. Finally being P after a long time of trying or trying with A.R.T. feels like suddenly you've come to a halt and...is this really happening? Do I seriously have 32 more WEEKS to go? And what am I supposed to DO? For so long I've been doing things, lots of things, to get P and now once I'm here I'm supposed to just...be? 

Yup. Just be. Worrying about things that happened in the past or obsessing about the what ifs of the future aren't going to help you connect to the tiny cluster of cells trying to become a human inside of you. But it's really hard to just be present sometimes, especially when you're haunted by past trauma. 

There is no magic solution, only recognizing the moments where you might have one foot in the past and one foot in the future so that you can work to get both feet grounded in the now. That's all any of us can do. Whether finally P or in any other stage of the game. 

And if you are newly P and in the LA area, there's an event worth checking out in Hollywood. Some of the proceeds will go to Baby Quest, an awesome non-profit that helps people with infertility pay for treatment:

Male Factor Infertility

Every so often I get an email from a company wanting me to review a product or write about a product, and I usually steer clear because that's not really what this blog is about. And I'm not tech savvy at all and don't know how to do giveaways and all that jazz. Of course if there's ever anything I find that is a must have at the IF Island give shop, then I'll definitely share the info, but I know how overwhelming more stuff can be.

A few weeks ago I got an email from a gal working at WaveWall Worldwide, an international startup based in the UK, that created an anti radiation phone case, that supposedly "protects testicles from up to 87% of radiation emitted from cell phones." 

It got me thinking more about male factor infertility and how increasingly common (yet really not talked about) it is. We know that about 1 in 8 couples suffer with infertility. What many people don't know is that male factor infertility is just as common as female infertility, and there is a lot of unexplained infertility.  And what people, especially men need to remember is that diagnosed problems with the part of the body that is used to procreate is a medical condition.  Sperm issues have nothing to do with virility or ones manhood. It has to do with something in the body not functioning the way it should.  It's no ones fault and it's nothing to be ashamed of.  

Infertility seems to be on the rise in general and I often wonder why and also think there's got to be an environmental component involved. When we were going through IVF I went nuts on Noah. And we didn't have a male factor issue. I made him eat brazil nuts and a steak before "ejac" night, I begged him not to ride his bike and forbid him from going into a hot tub and yelled at him when he had his phone or laptop near his privates. Had I known these cases existed, I might have just got him one. They're nice, the phone slips right into this little leather sleeve and the inside part comes in Seahawks colors  (blue or neon green). Also, they protect anyone from seeing text exchanges that happen to pop up on your phone. 

Now I'm less concerned with Noah's sperm and more concerned with Momo's head. I am...umm...holding her for every nap...literally...every...single...nap (and telling myself that I am creating a secure attachment for her). What that also means is that my phone is always near her/us because that's my lifeline to the world right now. When I'm texting my sister to complain about how my arm is completely numb, I worry and obsess about Momo's exposure to radiation. But when I'm not texting or googling things like,"best diaper cream," then I put the phone in this case and tell myself I'm protecting her from brain cancer because I've recently became aware that kids absorb something like 10 times the amount of mobile radiation than adults do. Ugh. I'll just put that on my list of things to worry about. 

Anyway. This is not to freak anyone out or to blindly plug a product. It's just sharing info and reminding any men out there dealing with male factor issues that they are really not alone.