Last month I downloaded a fertility tracking application on my phone. I had decided that if I was antsy to be active about this but couldn't really do much a year in advance, that I could at least start tracking my cycle. At first I marked a small pocket calendar when I started my period on 12/27, and then I thought to see if there was something for my phone I could use instead, and there was. It's quite useful, because it tells me exactly which day I should be ovulating. This is based on a 28-day cycle, but after I marked the beginning of my next period on 1/25, it recalculated based on my 30-day cycle. Now the ovulation predictor should be more accurate this month. Although strangely, I had all the signs of ovulation one day last month and checked my app out of curiosity, and yep, I was "scheduled" to ovulate that very day, and that was based on a 28-day cycle.
I've ordered ovulation strips (50 for under $10!) so I can test this month and see if I do ovulate that day. If I don't, but I do on a different day, I can enter that into my app to improve accuracy too. But honestly right now I'm just antsy to know whether I ovulate at all. I don't care when it happens; I just want to know that an egg is released every month! That will help me feel hopeful that it won't take us forever and our life's savings to get pregnant. (I'm very pro-adoption, and I don't think I could justify sinking thousands into trying to get pregnant if it's just not happening.)
I'm very excited that I have a real idea of how long my cycle is and when I may ovulate. I'll be even more excited if and when I can confirm that I do!
wedding
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
"So who will be the 'real' mother?"
It was pretty easy for Nicole and me to decide who would carry our child. Our reasons are threefold:
1. I desperately want to be pregnant. Nicole desperately wants to avoid it.
I have ached for this my whole life. For the few years that I thought I didn't want to have children, I struggled with and grieved the fact that I would never get to experience pregnancy. Nicole, on the other hand, had sort of gritted her teeth and accepted that she may have to endure such torture in order to create a family. She was quite relieved when she met someone who was not only willing to be pregnant both times, but eager and excited to do so. This is not something she can relate to. Ironically, we both feel extremely grateful to the other for our stance on this!
2. I have a very regular cycle and am likely (knock on wood) quite fertile. Nicole has PCOS and a very irregular cycle.
This doesn't mean Nicole isn't fertile or couldn't get pregnant, but it would likely take much longer and become quite costly. We have to pay for our sperm each time, and we have to take off of work every time we want to try to conceive.There's also a cap on how much our insurance will cover. If Nicole decides suddenly that it's important to her to become pregnant, then we will do our best to accommodate this. But it certainly helps to utilize the partner with fewer barriers to pregnancy, since it's going to take time and money to make this happen.
3. I am a calm, mellow person who takes things in stride and relishes everything nature hands me. Nicole is a high-strung hypochondriac with a propensity for anxiety attacks and racing thoughts.
I even love getting my period. I don't exactly dance around in the forest like a little hippie nymph, but I DO get a sense of peace and pleasure from getting my period. For some reason (and yes, I acknowledge its oddness), it makes me feel connected to things, in touch with my body and life and the universe. I also have an obsession with the moon (Nicole frequently has to snap me back to attention when we're out because I get lost in gazing at it) so maybe I have some affinity for things that are cyclical. I just know it makes me feel feminine and earthy and harmonious and connected. Am I a little strange? Sure. But you can imagine how I might perceive the experience of pregnancy and even labor.
Nicole, on the other hand, has little to no tolerance for change of any kind, even change of the natural and cyclical variety. She hates feeling out of control of her own body and well-being. Change makes her feel unsafe, insecure, panicky. Exactly what excites me about it immobilizes her. Who knows, maybe pregnancy would be the solution! There's nothing like having something growing quickly inside you, depending on you for its very sustenance, to shake you up about how little control you have over anything. But for now, the idea is terrifying, unappealing, and even disturbing to her. It will be hard enough to keep her in check about MY pregnancy experience, as I'm sure she will be quite anxious all along the way.
Nicole has had two primary struggles with the idea of my carrying both children. First, she worries that she may someday regret not having the experience of pregnancy. It's hard for her to imagine now because the idea is so distasteful to her, but it's not a choice that will be available to her forever. She has a limited time to change her mind, and that pressure makes her second-guess herself and fear that she will have regrets when it's too late.
The second issue is that she has to grieve the idea of having a biological connection to her own child. As someone who works in foster care and adoption, I am a major proponent of family being about more than blood. However, it's easy to say that as the one who will have a genetic tie to my children. I empathize with Nicole completely on this, because I can only imagine everything she would be giving up.
As much as we will try to choose a sperm donor with her physical characteristics, the children are still more likely to look like me. I've read that "chosen" families often have outsiders unknowingly comment on shared characteristics. It seems that if people don't know up front, they tend to see traits in common that aren't necessarily really there. Further, it seems that certain things are learned--expressions, mannerisms, etc.--and that these things create resemblance despite having no genetic connection. This comforts me some, but I also know it's different the second people realize there are two mothers and quickly realize which one is biologically related. I have seen many two-moms-and-a-baby photos and blogs where I have no idea which mother gave birth, but will that make it sting less when someone unwittingly says, "Oh, she has your eyes!" before awkwardly realizing how this might feel for the other parent?
My mother-in-law recently offered to pay for IVF in order to have an embryo with Nicole's egg planted in me. Babymaking is an intensely personal decision and we had not asked for advice or opinions, so it felt very uncomfortable for me. I have told Nicole before that I have no issue with undergoing IVF if this is something she feels is important to her. However, it's not an easy process. Nicole would have to pump herself full of hormones with daily shots in her rear and crazy side effects, and then we would both have to undergo pretty invasive procedures. As a last-ditch effort to become pregnant, that becomes a much more desirable option for someone. But if simple insemination works for us, do we really want to put her body through all that? How much is a genetic connection worth?
What I really struggled with was why her mother wants this so badly that she would offer to pay. I admit that I took this more personally than I should have, but I couldn't help but ruminate over why this meant so much to her. It's not like Nicole expressed a strong desire to have a biological child while despising the idea of pregnancy and then her mother came up with this idea. It was completely unsolicited. This pokes at our insecurity that Nicole's family could look at our children as less theirs because they don't have a blood connection. I don't really think this would be the case if both children came from me, but if one comes from Nicole, I truly can't help but wonder if that child would be given preference, or seen as the "real" grandchild. That in itself was enough for Nicole to be more insistent than ever that I carry both so that there is no difference.
My mother-in-law HAS mentioned in the past that she is afraid that she would lose access to her grandchildren if we were ever to have a nasty divorce. I attempted to reassure her by letting her know that (1) I have no history of spiteful or vengeful behavior in breakups, and in fact have been quite a doormat in the past even when greatly wronged, (2) we plan on going through every single legal process available to ensure Nicole has every right to our children that I do, which would continue even in the case of divorce, and (3) working in the field that I do, I of all people know how cutting off supports affects children, and who you are really punishing in such a situation. (I didn't bother to speak about number four, which is that we will never divorce, because that is ineffective in addressing her actual concern.)
If we were each to have a child from our own individual embryos, and I whisked "my" child off with me in the event of a split, would the agony of losing one grandchild be eased because you have another? If you have two children, does the tragic death of one hurt less if you have a second? Can a child serve as a "backup" to another child? This line of thinking disturbs me. The idea of having one biological child as insurance just plays into the idea that one would "really" be mine and one would "really" be Nicole's, instead of us being a united family who are all equally connected and invested in one another.
I am glad my mother-in-law felt she could voice this because I know she was afraid I would be offended at the implication. But I am all too aware of the complexities of this situation, and I feel awkwardly self-conscious and guilty about the vulnerability of the non-biological family. There is nothing so frightening as feeling like you have a tenuous hold on someone who is the most important person in the world to you. I acknowledge that this fear is normal, and that my parents would be feeling it if it were the other way around. I am trying to take the offer to pay for IVF with a little less defensiveness and a little more understanding about how vulnerable her family feels in this situation. And I can say that her highlighting our insecurities led to amazing conversation between Nicole and me that has us more closely bonded than ever.
1. I desperately want to be pregnant. Nicole desperately wants to avoid it.
I have ached for this my whole life. For the few years that I thought I didn't want to have children, I struggled with and grieved the fact that I would never get to experience pregnancy. Nicole, on the other hand, had sort of gritted her teeth and accepted that she may have to endure such torture in order to create a family. She was quite relieved when she met someone who was not only willing to be pregnant both times, but eager and excited to do so. This is not something she can relate to. Ironically, we both feel extremely grateful to the other for our stance on this!
2. I have a very regular cycle and am likely (knock on wood) quite fertile. Nicole has PCOS and a very irregular cycle.
This doesn't mean Nicole isn't fertile or couldn't get pregnant, but it would likely take much longer and become quite costly. We have to pay for our sperm each time, and we have to take off of work every time we want to try to conceive.There's also a cap on how much our insurance will cover. If Nicole decides suddenly that it's important to her to become pregnant, then we will do our best to accommodate this. But it certainly helps to utilize the partner with fewer barriers to pregnancy, since it's going to take time and money to make this happen.
3. I am a calm, mellow person who takes things in stride and relishes everything nature hands me. Nicole is a high-strung hypochondriac with a propensity for anxiety attacks and racing thoughts.
I even love getting my period. I don't exactly dance around in the forest like a little hippie nymph, but I DO get a sense of peace and pleasure from getting my period. For some reason (and yes, I acknowledge its oddness), it makes me feel connected to things, in touch with my body and life and the universe. I also have an obsession with the moon (Nicole frequently has to snap me back to attention when we're out because I get lost in gazing at it) so maybe I have some affinity for things that are cyclical. I just know it makes me feel feminine and earthy and harmonious and connected. Am I a little strange? Sure. But you can imagine how I might perceive the experience of pregnancy and even labor.
Nicole, on the other hand, has little to no tolerance for change of any kind, even change of the natural and cyclical variety. She hates feeling out of control of her own body and well-being. Change makes her feel unsafe, insecure, panicky. Exactly what excites me about it immobilizes her. Who knows, maybe pregnancy would be the solution! There's nothing like having something growing quickly inside you, depending on you for its very sustenance, to shake you up about how little control you have over anything. But for now, the idea is terrifying, unappealing, and even disturbing to her. It will be hard enough to keep her in check about MY pregnancy experience, as I'm sure she will be quite anxious all along the way.
Nicole has had two primary struggles with the idea of my carrying both children. First, she worries that she may someday regret not having the experience of pregnancy. It's hard for her to imagine now because the idea is so distasteful to her, but it's not a choice that will be available to her forever. She has a limited time to change her mind, and that pressure makes her second-guess herself and fear that she will have regrets when it's too late.
The second issue is that she has to grieve the idea of having a biological connection to her own child. As someone who works in foster care and adoption, I am a major proponent of family being about more than blood. However, it's easy to say that as the one who will have a genetic tie to my children. I empathize with Nicole completely on this, because I can only imagine everything she would be giving up.
As much as we will try to choose a sperm donor with her physical characteristics, the children are still more likely to look like me. I've read that "chosen" families often have outsiders unknowingly comment on shared characteristics. It seems that if people don't know up front, they tend to see traits in common that aren't necessarily really there. Further, it seems that certain things are learned--expressions, mannerisms, etc.--and that these things create resemblance despite having no genetic connection. This comforts me some, but I also know it's different the second people realize there are two mothers and quickly realize which one is biologically related. I have seen many two-moms-and-a-baby photos and blogs where I have no idea which mother gave birth, but will that make it sting less when someone unwittingly says, "Oh, she has your eyes!" before awkwardly realizing how this might feel for the other parent?
My mother-in-law recently offered to pay for IVF in order to have an embryo with Nicole's egg planted in me. Babymaking is an intensely personal decision and we had not asked for advice or opinions, so it felt very uncomfortable for me. I have told Nicole before that I have no issue with undergoing IVF if this is something she feels is important to her. However, it's not an easy process. Nicole would have to pump herself full of hormones with daily shots in her rear and crazy side effects, and then we would both have to undergo pretty invasive procedures. As a last-ditch effort to become pregnant, that becomes a much more desirable option for someone. But if simple insemination works for us, do we really want to put her body through all that? How much is a genetic connection worth?
What I really struggled with was why her mother wants this so badly that she would offer to pay. I admit that I took this more personally than I should have, but I couldn't help but ruminate over why this meant so much to her. It's not like Nicole expressed a strong desire to have a biological child while despising the idea of pregnancy and then her mother came up with this idea. It was completely unsolicited. This pokes at our insecurity that Nicole's family could look at our children as less theirs because they don't have a blood connection. I don't really think this would be the case if both children came from me, but if one comes from Nicole, I truly can't help but wonder if that child would be given preference, or seen as the "real" grandchild. That in itself was enough for Nicole to be more insistent than ever that I carry both so that there is no difference.
My mother-in-law HAS mentioned in the past that she is afraid that she would lose access to her grandchildren if we were ever to have a nasty divorce. I attempted to reassure her by letting her know that (1) I have no history of spiteful or vengeful behavior in breakups, and in fact have been quite a doormat in the past even when greatly wronged, (2) we plan on going through every single legal process available to ensure Nicole has every right to our children that I do, which would continue even in the case of divorce, and (3) working in the field that I do, I of all people know how cutting off supports affects children, and who you are really punishing in such a situation. (I didn't bother to speak about number four, which is that we will never divorce, because that is ineffective in addressing her actual concern.)
If we were each to have a child from our own individual embryos, and I whisked "my" child off with me in the event of a split, would the agony of losing one grandchild be eased because you have another? If you have two children, does the tragic death of one hurt less if you have a second? Can a child serve as a "backup" to another child? This line of thinking disturbs me. The idea of having one biological child as insurance just plays into the idea that one would "really" be mine and one would "really" be Nicole's, instead of us being a united family who are all equally connected and invested in one another.
I am glad my mother-in-law felt she could voice this because I know she was afraid I would be offended at the implication. But I am all too aware of the complexities of this situation, and I feel awkwardly self-conscious and guilty about the vulnerability of the non-biological family. There is nothing so frightening as feeling like you have a tenuous hold on someone who is the most important person in the world to you. I acknowledge that this fear is normal, and that my parents would be feeling it if it were the other way around. I am trying to take the offer to pay for IVF with a little less defensiveness and a little more understanding about how vulnerable her family feels in this situation. And I can say that her highlighting our insecurities led to amazing conversation between Nicole and me that has us more closely bonded than ever.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
My Leap List
I was watching my one very guilty pleasure, "The Bachelor," and on yesterday's episode the participants were talking about "leap lists." Basically it was a bucket list for things they wanted to do before taking the next leap in their lives--in this case, marriage. This worked right into my planned next post, which I otherwise would have boringly entitled "Pre-Baby Goals."
My Leap List has gotten shorter as my baby fever has heightened. It's normal to realize the enormity of the sacrifices you will make by choosing parenthood. Any couple that is planning their family will likely ponder the impending changes parenthood will bring to their lives, but particularly couples who must use medical intervention to get pregnant. When you have to pay and schedule doctor's appointments to create a baby, you put a LOT of thought into it...we don't have the privilege of "oops" and planning as we go. Ever the seeker of silver linings, I see this as a blessing, a gift of time and careful planning.
When I was in my early twenties, I panicked so much at the loooong Leap List in front of me, so much so that I thought about not having children at all because I was afraid I'd resent them for all I'd have to give up. Now I can see that, for me, that meant I simply wasn't ready. The closer I am to being ready for motherhood, the less important many of those things seem...or at least the pressure of their immediacy eases.
My original Leap List probably would have looked something like this:
1. Road trip around Germany.
2. Zip line.
3. Stay at a Caribbean resort.
4. Travel overseas alone. (Check!)
5. Go white water rafting.
6. Travel to Italy.
7. Travel to South America.
8. Travel to Greece.
9. Travel to Costa Rica.
10. Buy a house.
And more!
My travel list has always been most important. I can't overemphasize how passionate I am about it...and I know it's the biggest thing I'll have to give up in having a family, aside from sleep, excessive me-time/solitude, and relaxed us-time.
Nicole and I have never been partiers. Our ideal Friday night consists of watching movies in our pajamas with a home-cooked meal. On weekends, we are in bed by 11:00 and awake by 8:00. So "settling down" in that sense won't be an issue for us like it seems to be for most people our age. But I cherish our independence and freedom, which brings me back again to travel.
Having children doesn't mean the world is closed off to me. I prioritize where I spend my money, and I'm a careful saver when I have a goal. I willingly shortchange other areas in order to afford travel, which I still cannot afford to do frequently. When I was 15, I begged my parents to let me go on a student trip to Australia and New Zealand for three weeks. They wanted to support me but didn't have the money, so they took out a small personal loan with the agreement that I would get a job and pay them back. I sought employment immediately, at one of the few places that would hire a 15-year-old, and for the next two and a half years, I only kept $20 out of every paycheck for myself; the rest went right toward that loan until it was paid off. It was worth every second of my trip, and my dad still says he's proud of how disciplined I was, without complaint. If I could do that as a teenager, I can definitely do that now.
What's frustrating to me is that I am just now entering an income bracket where I could begin to travel more. When I was 23, fresh out of graduate school and beginning my first job, I was making $20,000 less and struggling to make ends meet. I had a difficult time learning to live within my means, and put more on my credit cards than I paid toward them. I was 23. I was newly out of a relationship that I'd been in since I was 16, I had just come out as lesbian, and I had just decided to live in NYC in an apartment with my best friend. The world was mine...except that life's irony is that you can't afford it when you're young and free! I'm finally becoming financially comfortable and stable, but still have grown-up plans for my money before I can just jet around the world.
My Leap List now looks more like:
1. Go to an all-inclusive Caribbean resort while we are still youthful, new, and kid-free.
2. Pay off all credit card debt.
3. Buy a home.
4. Make a few long-weekend domestic trips (Provincetown, Boston, Philadelphia, D.C.)
5. Convert fully to Judaism.
It's not that I don't still want to do all those things from my original list...it's that my want becomes much less intense and frantic as my want for a baby becomes more so. I start to brush some things off: "Meh, we can travel more when the kids move out and our money frees up a little." "We can make a couple of major trips by ourselves for big anniversaries, leave the kids with our family." "We can make some of these smaller trips WITH kids...and in fact, it'd be a great family adventure."
As for the outdoor sports I want to do, Nicole isn't into them, so they'll actually become MORE realistic when I have kids. If I can wait about 10 years, I could take the kids upstate to go tubing together while Nicole holds our picnic basket. Ha! (I'll certainly be dragged to enough sports events where I'LL be the halfhearted attendee just wanting to spend time with my family.)
Nicole joked that she knew she was in trouble when I gave up Germany. I have dreamed of this trip for most of my life, and she knew we couldn't afford it for quite some time, especially since it's not a trip I want to cut corners on. I'm only going to do it once, and I want to do it right. A few weeks ago, I said, "You know what, maybe if we save for long enough, we could take the kids to Germany when they're old enough to enjoy it. And if not, we could just go ourselves for a special trip sometime." Nicole feigned panic and said, "These things that stand between us and kids are disappearing so quickly! Now that even Germany is off the list, there's not much left for me to hold onto to slow this down!"
I don't have money for it all. I don't have time for it all. And I need to save both money AND time to even plan getting pregnant.
My Leap List has gotten shorter as my baby fever has heightened. It's normal to realize the enormity of the sacrifices you will make by choosing parenthood. Any couple that is planning their family will likely ponder the impending changes parenthood will bring to their lives, but particularly couples who must use medical intervention to get pregnant. When you have to pay and schedule doctor's appointments to create a baby, you put a LOT of thought into it...we don't have the privilege of "oops" and planning as we go. Ever the seeker of silver linings, I see this as a blessing, a gift of time and careful planning.
When I was in my early twenties, I panicked so much at the loooong Leap List in front of me, so much so that I thought about not having children at all because I was afraid I'd resent them for all I'd have to give up. Now I can see that, for me, that meant I simply wasn't ready. The closer I am to being ready for motherhood, the less important many of those things seem...or at least the pressure of their immediacy eases.
My original Leap List probably would have looked something like this:
1. Road trip around Germany.
2. Zip line.
3. Stay at a Caribbean resort.
4. Travel overseas alone. (Check!)
5. Go white water rafting.
6. Travel to Italy.
7. Travel to South America.
8. Travel to Greece.
9. Travel to Costa Rica.
10. Buy a house.
And more!
My travel list has always been most important. I can't overemphasize how passionate I am about it...and I know it's the biggest thing I'll have to give up in having a family, aside from sleep, excessive me-time/solitude, and relaxed us-time.
Nicole and I have never been partiers. Our ideal Friday night consists of watching movies in our pajamas with a home-cooked meal. On weekends, we are in bed by 11:00 and awake by 8:00. So "settling down" in that sense won't be an issue for us like it seems to be for most people our age. But I cherish our independence and freedom, which brings me back again to travel.
Having children doesn't mean the world is closed off to me. I prioritize where I spend my money, and I'm a careful saver when I have a goal. I willingly shortchange other areas in order to afford travel, which I still cannot afford to do frequently. When I was 15, I begged my parents to let me go on a student trip to Australia and New Zealand for three weeks. They wanted to support me but didn't have the money, so they took out a small personal loan with the agreement that I would get a job and pay them back. I sought employment immediately, at one of the few places that would hire a 15-year-old, and for the next two and a half years, I only kept $20 out of every paycheck for myself; the rest went right toward that loan until it was paid off. It was worth every second of my trip, and my dad still says he's proud of how disciplined I was, without complaint. If I could do that as a teenager, I can definitely do that now.
What's frustrating to me is that I am just now entering an income bracket where I could begin to travel more. When I was 23, fresh out of graduate school and beginning my first job, I was making $20,000 less and struggling to make ends meet. I had a difficult time learning to live within my means, and put more on my credit cards than I paid toward them. I was 23. I was newly out of a relationship that I'd been in since I was 16, I had just come out as lesbian, and I had just decided to live in NYC in an apartment with my best friend. The world was mine...except that life's irony is that you can't afford it when you're young and free! I'm finally becoming financially comfortable and stable, but still have grown-up plans for my money before I can just jet around the world.
My Leap List now looks more like:
1. Go to an all-inclusive Caribbean resort while we are still youthful, new, and kid-free.
2. Pay off all credit card debt.
3. Buy a home.
4. Make a few long-weekend domestic trips (Provincetown, Boston, Philadelphia, D.C.)
5. Convert fully to Judaism.
It's not that I don't still want to do all those things from my original list...it's that my want becomes much less intense and frantic as my want for a baby becomes more so. I start to brush some things off: "Meh, we can travel more when the kids move out and our money frees up a little." "We can make a couple of major trips by ourselves for big anniversaries, leave the kids with our family." "We can make some of these smaller trips WITH kids...and in fact, it'd be a great family adventure."
As for the outdoor sports I want to do, Nicole isn't into them, so they'll actually become MORE realistic when I have kids. If I can wait about 10 years, I could take the kids upstate to go tubing together while Nicole holds our picnic basket. Ha! (I'll certainly be dragged to enough sports events where I'LL be the halfhearted attendee just wanting to spend time with my family.)
Nicole joked that she knew she was in trouble when I gave up Germany. I have dreamed of this trip for most of my life, and she knew we couldn't afford it for quite some time, especially since it's not a trip I want to cut corners on. I'm only going to do it once, and I want to do it right. A few weeks ago, I said, "You know what, maybe if we save for long enough, we could take the kids to Germany when they're old enough to enjoy it. And if not, we could just go ourselves for a special trip sometime." Nicole feigned panic and said, "These things that stand between us and kids are disappearing so quickly! Now that even Germany is off the list, there's not much left for me to hold onto to slow this down!"
I don't have money for it all. I don't have time for it all. And I need to save both money AND time to even plan getting pregnant.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
From Zero to Two
Just a few years ago, I was convinced that I didn't want children.
In my first relationship, which began when I was just 16 and ended when I was 22, we started talking in the last year or so about the option of being childfree. It just wasn't something we'd ever considered. You just expect, even as a kid, that one day you'll grow up and be a parent yourself. In college, when it was all just dreams, I ached for a baby. I couldn't wait for that day to come, and I fantasized about the life we would have. Then as I got older and started creating a real identity for myself, I began to fear that parenthood would interfere with everything I wanted to do. I had begun to realize my passion for travel, and at the same time, I had begun to realize the enormity of the student loan debt I was accruing in graduate school and the income bracket I could expect as a social worker. I couldn't reconcile the two with the idea of having children in a few years. I could barely feed myself and pay my bills as it was, and I knew it'd take me years to be settled enough that I could save up money for travel.
Both my partner and I began to feel the constraints of potential parenthood. As teenagers, everything was a distant dream; as young 20-somethings with our whole lives ahead of us, with all the freedoms and independence that life was bringing us with adulthood, the idea of having a time limit on enjoying that was unbearable. I feared that I'd barely be caught up and starting to afford a decent life before I'd have to sacrifice it all. We had just started this conversation, without having to talk about it too seriously, before we broke up. (It wasn't just the idea of parenting that made me feel constrained anymore...my relationship with my high-school sweetheart, which had become less and less fulfilling and quite unhealthy, had to be shed.)
Within the next year, I decided to stay in New York City despite coming to the end of my two-year graduate school experience. I didn't feel ready to return to South Carolina. With my new sense of freedom and personal agency, New York offered so much promise and possibility. I knew this was my time, and I needed to enjoy it now. In this same year, I realized I was gay and came out almost immediately, and I fell madly in love with one of my closest friends. She moved from South Carolina to be with me, and we moved in together pretty quickly afterward. This went against my value system, but I was desperate to be with her after having had a crush on her for so long, after having felt she was unobtainable, and I would have rationalized a lot to make our relationship work. However, I still wouldn't have agreed to move in together if she hadn't already been talking marriage. For me, moving in isn't something I would just do because we're dating and want to be around each other more. In my mind, moving in was a lifelong commitment; I didn't ever want to have to move OUT.
Pretty early in our relationship, my partner made it clear that she didn't want children. She loved them and completely doted on her little cousins, but had no desire to have children of her own. Because I'd started to think along this route in my last relationship, it wasn't difficult for me to be swayed to her side of the issue. Her clear and unwavering position made it easy for me to resolve my ambivalence.
After a year or so, however, I started to feel a little regret, disappointment, and even sadness. My partner had gotten pregnant at 17 and had given the baby up for adoption, and I found myself resenting her for having had the experience of pregnancy when I never would. This wasn't fair to her at all, and I knew this. I knew that there was nothing exciting or romantic for her about the experience of being pregnant and giving birth. However, that seemed to fuel my envy; she had gotten to have an experience that I craved in a raw, biological way, and she hadn't even appreciated it. I felt incredibly guilty about feeling this way, and hated that I had this internal struggle that never seemed to die down.
Whenever I alluded to my ambivalence, my partner would express her own guilt that she was keeping me from being a mother, and anxiety that I might someday regret that and resent her for it. I assured her that I had already been going down this path when we met, and that she had just solidified it for me, that she wasn't keeping me from something I felt compelled to do. However, when my first partner and I had discussed the option of being childfree, it was exactly that--an option. In my new partnership, I was realizing the decision was already made, regardless of my own wishes, and that there was no room for changing my mind. In order to deal with this loss, I had convinced myself that this was indeed the best thing for me, that I would be happiest this way. Think of all the traveling I could do! (Yes, having babies vs. not having babies almost always comes down to travel for me...it is my biggest passion, and will be my biggest sacrifice.)
I had convinced myself so fully that this was what I wanted for myself, that when I began dating Nicole and she spoke about wanting children someday, I became very anxious. I told her that I really liked her but that I wondered whether we should pursue a romantic relationship because I really didn't think I wanted children and I didn't want to hold her back from her dreams of a family. I remember well the weight of Nicole's resignation. She said that it wasn't a dealbreaker for her because she had been in a relationship before where her partner didn't want children, so she'd had practice adjusting to that reality.
I felt very conflicted, and I began to understand my ex-partner's struggle. It's an awful weight to feel like someone might be giving up a dream in order to be with you...that you could be responsible for that, that there is a limited window of opportunity, and that they could end up regretting it forever once that window has closed. I hated that feeling, but we had only been on a few dates and I didn't want our new relationship consumed with this discussion, so I let it drop for a while. Then before I knew it, my old maternal instinct came roaring back. My suppressed doubts and hopes found new life in the possibility of this relationship.
Did I still have my doubts, my struggles with all that I would have to sacrifice? Sure I did. But that's a whole other post, now, isn't it!
In my first relationship, which began when I was just 16 and ended when I was 22, we started talking in the last year or so about the option of being childfree. It just wasn't something we'd ever considered. You just expect, even as a kid, that one day you'll grow up and be a parent yourself. In college, when it was all just dreams, I ached for a baby. I couldn't wait for that day to come, and I fantasized about the life we would have. Then as I got older and started creating a real identity for myself, I began to fear that parenthood would interfere with everything I wanted to do. I had begun to realize my passion for travel, and at the same time, I had begun to realize the enormity of the student loan debt I was accruing in graduate school and the income bracket I could expect as a social worker. I couldn't reconcile the two with the idea of having children in a few years. I could barely feed myself and pay my bills as it was, and I knew it'd take me years to be settled enough that I could save up money for travel.
Both my partner and I began to feel the constraints of potential parenthood. As teenagers, everything was a distant dream; as young 20-somethings with our whole lives ahead of us, with all the freedoms and independence that life was bringing us with adulthood, the idea of having a time limit on enjoying that was unbearable. I feared that I'd barely be caught up and starting to afford a decent life before I'd have to sacrifice it all. We had just started this conversation, without having to talk about it too seriously, before we broke up. (It wasn't just the idea of parenting that made me feel constrained anymore...my relationship with my high-school sweetheart, which had become less and less fulfilling and quite unhealthy, had to be shed.)
Within the next year, I decided to stay in New York City despite coming to the end of my two-year graduate school experience. I didn't feel ready to return to South Carolina. With my new sense of freedom and personal agency, New York offered so much promise and possibility. I knew this was my time, and I needed to enjoy it now. In this same year, I realized I was gay and came out almost immediately, and I fell madly in love with one of my closest friends. She moved from South Carolina to be with me, and we moved in together pretty quickly afterward. This went against my value system, but I was desperate to be with her after having had a crush on her for so long, after having felt she was unobtainable, and I would have rationalized a lot to make our relationship work. However, I still wouldn't have agreed to move in together if she hadn't already been talking marriage. For me, moving in isn't something I would just do because we're dating and want to be around each other more. In my mind, moving in was a lifelong commitment; I didn't ever want to have to move OUT.
Pretty early in our relationship, my partner made it clear that she didn't want children. She loved them and completely doted on her little cousins, but had no desire to have children of her own. Because I'd started to think along this route in my last relationship, it wasn't difficult for me to be swayed to her side of the issue. Her clear and unwavering position made it easy for me to resolve my ambivalence.
After a year or so, however, I started to feel a little regret, disappointment, and even sadness. My partner had gotten pregnant at 17 and had given the baby up for adoption, and I found myself resenting her for having had the experience of pregnancy when I never would. This wasn't fair to her at all, and I knew this. I knew that there was nothing exciting or romantic for her about the experience of being pregnant and giving birth. However, that seemed to fuel my envy; she had gotten to have an experience that I craved in a raw, biological way, and she hadn't even appreciated it. I felt incredibly guilty about feeling this way, and hated that I had this internal struggle that never seemed to die down.
Whenever I alluded to my ambivalence, my partner would express her own guilt that she was keeping me from being a mother, and anxiety that I might someday regret that and resent her for it. I assured her that I had already been going down this path when we met, and that she had just solidified it for me, that she wasn't keeping me from something I felt compelled to do. However, when my first partner and I had discussed the option of being childfree, it was exactly that--an option. In my new partnership, I was realizing the decision was already made, regardless of my own wishes, and that there was no room for changing my mind. In order to deal with this loss, I had convinced myself that this was indeed the best thing for me, that I would be happiest this way. Think of all the traveling I could do! (Yes, having babies vs. not having babies almost always comes down to travel for me...it is my biggest passion, and will be my biggest sacrifice.)
I had convinced myself so fully that this was what I wanted for myself, that when I began dating Nicole and she spoke about wanting children someday, I became very anxious. I told her that I really liked her but that I wondered whether we should pursue a romantic relationship because I really didn't think I wanted children and I didn't want to hold her back from her dreams of a family. I remember well the weight of Nicole's resignation. She said that it wasn't a dealbreaker for her because she had been in a relationship before where her partner didn't want children, so she'd had practice adjusting to that reality.
I felt very conflicted, and I began to understand my ex-partner's struggle. It's an awful weight to feel like someone might be giving up a dream in order to be with you...that you could be responsible for that, that there is a limited window of opportunity, and that they could end up regretting it forever once that window has closed. I hated that feeling, but we had only been on a few dates and I didn't want our new relationship consumed with this discussion, so I let it drop for a while. Then before I knew it, my old maternal instinct came roaring back. My suppressed doubts and hopes found new life in the possibility of this relationship.
Did I still have my doubts, my struggles with all that I would have to sacrifice? Sure I did. But that's a whole other post, now, isn't it!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Intro
Hello. My name is Rachel, and I have baby fever.
My wife Nicole and I have talked about starting to try for a baby in about a year. We used to gush about babies together, but as the time nears and the idea become more real, I become increasingly eager and impatient, and Nicole becomes increasingly nervous and avoidant. Nicole is an anxious personality, and I am much more mellow, so that is much of the reason. Like everyone who must or wishes to plan for a family (as opposed to suddenly and unexpectedly going down that route), we have many pre-baby goals. Several have already been checked off the list, but we have a few big ones left, and it's too much for Nicole to think about all at once. She would rather take each big step at a time, and then think about babies when we are 100% ready. I have always been a dreamer, and see no harm in letting my mind wander down that road. Anticipation is half the fun for me. Anticipation is nerve-wracking for Nicole.
Thus this blog. I need an outlet, and it is not Nicole's responsibility to meet this need. Her need is to keep her head clear for the other things we need to do without feeling overwhelmed at all that "should" happen before we start trying for a baby. My need is to be able to talk excitedly about the prospect with people who can share that excitement and will eagerly listen, even if that only ends up being my mother and my sister!
I'm not sure yet what form this blog will take, how it will be structured. I'm not sure how I will fill a year before we start trying, because I'm not the type to follow other blogs obsessively and plan every second of my future. Sure, I have a few ideas and preferences, but overall I'm open to the experience of life, which I believe will be my greatest teacher and will likely usurp most plans I do attempt to make anyway. That's generally how it happens for me. I'm very good at intellectualizing everything so that I feel comfortable, prepared, and in control, and then when reality comes, it brings me something entirely different. I'm okay with that.
I do know what I want from this blog long-term, and that is for it to remind me in the future of what I thought and felt throughout this process. I've long kept a private online journal, and I love going back and reading my old posts. They are descriptive and teeming with emotion, partially because I was dramatic and felt everything so intensely, as all teenagers and young adults do, but also simply because writing is my most comfortable and natural form of expression. When I go back and read entries, it puts me back in that frame of mind. I feel everything all over again, every joy and every heartbreak. Sure, I prefer to live in the moment rather than plan everything down to a tee, but I want to remember and be able to relive those moments. I find the memory of emotion to be muted and even largely inaccurate.
Everything moves too fast for a sentimental person such as myself, and I appreciate the opportunity to return to and revel in the small and big moments of my own life. I hope to create that here.
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