Ding dong, the crib is gone

I love going upstate to visit my in laws. They are warm and loving people, and Will is exceptionally close to them. We always have a great time visiting with them, cooking, sightseeing, shopping, and hiking with them around their property.

But one thing that has been a continual thorn in my side during these visits, is the guest room where we sleep. Right next to the bed is an empty crib, stocked with toys. Will's three siblings have mucho kids (there are NINE grandchildren) and I have always tried to remind myself that the youngest of these children is crib age and even if his family only comes up once or twice a year, that's what the crib is there for. I try to overlook the fact that this particular wonderful little boy is almost two years old and has never slept a night in that crib, nor in any crib. He's a bed sleeper that boy, snuggling up next to his mom and dad.

Despite my reasonings with myself, the crib feels like it's been waiting for us to provide grandchild number ten. I've been sleeping next to it, every visit to my in-laws since before our marriage. It stands empty, mocking us for our failure to provide a living child to fill it. Seeing it, and having to sleep next to it, feels like the slow turn of a knife in my viscera. Sometimes literally gut wrenching, the way it brings up our losses, our childlessness, this empty crib.

So I was thrilled to hear through Will that his parents have finally relented and taken the crib apart and put it in the basement. (It also made me wonder, perhaps we're not the only ones feeling a bit hopeless about our reproductive future?)

Not sure what made them finally get with the program, but a part of me suspects it might be the fact that we set up a crate right next to the crib for our new puppy, complete with bedding.

Sadly, a puppy crate is the only crib we need these days.

Move over crib - the new puppy crate is here!

Whatever the reason they decided to dismantle the crib, I am so, so happy to not have to face that empty crib again.

Puppy crate: it's the new crib. Do you think we could start a trend?

Mo

Sisters

My sister was here this weekend for a visit and it was lovely one-on-one time (Will is in Europe for work this week). She and I are very alike from our looks, to our mannerisms, to our sense of humor. We look so similar that people comment on it, immediately recognizing the relation. Even here in NYC, where no one comments on anything, two people this weekend said, "That must be your sister! She looks SO much like you!" And she does. And I am grateful for this connection. She is much younger than me (8 years), which makes this even more flattering.

Something about having my sister with me all weekend was so centering, so healing. We spent the weekend laughing, talking, sharing. Having her here was like a breath of fresh air after not breathing for far too long.

The geneticist and I are playing phone tag but hopefully will catch up later today, and tomorrow, I am scheduled to have part of my endometrium removed for the Endometrial Function Test. So the quest continues, but for once this weekend, it felt like I could maintain the right perspective, and not be consumed. I only hope I can hang onto this newfound sanity.

Thank goodness for little sisters. I am so glad she's in my life.

Mo

The apple tree

I spent this morning with my parents who were in town for my nephew's birthday party. We had coffee and lunch and then parted. It was a nice visit, but after they left I realized all the things we had not discussed. As I age and as I travel through my marriage, I am becoming increasingly aware of how, growing up, there were topics that were either not spoken about at all, or that were mentioned but never fully fleshed out. I am sure this is not uncommon, but with Mo's three miscarriages last year, this familial tendency has become painfully clear on more than one occasion.

Mo and I had shared the news of our first pregnancy with both of our families as soon as we saw the heartbeat on ultrasound. Unfortunately, this meant that a few weeks later, we also had the share the terrible news when we lost the pregnancy. After the miscarriage and D&C, I telephoned my mother to tell her. She was sympathetic and tried to be comforting for a moment, but she quickly added that in "her day" those things happened "all the time" and women often "didn't even know" they were pregnant and just thought they had had a late period. Fair enough on the facts, I suppose (although frankly it's hard to imagine what women were thinking when they had morning sickness and no period for over two months). But my mother was really missing the human side of the truth - that her son and new daughter-in-law were experiencing a devastating loss.

My mother repeated a version of this line of reasoning following the next miscarriage. At this point, her inability to tolerate her own discomfort enough to acknowledge our loss really started to sting. Mo was terribly hurt by my mother's behavior. And I was left feeling conflicted. I felt strongly protective of Mo and resonated deeply with her upset. And my mother's words felt like a dismissal of my need to be comforted as her grieving son. But I also felt an inexorable pull to defend and rationalize my mother's disappointing behavior.

The third time around, Mo and I didn't tell my parents we were pregnant or, subsequently, that we had miscarried yet again. Not telling wasn't that hard for me. But not having the support of the two people who have always given me unconditional love was very difficult. It was also very lonely.

Back to this morning. After my parents left, I realized that I need to be completely open with letting my parents know my feelings in as much detail as I can. At the same time, I have to accept that they may be incapable of meeting my needs in certain arenas.

Mo and I will discuss and decide together exactly what infertility/pregnancy/loss news to share. (We are NOT sharing, for example, that we are currently doing IVF).

I'm also realizing that I need to take a deep look inward at my own insecurities with letting my emotions show (a tendency whose origins are becoming clearer and clearer - Thanks, Mom!). I am learning that I can strongly - and vocally - disagree with my parents' inability to reach out in a meaningful way and at the same time not be judgemental of them as the people I love.

The apple does not fall far from the tree. But this is no excuse for not stretching beyond my own comfort zones. The fact is that I long ago grew into my own tree. It is time for me to prune the branches and declare what is mine. To take the shape of the man I want to be in my life and in my marriage.

Will