All Akimbo: Speaking of infertility

This is always the hardest part … waiting for my period to start.

I know it’s coming, and yet I have to fight the overwhelming urge to go out and buy yet another pregnancy test, just to see if maybe it’s not.

The cramps started yesterday, not horrible ones, but strong enough to answer the question, “Am I?” “No, you’re not. You’re definitely not,” they answered, loud and clear.

My basal body temperature has dropped again today and it’s just a matter of time.
I vowed to treat myself this month, with something as mundane as coffee, which I absolutely love but have all but sworn off – even in its decaffeinated form – because I refused to take even the smallest chance of hurting my [fetus]. And this morning, I type with a steaming cup at my side.

This blog is a great outlet for me. A blessing, in fact, because I do my dead-level best not to blather on about this infertility thing to the people close to me.

My mom and I are like sisters, and yet, I haven’t told her anything at all about my struggles. Why? I don’t know, exactly. She might try to help, sending me notes with things she’s heard or read. She might try to discourage me from going forward by pointing out how much work it is to care for one baby and how much torture I’m putting myself through to have another. She might ask questions about how things are going – and let’s face it, those queries are not all that pleasant when things are going reasonably well; in this situation it would only add to the sometimes-unbearable stress of it all. Or maybe I just don’t want her to be disappointed if it never happens.

I’m an only child and, therefore, my parents’ only hope for more grandchildren. When I told them we were going to have a baby a little over four years ago, my dad said, “I didn’t think I was going to make granddad!” They were thrilled, to say the least, and are enraptured with Mojo.

Sometimes I think about confiding in my mom about what I’m going through, but so far, I haven’t.

My husband and I talk about it, sure, but I spare him as much of the minutiae as I possibly can.

And then there are my friends. I know they would listen if I wanted to talk about it, but I’ve only shared with a few that we’ve been trying to conceive for such a long time, and … I don’t know, I just think they would tire of hearing about it after a while and I certainly don’t want to seem as obsessed to them as I sometimes feel. Mostly, I just go on with my life, working and taking on projects around the house and, yep, playing with Mojo. I think a lot about how so very lucky I am to have him. This, I know, would be much harder for me to deal with if he wasn’t here. (That’s the stuff of another post, though — secondary infertility vs. infertility the first time around. Rest assured that one is coming soon. I’m off to get another cup of coffee and scrape off some more wallpaper … there’s no reason I can’t paint the kitchen now, right?)

Does anyone out there have any words of wisdom to share? Any coping tactics to get through this? Who do you talk to, or do you talk at all, about trying and trying and trying and trying to have a baby … ? Because, really, I think it would help to hear from someone who knows what it’s like. I’m sorry for anyone who has to go through this battle for a baby, but I really appreciate your being there for me.