crash and burn

I'm suffering from burn out.

From work. Blogging. Adoption. Life. I've been saving my vacation for when we are finally matched/placed, but I've decided to stop doing that since it doesn't appear we'll even be matched before my PTO expires in October. I need time away. I need time where I sit around and do nothing, or go - take off and enjoy life.

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Last night I sat on the nursery floor and thought back to when we decorated it. We were so positive and hopeful. I thought that sitting there would somehow make me more positive and hopeful. Instead, I felt nothing. Emptiness.

I want that hope and that positivity to come back, but I worry it's gone. For good.

why i left twitter

I made the decision earlier this week that this would be my last week on Twitter. As of this morning, my account no longer exists.

A number of people asked me why I chose to delete my account. Many assumed that something triggered it. To set the record straight, no one made me angry. No one upset me. No one tweeted nasty things about me or to me.

It's just time to move forward.

I started tweeting through a separate blog account when 1) I felt that my infertility-related tweets were taking over too much of my personal Twitter account, and 2) When many people stopped blogging and turned to Twitter to connect with one another for support. For years, it was a source of comfort to me. If I was having a bad day or if another treatment had failed, I knew I could log into my account and get the support I need or read stories from those going through similar trials.

Lately, my feelings have changed. When we started the adoption process, I felt "on the outs," so to speak. I didn't feel like I had much in common anymore with those who were still going through medical treatments. And by the time we got our home study approval (October) and signed with our first agency (November), I felt almost completely isolated. Almost everyone was pregnant or had their babies. Today, most of the posts on my feed are about breastfeeding and planning first, and even second, birthday parties.

I think Alex said it best in her post: there's nothing wrong with this. I simply can't relate. I have nothing to bring to the table. I have nothing to bring to the conversation. And sadly, there are a number of people whose hands I held virtually through their journey who aren't/haven't been around to hold mine. Twitter only serves as a bitter reminder of this for me, and I don't want to be bitter. I want to be happy. I want to be able to live my life free of feeling this way. I don't want to be that girl.

Which leads me to my only solution: saying good-bye to Twitter. I am and will be forever grateful to Twitter for introducing me to some amazing women who I will have lasting connections with. I am grateful for the support it did provide me at one time. But I also know that those who wish to stay updated on my journey will do so - with or without my tweets - and it's those people I thank the most. Thank you for sticking with me through thick and thin. I hope that you will stay until the end.

Whatever that end entails.

number four

Tomorrow we celebrate four years.

Four years of marriage. Four years of trying to become parents.

But I'm not thinking about the infertility aspect of it this year.

This year, I'm thinking about how lucky I am. How despite the events of the last four years, we are still going strong. It hasn't been easy, and there have been plenty of obstacles to try and throw us off course. But here we are.

Happy anniversary, Joey. Here's to the future - whatever it holds.

ICLW: May 2012

It's been a long time since I've participated in ICLW. A very long time. I think I stopped sometime around when we ended treatment, and I'm not sure I've ever participated since.

My story in a nutshell: got married on May 24, 2008; started trying to have a baby that same month (making this week the four year anniversary of our marriage AND trying to become parents); 3 REs, 4 IUIs, and 2 laps later, we still don't have a baby. We decided to stop treatment in the fall of 2010, and we began pursuing domestic adoption. We completed our home study in October of 2011, and we've been on the waiting list since then. We are currently an active, waiting family with two agencies and one attorney.

In the midst of all of this, I've battled issues with breast lumps, and I recently underwent surgery on my sinuses. For a girl who was rarely sick as a kid, I've had my fair share of medical issues in my 20s. I'm probably the only person you'll ever meet who looks forward to turning 30 in hopes of a better decade.

That's where we are on the factual aspect of our journey. Emotionally? I waver between calm and "what the fuck is going on here?" Lately, especially, as we inch closer and closer to our home study renewal paperwork. I never thought I'd grow tired of trying to reach parenthood, but to be honest, I'm kind of exhausted. I feel like it's shit or get off the pot time. Not for us so much as for the universe. I'd like the universe to decide sooner rather than later about our parenthood status. Is it going to happen or no? Either way, I just want an answer at this point.

Personal life? I'm a 27-year-old librarian who loves to read (obviously), write (hence the blog), travel, spend time with my husband (Joey) and our rescue dog (a mini doxie; pictured below), eat, and take photos. I'll leave you with one of my favorite photos of our puppy:

Happy ICLW, everyone!

save your wishes

I have a problem with Mother's Day.

And it has nothing (well, not NOTHING, but not everything) to do with infertility.

This year, I noticed more customer service people wishing women a Happy Mother's Day. This is sweet and all, for those women who are actually mothers. But let's think about this for a moment. Over the years, we have improved our sensitivity when it comes to sending people blanket holiday wishes. The prime example of this, of course, is Christmas. One day, we all woke up and realized that, hey . . . there are many people who don't celebrate Christmas. You wouldn't wish your Jewish friend a Merry Christmas, would you?

No, you wouldn't. So why would you wish a woman a Happy Mother's Day when you have absolutely no idea whether she is a mother? It's presumptuous. It's obnoxious. And frankly, it's downright rude. It's not displaying sensitivity at all.

This isn't just about being infertile. Of course, I notice it because of my infertility. It's about the fact that Mother's Day can be a difficult day for many people. Think about the people who have lost their mothers - recently or not so recently. This holiday is a reminder for those people that they can't pick up the phone and call their mom to wish them a happy day. They can't pick up their mom and take her out to lunch, or send her flowers and gifts of appreciation

Think about the women who have lost children, whether it's a loss through miscarriage, stillbirth, accident, health issue, or some other tragic event. Imagine being wished a Happy Mother's Day when your child has just lost a battle with cancer. Or when your baby's heart has just stopped beating. Maybe these women want holiday wishes; maybe they don't. No one knows, but keep in mind that it may not be easy for them to have a reminder of what they've lost.

Think about the mothers who've placed their babies for adoption. Think about what it might be like for these women to hear those words. Like the women who've lost children, we don't know whether wishing them a Happy Mother's Day is something that's helpful or hurtful. But you wouldn't say it without knowing for sure, would you? You wouldn't just assume.

And yes, think about the women who are infertile. The women who don't, and may never, have a reason to celebrate some random Sunday in May. As if we need another reminder that we're incapable of being mothers. As if we need some other reason to feel alienated as women. Wishing us a Happy Mother's Day does nothing but remind us of the empty spot in our heart that may never be filled.

My problem with Mother's Day is that we simply assume all women celebrate it. Because we assume everyone is a mother to a living child or everyone has a living mother. Because we, as a society, are so mom-centric that we can't look past these points to realize that maybe this holiday isn't a holiday for some.

Instead, it's a nightmare.