Life Without Baby

filling the silence in the motherhood discussion

The Mother’s Day Card I Wish Existed

By Lisa Manterfield
With Mother’s Day looming here in the U.S., the shops are full of cards. I wish the racks also contained cards for those of us who don’t relish the celebrations. Just a word or two from someone who understands how it feels to be childless on Mother’s Day could help to make the day more bearable.

You may have seen this article about a cancer survivor who designed her own line of honest greetings cards, the kind she wishes she’d received while she was going through treatment.

It struck me how many of these sentiments apply to us and what a difference it would make to receive this kind of message during a rough patch, to have the grief and loss acknowledged, and to be offered just a word of support.

The idea sent me on a quest to see if such cards exist, and what sentiments they convey. I was encouraged to find some thoughtful miscarriage and baby loss cards, with texts such as:

“My heart aches for you, and I am here to call on when you feel alone.”

“Please know that prayers and thoughts of love and care are being sent your way.”

“Please know that you’re surrounded by heartfelt sympathy for your loss as you gently lay your dreams to rest.”

You can see these cards here.

But, when I went looking for infertility cards, I found something entirely different. Most of the cards were cheery and encouraging, along the lines of “Don’t give up!” “It will happen when it happens, so get some sleep while you can,” and the ever-encouraging “God has a plan for you, so be patient.” (I’m paraphrasing in all these cases, but not much.) In fact, almost all the cards had texts that would make the list of the very last you want to hear.

So, I’m wondering, would appreciate an appropriate card from an understanding loved one this Mother’s Day? If so, what would you want it to say? (Greetings card companies, take note!)

The Ups and Downs of Infertility

By Lisa Manterfield

Do you remember the game Chutes and Ladders? In the UK we called it “Snakes and Ladders” and I loved it. I had a nursery rhyme version with Jack and Jill happily climbing the hill on one ladder, and then tumbling down at the next snake (or chute). Humpty Dumpty, Rock-a-Bye-Baby, Little Bo Peep and her poor lost sheep were all there with their assorted joys and disasters.

In case any one is reading and has no clue what I’m talking abut, Chutes and Ladders is a board game. There are 100 squares on the board and you roll a dice and move along, trying to be the first person to reach 100. If you land on a ladder you get to follow the ladder up and jump ahead on the game. If, however, you land on a chute (or snake) you slide back down the board to a lower number. There’s no strategy involved in the game at all, and it’s pure luck as to whether you joyfully climb the ladder or careen back down a chute.

It struck me that life is a lot like chutes and ladders, especially when you’re playing the “coming-to-terms with infertility” game.

Case in point: A while ago, Mr. Fab and I had a great weekend. It was the first one in a while that we’d spent together just relaxing and enjoying one another’s company. We slept late, took a long walk, planned a vacation, and took a long afternoon nap. It’s on weekends like these that I realize all the positive things that have come out of us not having children.

But on Saturday night we had dinner with some friends at their home. They and the other friends who were invited have adult children, so the evening was spent talking about all kinds of other things not relating to the perils of parenthood. But in their hallway were photos of their children as toddlers, sitting in the garden, laughing those infectious toddler laughs, and for a few minutes I found myself just staring at the pictures and thinking about all that I’ve missed with not having children. My happiness hopped on a chute and slid back down a few squares.

I think that my life is always going to be this way, that I’ll keep making progress and moving gradually towards that place of being 100 percent at peace with being childfree, but there are always going to be chutes thrown in my way: the cousin’s pregnancy announcement, the friends celebrating milestones with their children, those moments when I rethink the whole thing and wonder, “What if we got back on the train? What if that risky and expensive treatment worked? What if we adopted?”

But, for every chute that comes along, there’s a ladder that will take me back up. So, the trick to maintaining sanity and finding peace is to keep living for the ladders.

It Got Me Thinking…About “The Wall”

By Kathleen Guthrie Woods

I love my gynecologist. She’s smart, she’s about my age, and like me, she’s childfree. So, yes, I believe she “gets” me.

That’s why it continues to gall me that her office still doesn’t “get” how devastating each of my visits are. I make a point of not making eye contact with anyone else in the waiting room. I don’t want to know—I don’t want the possibility of sensing—that the woman sitting across the room from me is in the full bloom of pregnancy. I also don’t want to know if the woman four seats over is falling apart because she’s about to get confirmation that another round of fertility treatments has failed to produce a longed-for baby. Honestly, I have enough on my plate just keeping my own emotions in check as I telepathically beg the nurse to call my name next.

And I’m pretty successful until I walk past the gatekeeper and enter the hallway where I’m once again faced with The Wall.

Technically, it’s one long wall with three bulletin boards overloaded with healthy baby and family photos. Hello, knife to the heart! There’s no avoiding it. It’s literally IN MY FACE as I make my way to the scale, then to the ladies’ room, then back into the hallway and to the exam room. I get one last look as I head out, and I typically manage to hold myself together as I ride down the elevator (sunglasses on, just in case), exit the building into the glaring sunlight, and all but crawl into my car where I let it all go.

Failure. Loser. Incomplete Woman. Freak of Nature. These are all the labels I give myself as I process my annual confrontation with The Wall.

With this being National Infertility Awareness Week, I wish my doctor and her staff could be more, well, aware. For the sign on their office does not read “Health Care for Mommies Only” or “Doctor of Pregnant and Breastfeeding Women”. It’s supposed to be an office that provides health care for all women. Although my reproductive system may have exceeded its best if used by date, I am still going in for my routine physical checkups, I continue to be a paying customer, and (dangit) I’d like to be represented on The Wall.

So, here are my suggestions:

  • In the waiting room, post images of a variety of women, such as prints of famous works of art from different eras. Maybe one is a classic Mary Cassatt mother and child painting (By the way, did you know Cassatt was childfree?), then choose from the abundance of works by Botticelli, Michelangelo, Berthe Morisot, or Annie Leibovitz.
  • Or go abstract and hang a bunch of prints by Georgia O’Keeffe, you know, those floral images that subtly represent healthy female reproductive organs.
  • On The Wall, post photos of healthy women, all women. You don’t need to take out the babies and families—they have their place here too—but add to the mix your other patients, the single women, the lesbian women, the families of two, and the post-menopausal women who are still kicking, who tell their whole life stories in the lines on their faces.

I hope that I’ll see some changes on The Wall when I go in for my next checkup. But honestly, I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to look.

 

Kathleen Guthrie Woods is a Northern California–based freelance writer. She is mostly at peace with her childfree status.

 

Trusting the Path When Motherhood Doesn’t Happen

By Lisa Manterfield
Do ever feel as if you’re in a constant battle with yourself? So often I make a decision and forge ahead on the path of my choice, only to catch myself looking longingly at another paths and wondering if I ought to have taken them instead. As soon as I make a decision I lose sight of all the things I’ll gain from choosing that path and can only see all that I’ll be losing from walking away from the other paths.

I certainly did that when I chose the “life without children” path.  I knew what I would gain by opting to stop treatments and I knew what I would gain by walking away from the adoption route we were on. I knew that my sanity and my marriage would benefit from that decision, and that I’d claim back the life that was passing me by. But I could also see clearly everything I would lose from walking away from the possibility of motherhood.

I know I made the right choice, and I’m glad I kept walking on my chosen path, but it doesn’t stop me looking back once in a while to see where I might have been.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who was making some difficult life decisions. She talked about the idea of trusting that the path you’re on will take you where you’re supposed to be.

At first glance, this reeks of “everything happens for a reason,” a philosophy that makes me bristle. Personally, I do not believe that I was denied children so that I could take a bigger, more important path instead, or that I wasn’t granted motherhood because it was more than I could handle.  I have an untreatable medical condition; I cannot reproduce; end of story; $#it happens.

And yet I’m intrigued by the idea of trusting the path.

There is no doubt that not having children will take me on a very different path than motherhood; it already has. But what if I stopped fighting that? What if I stopped looking over my shoulder at all that I’ve lost and trusted that the path I’m on will take me where I’m supposed to go? Granted, I might not have much to blog about with my new peaceful self, but perhaps I could just enjoy the journey and see where it takes me.

What do you think about the idea of trusting the path?

Whiny Wednesday: “I Never Knew Love…”


This hot-button whine was sent in from one of our readers.

When you read an interview of some celebrity or hear someone say:

“I never knew what love was until I had a child.”

So…is she saying that because I’m childfree I’m not capable or “real” love, or because I’m childfree I will be denied the experience of the highest expression of love?

Whether this makes your blood boil or cuts you to the core, whine away, sisters!

And if you have another great whine you need to get off your chest this week, here’s the place to let it rip.

Talking About Childlessness After Infertility

By Lisa Manterfield

We talk a lot in this community about the power of telling our stories, of hearing other people’s stories, and of having our voices heard in a world that doesn’t want to talk about uncomfortable topics like infertility, loss, and childlessness.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the honor of talking to Cathy Broadwell on her wonderful new podcast “Slow Swimmers and Fried Eggs.” Cathy has been writing a blog by the same title for some time now and recently convinced her boss to fund a podcast. What’s so powerful about the work Cathy is doing is that she writes in partnership with her husband, and their blog is hosted on the website of a fertility hospital.

Not so long ago, it was almost unheard of for an infertility blog to even entertain the idea that the infertility journey could end without children. I remember discovering a forum for “Life After Infertility” on one well-known resource’s site, only to realize it was full of discussions about teething and the best kind of baby stroller to buy. Another popular blogger, who went on to have children, continued to serve the infertility community, but managed to alienate all her readers who had “given up” on having children. Cathy’s blog marks a BIG step forward for our community, a step towards inclusion and genuine, frank conversations about the realities of infertility.

You can hear my conversation with Cathy in the latest episode of her podcast, here.

Be sure to also check out her earlier conversations with Sarah Chamberlain of Infertility Honesty and our own Kathleen Guthrie Woods.

And a big thank you to Cathy for having the courage to help shatter the stigma.

Whiny Wednesday: Being Taken Advantage Of At Work


Some people assume that if you don’t have children you have nothing but time. Nowhere you have to be, no responsibilities, and certainly nothing important to get home for.

Which brings us to this week’s Whiny Wednesday topic:

Being taken advantage of at work because you don’t have kids

And, go…

Whiny Wednesday: Being Excluded from Conversations


Have you ever been in a conversation with a group of women, only to watch the talk turn to motherhood and feel yourself fading into the background?

That’s the topic of this week’s Whiny Wednesday:

Being excluded from conversations because you don’t have children

Happy Whining!